"mortally" poems
I lay under the sheets,
Undressed and yearning,
Famished and waiting,
For a taste of ambrosia.
Knock knock knock!
Come now and come in,
Embrace your desire,
And ravish my senses.
Don’t tease me,
I am at my peak,
Mortally enraptured,
By my physical form.
Come lay beside me,
Put your hands on me,
Take me whole,
I surrender in flesh.
Caress my *******
Moisten my urges down,
Hold me tight,
And feel me now.
Hold me down now,
Watch me sizzle,
With fierce intensity,
Burn my passion out.
I need your body,
When mine takes over,
Come in and take it all,
Out ; when I simmer down.
Come again when I desire,
Hear my carnal call,
I want you in me,
A taste of ecstasy.
I lay here now,
Bare on the bed,
Ceased by desire,
Free me now.
Restless feet bother,
Kiss them and in between,
Soften the bridges,
So you may pass.
Forward and backward,
All leads to ecstasy,
Touch me whole,
Touch me now .
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
when I look back now
at the abuse I took from
her
I feel shame that I was so
innocent,
but I must say
she did match me drink for
drink,
and I realized that her life
her feelings for things
had been ruined
along the way
and that I was no mare than a
temporary
companion;
she was ten years older
and mortally hurt by the past
and the present;
she treated me badly:
desertion, other
men;
she brought me immense
pain,
continually;
she lied, stole;
there was desertion,
other men,
yet we had our moments; and
our little soap opera ended
with her in a coma
in the hospital,
and I sat at her bed
for hours
talking to her,
and then she opened her eyes
and saw me:
"I knew it would be you,"
she said.
then hse closed her
eyes.
the next day she was
dead.
I drank alone
for two years
after that.
10.3k
There once was a man named Beowulf
Who was fiercer than a demon or werewolf
Except that he had a flaw
A dragon made him mortally sore
This prologue is prophetic
To the ending of this epic
So I’ll tell you more
Beowulf made his mind up at twenty-three
He would race his friend to swim across the sea
But fighting many sea monsters is quite trial
Beowulf only caught up in the final mile
Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
Though Breca nearly beat him
He managed to defeat him
But he would make up his mind
Beowulf made his mind up in his head
He would battle Grendel until one was dead
But even though his strength could cause a lot of harm
Beowulf only severed Grendel’s left arm
Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
Though Grendel he had saddened
Beowulf wasn’t gladdened
And he would make up his mind
Beowulf made his mind up then and there
He’d **** Grendel’s mother in her watery lair
Although the angry tarn-hag had put up a fight
Both monsters were beheaded that very night
Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
He took a child and mother
Like Cain had killed his brother
But he had made up his mind
Beowulf made his mind up when he was old
To slay a raging dragon of whom he’d been told
But Beowulf couldn’t deal with the dragon’s fire
And he was later burned atop a funeral pyre
Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
He once was a great hero
And now his worth is zero
But he would make up his mind
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
The greatest challenge my nature presents:
Love is harder to find
Hate is easier to find
Within myself and others
Is rejection different for me?
Everybody seems to know the pain of being unwanted
And idle threats and empty words are no stranger to rejection
But when you say you'll **** me if you ever see me again
The intention is clear
The existence of my attraction
Is grotesque beyond redemption
I thought I loved you...
When appreciation comes my way
It's superficiality amuses me
Because I know all that needs to happen
Is breaking down the wall to my mind
Or unlocking the door to my heart
And those appreciators will transform into detractors
Especially if the hideous leviathan approaches their vessel
Not finding women gross frustrates me
Because I have no reference point
For why people hate me so much
Which provides a reference point
For why I hate myself so much
It's difficult not to be dominated by this damnation
But there's no way people could understand
The daily subtle nuances
Why should they?
I don't constantly consider their lives either
Even if someone tried to comprehend my life
I'm not sure it's possible
I've been here the whole time and I'm still massively perplexed
I display my emotions
Disgust
I shroud my emotions
Indifference
I **** my emotions
Hatred
Is there no escape?
Even with sanctuaries along the way
Life feels like
Everybody swims in the ocean
While I'm resigned to my lonely oasis
Is it possible to feel more alone than completely alone?
Like a cockroach consigned to living under the refrigerator
It gets so cold and dark down here
I forage for crumbs only at night
Mortally afraid of human contact
For I know that the boot follows the light
And why not?
In a world where our priorities obstruct our compassion
How much consideration should a real human show
to a lowly maggot like me
When they have to worry about paying the exterminator?
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
this planet holds together
gravitating humans
Through scalding chemicals
Chemicals staining our breath
(some ancient soliloquies never forgotten)
Atoms dying
And then living
Inside of our mortally immortal bodies
So be my rubidium
(I am oxygen)
And crave me and my words
We will explode and simultaneously
De-combust
Shattering the world around us
Releasing the angst of a lonesome soul and
tantalizing revelations of hope
the innate genius hidden in us
in
Rubidium and Oxygen
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
We started out with Armistead
from the shelter of the trees.
A jackrabbit raced past to the rear,
no dumb bunny was he
The heat rose up to meet us
As we started up the rise-
The prospect of the copse of trees
Before us was the prize.
The flower of Virginia here
displayed upon Parade
We must have looked magnificent
Just before the cannonade
They piled on Double Cannister
and tore holes in our line
We staggered from the weight of shot
that fearful hissing whine..
Then enfilading fire came
From the Yanks behind stone walls
Just then post fences six feet high
briefly caused our charge to stall
Brave **** Gannett was unhorsed
Upon this very spot
Kemper, wounded mortally,
Was retrieved from shell and shot
We made it past the final fence
And up the grassy knoll
Defiant in the cannons mouth
"Turn those guns!" I'm told.
But at that very Moment
General Armistead was downed
The attack lost its momentum
Our wave crested on high ground..
The blue bellies yelled Fredericksburg
As the Crimson tide retraced
Half in Anger, Half in relief
that the challenge had been faced.
The hill before the copse of trees
Pocked with our dead and dying
While the remnants of Picketts men
Towards Longstreets line were filing
Matthew Brady took my photograph
before I was led away
My face a study in defiance
A true man of the gray.
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 8:56 PM UTC
I am me
Until I am not
In the eyes of those who aren't me
Their perception of my ulterior motives pierces
every joke, compliment and remark
I attempt to burrow out of my chamber and into their's
But I find only confusion
Did anybody notice or care?
And if they did
Did they care about me?
Or the facade I built to buffer honesty?
Disgust is spelled on the faces of those forced into proximity
They view me as the canary in the coal mine of their life
Their contempt shocks stillness into me
Could we go back to pretending I'm human?
Are they putting salt in the wound to preserve it?
Or am I the remnants of a wasted youth?
Or a constant reminder of failure?
Do I help lower the bar to their own self worth?
Maybe I'm just paranoid
Is what I tell myself
To feel better
And I can drive down back roads all my life
But that won't erase the shame I feel of the car I drive
People sense my deviations and act accordingly
Their words spray like a flamethrower
Scorching my defenseless heart
And although my sympathy goes out to the innocent civilians
who were also hurt
I was mortally wounded
The well just continued to get deeper
I am haunted by what lies underneath
Afraid any passing archaeologist will dig it up
And share his discovery with the world
Then where will I hide?
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC
about pictures of bears without any fur, and they look horrendously terrifying. Like ****** space gorillas you see in poorly done sci-fi movies. Do you think panda bears are still the cutest bear without any fur?
I wonder if dragons get lung cancer from all the smoking they do. I'd rather think about a hairless panda bear breathing fire--it's jaws sinking into the underbelly of a mortally wounded dragon and as it starts munching on the dragon pancreas, it accidentally sneezes causing it's lunch to incinerate to ashes.
That's probably why dragons are extinct. Hairless panda bears donned armor, riding horses; questing to eat dragon pancreas.
They also thought amor prevented lung cancer. It was the middle ages, people or animals didn't have modern technology to explain diseases, let alone where babies came from. Except for dragons, and look at how their species turned out. **** I'm throwing my phone in the toilet right now.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
Suppose I was more agreeable
Instead of arguing over coffee about politics, religion
*All those subjects deemed taboo that neither of us truly give a **** about*
Pressing my point like daggers against your ribcage
Knowing the sweet spots that make you moan
I would give in, applaud your cleverness, then leave for work
You would be left wondering if you should feel insulted.
of course you should
As usual,my filterless memoirs have become vocalized
******* them back in tight and quick is useless
Once freed, the damage is done
But. they. are . just. words.
the previous statement is ridiculous and the author should be shot
Never could I slice you deeper, **** your private mind or lay your soul bare
Then with the bitter, caustic, truthful edge of my observations
You are just as vulnerable as the rest of them
Barbed wire telegrams
Frozen emails
Ash and arsenic letters
Cut you to the quick
Delightful.
But I like it better when I can witness the damage
Basking in the upper handed afterglow of my superior ability to mortally wound
For no bit of silver that I've ever found
Was ever sharper than the razor edge of my tongue
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 11:01 PM UTC
Humpty Dumpty
was never steady
on his legs
Almost round as a ball
he was a fat, little egg
One day he was struck by the beauty
of a seductive fork
So silvery, shiny, and slim
she desired to whisk him into shape
to make him completely fit and trim
But Humpty Dumpty, in love,
was falling way too hard
I mean he literally fell
in his crazy crush
cracking his delicate shell!
His mother, the hen
was beside herself
"Come to your senses", she begged
"Stay away from that wicked fork
before you become scrambled eggs!"
Humpty Dumpty was fading fast,
fearful that he was mortally wounded
Oozing some white and yolk and
suddenly he was feeling
the pain of being broken!
But the doctor refused
to hand him over to the chef
Patched him up though it was hard.
"Another fall like that", he warned
"And you will end up in shards!"
So Humpty Dumpty was
never ever the same
Everyone was taken aback
They all knew to keep their distance
for Humpty Dumpty was cracked!
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 10:07 PM UTC
do you hear
like ringing of still bells
sound like precious silver
clinging to the flush of a cheek
The soft sobs of her soul
when you berate her
her whisper but warm breath on your neck
exhale birthing desire
“ no “
Have your way
Have her sorrow
Shyness?
oh dear. you are mortally worn
by morning
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 10:04 PM UTC
If you prophecy the end of kings you are wrong.
Write no epitaphs, dig no graves, taste no grief.
The new czar, a rough and worldly killer firmly fixed
this very day stirs the cauldron of war to reset empire
Still, foxly friends of tyranny, who stab at weak democracy
praise the czar's autocracy, and mock free speech with treachery.
As modern judases, riding limitless swells of fortune, tease simple mobs
our old republic stagers and fades, mortally wounded by hypocrisy.
Perhaps, someday, freedom’s autopsy will show what transpired,
but if you prophecy the end of kings you are wrong.
Feb 22, 2022
Feb 22, 2022 at 7:14 AM UTC
c o n t a c t
up-stairs roof-top
toe-tips the-edge long-drop
flourish/ball-lightning echo-foxtrot
plunder/of the gods/thunderous once more
glance-down and it’s merry-go-round
vertigo lost - and - found
you shout my name
c o n t r a c t
impact cement
face-torn to shape a smile
laugh 'after a while crocodile'
; the last witty thought my mind does attract
devil pact and the gravity
mortally i n v e s t e d
arrested now
c o n t a c t
Jan 22, 2023
Jan 22, 2023 at 9:25 PM UTC
Tonight, at work, I asked 10 people
if they knew of what had happened
at Los Angeles International Airport (henceforth: LAX)
not 30 hours earlier.
Only 2 had heard of it.
One, because a cousin was traveling that day
and, the other, because a regular at his restaurant
also had family who had left LAX just before it happened
just in time to be stopped with the rest of the traffic
for two and a half hours.
I find that sort-of strange;
information, even if misinformation
spreads too quickly and ubiquitously now-a-days
with our cell-phones, internet, satellite radio and media sensationalism
for a mere 1 in 5 to have heard of this,
and even then, only because of Family's accounts.
Apparently, he acted alone, wearing military-like clothes
and walked into LAX at about 9:20 AM PST on November 1
carrying a very cost-effective Military and Police AR-15
concealed in a bag with over a hundred spare .223 rounds
and a note with words of sociopolitical dissent
and an apparent intent to **** several Travel Security Agents.
He mortally wounded a single TSA agent, after two shots
and non-fatally wounded at least a few other people
including two other TSA agents.
This thorough chaos warranted sopping traffic, air and ground alike
for over two hours, until his apprehension
after being shot in the mouth and the leg
by valiant officers of the LAXPD.
Luckily, the Police had trained for
"this exact situation not three weeks before"
Wait, what was that?
Oh, that's.. impeccable timing.
Anyway.
Few know about it and even less discuss it
even a day and a half after it happened
only 550 miles from here.
I figured it'd be a bigger deal than this.
What is up with this?
It's rather srtange...
quite queer indeed.
The Suspect is in the hospital for his wounds and is now awaiting trial
for ****** and Inciting Violence in an International Airport.
Many people of Office cry out for the death penalty, even here in California,
where we like to think we've "grown past that"
The Travel Security Administration was established in the wake of 9/11
It is a branch of the Department of Defense.
It took me much digging to find all this information on this event. Here it is for any who seeks it.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 4:17 AM UTC
As I walk
the words of those that never existed
echo inside of my mind
I have learned
that you don't have to share each other's blood
to be the closest brothers
I can hear
thousands of voices swelling up inside
each begging for just one chance
I can see
every one of those smiling faces
that I've never laid eyes upon
Now I know
I'm friends with those that never existed
those that I have never met
I have fought
hundreds of battles with nary a scratch
but been mortally wounded
For I am
A warrior, a queen, a servant, a child,
a mere bystander
Because I
Have a library inside of my head
of all that I read
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 9:19 AM UTC
Through voracious eyes devotees, peruse writings, clever literature all styled to thoughtful poetic ways
eloquently, exposing wounds of body and soul, discovered distrust, anger much regret, sadly even fear,
thereto shortcomings in life, of people, their actions, loves and lies promulgated in illuminating phrase.
Technology endows contributors with outlets for venting suchlike occasions using artistry is here.
Passionate poignant experiences most well written, some not are duly shared to attracted communal eyes.
declarations of 'I have cared so much I'm wounded mortally', some bask in lost or unrequited loves last kiss,
several employ inner strength 'whatever happened, I don't care, I'm resilient, I survive', shared with poetic pride
concise verses rework obvious reminders, may motivate suggestion that opportunity shouldn't be missed.
Modest words abundantly profound begin remarks that reassures, with the - I'm here for yous'- symbolic embrace,
in support it is written, 'I know what you mean' and from a great distance - empathise, but I have little to say.
Health issues aren't fixed by artistic pennings, only face to face professional advice forms the strongest base,
Writings from the poetic inner self may become positive steps, for futures not, staring in depressions face.
Much is written with sensitivity oft-times is judged by content, overlooked is why and how it is composed.
For instance suicide educes fear however. dubiety invites, is it fiction or truly despair?
Writing as an art observes, describes, creates imagery, of sadness and joy, escapism, fictional or no.
Poetic creators who web-wide commune through stories, thoughts, secrets, ideas, dreams, let the poetry be shared .
Poetry www Michael C Crowder 12th January 2019 @scorsby
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 9:16 AM UTC
a sorry fist forward
and mortally i follow
coldly into the first dark flint of day
not my natural habitat
so quiet.. or near so
a vacancy for occasional clean
isolated noises
i pause and pass a scan about
the hailing lack of conscious population
all packed away
hauntings themselves in beds
- like some form of post apocalyptic storage -
they add a vague lended charge
nature is on a limited budget this early
no birds yet and no solar minting
a massive racoon with only three legs crosses my intended path
in its mouth a gory wreckage
i steep to make balance
but my pores won't take it
i am sickened by the ballast
of my breakfast
i hollow onward into these new conditions
still deriding what to be
a tourist and an informer dud
i have switched to the dayshift
from off the spire
of my regular hour
the evening routine
breathing is surprisingly ***** at this time
a failing of settled pollution :
the public buildings and restaurants
are muggy in their overnight stale degassing
awaiting air currents and dispersal
the first gulls of the morning
emit a defeating siren
spearing through detritus
they dispel the bells of purity
somehow i've made my port of call
a struggling invertebrate
in this state i dispose my spirit
at the salted threshold
security staff and sanitation process
between the sets of automatic doors
a workplace made alien
and adverse to me
purely by
the indecent hour
of day
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 9:53 AM UTC
Gazing above heads of my brothers standing in commemoration,
I watch as the sky becomes red, fluttering with poppy leaves.
Silence is deafening as memory escapes the deathly bounds,
There are men and women to be remembered this day of days.
Wind swept watery eyes cling stare into the daylight blackness,
Numb hearts and heavy breaths couple those solemn senses.
Pray. And pray again, for wounded heroes and the mortally lost,
Whose families torn comfort shall not repair to this great despair.
For they, they are deserving.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
Sitting in a room
Where only echoes are stored
Thinking that without echoes
All the voices on this earth
Might have been dead at birth.
You can wipe out all the voices with ease
But what will you do with echoes?
I know now why the bamboos are in the valleys.
Hills without a voice
Gathering the echoes
For a time drowned in silence.
late comer did not hear the flute playing
She only collected its echoes and left.
The butterfly has gone
The flutter still remains on the petals
Listen to the stars carefully
Their echoes have golden hues.
Even when all the sounds are wiped out,
The earth might live some more time
By spending the echoes frugally.
A truck have been spotted in the city
Carrying echoes
For making them impotent.
It is impossible to predict
What will happen to the voices
Mortally wounded with bullets.
All the dungeons of this world
won't be sufficient
To imprison all their echoes.
00
Poem By Veerankutty Mehfil
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC
As the vultures cautiously defend their broken gift , a panic stricken , innocent creature lays mortally wounded , another tribute to suburban encroachment , killers quite fittingly cloaked in orange attire , warning the civilized world of their presence , roam unchecked throughout Georgia's woodlands .
Paper doll wannabe commandos , indignantly evoke prayer and 'god given rights' , esteem their kind as protectors of the environment . An obvious cover for blood thirst and killing instinct , blanketing raw , scheming , murderous culpabilities ..
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
we do not really know
what to expect of times to come
those who dare say they do
are more or less intelligently speculating
and their assumptions usually don‘t exceed
foggy predictions read from crystal *****
so what?
the problem is not really new
all our ancestors
some more desperate than others
were longing for the certainty
they thought would go with knowledge
of all things as yet to come
fact is we have survived without it
for some million years
even if our digitized society
obsessed with quantifying everything
from time to work to *** to pleasure
seems mortally in fear of lack of data
about the future
the one thing we can say for sure
is that life will be different
because the only constant in our world
is change
know it
and get on
Apr 17, 2019
Apr 17, 2019 at 4:48 PM UTC
If I saw a man casually walking down the street
I most likely wouldn’t consider his wants and needs
He probably doesn’t want to be bothered by a stranger anyway
But if he were visibly dying; bleeding, maimed, mortally wounded
I would feel inclined to help him
And he’d probably be grateful for my gesture
So when do I stop leaving him alone
And start helping him?
Where is the line between
Someone in need of help
And someone in need of privacy?
I used to think the line was physical trauma
It makes sense to try to help someone if they’re bleeding
But then I considered how painful emotional trauma can be
Then I thought everyone always needed help no matter what
But that seems like a platitude
I can’t help everyone all the time
Especially because people need to develop trust in me
In order to even want to receive my help
Maybe he’s bleeding
Because he’s believing
The end of his breathing
Will ultimately be relieving
Or maybe he’s maimed
With an attention aim
Of getting my name
Into his game
My dramatic yet pragmatic fear
Of my heart getting speared
Makes me stave off peers
Yet I crave them to be near
So which way do I steer?
This man on the street
Should I wash his feet?
Give him food to eat?
Pretend he’s a blank sheet
That can’t speak?
Is putting him on the shelf
A form of giving him help?
Or am I just worrying about myself?
Because deep down privately
I want to give him privacy
To avoid the possible piracy
His violent virus breeds
Does he want my company
Or is he actually hunting me?
I can’t tell at first glance
Giving me the worst chance
He’ll reject my cursed dance
With an arcane church stance
Or a negative mentality
Or a lack of personality
I can’t fathom the totality
Of all the possible modalities
That’ll lead to my fatality
So why should I even try?
Should I just let him die?
Nov 14, 2018
Nov 14, 2018 at 9:55 PM UTC
Breath counts our days and nights like God.
Breath during twilight laid into blissful sleep,
breath of newborn welcoming the world,
breath during considerations on storm of frozen years,
breath of mortally terrified man thrown into abyss,
breath of memories creeping into oblivion,
breath during ecstatic experience of union with beloved,
breath of bard in sanctuary,
breath of soul while symphony plays in it,
breath during interference of God's message,
breath during observation of visible signs of what is performed in soul,
breath while you are overwhelmed by primal instincts,
breath during kiss affecting the sphere of sensuous ,
breath during awakening of images of love sick from excess of words,
breath during the intervention of God in life,
breath on the path of recognition of the idea of good,
breath during maturity examination in the field of theological virtues,
breath during reward of unrighteousness,
breath during arrangement of feelings.
Breath releases emotions without need of Katarsis.
Breath strengthens internal sense of security.
Breath makes soul your guide and teacher.
Breath makes possible
connection of mind,body and soul,
deliverance from the darkness of ignorance,
release from bonds of illusion,
separation of the spiritual needs and ****** needs,
to experience spectrum of human feelings,
to be a man distinguishing good from evil,
to celebrate life in all its glory,
to get rid of belifes limitating mind,
to enter into spiritual and physical world,
to study cosmological issues,
to hipothesize and recive answers,
to experience fulfillment in the field of love,
to overcome chaotic desires of our soul,
to use the knowledge gained before entering the body,
to become an expression of divinity,
to imitate order of nature,
to dry out unusual flowers under a pile of books,
to experience God's Providence,
to prove that justice is worthy of having,
to exploit days and nights in conformity with destiny,
to avoid venial sins in the future,
to exceed usual consiousness,
to dance in lake with stony bottom,
to think about something we never experienced,
to avoid the loss of sensitivity of the moral conscience,
to cry in defense of the poor,
to express respect and love for fellow beings.
Breath is the hourglass measuring time grain by grain.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
When I met you...
I never thought you’d be here 7 days later,
Only 7 days but closer than the 7 friends I had in high school,
Showing me, embracing me, loving me.
I don’t even get those human desires from those who share the same blood as me.
Except my blood is mortally powerful, although you don’t bat an eyelash at that.
You finally make me me feel as though, my physical condition is not important to you, what I say, who I AM, is why you Are find of some as eccentric as me.
I don’t put labels or times or hopes and dreams on relationships any longer. Although I know right now, with you I am secure and accepted.
Let’s continue to ride smoothly on this undiscovered river, it may get dark sometimes, although know you never are the reason.
The reason could be the shadows along the edge of stream, or the secluded love that fills our boat.
Be ready, you never know where our hazardous but thrilling venture may lead us. But all I know is you give me more value, more consideration and more connection than any human being has in this lifetime.
I know you are lost too, as am I. I don’t care your sexuality, your gender or what you may look like, you make me feel good, and that is what we both deserve.
7days and 7 more I’ll never grow weary of you because this soul of yours is not cliched.
Take my hand as I take yours and let’s ride this unpredictable route to nowhere.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC