'Mudded' poems - Hello Poetry

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Chelsea Codrington Mar 2012

Numb Enlightenment.

The sink clogged, with the hair I'm pulling out.
The deranged dripping of the pipes on the veneer...
A marvel.
To see what people will do to feel like they have some sense of control...

The window sill,
covered in dust, paint chips, mold,
The carcasses of dead flies...
There is an exquisite beauty to lonliness.

It's something relatable.
A way of being that is attainable, but unwanted.
It's just like this day,
unwanted by all.

Some may though; want it.
Perhaps they are simply afflicted,
In need of a shoulder for their worries
and a day to hold them.

I don't think they would rip their hair out to do so.
Not like me.
Who cares?

I'll just watch now,
as the blood drips down the sink,
on the day they all needed,
when the pipes burst and dripped the mudded water
onto the the fresh veneer...

Written Nov. 2011.

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Jack Feb 2014

Granite Dominoes

Granite Dominoes

The soft earth yields, I watched from above
Little by little it opens, inviting
Rectangular spaces of mudded thoughts,
sifted by *****, piled of fear

Granite dominoes stand in lined support,
dates moistened by dew…counting
Carved in regrets once felt,
loves never shared

Voices from the trees cackle,
laughter it seems brings the sun
Good riddance on fawning meadows breathes
and the sky turns to red

Applause echoes valley’d intersections
where traffic lights sing as
cars stop for a quick breather, waiting on the green
and I see it all

Life goes on even if in minus,
faux tears fill tissues, a scented kind
all the while checking their watches
hoping for a quick release

Oak and imitation gold are lowered, polished indignity
Carnations are tossed, dying as they fly
No one remains…remains
except the quickly forgotten…

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Kevin Mar 2017

Bloodied Bramble Dew

scorning sun bursts into the aisles of graying curly waves,
punching yellow teeth and candied sweets with the
green of loving laughter that i've not heard in years.

you taught our fingers to bleed of bramble dew.
so sticky in our attempts to keep Genevieve's crystal filled but,
clear of improper pounds. collected ounces that rudely
overflow, are picked with mudded, forested feet.

consumed so clean and sweet, from thorns
between the brush, the aisles buzzed of summers paths
that only lead us where we knew.

through the scales and passed the cords
where drying life would heat our warmth,
nights would drop with echoing sounds like trains
slowly passing through our country's vacant crossing.

you voluminous sap of unaccounted ooze.
you sweet maple so never barren or dull.
you flame of northern light.

take me back to the path we passed
where cords are dried to burn
where frogs croak in Côté's creek
where my memories live and yearn

These are the memories I have of my lovely French Canadian Grandparents. My grandfather died when I was three, my only memory of him is collecting sap from maple trees and making maple syrup. The memories of my grandmother are her Crystal Candy jars always full, her yellow teeth stained from cigarettes, going blueberry and raspberry picking barefoot in the summer at our log cabin, her undeniably infectious laugh, and snoring so loud at night it could keep the dead awake.

#family #cabin #french #syrup #canada #log #maple #blueberries #raspberries

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Jack Aug 2014

Granite Dominoes

~

The soft earth yields, I watched from above
Little by little it opens, inviting
Rectangular spaces of mudded thoughts,
sifted by *****, piled of fear

Granite dominoes stand in lined support,
dates moistened by dew…counting
Carved in regrets once felt,
loves never shared

Voices from the trees cackle,
laughter it seems brings the sun
Good riddance on fawning meadows breathes
and the sky turns to red

Applause echoes valley’d intersections
where traffic lights sing as
cars stop for a quick breather, waiting on the green
and I see it all

Life goes on even if in minus,
faux tears fill tissues, a scented kind
all the while checking their watches
hoping for a quick release

Oak and imitation gold are lowered, polished indignity
Carnations are tossed, dying as they fly
No one remains…remains
except the quickly forgotten…

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Poetic T Oct 2014

Angel White

Angel you were once so
Pure,
On earth you looked
Over us all, but temptation
Was your downfall
*******
Crack,
Crystal,
Stardust,
Was your sinful choice,
It took you to the heavens
But with every comedown
The higher did you fall,
With every injection, feathers did
Wilt,
Diminish,
Wither,
Till white turned black
Upon the wet mudded floor,
You were one of the many
Who had succumb to human
Desires,
Sins,
Pleasures,
That were the failings of
Mankind, but even the
Highest morals can falter
Before they fall,
Angel upon high
The last feather did fall,
And in to the arm injected
Pure white heaven
That turned you angel of white wings,
To a ****** human how far did you fall..

#addiction #fall #angel #heaven #morals #crack #feathers

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Francis Scudellari Feb 2010

There are these spots

There are these spots on my ceiling.

Plainly speaking, they are
off-white patches where
the heads of nails were
mudded over, but not well sanded.

I opt to see them as
push-pins squashed when spat
on monochrome maps
to point me dippered ways outre-ward.

Their gap-tooth patterns micro-mimicking
constellations hap
my eyes to hazard
hopping through new belt hoops.

Then passed by barely habited worlds,
I wheel round orbits
molecularly
chained to collide, next time.

My neighbor's heavy steps fade out.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.

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Nina O'Donovan Apr 2016

Negatives

Here she is with soulful eyes telling me
I'm ancient, I'm precious, but she's wrong;
I'm pale, sickly lithium
and she's gold, she's the sweat of the sun.
It turns out every word I think I have
is foreign to her. Hammered out,
inscribed with triple negatives. Each
leaves its meaning to be moulded.

It's not a way to be forgotten;
always thought freckles would be red, a spark
not soot, not post holes on a new land.
A discovery, not something
I'd feel so wrong for noticing.
There was no red in her. I'd stripped it out
like thread through teeth, solid ache;
not like how you’d expect.

I am not careful, while she pretends
not to need any care. Until now,
never exposed to each other;
we’re left with this red in our hands, too
mudded like closing eyes to the sun.
Seeing ourselves stretched thin,
buried bronze in the river, an offer to what?
To make it hold deeper, the very start of us.

#love #age #lgbt #ireland #bronze

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brandon nagley Jun 2015

Cursed by mudded dirt

The world was CURSED!!!!
By BIRTH!!

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islam Oct 2014

October Rain

Let the rain descend and sacralize the blood-stained earth
Let it veil the martyr's body and wash his mudded face
Let it be destructive, let it collapse the skyscrapers as we rebirth
Let the lighting streak the sky, let the thunder play its music as the winds dance with grace
Dance with me, collide your body with mine, let us become one and let us fight the overgrowing darkness
This is the last fight, the only chance to revive Winter and to create Spring

#rain #winter

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Poetic T Oct 2014

Words In The Wood

And so they played they were
Innocent,
But the words in wood
They spoke In black mud
"Wood was"
"Wood is"
"Wood will end"
"Wood will become"
"What had began"
Fear runs fast in young eyes,
As to a father they did run
"Calm down little ones"
And in to woods he took
An instrument of destruction,
So upon wood he did
Hack,
Carve,
Splinter
Pieces now  layed upon the ground,
A splinter did puncture
His finger that bleed upon
Black mudded ground,
And he dug at hated mud
For words to be seen,
"A splinter"
!Will seal the fate"
"And too wood will consume"
He looked upon the words
And glancing blows,
Now all was splintered
Covered in black mud,
Days had past
Night was calling,
He awoke startled, a burning
Sensation,
Looking where the splinter
Had punctured,  his
Finger unable to move,
Then as the nights did pass
More fingers fell to the numbness
Unable to move,
He awoke
Three nights past,
His hand discoloured
And a elbow locked, so much pain
The fingers now spread out angles were
Distorted,
Altered,
Contaminated,
As the stiffness spread
Arm and hand now
locked in this figure, not natural,
His skin did wrinkle
Not a colour that Is meant to be,
He though he would breath in his last
Outside he ran,
Bare feet did sprint, then for
"No reason"
His feet did stop
Pain seared through his
Appendages
He looked down in horror
Toes rooted to the ground
He reached up
"God what have you done"
And so the skin consumed wrinkled
Like bark his skin did
Manifest
Once only wrinkled
But more like bark from a tree
Wood was destroyed,
It warned in the wood
"Disrespect nature"
"And wood you become"
There is a new tree in the garden
The Mother looks upon this new
Leaved tree
"It looks like your dads face"
"Only just"
The child says,
There father was never seen
But he had paid the heavy price
For the words foretold,
That wood will consume,
Sap leaks from the tree
Slowly it fell for many months to come
Always seeing but unable to move,
His family sheltered under the tree in
Summers,
Winter,
Rain,
They always kept dry
Under the tree,
And every so often,
A branch would move, to brush up
To be close to his *family.

#nature #tree #price #wood

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Charles Lutwidge Dodgson May 2014

The Predator Syndrome (Normal Person)

Act I

               Married at 25, in a small chapel off Caustic drive. Mr. Robinson was the envy of the whole town, as they all witnessed the beauty of his wife in a wedding gown. Twas a truly glorious occasion, even for those opposed to the Victorian persuasion.
                As a gift from her father, Mrs. Robinson received a family home. It wasn’t a gigantic bother, just a free place to roam. The couple was instantly overjoyed, not that it was an emotion to avoid. It just wasn’t a typical occurrence, for Mr. Robinson who, devoid of the world, felt little congruence.
                For six long years Mrs. Robinson’s husband toiled with cars, and avoided the nightly pleasure of bars. He brought home every penny he could, but was robbed a bit, working in a “hood”. Still he had enough saved for a little vacation, something to distract him from his “wretched vocation”.
                On the way home from withdrawing some money, just some small cash to get something for his honey, Mr. Robinson was stood up by a common thief, who smiled viciously with rotted teeth.  The man handed over his wallet with little struggle, scarred for his life. Seeing a license the man remarked through a muddle, about ****** Mr. Robinson’s wife.

Act II

                  Brutality was in this man’s blood, his day of reckoning approaching like a flood. It was clear to see in the thief’s gaze, that this wasn’t some malformed craze. Mr. Robinson had seen the look before, in his own mirror before crashing to the floor.
                  Violence was something begrudged in his soul, burning hot now festered by burning coal. He had avoided it all his life, steered away by a devotion to a girl he knew would be his wife. But in this moment it could have all faded away. So Mr. Robinson allowed his mind to stray.
                   His fists flew in an uncontrolled manor, there was little there that resembled glamour. The thief thrashed with the might of a knife, but Mr. Robinson put up a fight, clamoring to an image of his wife. Soon the thief’s skull was as flat as the pavement, and then Mr. Robinson sat there, constant and patient.
                    After a trip to the bar, Mr. Robinson returned home to his wife, and then laid before her all his strife. He wasn’t one to hide behind a lie, which could sever such an ever-loving tie. Mrs. Robinson understood it all to well, though from her hysteria you could hardly tell.
                    Tears were shed between both the Robinsons, and then came a series of promises. The first was that they’d leave the country with great speed; the second came contingent on one final deed. Mr. Robinson had to clear out his chequeing account, without inspiring a hint of doubt.
                    Sure enough, the deed went off without a single hitch, but in the back of his mind, Mr. Robinson had an itch. The wish for chaos hadn’t gone unnoticed inside his head, just lingered behind like a common dose of dread. Still he pressed on, and bought two tickets to Milan.

Act III

                    Mr. Robinson was drenched in sweat as the couple went through the metal detectors, and crossed a path of lazy eyed T.S.A inspectors. Regardless of any present fear, the man was aware that his destination was more than near. Walking past the last of the T.S.A, Mr. Robinson looked cool, nodding along to the music of DFA.
                    Boarding the plane turned out to be no big deal, in the pat down security had hardly copped a feel. They played a movie on the plane; its plotline seemed to run quite the same. A man boarded a westbound flight, but fell victim to a trending plight.
                    The whole compartment was overloaded with rage, and it came in a parcel they couldn’t encage. One by one they fell victim to disillusion, surely the result of a drastic head contusion. Though quickly it spread like a vile pollution…no race exclusion.
                     In the end only one lay in the wake, the turmoil, to him, was no more than a piece of cake. He was immune to the disease spreading amongst the flight, and used brute force to conquer the plight. Slid from the plane a triumphant man, and smiled for the cameras after a quick scan.
                     The whole film was a colossal joke, told from the mirrored reflection of a director on coke. Mr. Robinson didn’t take much from it at all, except that the righteous stand tall, it didn’t matter that the plot was about a hero, Mr. Robinson was going to burn that down like the fires of Nero.

Act IV

                      He strolled off the plane with a righteous grin. Mrs. Robinson obliviously was seen coating sun tan lotion all over her skin. They stayed at a hotel near the beach; Mr. Robinson renewed his license and began to teach. Six months passed without blood, no names to drag through mud.
                      During this time the Robinsons had a child, who had a tendency to be quite wild. The little girl was far too rambunctious; though saying so may be a bit presumptuous. It seems though, that it was the opinion of her father, who found need in removing the life of his daughter.
                       Mrs. Robinson played the part of being willfully naive, searching for some desperate form of reprieve.  She knew her husband had gone insane, the facts for which were more than plain. Still she pushed through and looked for the good, no matter what sort of hallowed grounds the shadow stood.
                       Two years went by without incident, their tedious normalcy, overly consistent. Then a reporter came asking questions, about a small time mugger and their known relations. Mr. Robinson laughed it off as though nothing was the matter, and then took the man down through the science of avoided clatter.
                       Hidden amongst those who don’t get found, was Mr. Robinson’s third victim, newly crowned. The deed lay hidden for a decade or so, time’s vagueness makes it hard to know. Romance was lively in the Robinson household, though such flare up hardly needed to be foretold.

Act V**

                      Mrs. Robinson was blind to all her surroundings, making it rather hard to collect any findings. She continued to believe that her husband was a kind soul, an innocent, but worldly foal. He spoke to her by the tender light of a candles glimmer, held her close in that weak flames shimmer.
                      One day she fractured a wall overloading a shelf, behind the latex laid the Robinsons daughter herself. Terrified and confused, Mrs. Robinson waited for her husband to come through the door, when he did she was already curled up on the floor.
                     They prayed together for a solemn moment, and then Mr. Robinson murdered his wife with little postponement.  He placed her inside the wall of his family home, right night to the kitchen phone. The next 40 years he consoled his loss with many a life, but none were buried anywhere near his wife.
                      He left the home as a constant reminder, of those he had failed as a provider. Stayed in it for every moment one should, and held onto it as long as one could. But in death, the home went up for auction, and it was sold off without a hint of caution.
                      A young Stedman bought the home for him and his future wife. They bought the home at a very low price, at such a rate it was hard to think twice. Renovations came, as one would expect, though the issues found weren’t necessarily from neglect.
                      This family was tainted by that gruesome, wretched home. Turns out, Mr. Stedman was also forced to roam. He had a nasty habit with a very sharp blade…that type of predilection doesn’t typically fade. During upkeep, Mr. Stedman discovered an odd bit of insulation, but certainly wasn’t about to seek further consultation.
                      He realized exactly what it was laying in the walls of his home, and he saw no reason not to let it get overgrown. The first victim added was his very own wife; they had been going through a bit of a strife. Soon after mudded in his parents in law, but removed them thereafter finding their odour quite raw.

……………………………………………………………………………………

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Peter J Feb 2019

Before my grave and dying light

I
How will you remember me,
will you form my shape as is my way,
my veins swollen with a veiled rejoice
that hides my burial chamber beneath
a shrouded veil of contempt.
Who will remember me?
A fighting roaring man drunk as sand
an outside storm that weathered faces
in a rising sky full of snow horsemen,
that draw your eyes upwardly
then fall below their peculiar time.

II
How shall I be remembered?
A lover that blazed a trail every midnight,
he that stole and sold hearts in a single beat,
fashionable runt, cool in summers heady days
that ran from a friends sisters bed before her age.
Who would remember?
The love the labour the sweat
the boundless hours working for cruel light,
a family pace of a snails want
that sweet cruel need that never shy’s
and I am bound by my fragile word.

III
My brother, my sisters voices I hear with a clear ring
gutted on cold stone ground in frost
and I knew love before my maidens mouth
whispered through thickets of thorns and bramble.
Who will remember them?
It’s the breath from those that rant,
clergymen with fierce eyes that talk in fondness,
yet would perish when their birds fly unknown
before deaths curtain is closed and comital spoke.
Lost in my map, my life, my day in poise.

IV
Now I sigh long into the day.
My steepled church sky soars far above me
and days grow shorter with every passing mouth.
Saints and sinners ride together in fallen flames as I look for an open eye in this mudded rockpool water.
And I remember;
with long armed embrace
that I kissed maidens lips
when they were young with starry eyes
and was carefree with strong clasp of bone
and in this third season fall Autumn was taught that forever was my sea, but a few hours between.
All this long before my grave and dying light.

#ive reposted this because I heard today the girl I mention has passed away.
RIP Mags, I wish I had been brave for you ***

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Bailey May 2021

The Battle That Runs On Repeat

A glance below
Reveals a mudded water
Reflecting the city lights from above

Tightly closed eyes
Squeeze out the few tears that remain
A wind so cold it slices through the skin

The pretend future flashes in the dark
A writer
Who's work stands tall with the best

As this battle runs on repeat
Sanity becomes a luxury
That can't seem to be purchased anymore

#story #future #battle

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cv Apr 2015

renovation

walls,
worn out with pride
paint,
scratched off with anger
floor,
mudded with vices.

start again.

(and there goes the sound of destruction.
then silence.
all that is left
is a broken wasteland.)

just nine more days left.

#life #death #thoughts #over #starting #again #ends #failures

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Alyre Collette Mar 2013

A night of sowing
Uncomfortable impressions,
Fading into blue distance.
Wanting nothing,
               Except one.
To much to ask?
Forget it.
Anything could follow
           anger, shame or love,
Love so heavy.
Infinitely more everyday,
Light-years behind this new longing.
Ignorant of the real world
    missing    piece.

Stupid dreams,
        Don’t know anything.
Mudded in older with,
        Without waiting...
For Airport Embrace &
    The Picture Show

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Bloodline of King Yashayah Jun 2019

Sinnamunz

Check the flows that double dutch
Even make Frankie's bus double clutch
Overtime im over time **** a limit
Landed on Plymouth rock hard to knock
Me out of the box like womens of Deborah *** we can't be friends
If you only after dividends no pretend
Suckas leechin' as an extend
No ropes to hang on im so long gone
Toxic ozone folks get the prolong
Once they hear the words over the song
Beat on my chest like king kong ding ****
Managers said i was wrong for soundin' his gong
All ya heard was a bell that wrung sprung by my quick blow a pro dynamite pyro
Stick to what ya know rapper's in slo mo
Once I get the shine and glow
Like a disco ball not many wanna brawl
Flint cells spark it well til ya thoughts swell
Got ya head spinnin' like a carousel
So it never fails silenced ya cartel
Once all hell breaks loose you choose?
Flatten ya caboose aint no **** truce
Once I flex the duece duece **** a loose goose
After I'm done I chunk up the duece
Then sit back & sip that Canadian mudded moose

My double o three fifty seven sending ****** like Bronson to heaven
Prefer Mack elevens blood stained veteran
From the pain held within' my war brethrens
Never shed tears to the ears of fears
Drawn by an illusion broke the boostin'
Cuz I ain't use to loosin' cruisin'
Through enemies my way on the highway
Smoke the stickiest joints watch me anoint
From styles that point like a compass
Needle nose see how the magnet flow
Level ya degrees breezin' through the trees
Mother nature is a tease
Cure all diseases
Im raps remedy if you ain't a friend of me
Might as well become one with the cemetery
Minus the obituary fools hurry and worry
Haters say and pray that "the demons take you away"
But they get no say nay I'm all about the grey
Clouds speak loud when the Sunshine's not allowed

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Harmony Sapphire Feb 2015

Punish the Wicked

Repel & bind evil you find.
Forsake & return everything it takes.
When thee earth crumbles & quakes.
It makes it's presence known.
Sometimes it even calls you on the phone.
Never trust a cheater.
Don't marry a wife beater.
Stay away from the perverts.
Psych wards is where they medicate the berserk.

Shun your eyes from their exposure.
Regain your calm composure.

Don't bargain or compromise.
Death's eternity without pity & no where to hide.
Justice juristiction is wide.
In the end they will get their demise.
See the truth through their lies.
Use all of your mind & be wise.

Don't waste your time with the queer.
Listen & have a good ear.
You can hear them talk through the walls.
Behind the doors in the bathroom stalls.
Various messengers deliver a warning.

The streets will be flooded.
The grass & dirt mudded.

Don't entertain the boring.
All night until the morning..
Outside the rain will be pouring.

© Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved

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Olivia L Mar 2017

Killing Myself... for You

I wish I could feel the burn of your lips as they press into mine,
But all my mind can comprehend is the tight pain as your knife digs into the broken edges of my already curving spine.
Your eyes are sunken and hollow, and they match the shell that used to contain my heart.
Blood still pumps, brown and mudded, a lack of oxygen from your lips ******* the life out of my body as they burn
As your hand twists and my dark blood trails like thick syrup, coating your fingers.

Your cold fingers, almost as cold as my feet, circulation slowing, face paling but you don't move away.
You seem to enjoy it as you pull me closer, crushing my arms with your own, muffling the beating of my heart as it slows.

I wish you could feel the cracks in my lips but I forgot, and put on that lipstick you like so much this morning.
Didn't think that you would take it as a sign.

As a sign that like that cold day behind the tree I would accept a kiss
As a sign that I would giggle as you surprised me with another three weeks later
Or a sign that, when I said it was over, when I turned around to get on the bus I would be waiting for you to spin me around.

Because I wasn't.

I don't wish I could feel your lips burn as you kiss me.
I wish I could ignore the heat and focus on the dimming sensation as your knife pulls out,
But then again
I guess I never was any good at noticing when I was killing myself for you

No I'm not killing myself.

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Bill murray Jun 2015

Cool mobile

My boots
Mudded
My boat
Seems crudded
Life long
Love life
An old man now
With the storm to ride
Cool mobile California!

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A K Krueger May 2015

A Viewing

As I gaze and I reflect
Seeing eyes and being seen,
See my hands, hands of my father,
Though better deeds they glean.
Smell soap upon my mother's skin
By nose she prayed I'd clean,
A mane of mudded lions, preened
from somewhere in between.
From under placid irises,
say "nay" to what it seems,
I'm under eyes,
A child of guilt,
And I should not be seen.

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Timothy Mooney Apr 2011

Longyear

His death did not surprise me
As old men go he went quite well
Happy
After his bride of oh those long years
His final moments were torrid
Reaching out for Her
Hoping she was there

I cried then as I often do still
For his eyes can cry no longer
Happy
His longyear in my soul
His final moments my hope
That past this mudded breath
She is there.

copyright 2011 T.P.Mooney

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Israel Ortiz Jr Aug 2014

African Grey

I folded like a blind bird,
crashing down to the ground hard.
I eventually stood up,
calling out for help but miles
away there was no one.
I seemed to be lost in a one
man's world. I found myself alone;
abandoned. I needed an ice pack,
feeling woozy I sat down
******* the dusty clay.

I just had the wind knocked out of me.
I will outright dispel any
notion that I sang like a parrot?
I'd teared up but did not cry.
You caused a flood of emotions
no doubt. I was able to stand up
again and mudded it along.

I had baked under the sun for too long.
No more will I be blanketed
with your feather dust and lewd
behavior. I give up! You must go!
Trying to fix what's long been
broken is not feeble anymore. I
refuse to figure out any avenue
to making this work.

I refuse to engage you any further
in which I have done. I won't
continue to allow you to break
my spirit; half which is gone already.
You drive a hard bargain!
I clearly see pass the lies and deceit.
I can do bad all on my own!

I refuse to engage you any further!
I rather stare into the eyes of
the bird all day, then to play kid
games with your immature brain.
But thank you for the Christmas gift.
I will enjoy the single life with
myself and the more loyal African grey.

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Stars Oct 2017

I’m from the roaring of the red four-wheeler,
The swiftly mudded depths of the nishana,
The sand covered clamshells,
Buried deep into the deep water.
Thinking that I’m part mermaid.

Coming up from the white wonders like powder sugar that gets
sprinkled on the fudge brownies my grandma makes.,
Shivering after being tipped to what I thought was my death.
Being warmed by grandma’s famous brownies that just came
out of the oven like I was a brownie baking in the oven.
Helping my grandpa flatten out the land,
For another Weppler Sleigh party,
Before the snow brings the wonders of joy.

I’m from the limbs I find,
In the woods making forts.
Having to be mysterious because I’m wanted
From having the best imaginary friend anyone could have.

Coming home to the smell of hard work knowing my dad is home.
Thanking him for all he had done for this family.

I soon snuggle down into my fluffy bedding
waiting for sleep to overcome me
knowing that I'm safe in the warm house I call home.

This is my first poem Yay!!

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Shylee W Aug 2018

Yellow

A brisk wind pulls the rosemary branches
Too hard. A crow so dark it finds itself blue
Sings a taunting melody. Nothing ever sings back.
Snow falls, each one showing the world
Something new. The ground fosters dead things
And waits for rebirth. A girl in a yellow puffer coat
Walks by a fallen bird's nest, she doesn't notice
The boy with the dark hood following
A step too close. If only the sky
Weren't so gray. The rotting aspen seems
To tilt, putting the world on an axis. Silence
Is met with wandering hands as the snow
Pulls all the ambiance into mudded soil.
Only the scuffle of footprints is left to tell
The story of that coldness.
A crow so dark it finds itself blue
Sings a reassuring melody.

Nothing

ever

sings

back.

#birds #sadness #winter #darkness #trigger #girl #boy #innocence

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ALC Feb 2019

What I am made of

I am made of my brothers twisting grip,
as we grapple on the living room floor.
I am made up of saying uncle,
and laughing so hard at the dinner table that milk comes out of my noise.
I am made up of slobbering dog kisses, loving kitten purrs, and injured strays.
I am made up scrambling through bushes, slipping in dirt, and mudded shoes.
Of wild hair, wild eyes, and a wild grin.

I am made up of road trips and sunny days.
Of pool parties and family gathering where laughter is the only thing that echo’s through you’re ears.

I am made up of countless flues and colds that kept me homesick.
Of ditching school with my best friends to go to Disney land,
Of every Friday night being girl’s night for 3 years.

I am made up of heart break for lost love and lost friends.

I am made up of travel and moving away
I am made of studying in Australia,
Of my Danish and Dutch friends that I chose to make my family.

I am made up of smiling faces as I walk to school,
Of ravens over head, and redwoods straight in front.
I am made of scratched arms and bruised legs
Of callused hands and burning muscles.

I am made of a drive for adventure and new experiences
Of an aggressive spirit
And a curious mind.

I am made of freedom,
Of courage
Hope,
Happiness,
Sorrow,
Loss,
Heartbreak.
Of love
Eccentricity
And a warriors spirit.
I am made up of my memories, of the people I have met, and of the experiences that will never stop.
-ALC February 23, 2019

I have had some amazing experiences in my life and it's amazing to think that all of those experiences have built me into the person that I am today.

#adventure #storytelling #whoiam

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Dark n Beautiful Oct 2021

Colder than Alaska

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;

Great lines, something to think about (Edward Thomas)

Woke up to the rain and the wind beating on my window pane,

Yet I thought of getting dressed and going there.

A subway system, so far not yet up to standards,

A job like mine, no one need to hurry too

A mindset like mine, meant for me to lay low

during the northeaster...rain and wind

Poor yet full of pride, I am the servant Queen,

Yesterday, I struggle to maintain my sanity

Due to working conditions: at the workplace

I have been feuding for years. Nothing changes

not even an added penny, before its death,

More work, more stress, no respect

Night supervisors, penciling

or rather maneuvering into the darkness

at six am. A street crowded with overturn bins,

Flooded streets, with mudded running water

Mother of Nature, another dangerous disaster?

You meaner than corvid and Alaska,

I am the servant Queen, poor, yet full of pride:

I am fed up with others trying to take me for a ride

Sometimes, you just need a break from a bad situation

Never, berate yourself for giving expression to your emotions.

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;(Edward Thomas) line

I planned to stick, to my believes, nothing will change,

I will always be the servant Queen, as longs as them reign:

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Bloodline of King Yashayah Jun 2019

A Gold Fish Mentality

Stalkin' the come up so haters run up
Watch the guns clutch up make ya head rust
From oxygen rush stiffer than a golden crust
Body decayed no delays we preys evil sways
These days haters love to pay attention but no admissions
To our ambition so keep on wishin' we dismissin'
Fakers make em one with the undertaker
Shake ya up like Parkinson's Tut the don
Luminous one from a sparking globe
Im on fire raps sire set my mind higher
Than the distance from the earth orbitin' the sun
I make numbers run see them zero comes
Behind the ones a billion to none cons
Dont stand a **** chance against Iron Megatron
Dynasty diver soul survivor black McGyver
Improvise tactics much wiser devil's adviser
Chillin' in the high riser like Frasier
With a furr blazer bullets to graze ya
If you a come off as a hater fade ya
Off into another dimension strengthen dominions
Turn my ***** snappers into minions
Reachin' out the barrel what a broke religion?
Check the visions drawn throughout the skyline
Like an airplane creating designs define
Raps into a perfection perfect selection
Bang beats with no protection
plus the infection imperfect resurrection
Since my birth I knew my worth
Wasn't made for this sinful nation
But now I'm stuck in this mudded-atom creation
Primary destiny is to bring out ya mental levitations

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Dark n Beautiful Nov 20

Down Hill I came

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved.
Great lines, something to think about (Edward Thomas)
Woke up to the rain and the wind beating on my window pale,
Yet I thought of getting dressed and going there.
A subway system, so far not yet up to standards,
A job like mine, no one need to hurry too
A mindset like mine, meant for me to lay low
during the northeaster...rain and wind
Poor yet full of pride, I am the servant Queen,
Yesterday, I struggled to maintain my sanity
Due to working conditions: at the workplace
I have been feuding for years. Nothing changes
not even an added penny, before its death,
More work, more stress, no respect
Night supervisors, penciling
or rather maneuvering into the darkness
at six am. A street crowded with overturn bins,
Flooded streets, with mudded running water
Mother of Nature, another dangerous disaster?
You meaner than corvid and Alaska,
I am the servant Queen, poor, yet full of pride:
I am fed up with others trying to take me for a ride
Sometimes, you need a break from a bad situation
Never berate yourself for giving expression to your emotions.
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;(Edward Thomas) line
I planned to stick, to my believes, nothing will change,
I will always be the servant Queen, as longs as them reign:

Continue reading...

Bloodline of King Yashayah Aug 2023

The Devil's God

Once knew this beautiful soul,
Sounds of musical control,
The weight to the heavy vessel, but he
Wanted to be the biggest muscle,
Right handed, next to god, standing on the throne,
With three million bones,
Under along with multiple clones,
Took a third to another zone,
Wings is clipped, he wanted to be self worshipped,
But couldn't get the membership,
So it fell into the church,
Raise ya hands high, see how many souls,
Lined up to fry, and die,
Wishful thinking, prosperity got the
Folks thinking,
They can buy they way, into the heaven,
Sisters to brethren,
Still juggling sins, I saw judgement from within,
My own dreams, became a reality theme,
Ain't no I in team,
Used my will to fight the against wicked ill,
Still sharpen my skills,
I see flaming eyes, wooly hair with the thousand yard stare,
I once saw, scriptures turned into a reality picture,
Famine got us **** and, while y'all steadily jamming, they been planning,
Scanning,
Chips for our branding,
Guerilla tactics handling, no time for emotional gamblin',
Jack the twelve gauge standin,
Amongst the darkness, pictures of a million carcasses,
Don't need a license to ****, too much blood
Is waiting to spill,
They even got Jesus cap peeled,
For tryna heal,
The masses, broke through the horrors glasses, a testament new session of classes,
Slow burn my cigar, drink wine ice and mild sugar,
Studied demonology, to better understand demons around me,
Or better yet divinity, see the sanctity, of people's
Freedom praying to false, dietys,
Which really be, ya enemy,
Ain't got no friends around me, I myself
Is the biggest loyalty,
Caught Seraphim stones, burned my left cheek suddenly,
The burden of the curse, lifted upon me,
The purer the soul the more wickedness
Hunts for thee,
Walk on low cut grass, so I can see snakes slithering as a mass,
Can't avoid the crash or the clash, American dollar bash,
Keep chasing ya goals, only to lose ya self in the lustful of the bold,
Trapped inside of this cold, world but never fall in love with the world,
Don't lose or sell ya self short, cuz folks play with spirits as a sport,
See peer pressure extort, it's more love for drugs and thugs,
Than sweet people giving hugs,
Death is an everyday mission, wrote as
The biggest commission,
Just listen,
They plotting your funeral, from scripted TV's flexing without rehearsal,
Murders exposed, love is closed, they rather run more blood through ya doors,
The more the killing, the more the ratings touching the ceilings,
Of the Georgia stones seven billion mudded atoms, gotta be gone,
To equalize, with the demon treaty, poison of medicine got us needy,
Slow breathin, focus positivity,
Recollect the same energy,
Directed towards me, bounced off Saturns rings, visions of me falling,
Into infinite space, northern lights flashing like camera snipes, iight,
Angel paparazzi, taking shots at me like I wanna be free,
From this society, hide where the troubles find me, blind me,
Oh Lord, to the gores of the world, well evil must be good,
Cuz it plays along with the hood,
Lions even **** their own cubs, so I guess it's
Really no love, but love,
Spelled backwards, is evol, and naw this ain't a hat trick, to a sequel,
See axes could get you split, playing in the game of the dangerous corporate,
I reshaped my mind, I'm like Al Simmons at
His graveyard design,
With many metals, made to be a rebel, up the bass **** the treble,
This is for devils, tryna down me a level,
I don't need a Bible,
To be sanctified, Ive been left for dead before
I was crucified,
Saw the saviors eyes before he demised,
Lightning veins across the skies,
Got a spiritual high,
Blessed by the essence, **** presence from the fry,
Burn slow with the maple,
This is for ya intellect to staple,
Real ****, for ya mind, far from a fable,
Rose though the ranks like Gabriel,
Watch Demonesses walking with the **** of Sable,
Stalkin' with a bulletproof label,
Flames over my body, a true, Goku trooper, one forty fours getting gathered,
Waitin' for the heavens, to scoop ya,

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TLPrince Jun 2020

Looking for some light

She walks out on me
like mud
spattered through her days

And my colourless sun,
mudded in desire
Lay, crumpled in the maraches of expelled memories.
my outcasts little thoughts
They been friends of mine for long
I wish them the pangs of the island
Lonesome at *****,
like madman in farandoles.
And blind beasts
running amok.
A last time or so
please...

free ill be or so i hope
And hope for sunrise
is still a light

Broken-hearted at dawn full of smiles and hellos
sobbing silence in the early hours
spluttered stain on shattered day

Love-curdling dance at midnight
The vultures were always around
w a slice of meat in the beck
and two under their wings
If only the troubled bridge did not go over spirituous flow
and the redhead mermaids...
oh lemme go, lemme go to them
little love in the blur
lemme see if sinews break before bedsprings
if flesh melt before lust
Or is that your flighty temptress, old bearded fool,
to keep time w time,
mind with stich,
and spike w grime,
and recline over
disecrated limbs?

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— The End —