"ravager" poems
On the internet
I begin to fret
When I keep learning my worth
Like I have been since birth
This thing called online dating
Seems to give me my rating
The conversation is scripted
No matter how I've flipped it
I conjure a hello hell
When they answer
In the form of lol
They strike a ko
Once they type ****
And my skin starts to fry
When I read kthxbai
I'm left staring at a computer
Wishing I had been ruder
So I become jaded
And develop a slick approach
My patience has faded
And I start to think like a coach
Drawing x's and o's
To get people I chose
There are those that stalk
And those that balk
Some just want to talk
And it's never their fault
There are those that are mean
And those that are green
Some are just teens
All looking to be seen
I'm the watcher
Their profiles remain the same as days become the past
I'm the botcher
I either go too slow or too fast
So I stay perfectly still
And wait for my fill
I become a scavenger ravager
When winter comes I am savager
To those I consider mere passengers
Other vultures migrate south for the winter
I remain sedentary on a power line
Frost develops on my wings
I seek warmth to survive
I see a dying stallion laying in an empty field alone
I swoop in for the ****
My quest for survival becomes one of comfort
For the taste of the stud infatuates me
And my enthusiasm overwhelms me
As I eat through its exterior into its heart
I find its diminishing warmth unsatisfactory
But I'm caught in its rib cage
And what was once sustenance
Is now my blizzard prison
It's a big derision
Not flying through the air
But also not quite a pair
So I wait for a summer that may never show
My life lit by the computer screen's glow
Displaying faces of people I'll never know
My vulture's talons buried in desert snow
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 4:12 AM UTC
(Dedicated to Eric Onyebuchi Jibero)
What an excruciating blow
You have dealt me!
A brute's uppercut offloaded
A smashing hit delivered
Like a monstrous boxer
Desirous of fame
With an amateur to tame
At this one bout too many
Wherein you have hit me below
The belt as a sadist deriving joy
From my anguish
And relish
From my enormous loss
Oh mower,
Nay hewer,
Can't you feel anything?
Can't you see?
Can't you reason for a while
With your prey?
Can't you pause to ponder
Just for a brief moment
So you can take a good decision
Choosing the right tree to fell
Instead of bringing down a mere
Sapling with your obedient saw?
Why deal sweeping blow
On a mere rookie?
Can't you distinguish
Between the ripe and the unripe?
Between the hen and the chick?
But hawks like you can pick
Meat amidst bones as Moses
In a basket amidst bulrushes
Of Nile to spare from Pharaoh's
Infant-eating sword
And in wisdom did you wait
Patiently to visit Methuselah
At the zenith of hoary hair
Master of double standards
Eyes gorged
Conscience seared
Heart cold like frozen chicken
******* dry and drooping
Like a hag's
A ruthless scorpion
That stings even babes
Rampaging ravager
Notorious brigand
Marauding machinery
Eliminating without scruple
Whoever you choose
Whose hireling are you?
God's or Satan's
Or both?
A blank cheque you flaunt
To cash as you wish
But can't you condescend to a negotiating
Table when a mere sapling is marked
For a cutting down?
Being a professional boxer
Long in this senseless trade
You should have seen the heap
Of pain you would leave
In my heart by this cruel blow
Against a budding amateur whom
You have served voracious earth
Whose stomach is a leaking tank.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 5:22 AM UTC
Anarchy
Grows in my heart organically
I'm sky high
Don't apply to no gravity
Mid'flight dog fightin' with insanity
Crash to the floor
My eyes burning with clarity
Mind state retaliate eradicate depravity
Assassinate a character
Animate a passenger
Blind hate.
The scavenger
The ravager
Ravish all the challengers
And massacre the amateurs
Banish all the stragglers
Smack with em a cannister
**** sliding down the bannister
Pay my debts like my second name was Lannister
Vanish like a phantom of the avatar
The damager
The battler
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
crusaders
christianized, zealous warmongers with ****** stains on stainless steel blades
hauling with them the great flapping insignias of royalty, emblems of their special heritage
disregarding the fact blood flows warm and fast all the same, nobody spared
familiar ties shattered over petty disputes of land and territory in the name of a great purpose
a great purpose disguising glory-seekers and painters whose favorite color is red
led by a massive snowy warhorse with crimson hooves and jet black beady eyes
old, worn, and of a raggedy golden mane forever worshipped
it is my fate to follow
(that’s what they tell me)
crusaders
biblical storytales springing to life as they gallivant across the country singing do-goods
while their actions connotate some great demon lurking about behind their holy words
valiant warriors in service to a mighty omnipresent deity watching woefully from above
as they unnecessarily **** innocents that they knew it was wrong to ******
blind belief is as alive as bloodlust to them, screaming their lungs out for the almighty
they are the salvation and the scourge, leeches of the land and lordly leaders for long
fearful eyes of aliens stare to the sky and grovel in a piteous attempt for mercy
he cannot condone this
(and that’s what they don’t)
crusaders
knights of cardboard armor and ironclad skulls falling by the thousands
yet they relentlessly hunt the enemy like predatory raptors of the past, voracious
not yet declawed or defanged as they are before the plastic wisdom of man claiming to be
the god of glory, gold, and gore; suddenly he is a savage ravager and avenger of the undead
men swear themselves to a cloaked idol in order to become accusers of the guilty
when the openness of perception may be all that is truly necessary
even kings are defenseless against the all-consuming force of religious blessing
how is it just?
crusaders
god’s greatest success
crusaders
god’s greatest regret
(am i both or neither?)
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 10:26 PM UTC
automobile assault again
by
churchlot crasher.
departed, damage done
even
forgoing forgiveness.
grumbling gomez glowers,
haranguing
impossible immunity.
jeez! just...jerk!
klutzy
lot leaver!
mangled mobility machine
needs
overnight observation.
poignant payment, pending
quixotic
recompensing ravager.
supposing satisfactory salvage.
truck
under
vehicular
warranty.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
The social personality test,
Labeled me a villain!
A vile twisted man with morals not,
A stinking marauder with a heart of rot,
A mindless ravager incapable of thought!
All because I said that I'd do things that no other would,
To ensure safety to those I wish to save,
So am I villain not?
Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 10:13 PM UTC
It’s stapled
Ricocheted with bad music
And over-eating
But it’s stapled now--
Overshadowed
By the all consuming
Heaviness
Of death himself.
Wielding his scythe
Seething with the past.
The burrowing sensation
Now mixed with
This deep hole
That stretches for
Miles
And miles
And miles
Spitting out over the end of the world--
And there he is
Beaming
With a shiny toy gun in hand
Whispering
I’m not asking to marry you today
But I love you--
Gun pointed at a temple
One second
Two second
Three second
Boom
And you no longer
The ravager
Of my heart--
Those holes
Belong not to you
But to the boy
Who wore too many sweaters.
It’s twisted
This twist of fate
That in death, I find release--
Not from Death himself,
Wielding his scythe
But from
Drunken cupid
Who shot me
Repeatedly
Sadistically
Knowing that the eyes I would set upon
Were yours
And I was to never
Ever have you.
It’s not
Cauterized
The wound
Imprinted
On my swollen heart.
No
Now it plays
With the hole
Telling stories
Of depression
Of nights
Where air wasn’t enough
To fill
My heaving.
When the only liquid
That burned
Made my face numb
And my eyes sore
And my throat tight--
It’s stapled though
Slowly,
Horribly
Stapled.
So that’s good.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
If words could bring these people peace
Or freedom from Assad
I'd write a dissertation
Of my hatred for a God
Who turns his back
On bombs and blood
That paint these streets
In tears that flood
My veins with all the sorrow
Of these angels as they weep
For the fallen and the taken
For the homes obliterated
Into rubble of forsaken
Orphaned children mutilated
They awaken to the nightmare
Of their dreams asphyxiated
Choking on the dust of youth
Like infants you have fated
To starvation, dehydration
Desolation of creation
With no cause or explanation
Show your Holy Ghost and state it
******* coward, indicate it
Tell these people why you've waited
Tolerated these atrocities
That you have detonated
On the prayers as reciprocities
For faith still unabated
In their father of salvation
Power-drunk on condemnation
An abusive and neglectful beast
A sodomite of ****** daughters
Ravager of Mother Earth
You lead your sheep to slaughters
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 12:10 AM UTC
Tears are the toils
I've taken
The splinter in your eye
The rock
That your foot
Stumbles upon
I was the
Albatross around
the neck
Of your dreams
The curse
Of oblibvion
Was I the
Ravager
Of the pure
The innocent
The apple
Of desire
Was I
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 10:41 PM UTC
Not long ago you were dancing
To the tunes of Paris, the songs of France
and the hymns of underworlds below
A heat. One which you've bellowed inside of I
to flames stoking to the sky
Now left with smolders and ashes
Now left with charcoal and darkness
Next you flew out like a phoenix /a bird/ from death
then a flower in the spring
then a mirror on the wall
and so so so so much more
Where are you now?
A phoenix - a fantasy
Where are you?
Not spring, but winter
Where
The mirror. Is shattered
Today; and a few yesterdays ago
you return
but
I know you
You're no girl
no woman
no bird
no bard
no flower
no grave
no painting
no angel
no nothing
no anything
You are /right now/
A spectre
a ghost
an apparition
Wailing through my very soul
/a poltergeist/
Chilling my fractured person
My lost icon
Yes...
You haunt me
And like the thirsty ***** in the bowels of every woman and man
I beg you to once again
ravage me...
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 3:40 AM UTC
Book of Poetry
ARIEL . . . poems by
SYLVA PLATH
published 1965 , two years after her death .
Tears are the toils
I've taken
The splinter in your eye
The rock
That your foot
Stumbles upon
I was the albatross
Around
The neck of your dreams
Of oblivion
Was I the
Ravager
Of the pure
The innocent
The apple
Of Desire
. . . was I
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC