"ravening" poems
Terrifying are the attent sleek thrushes on the lawn,
More coiled steel than living - a poised
Dark deadly eye, those delicate legs
Triggered to stirrings beyond sense - with a start, a bounce,
a stab
Overtake the instant and drag out some writhing thing.
No indolent procrastinations and no yawning states,
No sighs or head-scratchings. Nothing but bounce and stab
And a ravening second.
Is it their single-mind-sized skulls, or a trained
Body, or genius, or a nestful of brats
Gives their days this bullet and automatic
Purpose? Mozart's brain had it, and the shark's mouth
That hungers down the blood-smell even to a leak of its own
Side and devouring of itself: efficiency which
Strikes too streamlined for any doubt to pluck at it
Or obstruction deflect.
With a man it is otherwise. Heroisms on horseback,
Outstripping his desk-diary at a broad desk,
Carving at a tiny ivory ornament
For years: his act worships itself - while for him,
Though he bends to be blent in the prayer, how loud and
above what
Furious spaces of fire do the distracting devils
**** and hosannah, under what wilderness
Of black silent waters weep.
41.2k
It was on Hallowe'en when we said we'd meet;
as we thought it might be romantically spooky;
and I trotted gaily along the pathway
through the dimly-lit park
where the predator gay *** maniacs roamed
hoping for a bit of backdoor action
and my excited little heart went
"YI YI YI YI YI YAAAAARRRGGGHHH!"
with eager anticipation
of a hot new nymphomaniac date.
We had been a-texting with
ever-increasing frankness
for several weeks and I was beginning
to get tired of wiping the keyboard clean
after each bout of frenzied
manual self-stimulation
which she had boldly urged me to
and the built-in camera was out of order
because of the damp ***** build-up.
I found the pictures she sent me
stimulating to say the very least
especially the one with the melon
peeping out from between her legs
and I found her blood-red eyes
rather exciting really
once I got used to them;
and I was quite looking forward
to the love bites she promised me
which was why I had washed my neck
with particular attention to the blackheads.
Promptly at the stroke of midnight
my putative mistress arrived
with a ******* great clap of thunder
and to say I was surprised by her sulphurous breath
would be putting it mildly
and the fifty-five inch waist
was a bit of a disappointment,
and I honestly and truly think
she might have mentioned
the suppurating scabs
and oozing boils
or at least hinted at them.
As I fought the ravening hell-bitch off
with the hatchet I had wisely brought
in my briefcase as a safety precaution
once more I rued my innocence:
how many times have I been let down
after such high hopes from internet dating
and yet - trusting soul that I am -
I had again let my heart go astray.
Once it was all over
and I gazed down at her hideous
and mutilated corpse bleeding
and twitching on the ****** bitumen,
I lifted up her skirt
just to check the melon photo
hadn't been a fake;
and although there was no large
piece of fruit in situ at the time
I could see it had always
been a very real possibility.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
the bells peal
toneless
in the hollow place
of the night
and the moon is
the cold light
of tenuous dreams
seen through
the strained fabric of
a threadbare sky
shadows of midnight words
pulled long and thin
by the weight
of expectation
sit by the road
waiting for redemption
that never comes
pallid night flowers bloom
in hidden places
adorned by a feeble glow
without scent
in their ragged flesh
words whispered by
constrained throats
are consumed
devoured by the ravening silence
blasting down
from oblivion
Apr 20, 2023
Apr 20, 2023 at 12:11 AM UTC
She is the Raven
of my nocturnal ravening
When the silence and the darkness
of the night become too maddening
She is there,
At my door
Echoing her "Nevermore"
Through Her Eyes,
My Soul Explored
As Phantoms of Old Wars
Roam the tides of the raging storm
On the Night's Plutonian Shore
Woeful, she implores
Me to forget my sweet Lenore
The Ghost I loved before
My Raven sang her "Nevermore"
The Songs and Scents of Seraphim
Linger in my Chamber
Is it that,
Or the Ichor of Madness
Which enforce my strange behavior?
My Raven's claws are resting
On a pallid bust of Pallas
Her black majesty infesting
My infernal, somber palace
And my eyes with fire, gleaming
from the Whispers that are Screaming
At the Shadows of the Demons
Who are Dreaming
Plotting, Scheming
Spirit Fiendish
She can see it
My Flesh keeps Hell beneath it
My Ghastly, Grim and Ancient Raven
Feels my heart get ripped to pieces
And yet - I still may not believe
This Bird of Prey
Could bring me peace
She flutters with
Unearthly ease
As the wind outside mangles the trees
I see her there, in my despair
Divine darkness chokes the air
Her ever spirit-piercing stare
I feel upon me everywhere
And as I kneel upon the floor
I watch her nest above my door
And I find myself longing for
My stately Raven
From the Saintly Days of Yore
To Haunt me now,
and Forevermore.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
... ravening wolf's
blood-caked maw
explodes
plumes of condensation
to evidence exertion.
He guards his ****
with a dogged dread,
for I
am an
unfamiliar
predator.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 9:02 PM UTC
Picture in me the ravening beast
and you’ll have a sketch of my character;
though I’ll warn you
it is not I who stalks deadly in the night,
looking for soft flesh on fleeing feet
and the taste of fear.
I save my prowling
for the scullery door and
the elusive glow of the hot oven.
I am the Thing That Scuttles,
the Devourer of Grains,
a card carrying member of the Cheese Sanctification Society.
(Progenitor of Pestilence, too, if you want to get fancy).
Stop up your cracks and close your cellar doors.
Anything less than a full lock down
I consider an invitation.
There are no spells to keep me away for long.
No beauty dares kiss my lips
and try to change me.
Isn’t that grand?
I know of no creature more comforted
by their own monstrosity than I.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
As wild as wolves go
we tread
lines between each other
we circle each other
we are ravening
for blooded lips
for the chase
your bite leaves a sting
it breaks the skin
as the pressure of your hips
pins me to the earth
the world revolves around us
urgent breath
urgent sighs
my nails count your vertebrae
you grasp at my hair
we are in rhythm
you keep me within
finally your last bite
shakes me dead
like a rabbit unravelled
gasping for air.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
she is wearing some chemistry
an old dress for a bluestocking
she turns her face towards a green sea
new rhymes for blazing verbs lurk
in the definition of imprecision but
everything is falling into place
cell to cell conversations afloat
shards of mystery smooth
rounding out the caves of night
mirror wars meanders
mitochondrial Eve confused
into this new creature
saturated with radiance
questions not asked
but answeared
how you love her
do your hands chase
her tango shoulders
is there music inside
the shade of water
waste inside nails
naivete in knees imprisoned
vibration self-asserting
a devious sweeping world
of unthinkable gestures
your hands a seismograph
for the cataclism of shiver
no need to search for
her selfless sense
as you ravening negotiate
the fossilized song of you
the depth of this tympanum
this membrane
time itself this creature
zoon erotikon
levellling up resurecting
ravaging enchanting
all the rites of passage
for the overwhelm of flavor
she breathes in prehistoric gills
nirvana dance inside DNA
you redefine your sharpness,
delicacy tears & tearing
she dissapears in a snare drum
sanity evaporates as mist
over arched forests
in the pulse of no air
in between skin and akin
in the bewilderment of bodies
searching for their lyric
manna for beautiful beasts
over the sargasso sea
she wails genuine
metanoia, love's dianoia
no disambiguation
Feb 13, 2023
Feb 13, 2023 at 6:06 PM UTC
It is
The greying stones of old buildings
Weathered people
The palpable cinders of coffin stains
Draped flags Drooped heads and Drained faces
Sequoia’s ancient as Methuselah Falling in once lush meadows
It is
Diesel and gold, and diamonds
It is, dictators and conservatives
It is murderers and mutilation
It is the lies we tell to children
It is the scars on my brothers back
It is religion and regalia
It is an indifferent and inhumane god
It is the desperate stare of the ravening children
And it is life.
And you deign to tell me I need
Your god.
I hope we can teach him
how to love…
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
Try this, it's {like}kid baseball, no grownups,
and only mental no hardware,
eyes glazed, as we accept
- we saw him, baseballman,
- corner of Santa Monica and Western
he played this same game
but we are
all grown ups, for the session, and we
volunteered, but we
do not
at the moment recall, reconnect, reconcile
one
mind, o
, my god. wjatdewdotame? tamed me?
blamed me? shamed me, got'amyou,
made me
the father of others who know I never knew,
but they knew, why
her and all her kids knew, eden was mine,
the I traded that
for her,
without ever
really, with out, out most ever, knowing
why I never noticed, she knew just
what to do, and I never learned,
wham- thankyewma'm
why did the guy never know, really war is wrong,
and she knew, yet she set herself as prize.
Who knew,
they all knew, able proved n'able was a name
for those who found it funny to hurt with fire
and smoke and savory fatted beast feast fired
desires to know, more, moremore, barren womb
more rave ravening black wings now mean
mean and I mean it, I win or I die, I try
umph.
and a more is a matter of opinion,
some times,
it feels staged, inserted for drama, as if drama,
is a god, or a guardian spirit,
per haps
may haps, we creak, and stretch our spine n mine
pops, gas, escapes, internal pressure adjusts,
a sigh,
you may be reading
for pleasure, less likely you came this far for
the upaginthewall-weall-alley ****** at the core,
as you think, mmhm
in your heart you are,
re-
swing low, sweet chariot, I got no place to go.
And this ain't hell.
And I oughta know.
So, merry message
of the annual effort
to enjoy
on purpose
conciliation apprizals as to
what counts
gift or thought behind it?
Dec 24, 2021
Dec 24, 2021 at 7:08 PM UTC
i will cut out pieces of paper with the letter K-I-S-S written on it
than actually torture my body after physically kissing you
because sir you
are '
magenta.
a color revolving so deeply with in my veins
i am not saying we are one because you sir
are
magenta
a colour ravening with lure and mystique
but if i allowed you to kiss and kiss my breath to open places
i would become an expert
a know it all
because i would discretely feel your lips on mine
as you pronounce volcano, muscles, performance
and just like that
you would be the......
the things i avoid constantly in my head
and now i allow paper with K-I-S-S
allow you to understand that i want you.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
let go the words
like seeds,
to the vast and
windblown
sky
let them settle,
where they may.
some may flourish,
take root and be...
a happy little flower,
a great oak tree.
some may lay dormant,
until the right season.
some may become,
a life's new reason.
some may fall
to ravening birds
some may fall
ans flourish
yet never be heard.
and sadly some may
wither and die...
without ever understanding, why....
we as poets,
truly are,
just the sowers of seeds.
to the winds....
to the sky,
let your words go,
let them fly...
to some say, adiue
see you soon.
to some goodbye.
but let them be...
borne on the wind
...to make poetry
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 3:43 AM UTC
A strange cruel eidolon often glides thru my silent room, then slinks away dry and smooth as that daystar punches through my window pane -like daggers of wakefulness to pierce my dreams once more; and layers of consciousness likened to pale dead skin, to lay bare unwanted awareness of a world too embarrassed to open up that stained and hollow door.
Streaming images on my mind's eye are outstretched, like the gossamer threads of a silver web, woven taut, near a hypnotic light, to draw the uncanny moth, feeding the ravening host tonight.
Nightly visions driven by restless fantasies most phantasmagorical, scream and shout in palm-muted half-tones fluttering as the matrix of horrors, divined thru an oracle, haunt that same silver death-bed... one that reaches out and frightens me like a shape-shifting ghost, (alight and deplorable.)
Though it's all in my head, it's still all too horrible!
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 8:30 AM UTC
High atop a mountain,
fierce steed vigorously breathing clouds.
Came to and frow
to find a challenger so thy may grow.
Leaves the skies in awe.
Inspires to be,
The Grim, that Reaps.
Shining beams of light.
Crimson plate of reflective fine stone brought onto the form by Holy flame lay atop a massive anatomy of muscle to defend with its aura of might.
Vivid, vivid
Eyes deep red, darkened by crown like mask of fortitude
vigilance in all aspects.
Behemoth in stature.
Standing as high as the Heavens.
Flames hug the creature of blazing hooves and the Crimson Elite of the era.
Swords aflame held in each hand covered in a ruby gauntlet bore by an Elder Demons infernos, made to protect the mouth of the fabled
Levithan.
Amongst the Titan an
Unexplained enigma.
Spew about
An awe a blazing to rule
Conquering
All land.
Gaia cover by ravening flames
oh might
Dancing vigorously till day
End.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
(2 couplets)
Beware of the voice that you may hear within
isn't a ravening demon or some ill departed kin.
---------
Make sure that the inner voice which you hear
isn't one that is causing doubt, worry and fear.
___________________________
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 3:02 AM UTC
I always knew there was something strange
About that farmer’s stile,
For no-one ever climbed over it
And I’d watched it for a while.
The field beyond it was out of sight
Behind a hawthorn hedge,
I didn’t know till I tried to go
It was perched along the edge.
The edge of history, edge of time,
It may have been the gate,
That hell was hidden behind in that
It saved us from our fate,
I threw a stray dog over it first
To see what would transpire,
It came back ravening, racked with thirst
And it set the hedge on fire.
I wasn’t going to risk my health
Nor even my sanity,
But somebody else would have to go
For my curiosity.
I passed young Ann in the marketplace
And I thought she’d be no loss,
I talked her into crossing the stile,
She did, at Pentecost.
Now Ann had been unattractive when
I sent her over the stile,
I didn’t hear from her straight away
But hung around for a while,
Then out from behind the hawthorn hedge
She suddenly poked her head,
A ravishing beauty Ann was now
When I’d thought she might be dead.
‘Could that be possibly you?’ I said
When I saw her pouting lips,
Her stylish sash and fluttering lash
And her painted fingertips,
I hadn’t noticed her dimples when
I’d looked at her before,
But now she was drop dead gorgeous,
And the word was, ‘I adore.’
I tried to get her over the stile
But she said to me, ‘No fear,
For everything is so beautiful
I think I’ll be staying here.’
And then if I really wanted her
I would have to cross myself,
She said there was gold and rubies there
Amid signs of untold wealth.
I conquered my inner demons and
I took the step at a run,
Leapt over the farmer’s stile to Ann,
There in the midday sun,
But all I found was a battleground
Littered with heads and hands,
The ******* of seven centuries
And a pile of old tin cans.
While Ann was dressed in a peasant gown
And had lost her pouting lips,
Her stylish sash that had turned to ash
And her coarsened fingertips,
‘What did you really expect,’ she said
As she pinned me to the ground,
‘Now you’ll be mine, though it seems unkind,
As long as the earth turns round.’
I’ve tried to escape for seven years
But I cannot find the stile,
The one that I jumped up over once
In response to her woman’s wiles.
I really thought I had played the girl
When she wasn’t much to see,
But she found me in the marketplace
And she ended playing me…
David Lewis Paget
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 1:23 AM UTC
If the sky should fall
And leave the brittle bones of our living
Shattered
Like teeth in the blackened angry mouth
Of a hag
What then?
Do we weep salt tears
For that which is lost and cannot be found
Raise a fist in anger to a savage God
Who will not hear our cries
As we wander through our ruined lives
Looking for salvation.
Do we bend our backs?
Put stone on stone on stone and build a wall
Make it strong
To foil the ravening wolves
Of fear and cruel self doubt
A solid moat to keep them out
And us within
While we begin
Again!
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 12:27 PM UTC
Flower – crouched, crowned in its color tender, entombed, sees the moon.
she has ten thousand things in her mind but only one heart
for the life of her. She looks away from light
through her spectacles yet only has her eyes on one figure, alone.
somewhere in the mountain, drunk with the clash of land.
she has her quicksilver of mind. Intoxicates when willed, talks,
expires heaven a manifold. Supernal silence when nothing
excites – she has mouths for kissing a hundred things but only
the kink of fire for one. A wrestled shadow taking form of
towers bigger than cities. She has two feet for the world, yet only
one destination – to herself, and herself alone.
She is much of herself the rest of the world shorn out of wide-eyed
ruin – say, small bird, wishing her luck through wet leaves
shake cataclysms down our sleeves – she does not know how to swim,
yet has the blue of sea; anchored in the weight of unborn laments.
No more moves the sight of her, but herself in the mirror.
Stripped of sense and naked in a fine-tuned near-death thrill
of hunkered ravening, we are left to our own devices, mapping out
labyrinths. She has heard so many farewells, shook her not,
steered her clear into the immensity of a wider room,
her hands steely, pried open and precisely the span of bent tapestry,
alive in the receiving dark now, she has her eyes the size
of Moons, shining on one alone, that is not I – furtively the distance
calms and there is truth rising from the depths of deceit.
The palpable freedom makes the Earth wider and she has only
the world in her hands, trying senselessly not to shatter it.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 5:29 AM UTC
in the swollen eve of night,
we are light trilling on boughs
and the same bird that arrives
in the morning
is the same bird that abandons us
in the evening,
half-illuminated in flight,
surrounded by the quake of the world,
i take this edge of silence
and its shine-meshed motions
propping up the shadow and defeating
it after with no hesitation, no sallow contrition, no ravening contention;
the night's tenement is the
same clout of daylight's lulled out prisoner: take honestly by saying laughter
and its meager dance frothing in the mouth, shying away into atrial flutters.
feasting in the wind, unfettered, loosely
ambling like waters set free in the vein
of the autumnal world
we've gone where nobody else went,
scared of our freedom, our reluctance to glance back at our petrified images,
willed with a different fire we didn't know our hearths possessed,
on and on, past cathedrals,
past synagogue bells which word not
our names, only the mornings we have
scattered and recollected, bannering
through our lives, separate, joining all
that has defied their deaths,
the unscathed flowers of the garden
and the sheen of whose eyes lost
their youthful glint,
on and on,
never returning, mapping
a labyrinth of its own.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 7:10 AM UTC
In terms of memory and foreboding,
my life began to fall apart
since when you started with him
Everything was rotting in me
And this my great heart
But deep in me, I know that I love you
And the desire to dream with you, and still
But everything is broken in me
Love and sorrow, happiness and joy, dream and reality
It's been killed.
One summer night
Without any tears in the eye
And without fear in the voice
You decided to make a choice
And you're going up the stairway
And I can’t say a word
Is this an honest way?
Deep in me, I count my days.
Everything around me is just a sound of thousands cars
And I'm looking at the sky, but I can’t see what tell me stars
She goes slowly, slowly, like a cold winter rain
And there is great pain in me, pain
And I feel sadness and biter in the vein
Who is in her game?
And bad dreams come out again from the dark
I'm running down the street to the first park
Here was the first kiss
Behind the fence and shadows of the big trees
She went without fear
And everything went in a minute desipire.
So if I look in the past
And I'm trying to find the answer
Or some reason, but in vain is everything
I wanted to be a thunder
In her heart, and lightning, but it was a mistake
Because that night in the summer
Flies were ravening in large numbers
It was some kind of dust in that flying
And I did not have a dusters
It was only my dream that came into reality
With a great wind in the storm
And there was no lee
Could she hear me?
Hey, hey, you psychologists
Why is this happening to me, all this?
Can somebody help me?
Hey man, young man, go to the warm sea
There is no escape from reality.
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC