"pries" poems
A flight of three crows
added to
a dense grey day
Next add four
iconic conifers
as high as the sky
eternally ******* down
These things are
always in my sight
through my window
on this wet world
Multiply all of this
by a sweet daughter
who makes me proud
and raise the whole
to the power of a strong woman
who carries us all
on her back
The equation produces
a result that I am 95 percent certain
equals happiness
though the confidence interval
is wide
And this result
sweet as it is
and as uncertain as it is
will outlive me
leave a faint echo in time
an echo that will bounce off a star
and finally be found
gripped in my shriveled paw
long after the epiphany
nowhere near paradise
somewhere short of
the end of the line
This is a moment of happiness
stolen from time
hijacked by a fugitive
from civil society
I'll hold it close
until death pries it
without mercy
from my hand
Leaves it as a blessing
and a curse
for all who come after
Take the blessing.
Leave the curse.
That's the advice I give
with my dying breath.
And I leave this to you
from the generosity
of my heart.
With a nod to
the scant traces
of God's grace
that I find on these pathways
of travail.
Never lost.
Never found.
Always present
and generous
to all.
Be that.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC
i fight to peel each moment
of pure stagnation
off of me
a tinnitus cacophony whines in my ears
as my dilapidated fan
keeps slow rhythm to the faucet drip
minutes drag like molasses
handcuffed to the daily lag
groundhog day
i escape into the forest
running, the breeze caresses my face
wildlife pries open my desperate eyes
a spider’s web bends and sways in the wind
fine strands of silver silk flow
soaring they meld in crescent waves
a butterfly glides gently by
befriending gusts of air
softly breathing in another tomorrow
the conductor of the symphony
with sculptor’s hands i cannot see
whispers ever graciously
life is not your enemy
drink it in and let it seep
drop your sword i’m molding thee
©2016janetaylor
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC
(the phonograph’s voice like a keen spider skipping
quickly over patriotic swill.
The,negress,in the,rocker by the,curb,tipping
and tipping,the flocks of pigeons. And the skil-
ful loneliness,and the rather fat
man in bluishsuspenders half-reading the
Evening Something
in the normal window. and a cat.
A cat waiting for god knows makes me
wonder if i’m alive(eye pries,
not open. Tail stirs.) And the. fire-escapes—
the night. makes me wonder if,if i am
the face of a baby smeared with beautiful jam
or
my invincible Nearness rapes
laughter from your preferable,eyes
6k
I keep the shower window open
In 20 degree weather
There’s somethin’ about feeling
The freeze and burn together
Fusing two halves,
Fueling one desire
Steam pries at pores, like
Needle nose pliers
Winter exploits wounds
Haughty exhales through
Diamond ****** wrist cutters
Cascading
Cherry brandy drain water
Licking ankles purple
Branding Frost’s musings
As my final verse
Fire, ice — whichever comes first
Duality be ******
I favor efficiency
I’ll marvel as *********
At the sadist who takes me
But know that, once
Is all I can endure
And of this, I am sure
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
Every stranger on the street
has sunk deep into the night *at least once,
or twice*, and I'd wager
that at times their thoughts have unfurled
into black dishrags soaking up
the insignificant amounts
of vivacity-
pouring pride into the sewer,
praying desperately to recover.
Eventually, time pries a crack
into the soul, and peels back
the skin of morality until the lines
no longer meet and the mind
reels- searching for the baseline
of sanity- *save me, someone
save me*.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
"There in the midst of it so alive and alone
Words support like bone..." Peter Gabriel's "Mercy Street"
Orion abandons the sky
dropping his club
casting his belt toward the horizon
Just once, for a moment, he glanced away
from exalted ****
his vanquished prey
He’d seen the picture—
A girl of sixteen
lying awake—muses in her head
eyes shut, arms thrown back
behind pillow
Tee shirt stretch across lean chest
Hips mingle with blankets
She is scattered there
among the minions of her hair
behind her mouth of unkissed words
_______________
McCaffery's Coffee is open late
He’s seen the picture
Muses in his head
His arm almost around her
Hers on his shoulder
Small—feather-light fingers
lift the hair of his neck
Reaching around her
his hand searches and slides
along her silk-draped hind
...and the view he has is amazing!
_____________
Music— and waves pounding and lapping
at the life he fears....
Little boat stranded in gray mists
till a thousand tiny birds alight
in a peppering and fluttering
stir of time
in greens of brine
as the sun pries through….
______________
McCaffery’s is ready to close
but the owner, knowing
douses the overheads and turns away
leaving candlelight to crouch and duck
and blink in circles
How long and free we
are allowed to gaze....
so full of wind and riffling water
Stars above and stars below
blooming on the floral silk of night
Vespered lilacs exhale
Votives of warmth
beneath his hand
Silk sweating—
familial in their rocking
Distant lightning loosens eternity
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
LOQUITUR: En Bertans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer up of strife.
Eccovi!
Judge ye!
Have I dug him up again?
The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. “Papiols” is his jongleur.
“The Leopard,” the device of Richard Coeur de Lion.
I
**** it all! all this our South stinks peace.
You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let’s to music!
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
II
In hot summer I have great rejoicing
When the tempests **** the earth’s foul peace,
And the lightning from black heav’n flash crimson,
And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing,
And through all the riven skies God’s swords clash.
III
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,
Spiked breast to spiked breat opposing!
Better one hour’s stour than a year’s peace
With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!
Bah! there’s no wine like the blood’s crimson!
IV
And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears through the dark clash
And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music
When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His long might ‘gainst all darkness opposing.
V
The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth’s won and the swords clash
For the death of such ***** I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
VI
Papiols, Papiols, to the music!
There’s no sound like to swords swords opposing,
No cry like the battle’s rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges ‘gainst “The Leopard’s” rush clash.
May God **** for ever all who cry “Peace!”
VII
And let the music of the swords make them crimson!
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
Hell blot black for always the thought “Peace!”
2.6k
When my fingers are gripped
Around the trigger,
It is you
Who pries them away.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
Throw away the calendar
Lose those different dates
Lose that wrist watch, lose that clock
It’s almost half past late
When the angel of corpses arrives
He wants them dead not alive
He does not discriminate
He wants them virgins, he wants men’s wives
He wants boys young, he takes men old
He comes in sneaky, he barges in bold
And first pries your fingers off that little hope that you hold…
On to
He's heartless, he wasn't born to…
Show mercy
That’s because he wasn't born at all and has no heart
Lord have mercy
With the angel of death, the pungency of death comes
The caked blood that was initially wet, red ponds
And time ceases to matter, days lose importance
They say ‘time is a healer’ but this agony will keep doing a slow dance
Refusing to pass
A lingering curse
Victims suffer in silence
So with that said
Let’s use the little time we have… to avert from any shape or form of violence.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 7:13 AM UTC
6.02 a.m.
sunlight pries your eyes open and i
meet you for the ****** time again and again
nothing mends and breaks my heart more than watching
you fall in love with a novel fragment of me every day
9.35 a.m.
i toast bread with both eyes closed
and i let them char like the edges of my heart
you tell me last thursday's joke
but i erupt into hilarity, anyway
3.17 p.m.
nostalgia is a side-effect of forgetting
you reminisce about knitting parties we never threw
between giggles, i wonder how your words are needles
that pick all of the right places
7.43 p.m.
this world is a stygian dystopia
but you, you are my sole scintilla of colour
i feed you blatant lies for dinner
only to let you sleep with a peace of mind
11.59 p.m.
i watch you fall asleep to the rhythm of my silence
there are all types of silences and distances
but this
this is the worst kind
please, don't forget
to remember
me.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC
A photograph
pries a velvet kaleidoscope
from living
like flesh parting bone
ripped and torn
by the ravenous jaws of a great lioness
it snaps a fluid stream
with no beginning
no end
it chops to a point
which cannot flutter
because it has no wings
it is only an end
less than ephemeral
meaningless
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
Yes, only a mother, truly knows,
The true extent of her child’s woes.
Pain blossoming so deep inside,
Hurting so, while trying to hide
From a mother’s, knowing eyes,
Confident that mother, never pries.
Instead she gives her sound advice,
Being agreeable, saying how nice,
The flower garden looks today,
While in a sublime, pleasant way,
She soothes the inner aching pain,
Removing all the stress and strain.
She sees the strengths, weaknesses,
Gifts with which the child is blessed,
The nature of all burdensome traits,
Heart’s desires, the loves, the hates,
Character blooming through the years,
Sharing laughter, along with the tears.
Reflected within the child’s face,
Throughout awkward early grace,
She herself soon becomes exposed,
And as intrinsic recognition shows,
She gathers to her humbled breast
A tireless love that knows no rest.
The child hoards with thoughtless ease,
Bumps and bruises and skinned knees,
And if the hurts are too much to bear,
A child knows mother is always there,
Her calming words soon gently caress,
Soothing all troubles with tenderness.
The child grows and finds another
Person to love as much as mother,
But the bond of life remains forever,
Cannot be broken, not now, not ever,
And the child realizes as it grows,
Yes, only a mother; truly knows.
©Paul M Chafer 2015
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC
I am in love with a boy
I can only really love when he sleeps.
Once he wakes and starts to speak
We run into trouble.
The way he uses spite is appalling and
(quite frankly) impressive.
At the end of the day we are equals of the worst kind-
Weaknesses targeted
and terrorized.
Bent on destruction
of both each other and (most certainly) ourselves.
We pick and choose the rules.
Common decency means nothing.
What is common?
What is decent?
Why can't we just find a way to love each other that makes sense? (I frown)
Why does it have to make sense? (he pries)
But when he sleeps
It always seems rational and reasonable and
even sometimes doable.
Every movement, every whispered word, every muffled thought
dulled by dreams and expressed by snore.
Your breath is never regular.
You are never regular.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 10:03 PM UTC
To my friend Julie R.S.
Being my girlfriend's best friend, it
Was bound to go either one way
Or the other. Now you
Name me
Brother.
When we share wine and guitars,
People sit down in the garden
Outside our open window
To enjoy. Your voice is proof
That God loves art and leaves its
Seeds within His children.
If I were you, I'd also pray as often
As you do.
You have much to thank for; and also
Ask. I sometimes ask too,
Why hurt so easily pries itself
Into the purest of hearts. Winter is
A cynical aunt... it'll help now;
Spring isn't; it's downhill from here.
I promise. And besides,
I sympathize with you;
But never
Worry.
You share the gifts of Beauty and
Strength with diamonds; gems,
Jewels.
I stood by your
Self-declared sister
In my godless snakeskin boots
In thankful poetic observance
As you were leaned into the
Water and said a self spoken Yes
To your absolute re-birth-Father.
I'll always respect you for that.
That, and the way you move
Through the ice-in-tummy-pains
That you are sometimes dealt
By the Hand of All Holding
And accept and withstand,
Knowing it's all part of
Your own Holy
Work-out.
I could carry you for years,
But your soul is loved by
Something so strong
It shines through
Your darkest
Hours.
I am as humble to that
As I am to our
Friendship.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
Up on this cliff, with all of the greenery and sand,
With these seashells and the scrub, the shrubs,
The full moon timidly pries through the roiling clouds above my head.
The storm is fighting, but losing hope.
I watch the winds and rain racing over the water
In the pale, breaking moonlight.
Those white, streaking ruffles spreading across the dark
Make me think of wild, gold wheat in a field of deep green.
The moist, salted-rain sea air almost has a hint of grain to it.
I wait for the harvest, and know its coming soon -
Just like the end of this storm - not much beyond the horizon.
I can feel the changes already, smell them in the air,
And with dawn coming, there's a feeling of hope and Love.
The breaking of the storm and the repair of a heart,
Readying myself for Tomorrow's new start.
Feb 26, 2011
Feb 26, 2011 at 2:31 AM UTC
Oceans apart
Stitched Hearts
Stars unseen
Emotions intervene
Thoughts ignored
Words never bore
Pictures sent
Modesty bent
Her mind knew
Her blood ran blue
Fears adapted
Soul captive
"Release me!" she cries
Send was never pressed, her heart pries
She fears
To her, he becomes dear
And when he is ready to leave
Nothing in her will be ready to believe.
-fir.m
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
I’m full,
there is no room inside of me
every bone has been dipped in a thick coat
of something
sweet or sick
and every crevice has been poured all over,
now bowls of mixed icky stews –
I am full
there is no room for another hand
or fingerprint
or lemon poundcake
I am full, but I feel bare;
and I still don’t want you there
my body is heavy
with gooey webs of ghoul guilt and there is pressure
on my chest to pick myself up,
and get on with it
even as evil weighs me down,
tires me down,
pries me down,
and laughs at me struggling
I feel so full
there is no room to be smiled at
or even looked at;
there is no more room to store your stories
or secrets
or tears
or trust; it’ll all come falling down
like the London bridge
and I’d collapse underneath, into poisonous gasps and groans
of relief
that finally,
I
get
to
die.
I am full but I feel so empty
and I don’t want to die,
but I want to die;
but I mostly don’t want to die;
I just feel so empty
and I don’t want to be around you
because it doesn’t make it any easier
for me
to love me
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 3:55 AM UTC
Her hair: intertwined with mine like fine lines in disguised pines
Our lives: making life like lovers do - letting our mistakes live to let ourselves
Who's who in this zoo built for two?
Will I find time to find the kind of mind that pries at mine despite the time I've formalized into time I can't divide?
I try to meet ends with the women that I meet, really never knowing me - like a fish without a sea and falling bird without a breeze - easily bequeathed with ways to satisfy and please
I evaluate the fragile and get diagnosed a cynic
I empathize with strength but get too into it to win it
I believe that I am different for the sake of being different but if everybody's different, then everybody isn't
I feel it is my life, and it's none of my ******* business
Hopeless romantic
I hope it's not malignant
Hope less, romantic
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 12:32 AM UTC
Wickedness of the Evil Eye
Can Be a Beast on Lands
End the Prize and Cover Up
the Weak Like a Priest burdens
a King Beauty Sleep needs
to Finish yell Yiddish through
a Flute Fiddle help groom
Her way Away from floating Gloom
- In the Sky - Mouse of the Ark
Puppet of Time Flood a River
to Design Spawn Upon a Hill Come
String Spring She's done with the thing
Beauty sleep Pries Dont dare Cry
Make Up Articulate Regulate BE
A Starquake - Spark in Space
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 12:23 PM UTC
All you can do is watch
As she pries the light from your eyes
Your breath now clambering in and out of your chest
She lifts your feet so far above your head that you shake
You can't breath
You can't ******* breath
No time to think
You have to get out
There is nothing left that you can feel
As she sits a weight on your chest you fall asleep
Seconds later you wake up
Panicking you squirm around like a maggot underneath her
As she stands so far above you that you can't even see her
You can't see her
She is the omnipotent sky above
SO ******* FAR ABOVE
It's not the fact you can't see her
But that she doesn't care to look at the mess she's made
She is god
And she is unbothered
She is untouchable
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 4:48 PM UTC
If we are but grains of sand,
he is a warm embrace and soft kisses as
she is the single pearl ring given to a blushing date.
If we are but grains of sand,
he is the oyster that works like a factory and
she is now part of the bracelet given to the new bride.
If we are but grains of sand,
he is the hands that pries her free but
she is already in the long necklace hanging from the neck of a grieving widow.
If we are but grains of sand,
he is the greatest lie and
she is the most lovely tragedy.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
The pale blue
that filters through
my closed curtains;
the sting of light
as it pries open
my eyelids,
one at a time;
today, i am alive.
Sep 1, 2022
Sep 1, 2022 at 12:37 PM UTC
i have so much love in me and around me
it is impossible to bathe in anything else like
a ****** resentment or an unlimited reservation of sadness
even though those sicknesses are okay and are always curable,
i feel too alive and sure of myself to cough up a loogie of ill-peace
how can I not be okay - right now?
is there a way to prove myself otherwise?
always - we are
HERE
and nowhere else
if only we'd just take a step back and take a look at the illusions
of past or future we've been rolling around in
those are just stories!
and the essence of who we are is not replicated from any external judgement
because a judgement is just another illusional story
that pries into our belief that we will not make it through another day.
but you can, and i can
and you deserve love and i deserve love
and if you take a step back and really look at where you are,
you will see that
you are okay right now too.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:23 AM UTC
Amidst the crowded globe there lies,
a pasture seen by the most common eyes.
There, glorious edibles are ripe;
and Eve's nectar we all delight.
Desire sends us searching for where it lies,
but vain when seeking pries.
Little words are worth
the emotion collected in tranquility.
At the gate of the orange groves,
the momentary event embraces me.
Fat hugs. Squeeze. Let go.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC