"pseudonym" poems
A poet's supposed to only post poetry
If I try to do anything different under a pseudonym
They'd know it's me
They're not too dim
To shine a light on similarity
Between two varying laugh tracks despite all the hilarity
Been getting down to brass tax with a microscope
I could read the fine print even if both my eyes were closed
So tie the rope tightly around your own necks
As I work far outside of my trajectory from how I make the bow flex
If I was Archie mixed with Cupid
I would
Follow an arrows arc like an archery marksman whose targets are Betty and Veronica's beating hearts
And when they get hit,
They both fall pretty hard
And meet me in my back yard where I get their backs archin'
Point is, I've got precision aim
When I'm shooting for emotions
Make you never feel a thing
Make you clear minded and focused
Let you all in on my pain
Have you buzzin' like a locust
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
Four parts, woven together
Uniting all universal truths
What others do with it's powers
Only the future will prove
The first strand displays the world's true nature
Destroying everything it creates
We become unwanted children
Who have learned to incorporate
Killing in our communities
Biting, grinding flesh and bone
Swallowing with guilt free demeanors
Only leaving foul-stenched excretions as evidence
Second Strand speaks of our basic biological anxiety
To deny the terror of death
Imperatively born, emerging from nothing
Given a name and consciousness
Hopelessly abandoned from the beginning
Only to be fated always with everlasting death
Strand three
We hide underneath the
"Vital lie of the character"
Pretend to be shining knights in armor
Who will make us forget our
Unconscious anxiousness of death
We all work to attain prestige, money, and the
Fleeting feel of immortality
Worshiping Gods with clay feet
And when our beliefs are attacked
"Holy wars" becomes the pseudonym for
Our immortality projects
The last strand
All the efforts we put into
Making this Earth perfect
By eliminating scapegoat "enemies" and "evil" deities
We end up making everything filthy
In the effort to make everything right and pure
We turn the Earth's soil black and color the sky red
We strived for utopias, making dystopians
All these actions seem unconscious
But it is not the animals nature or
Evolutionary process
It's just us trying to pretend
We don't have perishable bodies;
Trying to deny death
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Plumped rouge with pigment
her lip fills to graze the ********
intent to disquiet the likes of de Sade
autografted with ocular detachment
should a Marquis wish to harness
the song of the morning
within a bandolier of Seine
to ensnare any bustled Persephone
gilted by discharge of ions
into a ménage of torment
through the Porte des Lions.
Hers is the tincture of doxy
caramelized and debrided of naivety,
empowered by the eve of invention,
swollen to curves and grounded in Paris.
Illumination defies pervasion
down to every gear and pulley
she has hushed through mechanization
and lulled by steam,
swaging a cacophony of flickers
encased in glass by the Lady’s watch,
where every rivet of her plate glisters silken
reverberation in cascade,
elegant, caged, and towering,
outspoken in silence,
ever challenging the Champ de Mars.
"Paris by Gaslight," written by Dionne Charlet, is the title poem to be featured in the upcoming steampunk anthology Paris by Gaslight, the third anthology in the By Gaslight Series from New Orleans small press Black Tome Books. Look for the first two collections of poems and short stories set in Victorian Times, New Orleans by Gaslight (ISBN 9780615801186) and Cairo by Gaslight (ISBN 9781516961528). Both collections feature poetry by Charlet, under the pseudonym Dionne Cherie.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
I wrote this for a slam to explain who I am
It's PoetryByMAN
Yes I am a pseudonym
Mystery I provoke
Take it in let it soak
Word playing every stroke
Savor every ****
Next level set the tier
I'm here to make it clear
Though Twisted is the mirror
Rhymes you shouldn't fear
Competition vital
Here questing for the title
Who shall be my rival
In this game of survival
Hit with love
Vibrating like a hub
Ba doom Ba doom
Hit like a Sub...Woofer...
Heart full not hallow
LIKE ME!
If there was a button would you follow?
Messenger I am
Also I'm a fan
Diggity **** he thinks he's a rapper man
Simple..direct
Vocabulary wreck
All due respect..
Don't want to be correct
Commercial break watch me pop my snapple
Many skills acquired hope my talent is ample
Kung fu poet
Choose style I'll flow it
Talent the seed
Nurture grow it
From my bones
A melodic tone
Comfort comes from coming home
Shaman Buddha
Hybrid to school you
Sand a vibe
Runs right through you
Play my part
In this world of art
Butterfly to a new start
Blow nose with prose
Words without flow
Stand on stage
Put on a show
Hope you enjoyed PoetryByMAN
Spoken in 3rd I am
Blogs on tumblr..Facebook can't stand
Throw all in the air top rope poetry SLAM!!
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 7:03 PM UTC
I've taken special precaution to protect myself.
Meaning, I don't give my email to people I do not know.
My phone number is clutched to my chest.
Even my real name is never disclosed.
I live by pseudonym.
Pandarra,
Pandakin
or simply just Panda.
And'
If that's not to your liking.
Try;
Vearena,
Vearona
or even Vea.
I have lots of names,
all of them a mouthful
as they roll off your tongue.
I live with precautions,
to keep people at bay.
Too many idiots and pervert
now-a-days.
But that's not the worst,
heathens and **** dwell
as well.
People who are working the angles
to make a quick buck or two
off the naive and the unknowing.
So learn from me well;
live with precautions.
Keep people at arms length,
because then, and only then,
can they not
sink their teeth in.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
What's in a name?
Let me tell you a story,
Of how my life changed,
And how my name changed,
Every time it appeared on the newspaper.
Replaced by a pseudonym,
Something to do with courage,
I was namelessly admired, slandered, and debated over,
Media’s Exclusive Coverage!
The newspaper headline read in big block letters:
“14 YEAR OLD GIRL SAVES SIX KINDERGARTNERS”,
That made me smile.
Just maybe I thought we had come that extra mile.
But no for I noticed,
My name was changed,
And the Printing Department was not at fault.
That’s just how my country dealt with ****** assault.
I never asked them to hide my name,
They had presumed, of course, that I was ashamed,
Of saving lives. It took me a minute to remember,
I had called Jyoti Nirbhaya for years.
I wanted them to know who I was,
Hiding I thought was for criminals,
Until I realized that I WAS one when,
On returning from the hospital I saw,
Pain in my mother’s,
Anger in my father’s,
And disgust in my relatives’ eyes.
No idea why a part of me had come expecting pride.
In school my “friends” guiltily refrained from talking to me,
Neither were my teachers too happy to see,
That I had returned to the same school,
Bringing with me my painful story,
Which I had mistaken as one of glory.
And when I went to receive the “Bravery Award”,
Only the trophy didn’t read compensation award.
They looked at me with too kind eyes calling me a “hero”
Their smiles told me they meant violated.
As I received the award,
I saw they were trying really hard,
To not let it show,
That they wanted me to know,
The difference between:
Bullet marks on the chest to bite marks on the breast,
Blue around the eyes to blue around the thighs,
Scratches on the fists to cuts on the wrists,
Loud screams in the cold to muffled screams against the cold,
The red of the torn ligament to the red of the torn *****
The difference between a soldier’s and a victim’s blood.
And suddenly I felt as if I was,
The rescued,
Not the rescuer,
The maimed,
Not the fighter,
The oppressed,
Not the rebel,
The hostage,
Not the warrior,
I thought myself to be.
What’s in a name?
Apparently, a lot.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
It chills like fire
It burns like ice
It's dark like day
And so bright like night
It's an oxymoron
That makes paradoxical sense
It's a pseudo-pseudonym
Filled with disguise, thick and dense
And it's become a fine mess
In the years I've been gone
The acute dullness
Of the field seems so wrong
But the change is the same
And the routine is ever-changing
And this name has no name
As we look for what we can't see
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 6:10 PM UTC
I've always lived inside a shell,
But i want to be free and
fly,
I've always felt like i'm nobody's,
but all i wanted to be
was everybodys',
I wasnt hungry for fame,
but deprived of love.
I still am.
I always thought i could
never be loved,
but i always badly
needed it,
I’ve always asked for
Recognition,
Because I’m never
Appreciated,
I’ve always called myself a loon,
Because I think,
I think too much dirt.
I don’t think im pretty,
‘cause from near,
When my demons are visible,
I see myself
My ugliness
Reflects,
Comes back at me.
More hatred.
When guys say , “ oh you’re so pretty,
You can get any guy you want!”
I shatter,because I think
They pretend and lie and repeat.
I don’t always get what I
Crave for,
Nor do I manage the relationships.
Or maybe they don’t see the real,
‘ugly’, ‘crazy’,’silly’,
Me.
I don’t see any bright light,
Darkness blurs my vision,
As if morning
Is still asleep,
Causing me more
Blindness.
But all I wanto see is
A ray of hope,shining at me.
For once,
I want to be called actually pretty,
Hot,cool,amazing,
From someone who’ll mean it and
From the one
I’d be able to believe.
But I am not sure
The pseudonym I choose
To live with,
Would let me
Accept what I am wishing for.
…….
That’s my issue,
I’m locked in this personality-cage.
I need rescue.
Save me from rage
Wake up.
Smile..
Fill another page
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 5:37 AM UTC
Princess!
She was the princess of his dreams.
Once.
Not long ago.
In a flash of power she wrote his name.
She was not true beauty.
She scratched her name across his heart.
Left power of a memory.
An itch he longs to scratch.
Crazy people.
Not mismatched.
Be it not a pseudonym.
Her being, gave him crazy blessings.
Helped him love again.
Once arose a smile within.
Though love be lost.
Once did win!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
I wrote this for the Poetry crowd
A slam poem to be read out loud
An intro as to who I am
I go by the pseudonym M.A.N
Central California is where I roam
A gangsta lifestyle made me hard like stone
Now I'm just a poet with a furious flow
I flip it Kung Fu style just to show
I got the skills to pay the poetry bills
There are no rules I say what I feel
Twisting up words as I open up my mind
My imagination spills to the scene of the crime
My soul in my words will always live on
That's why I pack them with power and make them strong
Will it stand the test of time?
A masterpiece created from my mind
Hmm I dunno or do I care
My words like smoke floating in the air
This is my notice for all to see
On my quest to become the King of Poetry...
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
i
am
human
just like you
grew up confused
fused into a small hole
quite the ***** up
but focused
we are all like lines
i build escape plans through words
every time I find myself stuck
i find escape within me
i find escape in books
i took from my imagination
and drew inspiration
we are all like lines
lines guided my curvy path
life was a little like math class
nothing but memorization
strangers act like they don't remember that we were once friends
last year, last month, last night
or
in the past life
we are all like lines
some of us
meet with someone else
and we intersect once
we make contact
and touch
but funny enough
we never really touch
on an atomic level
our atoms repel
we are like lines
perpendicular
and
never cross paths again
but some of us
meet with someone else
never make contact
or
touch
we are like lines
parallel
we go on forever
but
never intersect
we are all like lines
i saw lines in the way i manipulated
the pen
the pencil
the brush
the spray can
i spray my pseudonym on your wall
well
because I can
the paint
dripping from the walls like
blood streaming down my eyes
the pain
a distraction that
kept me alive
kept me awake at night
kept me away from the safety of my home
but also
kept me away from the dangers of my home
a contradiction
i was living in the streets
the days i never came home
i was living in the streets
the days i never came home
i saw lines in capturing moments
the symmetry in architecture
in nature
i saw myself as a temple
a monument
we are all like lines
i saw lines in guitars
and
how i can change the sound each string makes in endless ways
but in reality
the guitar changed me
it changed the way i tune myself
i finally felt in tune with the world
the fire was inside me
when i took the first breath of air
the water was inside of me
science and religion
i was never thirsty
the earth is really old is all i know
growing up i never learned
never learned how to say no
always afraid of getting old
i forgot the lines i forever rehearsed
the day my mom found out i smoke ****
my eyes were low
and
so was
i
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
V. the ballad of briseis
my heart is of
the flesh of figs,
and that which
i cannot touch:
grainy sweet
garnet nectar
pretty to behold
but easy to bruise
no god shall speak for me, briseis
for this fig-heart, like the heart of man
craves art as it does god
and though i know you not by name,
but only pseudonym:
blood, words, and love,
we are kindred souls
i'd like to believe that we
are cut of the same cloth
hewn of the same mound of clay
(or cast into the same iron, i suppose
for we became one another's anchor
the day we met)
i once told you, my dear briseis,
that if you taught me symbiosis
i would teach you love
for you found pragma
in philosophy cold
markov's blankets
freud's ego, plato's cave
whereas i found pragma
in alchemy's poetry
chekhov's gun
freud's neurotics, plato's human
it means nothing.
the alchemy lies
beyond the chemicals,
beyond the seed and the egg,
beyond our festivals of atonement,
beyond my prima materia
and your unfulfilled magnum opus
it lies in simple interdependence,
the oceans, the heavens,
the forests, the deserts,
the storms, the famines,
the herds of wildebeest,
the colonies of ants,
the beady dew on the spider web
and the purling river shallows,
our acrid mouths yearning for mother's milk,
the boy who makes us cry at night,
the fiery logs roaring against the cold air,
the hoot-owls and the faces on the wall
(our skeletons never did stay in the closet)
bathed in that slow, hideous wonder
those interplays of love and symbiosis
as i drown and die in reverie once more
pray that the stakes may be forever higher
that i find those eternal elysian fields
so long as our achilles lives to fight again
we are more alike,
than you or i would
ever dare to admit,
briseis
so humor this fig-heart:
hold me and tell me
that it'll be all right
Jan 19, 2021
Jan 19, 2021 at 11:57 PM UTC
God help us, Imamu—stop playing the fool
as you babble unhinged in your kente hat.
Bebopping Mao is so very uncool;
what up wit dat ?
Flirtations with Castro (Fidel to the faithful)
and free Cuba Libres imbibed with the Beats
inflamed discontent when your verses turned wrathful
in the streets.
Predictable tirades where Whitey’s the foe,
attacking your hosts like an Afro/eccentric
gets old. It’s a stagnant unmusical show:
dull dialectic.
Who knows why the liberals that bankroll you love it?
Who cares what your most recent pseudonym is?
You old and you mad cause’ you can’t rise above it,
mired in the shizz.
Your lines are pure mannitol: dumbed-down *******
(The blow on the head by that riot-cop lingers!)
The syntax is whack in your ghetto refrain.
Snap fingers . . .
Still you wait for your war—or the Black Star-Liner . . .
Your rage was your royalty, paid in white money.
Your verse sought to give the right wing a dark shiner—
it’s not funny.
Insulting, belittling others more noble;
your legacy leaves nothing hopeful or witty
Just putrid black waters, the flow uncontrollable
under the city.
Inside of your Kabaa are yet many idols.
Your New Ark of verse did not save from the flood.
You mau-mau and bludgeon with words all your rivals
but draw no blood.
Lighten up, wise Imamu. Your age is soon closing.
You wrote for the stage and said some of it well.
But your verse has gone rotten and yields, decomposing,
a nasty smell.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
I have just begun
See me rise like the Sun
All that is done becomes one
With our eyes we see
With our minds we be
Destined to become King of Poetry
Hello everybody you can call me M.A.N
So mysterious I became a pseudonym
I have no finish..I have no start
Infinite emotions stir in my heart
Lava flow seeps from my soul
Volcanic personality shake the earth when I blow
Some days I'm dark
Some days I'm Sunny
Write a Poem on paper call it money
As I appear one year into this Poetry run
I will scratch..I will claw
I will devise..I will fall
In the end rise above it all
Leave poetry skeptics dazed and stunned
Scorpio mind should be a crime
I have just begun...♏
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
Leaping, leaping, leaping,
down line by line,
growling at the cadavers,
filling the holy jugs with their ****
falling into windows and mauling the parents,
but soft, kiss-soft,
and sobbing sobbing
into their awful dog dish.
No point? No twist for you
in my white tunnel?
Let me speak plainly,
let me whisper it from the podium--
Mother, may I use your pseudonym?
May I take the dove named Mary
and shove out Anne?
May I take my check book, my holographs,
my eight naked books,
and sign it Mary, Mary, Mary
full of grace?
I know my name is not offensive
but my feet hang in the noose.
I want to be white.
I want to be blue.
I want to be a bee digging into an onion heart,
as you did to me, dug and squatted
long after death and its fang.
Hail Mary, full of me,
Nibbling in the sitting room of my head.
Mary, Mary, ****** forever,
***** forever,
give me your name,
give me your mirror.
Boils fester in my soul,
so give me your name so I may kiss them,
and they will fly off,
nameless
but named,
and they will fly off like angel food dogs
with thee
and with thy spirit.
Let me climb the face of my kitchen dog
and fly off into my terrified years.
1.4k
Like water falling over a crest
A swift rapid descent into a black hole
The paradox known as my life
Disguised as a pseudonym plunging
Ever deeper into a swirling
Of emotions into depths unknown
Cascading over cliffs at ever greater speed
Feeling out of control
Coalescing into a bottomless pit
The sheerness of the sides
Ever sharper the deeper I fall
Leaving no way out
Holding my breath
For the inevitable free fall
Into a chasm of darkness
Is this my destiny or fate
Or just another nightmare among many
That I will endure
Until...
Andreas Simic©
Jun 18, 2022
Jun 18, 2022 at 8:49 AM UTC
i had a headache when i walked
into class and even though you were
at the opposite end of the classroom, it
felt as though glass was
crushing against the back of my
skull and there were spots of black and
blue and bruises in my eyes and i
couldn't feel anything but the
bile in my throat, not even my
lungs could tell if i was
breathing
when i fell into
the darkness which people often call the
pseudonym of "passing out" and my
instructor shook me awake, pulling me
from the depths of the unfeeling
(and how i longed to remain there),
i couldn't answer the question of
"why" and simply stated the cause
to be dehydration instead of panic.
you attempted to make eye contact with me
whilst people had me ingest water
against the currents of the bile
and i just can't look at you
without succumbing to all things
you might've read about panic
disorders and ptsd and lonely
women and sometimes
there's this wound nestled in my
chest and it refuses to heal properly
because you make me feel loneliness
in the worst of ways.
i don't want this. i don't need
you. i never did.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 4:50 PM UTC
Vicinit vicinit the gamut go round
Progenies excogitate faster
Ode to no eminent thing
We all morph into matter.
The atramentous inky and blackest dense;
sprints and weaves in and out.
Tenuring twains over head, under toe;
Absconding ways in which we've never known
A paramounted heretic defeat.
Darkness that foliole footprints sooted deep;
Seeping stenches of fowl un-scented reminiscent in attire of the welkin;
Vastly sly making a skullduggery indent.
CR2X let us pseudonym by hex.
"No nomen no nomen for I matter dark"
"Matronymic nix hold's my fine lark"
"Nongermane logics are behind you and left"
"I am not your scientific pet"
Not a test, nix preliminaries"
Matter of all is of all existing quarries"
Spoken gallant and wise
Need not ever a compromise
"Matter dark matter dark it is you we embark!"
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 2:18 PM UTC
Humanity is so advanced
Constantly pushing boundaries
Solving the unknowns of existence
Day by day, one step closer
To all-seeing comprehension of reality
So close to a cure
Just short of a solution
No knowledge can hide from us forever
We press on to illuminate
The dark depths of mortality
Seeking truth
We go where none have gone
Pursue an answer just beyond our grasp
Closer than ever before
Yet still outside the realm of reality
Or maybe our reality
Is just a fabrication
The materialization of a fiction
Whose architect works by power of suggestion
Under the pseudonym of "Sanity"
A fiction of simple skeleton:
Spine of logic and ribs of reason
Whose blood flows rich in measured season
Headed by calculated cognition
Infinite, within the bounds of Sanity
But we sink our teeth into each fact
We cling to all we think we know
We say "question everything" and "think beyond"
Convince one another we actually do
As we dance on our ropes pulled by Sanity
And we see as we wish to see
And we wish for all we ever saw
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
Swallows, and it follow
Into the stream of blood
Sorrows, of tomorrow
Quenched along smoke thirst
Poisonous oily liquid, description
Stated literally
Should be avoided, medical prescription
Lingers in breath
Smoker, person's pseudonym
Enjoying for him(her)self
Smoking, process's anonym
Nicotine, isn't always a sin
|AB|
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 5:06 AM UTC
A poet,
One of our best,
Got far
Inside himself.
He LOL a lot,
Used emoticons
And dots,
To share
Personal thoughts;
Then he forgot
His name.
A pseudonym's
A precarious thing;
Its acronym
Might fool you.
But a nom de plume
Becomes you,
Like Twain, Orwell
Or Seuss.
So, when your writing
Takes you far,
It's important
To remember
Who you are.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
INTRODUCTION
*someone's following you online here,
and you want to know why
Well, here's why...take your pick*
POSSIBILITIES
1)
Oh, I follow you because you look good
and though I never read your poems
I come back often
year after year
to see if you age at all
2)
you don't use your real name
you use a moniker or pseudonym -
and I'm just going by the desperate hope
you are Obama or Putin incognito
and you might give me asylum one day
if I'm outlawed by one or the other
3)
I'm in jail for life
and this is the only way I can stalk anyone
4)
I was hoping you'd reciprocate
and follow me too -
so why the hell don't you, hypocrite!?
5)
I'm your ****** boss in disguise
and I'm at this site keeping track
of how much office time you waste here,
you ****** loafer!
6)
I'm actually your wife
and I got a thing or two to say to you
about all those comments
you've written for the women here
Same old liar here and at home, aren't you?
Just wait till you get home...
7)
Well, I'm a ****** academic
who never gets creative
so I'm collecting all your poems
and I'll publish them in my name
and there'll be praise all round for me
as academic, and poet, and novelist too
(the novels I steal from my students)
8)
you scratch my back
I scratch yours
9)
Why do I follow you? -
but aren't you my mum?
You never taught me
to let go of your apron strings
10)
actually, it was a mistake, see
I was on my smartphone and I went
tap, tap, tap
and my index finger fell on "Follow"
and I'm too darned lazy to set it right...
that's how I ended up following you
11)
My cult tells me
the Messiah is here at this site
so I just follow everyone
in case it happens to be you -
it is you, isn't it?
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 6:07 AM UTC
Women who think like men
Men who act like children
Children who act like they're forty and think they're adults
I opened the box to find a crudely written IOU on the back of an expired Domino's coupon
We tried to assimilate the whole thing
My co-worker made a long distance phone call
It was to the peanut gallery
They told her she should have put another quarter in the parking meter so she could have avoided the fine
"Fredrick Brown"
Said my boss
That was the name he gave us when he made the reservation
Sounded like pseudonym the chiseler made up on the spot
But all he ate was side dishes
And a bag of corn nuts he brought in
Now the investigation was in full swing
The cops came
Asking questions
A description
A name
And what he ordered
"Burnt french fries, uncooked calamari, re fried beans, a salad with only brown lettuce, a can of cranberry sauce, a porterhouse steak medium rare with mushrooms and onions and a hot fudge sundae without any ice cream"
The officers perused the table and found that sundae and the steak were untouched
And the can of cranberry sauce was only half eaten
Days later a man was found screaming in the industrial park
Yelling obscenities and wearing a bald cap
While trying to listen to scratched skipping Cd's on his Walkman that had no batteries
It goes without saying the man was deranged
It was the very same man I waited on in the restaurant
Police only released one statement on the matter
They said when asked why he was in there in the first place
He told them he was looking for work to pay a bill the he owed to a local restaurant who had top notch service
His real name was Ercy ******
That name is now branded into my memory
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
The way you have a way with words,
I bless every book and every poem
that has ever graced your sight.
I praise the letters you've strung thus far,
if I could, I'd stitch them with my own
to make a blanket of letters that would
cover and protect you in the next winter.
Now I am writing astray,
but from my original pseudonym
I am never too far away.
You are the one writing these poems,
I am just your hands and the veins on them.
Jun 23, 2022
Jun 23, 2022 at 3:23 AM UTC
Give Away the Stone
Heat the Ring of End
Days Thesis Pseudonym needed
Give Away my Gem
Hope Earth holds under
Feet Jeweled foundation cares
Grip the Unknown, Strangle
A Polished Sleek Gift
Who are we to choose
Breath in Drudgery
four ago hope held little
hands focus, dope knows no locus
leaden shores anchor coast to coast
Broken oh lord, Broken
as John Milton Revels
Gold as Gorillas Glowing Toxic as Glue,
Bright as the Plasma
Screened Skylight artificially
I feed myself death
to encourage
Give away the Metal
circles Bleed in Chalice
Black & Angry
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC