"plunders" poems
His skin weaved in the golden sand,
Shone under the sun of his motherland.
Hair a tangled meshwork of thread,
Reminiscent of the nets his father spread.
He had no toys but crystals and shells,
that he collected onshore in lonely spells.
His food, the raw salty fish,
Swiftly with skill that he gut and dished.
He goes and lays down in wet sand,
the spirit of which he loves to no end.
He sings to the mermaids and in mud he rolls,
and the sea laughs with him in breaking shoals.
He is made of blood but ocean too,
he knows no music but woosh woosh woosh.
He wishes to marry a girl of the sea,
who'll dwell with him in his fantasy.
He turns his head and closes his ears,
while people run away from the ocean in fear.
Destruction and death loom ahead,
The blue ocean rises violently filling the town with dread.
Like a heavenly curse it fells on the town,
crushes and sweeps like the tragedy bound.
With his holy hand it avenges it's kin,
and his water that was treated as nothing but bin.
It tears every home away from it's root,
just like how the humans did its fish loot.
And squeezes the life out of the fishermen,
that feast on the dead of his homeland.
It starves and suffocates many men,
who made him breathless with oil spills time and again.
Like a storm it rages and plunders.
In minutes, wrecks havoc on the land and rips it asunder.
It gradually descends back to it's nest,
Satisfied with the curse it did impress.
The next day a body lay on the shore.
Like a coffin did it mud wore.
As people looked on it, they could not help but chant;
***The Child of the Ocean lies strangled in its waters,
We feed things love and they destroy us and slaughter.***
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 9:05 AM UTC
I
The shepherds went their hasty way,
And found the lowly stable-shed
Where the Virgin-Mother lay:
And now they checked their eager tread,
For to the Babe, that at her ***** clung,
A Mother’s song the Virgin-Mother sung.
II
They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng.
Around them shone, suspending night!
While sweeter than a mother’s song,
Blest Angels heralded the Savior’s birth,
Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.
III
She listened to the tale divine,
And closer still the Babe she pressed:
And while she cried, the Babe is mine!
The milk rushed faster to her breast:
Joy rose within her, like a summer’s morn;
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.
IV
Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace,
Poor, simple, and of low estate!
That strife should vanish, battle cease,
O why should this thy soul elate?
Sweet Music’s loudest note, the Poet’s story,
Didst thou ne’er love to hear of fame and glory?
V
And is not War a youthful king,
A stately Hero clad in mail?
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;
Him Earth’s majestic monarchs hail
Their friends, their playmate! and his bold bright eye
Compels the maiden’s love-confessing sigh.
VI
Tell this in some more courtly scene,
To maids and youths in robes of state!
I am a woman poor and mean,
And wherefore is my soul elate.
War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled,
That from the aged father’s tears his child!
VII
A murderous fiend, by fiends adored,
He kills the sire and starves the son;
The husband kills, and from her board
Steals all his widow’s toil had won;
Plunders God’s world of beauty; rends away
All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.
VIII
Then wisely is my soul elate,
That strife should vanish, battle cease:
I’m poor and of low estate,
The Mother of the Prince of Peace.
Joy rises in me, like a summer’s morn:
Peace, Peace on Earth! The Prince of Peace is born!
2.7k
There’s a girl who gives a ****
She plunders down the road.
So boldly she is free to be,
That her life became her destiny.
The dragon, the witch, the soul mate,
Ceased on scene so desperately.
She cries and mourns like a flying beat,
Of rhythm trapped in an icicle.
She dreamed of lovely possibilities,
But her dreams were just fantasy.
The male she yearned for,
Was no more than false protrude.
This guy was just a friendly face,
And so he viewed her as a simple dude.
She tried so aimlessly,
To grab his shinning sight.
She knew she could be free,
But she lacked bravery.
The girl took a leap and fell like a sheep,
Into the ground with no retreat.
She could not form a connection,
Between her and him.
She failed and failed,
Until she realized there was a bond, all along.
She was not meant for him;
He was not meant for her.
They were meant to be,
Not soul mates, but tight knotted friends.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
An effusive elaborate scheme the colors advance to bright spellbinding allure then they achieve
Depth of quality by cutting back to softer hues and then the natural dark green is the bold
Touch that succeeds with total symmetry showcased in a view perfected by glass the prism
Most fitting not only to see but to be captivated by perfected expression it is a metaphor for life
The master designer chooses his subjects well one infuses another then by degree others
Foreshadow and glorify it blends tangible and intangible into intelligent coherent order tasteful
And sublime the hint and the elusive wonder all is needed is the wind to bow and ****** it into
A profusion a veritable concert that stirs with appeal life is in motion the players advance and
Retreat each speaking lines unique to themselves what sensations speak tendrils on a garden
Trellis held and fixed a gesture that plays and portrays intricate details the mystery that plays so
Well the stealing of morning frost then the blaze and then restful dying rays that spell comfort
The field rolls and contorts this brandishes excitement exuberance veers and plunders life
Become exploration trails hidden thickets hide and hold expression that is pent up ready to
Explode what vesture we wear it grips our friend’s astonishment is read on their faces but it is
Like a house of many mirrors because their lives are having the same effect on you some days
Are uneventful others are storm tossed with grandness the riches of an all contained realm
Spasms convulse like waves of the sea we stand forth to puzzle and dream what does it all
Mean the sanctity reveals plumes that are invisible that are far reaching and they have given us
This course of endurance that belies longing we grow soft and an inner glowing surpasses the
Stringent the misfit that moans against conforming we are treasure that exceeds all expectation
Life is rich we are its brightest colors and light night is for brooding the day is for shinning and
Divulging the secrets found in the brooding time we accost others we signify to them not only
Our own worth but there’s also fetching is the spray that magnifies the sky we are the bursting
We are the aliveness that is found each day in our lives that is the dooryard of discovery
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
I. The Fireflies
There was once
a time when the fireflies
had made a home out of me.
One evening,
long after the sun
had surrendered itself
to the hazed horizon
and the pregnant moon,
they had come to my window,
golden freckles of light
twinkling playfully
in the dimness.
What exactly
prompted their gravitation
towards me,
I will never be entirely certain of,
though I have my theories.
Maybe it was the
warm glass of milk
sitting on my bedside table.
Or maybe
they had simply mistaken
the peppers of stardust
laced atop my eyelashes
for their own kin.
Or perhaps–
and most likely–
it had been
the murmur of poetry
on my lips:
…watch how they dart about the trees
in whimsical harmony,
how they rise up towards the dark sky
in the hopes that, someday,
they too will become one with
the constellations that blink
so brilliantly in the blackness.
Yes,
Perhaps this what had captivated them so–
a homage to the fireflies themselves.
Perhaps this is
why they had drifted towards me,
as if in some fanciful trance,
weightless as paper lanterns.
And how sweet they were
as they twirled about the ringlets
in my hair and
nuzzled their small frames
against my cheek
and fingertips.
How sweet they were–
that is,
until the bees came.
II. The Bees
They made lightning bugs
of my fireflies,
whose soft luminescence was replaced
with a violent stream of sparks,
one resembling something close
to the bursting of a fluorescent bulb
And so came the lightning,
the firefly’s only defence against
the approaching swarm,
their only ammunition
in the impending battle:
fireflies versus
bees,
both in want
of my nectared
marrow.
But the lightning
was no reasonable match
for the bees,
with their
large, gelatinous figures
and the persistence
of their stabbings;
annihilated were the fireflies,
carcasses crumbling to soot,
their innards,
still glowing,
smeared across my collarbone
like war paint.
Victorious and
humming menacingly,
the bees then crawled
into my ears
and my mouth
where they proceeded
to feast on their spoils and plunders:
the honey,
that they so cruelly
stole from me.
And once the honey was gone,
so were the bees,
bellies full,
antennae sticky,
their use for me
fulfilled and therefore
discarded.
III. The Spiders
The final hosts
were drawn to
what the bees had left behind:
the inconsolable emptiness
of my being,
They marked their territory
with cobwebs–
spun carelessly
into my arteries
and windpipe.
Breath dwindling and
heartbeat diminishing
I tried to remember the fireflies–
the light–
as the arachnophobia
threatened to devour me.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 7:19 PM UTC
Its commensal, at best,
This house fly of a guest;
Who frequents your home,
Alits on a chair,
Rubbing its hands together.
It shows no regrets,
Feeding, slurping and buzzing,
With a self-made bequest.
I can tolerate a bar fly;
A barn fly, a sty fly;
But,
I've the bottle fly,
That plunders my fridge,
Swarms over my beer
Like a blood-thirsty midge.
He's a house fly,
And ignorant,
So fly paper won't do.
I need a SWAT team to shoo
This house fly adieu.
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 4:04 PM UTC
God sent me an angel to torment me with.
Hair of fire,
eyes of ocean blue.
Heart skipping beats
with a flashing of a smile.
Pain plunders my soul
with every thought
of her.
I'm being paid back for
every sin that I've committed.
Showing me something
I can never have.
On my knees,
begging for forgiveness
to which there is none.
This is my personal hell.
An angel with no wings and
a sinner with a broken heart.
Seized up in deep thought,
to ponder what could have been
only to wake up in pure desolation.
I am paying it forward.
Loneliness is my sentence,
love is my crime.
©2006 Dead Men Publishing
Sep 13, 2009
Sep 13, 2009 at 9:06 AM UTC
Outside the sky clogs like bruises
I lay in bed and smoke, thinking
you have disappointed me for the last time
I dream I am in bed with a new lover
watching my reflection in his eyes
The way he says my name, like prayer
like scripture
as if he has come into a sacred place
and each touch must preserve even while it plunders
Last night the bed was a nest of nerves and wrong turns
knees bumping out of rhythm
the scraping of teeth
my ring catching your skin
And the red luminous glow of the alarm clock
measuring the long hours of frustration
Then the crack of a beer can opening
and the sound of your ****
splashing across the toilet seat
in the dark
And in that moment I knew
the problem was you
and not
the absence of my *******
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
all day the weather men play at meteorology
it is about the science of change, a morphology,
where weather patterns are now living
things and their habits are hard at clue giving,
the rain drops that are fired from cannons aimed at Earth,
make the sound of soldiers charging for everything its worth,
Peace,
after the storm as night falls with thunder
and lightning flashes, steals and plunders
the shadows that ,soaked the trees, fell in pieces they dove from the sky
and those loudest of wet pellets that pop, and ricochet off metal stovepipe
chimneys,
and the wind lashes out and drags wet fingers on every window pane
and why, why
do I now crave the sound of popcorn hoping the melted butter will keep me sane!
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 11:22 PM UTC
.
Let it out
Let love in
Let it go
Let love win
Love every soul you see
Make love for lovers' sakes
Make happiness make glee
Mend all folks real or fake
My end will come from my beginning
No happenstance no random chance
Nor penance, plucking from your winning
No loss from staunch opponent's lance
Oh would that we could wane
Our dim dichotomies' details donned;
Outside this window pane
Oh wildest winds, we want to wander!
Penance plunders grace
Perchance, do you hear laughter?
Pick up your fallen face
Quick think: what are you after?
Remember what was ransomed
Remarkable requests are made
Requisite responses that result
Sacred sacrifice - ransom paid
So stop the secret scratching
Soothe your screaming skin
The way your thoughts keep hatching;
That tell-tale heart ticking within,
Take a look around
This is a lucky life we live
Though time takes senses: sight, and sound
Taste, scent, and touch - like sand through sieve
.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
This afternoon, I time a Loon
the length that she stays under.
Upon the shore, I keep her score,
amazed and full of wonder.
Beneath a wake, one minute eight.
What is it that she plunders?
**************************************
No hook needs she to fish so free.
No line nor rod impedes her.
What sense applies to depths she dives?
Which rhythm moves her meter?
As if in air she swims so fair
To seek that which may feed her.
**************************************
On this Fall day, I wish to stay
and watch her dive and surface.
“Get back to shore!” My mind implores
as work beckons its service.
And yet I stay in silence, bade
the Loon to bear me witness.
**************************************
Share I with Loon this afternoon
to gladly dive and swim?
In friendship be the Loon with me?
With her would I find kin?
No.
As land locked Loon, I must resume
to fish the drink I’m in.
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 4:35 PM UTC
i found her in a field of flowers
dancing slow to the summer song
lost in her mind to the dream of a broken heart
dancing sensual with her dreams of lovers nonexistent
lost in the beauty of daylights pretty wonders
she had daffodils in her hair
she had midnight in her eye
i took her to the hilltop
far and above the sea
far from the temptations and tastes
the toxic poisons that are the worlds playthings
for wicked is the worlds kiss
and i thought if i could shelter her
she would heal of her own accord
she would be the girl i once loved
i had gone looking for a square meal for the mind
little intellectual meat and potatoes good for the soul
but as i was supping and laughin with casual company
i heard the distant crack of thunder breaking
like the uniforms of illogical world come to claim
their greasy hands on her clean white linens
stole her away in the rain
stole away my sweet lover never to be seen again
so now i sail these back roads
on the trapeze of delicate balances
of firing loose cannonballs at the
fleeing desperadoes wreathed in silken plunders
balanced against my pockets overflowing
with the wicked maelstrom of misery's and mysteries
that my dark woman's heart and dreams made for me
beloved is for more than just for a passing day
i will never stop searching for this wayward lover
remembering her salt thigh and ruby lips
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
At a table we sit
The drinks flow and the herb goes around
"Let's play a game!"
Someone suggests
And so it begins
"Spin the bottle!!!!"
And there it is decided
Anticipation
Nerves
The bottle lands on me
The opposite side?
You
Our eyes meet....
The emotions rise
Simmering
You get off your stool
Come over to mine
I get off mine
My legs
They turn to mush
They serve their purpose though
You bring me close with your strong arm
I can feel your breath on my ear
Gentle nips over my cheek
And then we're face to face
My body pressed intimately against yours
My arms around your neck
Slowly you dip
Closer
Closer
Till soft lips meet
Barely
Like a whisper
Soon the kiss is deepened
Gentle and smooth
Hard and arousing
I'm drowning
Falling into an abyss of passion
Your strong arms keep my head above
Saving me as your lips take me under
And your mouth
That rich sensual mouth
Plunders mine
"That's enough"
We distantly hear our friends call out.
Reluctantly we draw apart
My heart is still racing
My lips still parted
My eyes open to the harsh fluorescent light
It was just a dream...
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
Come back to me, Gongyla, here tonight,
You, my rose, with your Lydian lyre.
There hovers forever around you delight:
A beauty desired.
Even your garment plunders my eyes.
I am enchanted: I who once
Complained to the Cyprus-born goddess,
Whom I now beseech
Never to let this lose me grace
But rather bring you back to me:
Amongst all mortal women the one
I most wish to see.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC
These capsules of marrow and red blood cells
are useless against you
The protectors of my heart have deteriorated
What pathetic ribs I have
They shatter beneath the unsteady beat
When our eyes meet
And my heart plunders into the bowels below my feet
My knee caps collapse
At the sound of your voice
A sad excuse; my patellas
My neurons refuse to function
In your presence
Every nerve ending ceases to exist
My brain doesn't register the actions
or the words
That escape my mouth
Blabbering
Lastly
The ***** that fails me
Overwhelms me
and controls me
Aortas and ventricles seeping crimson emotion
Constantly pumping false happiness
through my capillaries
My veins returning depression
My body makes me sick
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
Hell is known by everyone
Whether you believe in it or not
It's always a compare and contrast
And even though it's just a simple thought
The ideal is there
That if we do something terrible
Like ****** lie or sin in any way
That it leaves something memorable
Like a stain on white cloth
The sin clouds our mind
Consuming our thoughts and bodies
Until theres not much left to find
Except for devastation and agony
Like living isn't hard enough
Without thinking that every mistake
Requires more than just being tough
Where we have to be forgiven
By Grace, by God, and yet others still look down
On us for simple plunders
Like it was our choice to take the frown
It's not our fault we were blinded
It's not our fault that we couldn't think clearly
Can you blame us for being angry?
Everythings shouting at us so severely
Why aren't we better?
Why aren't we stronger?
Why aren't we smarter?
Why can't we just hold out longer?
Everyone thinks depression is so **** easy
"Oh, just think happier thoughts, it'll be fine!"
Tell that to a man so consumed with self loathing
That he'd rather sit alone and cry than dine
With those he loves. It's atrocious
How easily we all fall into the simple glove
That is how useless we are in the grand scheme of things
That we don't deserve love
Or anything at all, really.
And one day everyone we know will walk away
Show that they truly hate us and always have
And finally just ran out of reasons to stay
It pains me.
It pains me every single night
To sit here and think that maybe
I'll be worth more one day, and shed a light
To all those who are hurt or hurting
But how can I save someone
If I can't even save myself?
I'm afraid one day I'll be done.
Finished, over.
But. Even as these thoughts plague me
It's not over today. No way, no how
And I'll keep going, until one day, I see.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
The beak's vessel plunders
the death of Queen Anne's
twisted, soft scent often. Convenience stores
serve war in boxes.
A red giant's dimming
wit, a devil in your balloon. The old governors burn their clothes
at four,
four flags,
free, fly
into home
where the birds die.
My half-century railroads heard the forest is green
when the trees are brown and burning
and the foliage is just a dream
from the quick,
the blind,
and the ***** that can't dance with the sun like the others.
Water running at the end
of predestination of an unborn's underbelly.
Say out to the head board
begging for attention
--rather be a bridge
worn and bruised, understood and here. The night is here also,
not alone, but no words shared. I rather wait for the walker
who can't sleep
to stare at water underneath
and feel warm from its reflection
--and can't sleep the entire night.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
.
Let it out
Let love in
Let it go
Let love win
Love every soul you see
Make love for lovers' sakes
Make happiness make glee
Mend all folks real or fake
My end will come from my beginning
No happenstance no random chance
Nor penance, plucking from your winning
No loss from staunch opponent's lance
Oh would that we could wane
Our dim dichotomies' details donned;
Outside this window pane
Oh wildest winds, we want to wander!
Penance plunders grace
Perchance, do you hear laughter?
Pick up your fallen face
Quick think: what are you after?
Remember what was ransomed
Remarkable requests are made
Requisite responses that result
Sacred sacrifice - ransom paid
So stop the secret scratching
Soothe your screaming skin
The way your thoughts keep hatching...
& That tell-tale heart ticking within,
Take a look around
This is a lucky life we live
Though time takes senses: sight, and sound
Taste, scent, and touch - like sand through sieve
.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 11:06 PM UTC
nothing is quite as rotten
as her heart while it's at sea
losing connection and self
only salt and water to grab
as she plunders down the side
the floor shakes
the shakes tingle
the tingle rocks
the rock jitters
think hard and feel very funky!
and in the end, time will probably pass
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 7:37 AM UTC
Unkindly are you,
Who steps into the light.
Who mocks my ways.
Who plunders my ship.
Ye scallywag.
You landlubber,
You crawling insect.
Step away from Mara,
My ship of Daedra.
Unkindly are you,
Who mocks the pirate captain.
I care not for your games.
And will shoot you,
With my dual cannon.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 1:14 PM UTC
Cruelest is the man who sits and says nothing
Stand alone stare with a harrowing message
Or maybe it’s the poorest, crudest of man
Who we all brand as vicious, biting off hands
But then what of the angry indignant man
The one who feels drained with no moral compass
Moans and groans develops own brands of justice
Then there’s the soldier in all different shapes
Who plunders and kills or kidnaps and rapes
No words for the actions of each head of state
No words for the actions of the man who wont stand
No words for all those who play life at high stakes
Doesn’t life burn you when spending it thinking
So here we all are; fast living and sinking
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 7:39 PM UTC
Feet singe the carpet outside the door.
Once again, I'm tickled black.
The shadows creep, the darkness plunders.
No one is there.
Mind agitation; sleeps glares down the clock.
Hear the cry, the eyes awake.
Crisp and young, they sense a being.
A frail hand hugs a tender ****
Not a soul to speak.
The darkness laughs! But behold, a sound.
He's cowers. His mistakes, ascertained.
Begging for mercy, but too late is it now.
The feet smell the patter of the rain.
"Forewarned.", snarled the storm.
And the water cooed her subjects into the abyss of sweet slumber...
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 3:13 PM UTC
Glossy-eyed children taste toxin-doctored water from plastic red cups
as popular hits of the day intertwine with impure intentions and blind approbation
for strangers-
obscured within the cherry-colored lenses of Dionysius’s shroud.
-
A languid form stumbles though an ocean of slurred words and victorious howls
Into a water room with four walls, a broken door, and a single reflective glass, sounds of the century now low and intertwined with the domestic petting zoo steadily beating against the door
Still broken.
Tired eyes through orbital vision and a weary process of cognitive recognition
Finds within the glass a conception of self, foreign to the observer and comically out of place.
Segmented ideas find meaning in convoluted streams of thought as the spoken word
Is devalued and meaning is limited to fain attempts to *** a smoke, bro.
Radiating self-righteous belligerence and misattributed
Bravado-
the two-dimensional protagonist clumsily plunders the kitchen
for processed sugar bars and handfuls of stale Wonderbread
before projecting discarded toxins into the potted plant near the high-traffic doorway while snapback youth formulate attributable hashtags and millennial responses to
a situation typical to the time of uncertainty and blissful absence.
Come morning, we’ll eat scrambled eggs in sunlight
And romanticize about a Kodak experience, now elapsed by a self- more stringent.
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
she moves sleepheaded in the bed next to me
and in the stillness of the mornings dim light
her hand finds its way across my chest and like an idle dancer spins
nonchalant circles of heart shaped wishes on my skin
her lips draw next to my ear and
with a soft wet sound give a tender
lesson in the beauties of her naughty delights
the first tentative kiss in the tempest of her seductions
she wraps herself up in my arms
a gift to own darker delights
and caresses my eyes with her own
the soft texture of her gaze thick with passions and desires
deep with her heart touching mine
and in that gaze i feel her soul moving as one with mine
as our kisses melt us
she pleads with her hands all along my face
and down along my body
she begs and teases the flickering desires
of our heat that rise like the fires of a thousand suns
and with delighted sounds from deep within her
as she explores and plunders
as we dance in the tangled sheets
she finds again the desires that go hand in hand
with her hearts loves
that go hand in hand with her hearts dreams
timeless times later
as we lay entwined in the afterglow of our love's hot tempest
and with such a tender and timid voice looking deep into my eyes
tells me she loves me and no other
i brush back the strand of hair that
has fallen to her sweat bound brow
and kissing her gently
tell her that i too love her and no other
this is no ordinary love affair
this is one soul romancing another with every carnal delight
with every souls true treasure of loving embrace
this is passion
she is my dreadlock princess
i am her poet in shining armor
this is how love was meant to be
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC