"precinct" poems
Her red shoe heels
made clicking sounds
aloud,
around the hall
attracting attention;
his shoes,
alluring, plush,
black magic silence
power worn on feet
cried for recognition.
loudness gravitated
towards silence
black silence angled wild red
he measured her
foot to hip,
she focused on his intense face
the silence
with in the precinct
approved their
illegitimate cravings.
Avarice for attention
came together
held hands,
kicked up their heels,
to **** competition
in foot fetish.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 2:58 PM UTC
*Would that
unhinged mind
have thought
differently
about it
trying this...*
*Would that
every school
had a
precinct
directly across
the street?*
*Would that
be so
hard to
create,
or support,
to finance?*
* Transfiguration *
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 8:33 PM UTC
windmills turn
slicing days
as prescribed
moving water
as they do
set troughs
can't complain
there is no point
cycles set in place
grids buckle
like we're
trapped
live chequered lives
without ourselves
on deck
though paths
with every step
trod blind
at close of day
did we not take
that road
for steering wheel
this hand
grabbed
let's harness Self
remove the screen
and see
in this precinct
or yonder place
we've opted for
we took a route
with outcome
flawed
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 11:35 AM UTC
1376
Dreams are the subtle Dower
That make us rich an Hour—
Then fling us poor
Out of the purple Door
Into the Precinct raw
Possessed before—
2.8k
Treacherous tongue.
Warning unrung.
Nothing will tire
This unquenched desire.
Consumed and yet not.
A battle little fought.
The huge, the puny-
Platter’s destiny.
Tresspassed precinct.
Animal Instinct.
Fire in the belly.
Encore. Gluttony.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 6:39 AM UTC
A simmering start-
Unjust behaviour
Or a broken heart.
Angry transformation.
Vindictive ambition.
Infernal condition.
Anguish and trauma.
All incurred.
Trespassed precinct.
Animal Instinct.
The wounded hath
The curse of Wrath.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 6:45 AM UTC
Closeted. Red.
Corrupt. Abrupt.
Jarring & Tarring.
Obsession. Infatuation.
Sweet confrontation.
Voiced. Unvoiced.
Heat. Discreet.
Prohibited discovery.
Trespassed precinct.
Animal instinct.
Sinful rust.
A burst of Lust.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 6:21 AM UTC
*I lose myself
deep in thought.
Still I took
what darkness brought.
A war commenced,
my mother fought.
She lost her grip,
her soul was caught.
Here I am,
a dark brainstorm.
A silhouette set still
waiting to take form.
Seems like everyone is fighting but me.
I could be anyone in another reality.
Wish I could take a pill
and be invincible.
Takes power to make everyone incredible.
I'm an animal
without instinct.
Potential in a lockdown precinct.
Yet I swim through the deep end
from the end back to the beginning.
I will find my purpose for living.*
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC
she'd been placed
on a missing persons register
she was last seen
walking to the shopping precinct
her whereabouts didn't get solved
for some time
police had no positive leads
from the public
a full scale search was conducted
but nothing new
came to light
she'd just disappeared
like a wisp of air
some twelve months later
a jogger happened upon her
upper torso in amongst
the Taylor lagoon's
reeds and muddy sludge
this discovery was something concrete
for the police to go on
a forensic unit scoured the area
in the hope of finding further body parts
and other evidence
a state by state missing persons
search began
to try and identify the victim
who'd met with a ghastly end
in the autopsy report
it stated that she'd been
sawn into pieces
with a chainsaw
as the marks on her thoracic cavity
and neck
indicated this...
the detective sergeant
complied the information
he had on the lady
for a brief in court
as luck would have it
she had breast implants
and on them was found
a code number
by tracing this number
and the hospital who performed
the surgery
pay dirt was hit
she was a resident of Kentucky
who'd gone missing
in July of two thousand and fifteen
a chainsaw murderer
did the deed
as six female victims
were found
across three other states
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 8:11 AM UTC
Shift work nurse, where do you go?
Is it to another ward, to another wound,
that is in need of stitches to be sewn?
Potbellied tarmac man, where do you go?
You’ve left the stove frothing at the lid,
can your couple of quid not wait for lunch?
Gym, mother-of-one, where do you go?
Your son is sat still with a coffee,
whilst you’ve gone to buy another toffee, poppy seed, frothy beverage- surely that’s not fair, is it?
Big-Issue-seller-of-the-precinct, where do you go?
Your Yorkshire Terrier, alone in the South,
is terrified from the traffic, moist at the mouth.
Market stall second-hand book woman, where do you go?
Lines of used literature are waiting to be read,
why have you left them to help your hash-head son on his second come-down of the day?
Shift work nurse and potbellied tarmac man,
big issue seller and gym mother-of-one,
market stall second-hand book woman,
where do you all go?
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
This tomb hideth the dust of Aeschylus, an Athenian, Euphorion's son, who died in wheat-bearing Gela; his glorious valor the precinct of Marathon may proclaim, and the long-haired Medes, who knew it well."
On the Plain at Marathon
We stood in Darius’ way.
An outnumbered band of Athenians
who the Medians sought to slay.
They had first crushed the Ionians
Then put Eretria to the Torch.
Wherever Darius conquered
the bleeding earth was scorched.
Our Hoplites held the high Ground
and penned the Persians in.
For several days a stalemate reigned.
Neither side could win.
But when the Persians spit their force
and sailed on a friendly tide.
Our hand was forced
there was but one course
if Athens was not to die.
Our Phalanx moved against each wing
of the Median horde.
Though numerous, they were lightly armed
against our spears and swords.
We burned their ships and slew their men
Their Panic turned the tide.
Aeschylus seemed to be everywhere
urging on our side.
A Legend holds Pheidippides
To Athens then made haste
to proclaim: “Rejoice , We conquer!”
at the end of his last race.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 8:39 PM UTC
Monkeys in cars
Strumming guitars
La la la la’s
We ain’t all that
Shaving our faces
Finding new places
Tying our laces
We ain’t all that
Appliance reliance
Making new science
Moral compliance
We ain’t all that
Leaving our instinct
Down at the precinct
Never be distinct
We ain’t all that
Barely evolved
Nothing resolved
Power absolved
We ain’t all that
Opposable thumbs
Beating our drums
Hating our mums
We ain’t all that
Intelligent beings
Believing is seeing
Rather be skiing
We ain’t all that
Monkeys in space
Saving our face
Playing the ace
We ain’t all that
Living the dream
Not what it seems
Chicken Supremes
We ain’t all that
Monkeys in cars
Smoking cigars
Staring at stars
We ain’t all that
Monkeys in cars
Counting their scars
Filling the bars
We ain’t all that
Monkeys in suits
All in cahoots
Playing their flutes
We ain’t all that
Where’s little Bo Peep
Cos we are just sheep
And this poem ain’t deep
I ain’t all that
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 11:09 AM UTC
Walked through the precinct where love once was habitual.
Met lady with blood of Romany.
'Cross my palm with silver my dear.'
And love you will find so very near'.
Gave her heather.
A non-scented dry piece.
She said to the lady who purchased .
Good God my dear.
I feel you're lucky.
The old white dried out heather.
Left stuck on the shelf.
Implanted in *** where her incense once dwelt.
Still sits there waiting for love or luck.
Either one will do.
She said.
Heather didn't give her much joy.
Sad lady was misled.
Never mind said she.
Staring at her heather.
Still sitting in her incense ***
Giving up on love.
After all these months of chill.
He thinks she will get over him.
She knows she never will!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 4:02 PM UTC
A bird in hand
And two in the bush.
No bar, no band
To where you push.
Selfish hoard-
An overload.
Brick by brick
The old trick.
Trespassed precinct.
Animal instinct.
Perpetual feed.
An oceanic greed.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 6:42 AM UTC
A silence of mind
and vinegar wine,
the shopping precinct
a disembowelled mine.
Bombs stain the mountains
to build a hotel,
for tourists to buy
a wish from the well.
A wish for comfort
and one for new love,
in marital bliss
and skyscapes above.
Escape from their God
of tablets and time,
of substitute taste
for tonic and lime.
Escape from their want
of waistlines and faith,
relief from the haunt
of some childhood wraith.
Travel sets its price
to find your own face,
to find there's no cost,
in finding your place.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
648
Promise This—When You be Dying—
Some shall summon Me—
Mine belong Your latest Sighing—
Mine—to Belt Your Eye—
Not with Coins—though they be Minted
From an Emperor’s Hand—
Be my lips—the only Buckle
Your low Eyes—demand—
Mine to stay—when all have wandered—
To devise once more
If the Life be too surrendered—
Life of Mine—restore—
Poured like this—My Whole Libation—
Just that You should see
Bliss of Death—Life’s Bliss extol thro’
Imitating You—
Mine—to guard Your Narrow Precinct—
To ****** the Sun
Longest on Your South, to linger,
Largest Dews of Morn
To demand, in Your low favor
Lest the Jealous Grass
Greener lean—Or fonder cluster
Round some other face—
Mine to supplicate Madonna—
If Madonna be
Could behold so far a Creature—
Christ—omitted—Me—
Just to follow Your dear future—
Ne’er so far behind—
For My Heaven—
Had I not been
Most enough—denied?
1.1k
I'm sorry courage took a longer time for your hair to grow out past your shoulders
Maybe I regret the coveted gazes that took residence in the threads of your muscles now precinct, hardly noticed nor remembered
You're the seventh page of my diary, as well as the eighth, the ninth, the tenth and it goes on till the edge of this cliff you call home
There are things I don't know why I do
Like the time I gave myself bruises on my shins just because I liked the colour
Has anyone ever thought of how bruises are actually a metaphor of everything unsaid?
Capillaries bursting under the surface of your skin and not flowing, like the words that ride in submarines in your head but never brave enough to say them out loud
Things sound nicer when they come from your lips anyway.
I laugh too much
Is the passion carved on your skull as deep and carefully thought out as the things you say?
Warmth from you is as untrue and synthetic as your boxing gloves strapped tightly on
Punches with the soul of death, you pretend your stares are empty
I’ve watched sunsets more times than I have seen your smile
The darkness that swallows the harbor isn’t something we’d talk about over steaming cups of coffee
I don’t drink coffee anyway
I heard you make lovely icy rainbow popsicles and hand them out at barbecues
But nothing’s colder than your hard gaze, as hard as your cheekbones
I wish you’d grow your hair mid-back so you can finally braid it
I am not so sure what waiting is supposed to do except breed hope and a whole lot of misery
Silhouettes are me and you and everything intangible, just like me and you and black and white, just like me and you
I am in love with you but I do not love you.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
A binge-like fire
Of heights and higher.
An edge achieved
from probable deceit.
A craze of sorts;
Felt and dealt.
Many rose.
Many knelt.
Trespassed precinct.
Animal Instinct.
Hard to hide.
A ride of Pride.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 6:36 AM UTC
#*Pay your obeisance to the Lord,
you'll be paid back with prosperity.*
The priest towers above the throngs of devotees.
Within the Lord's precinct is a rush for repentance
the arrogant bows down here
the wealthy falls on the ground
the poor renews plea.
The priest preys on their prayer
the Lord's coffer is full.
In that heavenly scene,
all sins are forgotten.
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 10:55 AM UTC
Torn in two, stripped to the bone, head's rewired, thoughts removed.
Your flex in a reflex, reactions to action, she preached in the precinct whilst craving creation.
A submariner survives in daytight compartments, his thoughts become deeper, she prays for his relief.
Hermetically altered the gold-dust is spinkled, as the fish keep on swimming blue in the reef.
Broken down, and beaten... this egg's cracked in two. Reborn in an instant, cappuccino's still new.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
When I was bad,
I mean young,
The summers in the city were
Mean hot,
Ran with the bad boys.
Not bad bad just teenage bad.
So the cops came and got us
Where we were hanging,
Took us down to the precinct,
Till around midnight.
Came home at one am,
My pop heard me come in.
Asked me where I'd been,
So I told him that I'd been arrested.
He thought for a second and said,
"Good. Now go to bed."
We never spoke of it again.
A thousand years later
I figured out why.
I had never seen my formal pop
In his underwear till that night,
And never saw him that way again.
He was more embarrassed than I.
Considered the matter closed and
My heart, full, finally, now.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 9:53 AM UTC
I refuse to show political respect,the news flows from my precinct connect,weed soon glows from TGC inject,contaminate the food ,the ***** they win ,we lose,who's gone choose yet none will re-fuse to combat the dudes that brought death to baby food,murders with no clues.genocide someone sing my blues,Brenda had a baby now she's opened a school for delinquent youth..who's making all the rules caking on you fools baking that good,its whats breaking on the news..I take weight but the rope cant hold the stake shaking at the knees while I'm hanging by the noose.oblivion and beyond finally i feel loved, death is so warm ,humanity is a storm though endless the abyss is a calm..future read it in a palm.branches in arms..puddles of blood flies in a swarm,fly away to the lord to whom you belong..children of the corn..caught up in a whirlwind,drenched by the storm ,they wont stop until were gone they wont stop until their done the human race is dead and their world wars won!
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
Rarer than diamonds, knowledge or hallowed life itself, valued beyond reckoning, two souls lay in the warmth. Their sire's face was awestruck, openly joyous at the miraculous news he had just received. The sheer happiness and tears that happiness had brought forth was almost as unprecedented as the event that caused it. His usually stone like mask almost completely melted as he embraced his wife and for the first time in 200 years, truly laughed. In the comforting softness of their mother’s womb, two consciousnesses peacefully rested, unaware of the joy that their existence had wrought. In this warmth they stirred, feeble minds looking about for something to latch onto; and something they found. Metaphysical tendrils tenuously probed the lowest reaches of the upper dimensions. The twin psyches emitted an aura of precinct, but naive curiosity, 'looking' for some form of contact. Feeling the projection and reception of joy from the warmth surrounding them, they absorbed, discovered an experienced that joy, if only for a moment. As the wandering tendrils of not-thought climbed higher and brighter they came to an open Plane; the middle. Unable to go upward or back, they drifted forward, each in an opposing direction. They 'saw' each other. Timidly and slowly, each danced around the other tendril of thought, assessing and recognising its companion.
Hesitant, wondrous and cheerful, the strings of unstructured consciousness circle closer and closer, until one audaciously brushes against the other. At contact, they each shyly shuffle closer feeling and tasting the other. The tendrils give a faint shiver, grow taut and then still, before glowing. Revelling in their newfound closeness, the twin minds rapidly pulse, imitating a feeling felt but minutes beforehand; crisp, pure and untainted joy. The sensation flares majestically, before dimming to a low hum of contentment. In the material realm, their mother looks at her husband, her face lighting up at what she feels inside her; her children. Diamond tears slowly wash emerald eyes as she is embraced tightly, from both without and within.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 4:49 AM UTC
Jackson Reilly may not be real
Neither is the story he denied
But somebody saw something
And somebody is the one who lied
He knows what really happened
He’s the keeper of the conspiracy
He was there before you arrived
He’s the one who made truth a fallacy
What really happened?
Did anyone break the law?
The facts don’t mean anything
If you didn’t see what he saw
He’s a pawn just like you and me
Maybe one day he’ll tell us
But it won’t change a thing
A lie has no cause for justice
Does anyone really care?
Everybody knows history is about winners
Is this what we teach our children?
Yet we tell them not to be sinners
Jackson Reilly is a fiction
But that’s where truth goes to die
Somebody saw something
But somebody was forced to lie
What really happened?
Did anyone break the law?
The facts don’t mean a thing
If you didn’t see what he saw
Is today another day we forget?
Are you the person they’re gonna’ deny?
Will we ever know the reasons why?
Will we know the questions to ask
Of a past that told us goodbye?
Way back when somebody decided to lie
May 16, 2012
May 16, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC
a butterball sun,
sits low in the
morning sky.
as the weekend peloton, whizzes on by and down
the hill.
in the council's headland park precinct,
the illegal nomads,
are being rousted
and evicted from, their overnight, purlioned and picturesque views.
the early fishermen,
in their dinghies,
dot the teal sea and
the sail boats,
are racing out further,
white sails, against blue sky.
in our pond,
the koi leap in a frenzy,
trying to catch,
the itty, bitty, midgey bugs.
and the old blue tongue,
comes out to settle on his
rough log .
the bees work tirelessly,
from flower to flower.
as the blue wrens,
gossip and preen,
in their lilac bower
the dragon flies dart
about in distraction.
while over at
the milkwood patch,
you can see the caterpillars,
are busy decimating,
leaf after leaf.
i sit on the porch,
coffee in hand.
newspaper forgotten
on the side table.
slowly taking this beauty all in.
as the aroma of eggs, bacon and pancakes, drift from within.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC