"mummification" poems
If she is hungry
Then we'll let her starve
For longing
Is a beautiful expression
On the face of a pretty, young girl.
If she is cold
We'll wrap her in white
Over her paper-doll arms
Dancing-girl legs
Porcelain-baby face.
We'll spare her from mummification
By peeling away those first layers
Just to reveal more white, adorned underneath
Pure as ****** snow.
We'll never speak
Of those dark shadows
Over smooth, breakable skin, so fair
For we shall make a gentleman wonder
If she wears proudly her shadows
If she has on her pantyhose.
If she becomes yours
We'll show everyone
If only for a moment
Just what a prize you have won.
Such a lovely, hungry, pure, feminine face
Beneath that age-old veil.
But don't you worry, son!
As soon as you taste those wanting, red lips
You can lower that veil as you wish
Decide the form she shall take
As one who is yours
To feed, clothe, flaunt, hide
However you please.
But until then...
If she is hungry
We'll let her starve
Just to make her wait.
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 11:45 PM UTC
Ultimate preservation,
A cleansing of the spirits,
Keeping a pure soul intact,
Bandaged but unhealed,
Bandaged but mortal.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 7:06 AM UTC
poetry masquerades under too much
freedom of ineffective
politics, which it does not which to
engage with, namely it's own:
far-left mummification,
the far left mummified its heroes,
the far right cremated theirs...
one took the route to
Prometheus absence as subsequent
lack of camp-fire eagerly hell-bent;
what truth is woman? the woman worthy
of socio-political affairs, or affairs
of paranoid idealism signature sentenced
as counter-argument with haircut stylistics
and tattooing? a healthy visible status,
rather than an unhealthy counter, status
or no status, one ascribed the guillotine phobia,
the second a necessary Buddhist heroism -
both left reward-lost: dream of troll maidens,
dream of perfected bedroom antics with
so much **** reducing acting to naught
and theatre to desperation with the ignited
insignia of bureaucracy rather than
bored harpsichord rebels hash tagging
emily davison for bets and awareness in having
monopoly - of her beauty i'll speak but little,
am i the shopkeeper, the merchant,
easier under the Niqab than for her fancy of ******
taking place... dreadlocks un-kept,
and three signatures on lips that made kissing
a pain... removed, thus revenged...
if i knew woman i'd have kept one...
but since i know none, i kept cats, bypassing women
and imagining children; and all the better
for my liking, such that the world shrunk
to the size of Lichtenstein - oh but the few
buttered friendships are there to be spoken off
in old age... the few that remain have already leveraged you
to bite the worm closest to the heart,
in times when educating yourself equated itself to being shamed;
when education became shame and trivia quizzing,
when education became Latin bulimia
and even that didn't fertilise the earth to spawn
the awaiting, unearthed root for what came to be
known as the chattering colour: as death stood,
in its wintry palace, jokingly mannequin.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
Permanent are
The memories trapped in a scar
And though a few might fade,
It'd be quicker to count every star
At times I don't notice them
Other times they're another prison bar
Attempts to hide them are made
But mummification seems a step too far
In my day to day they are
All I can see,
Haunting my reality
They've stolen the getaway car
And I'll not make it far
In this mangled avatar
©2024
Dec 8, 2024
Dec 8, 2024 at 8:14 PM UTC
mummification
all tears dried up within'
feel it slippin'
slowly sinkin'
hearing mermaids singin'
I'm in a hurry
swimmin'
to grab hold of this
very special woman
but I got to go deep
spread my angels wings
to accelerate speed
there's only one thing on my mind
only one thing I see
that's you..
I grab your hand
go to the surface
don't perish
swim towards the coast
that once had you rejected
Solid ground has to accept it
Still have you in my arms
I will never let go
and I will always fight
I breathe in air
and give you a kiss of life
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
Honey suckle sweet sky
Sun rays blend with your ocean blue
Memories & thoughts begin to suffocate me
Lyrics & beats drown in my ears
As I try and hold back all these tears
My favorite line plays in my head
“When he put that bottle down, girl that man's amazing”
Blackouts and lack of control
**** bitter world, anything but social justice
Yet, I majored in humanity
Due to my insanity
What I’d give to take back the time
To say goodbye
A little closure…damn what a time to die
Scar tissue accumulates on my battered heart
As I watch you fall beneath the earth
I buried you and with it my faith
Chaos & fuked up **** everywhere I turn
P.O.C.’s working hard, holding on to that false dream
To be judged by character, not by color
Jr. was a true ideal
But still, millions searching for some spare to buy their next meal
I’m privileged with books and mentors
Doesn’t mean the years of pain and sadness ceased
Majored in humanity to find salvation
Trying to break free from my personal mummification
Inexplicable moments and connections
Difficulty letting go of these several relations
Too overwhelmed, I can’t even fuken finish expressing emotions
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 12:24 PM UTC
Approach the Pierian Spring Carefully
From an idea suggested by
Rev. Raphael Barousse, OSB
I would that I could taste the Pierian Spring
But he who drinks unworthily the sacred
Will lose even the little that he has
And wither into mummification
One’s poor attempts at innocent, ill-formed verse
May be forgiven because of their innocence
But a little learning, as the man1 once said,
Means duty, and might not be forgiven
If used intemperately or harshly; still -
I would that I could taste the Pierian Spring
1Alexander Pope
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 7:51 PM UTC
within a coma of mouth crept at by thieves
hooked away the woe-ing jewels of his teeth
his face loaved in upon the calcified essentials
(soft claw featured like a boxing glove)
and the desert reclaims
live mummification of the whole arresting body
proclaimed a priest-ful stickman
other realms visit this hospital bed
mothering away gifts in honour
bowing whilst backing they withdraw
his vitality
- peaceful veils
May 10, 2025
May 10, 2025 at 8:39 PM UTC
in mint family
used in mummification
fragrant lavender
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 4:21 PM UTC
*the delta (Δ) & the nabla (∇): so formed... it is more than just the star of david... for moses came first, behold: the pyramids of giza and mt. sinai... so unto the second geometry to complete the star: the nabla, a name derived from the instrument - harp. king david was famous for playing a harp and writing the psalms.*
let's see what sort of people we are dealing with...
well, for starters,
i was brought up to hold one, all and every
book as some sort divinity -
or at least a divinity in the geometric
aspect - rectangular:
akin to what tha nazis did to the ********
i did to the star of david -
i turned it:
so what was once the inversion of
hierarchy & therefore power - Δ | ∇ -
what is revealed? reading rug - and an open
book... twist the star, and you'll see it...
so from an early age i was taught to treat
all books as sacred -
western slavs sometimes put flowers into
book, and wait, and wait, until
the flower is flatenned, and dried -
call it what you like, the closest i've
come is a sacred form of mummification -
floral mummification inside a book...
but the english? i've seen it sometimes
on the tube:
they don't have the decency to use
bookmarks -
for goodness' sake!
i sometimes used toilet paper!
what do they do?
they fold the edge of page they're ended up
on...
me? i have a simple bookmark,
given it's lodged between two pages
and i sometimes
can't remember where i ended,
so i have ᚱ written on one side,
and ᛚ on the other:
thank god for the book depository -
every time i order a book from them,
i get a bookmark.
obviously i don't mean all - but i've seen more
folded edges than i have bookmarks -
pedantic, yes: but books require tender hands,
and... would top wear a white shirt
that has ironing creases on it?
so why would you read a book that
doesn't look pristine?
obviously there's a second-hand fetish for books...
who turn out to be a bit like prostitutes...
but you know:
with those kind of books, as with those
types of women: you can't bypass
the madonna-whore complex:
that's one thing i'm 100% for in freud.
protecting the decency of books -
is the foremost act of expressing
a stance for elevated humanity.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 8:22 AM UTC
::::::Just a Poem::::::
The world will end
The Earth will bend
Waters will get thirsty
Ants will grow hefty
The sun will melt
No pain will be felt
The clouds will usurp the sky
Fishes will walk and fly
Trees will run and walk
Flowers will sing and talk
Animals will become wise
As with great heat the Moon will arise
Rivers will flow out from earth
Water will be the measuring unit of wealth
Stories will not be told
Not when old senile grasses will bear forth gold
And mountains will be heaved by valiant men
As they bore forth silvers and diamonds vomiting children
Famers will plant Crimson stones and harvest rubies
Ripping their husbands apart, and searching for crystals, would be feminine hobbies
Lions will be used for transportation, since their claws will turn wheels
Crocodiles will evacuate their aquatic tenements and head for the hills
After losing their flight, birds will trek to volcanic regions for recreation
As venoms of snakes will be used for mummification
Just when planetary bodies muss up after drinking muscatel
And Comets will go wiggling the Universe searching for Meteors to tell
Asteroids will be **** women
Visiting Earth on intervals to eat the luscious renascent three-legged men
Children will converged forging a bulwark with each fiery horn
Ones fixed by a one-tooth worm just about the time they were born
This is a gory war; it will commence when a star will fall
Exactly when vim-less monkeys will bellow a rehearsed rodomontade in the butchery hall
As venerated corpses of Rats receive posthumous worship
Those villains were holy miscreants, who sent many to death-sleep
Their posterities are honored; infamous miscreated Rats, with flagrant mien
But as foretold by the corpulent Prophets, shortened will be the tyrannous Gopheric reign
For they will be swallowed by gigantic-goliath gourmand Hippopotamuses
Their description are ineffable to words, they are of enormous sizes
And aeons from now those gourmets will swallow the earth! And oh! Unreal it will all seem
Because you think this screed is just a Poem!
Composed by SirKelvin
Poem 99, ©SirKel 2016
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 5:56 PM UTC
This averred title announced straight
away so lingering fans
(hoop fully letting me abbreviate)
a short cut so ye
can up and evacuate,
while metered time,
not yet foregone and not to late
hence best heed mine caution
which can protect minimum damage,
asper gray matter within pate
or blithely ignore
admonishment, aye accentuate
hmm...okay,...you apparently
decided to forsake adequate
prophecy, resigning despite
honest to dog admission to punctuate
a most unpleasant prediction,
I did woof lee aerate
worst case scenario,
leaving disabling genetic trait
to effect generations,
where legions of lesions adulterate
causing future offspring to mutate
and closely resemble
teenage mutant turtles, this potentate
(albeit self declared
only mein kampf, thee only life,
his existence he can arrogate
he doth officiate),
hence proceed at your own risk,
to avoid unpleasant fate,
visited upon unborn sons and daughters
uttering imprecations
unintelligible expletive laced spate,
that would approximate
(a cross between duck and pig)
incoherently gutturally excoriate
ting tee, thus don't tell me, I didn't
forewarn ya, whar
yar heart might palpitate,
thus causing da ole
ticker to fluctuate
dem eyes of yaws
could severely dilate,
while sweat gushes out every pore
streaming like liquid useless tube video,
a salty sea would then perspirate
out every last drop of fluid,
erupting magmatic plasma
to pool agglomerate
right under keister,
a lovely bag of bones
delivered to Norristown State
which inability to hydrate,
hence resultant mummification
heroic measures futile
thus humane decision would necessitate
and remaining days
on Earth numbered
starting with zero, not very great,
now this extinct reptile
hoop heed dead gratefully,
express message, and clearly articulate.
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 12:22 AM UTC