"reeked" poems
while september cicadas
were singing my neighbors to sleep
i was up walking holes in my shoes
over love once lost
so many poems ago
that the only thing i remember
about the house at 38th & bluestone
is that it reeked of alcohol and is
as i'm sure of it
still saturated in perfume
and abandoned laughter
but that's not the point
give me a minute
what i'm trying to say
is i always thought god
enjoyed watching things leave me
it makes me wonder
what was on his mind
that night in september
when i stooped to cough
or tie my shoelaces
i no longer remember why
but i recall their trajectory
the way gravity cradled my hands
and brought them crashing back to earth like a 747
they landed inches away
from a scrap of crumpled loose leaf
folded in half like the smiles
of my relatives on a holiday truce
you see, lately i've been looking for scars in the newspaper
i find myself checking the obituary
for my former selves since the day i found your suicide letter
maybe that's why i can never explain my obsession with history
maybe archeology is just a funeral
in reverse
maybe hell is just rewinding home movies
or watching confetti
turn back into photographs
i never told anyone
the reason the doors to the gun cabinet in my family's house are locked not because they are afraid
i will take my life
but because sometimes
i sing them birthday songs
on the day you died
it makes me think
of how rooms only echo
when they are empty
*you know
i never echoed until you died*
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
There once was a man
Whose livelihood was rubber.
He worked long and hard; and wore a tan,
He was a plantation tapper.
One night he packed,
In haste after a long day of toil.
Quickly had his belongings all sacked
Under light from a lantern that reeked of kerosene oil.
He was ready, flame from the lantern he did ****
Overhead, the midnight moon brightly shone.
Bound his sack to the rack above the rear wheel,
Mounted his bicycle and soon he was gone.
The dirt trail leading back,
Undulating with gravel all strewn.
Almost treacherous this forgotten track
He only relied on light from the moon.
The air was cool just like any other,
But something was different about this night.
Squinting ahead he spotted a figure.
Flagging him down was a lady in white...
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
I heard a howling
in the woods,
freezing me
right where I stood.
That sound:
it turned my blood to ice
I knew he'd hunt me
this full moon night.
Great, big footsteps
pounding near;
Their deadly echo
resonating with fear.
His heavy breathing
reeked of blood and thirst.
I knew right then,
I was in for the worst.
I clutched my throat
in desperate need
of oxygen
so I could breathe.
Unluckily
I began to faint.
Knowing, once black,
I'd never wake.
And just as my eyes
began to close
I saw his wet,
sniffing nose.
I felt
his snarling teeth
biting deep
inside of me.
Then I knew
that I was done.
I had lost
and he had won.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
The first time I made love to my mind
When love escaped from the gaps
Between our silences and overthinkings
I saw the naked mind.
We sailed from thousand cuddles of imprudence
To a long warm kiss of sanity.
While I dwindled in her arms of fool's paradise
No sleep just one long weary night,
Her ****** reeked of loneliness
I licked it. Hoping to taste ingenuity,
it was the aftertaste of forsaken feelings
that made me ***** her
till she stopped moaning neon dreams.
Somewhere in my walkabouts in her
I created deep craters of memories
Which she took for love bites
were, in fact, scars for life.
We were virgins on our quests
Thirsting our way through wanting and longing......
She made me swallow lust
Slowly. Heavily downtown.
And fingered it, the ***** of thoughts
Ruptured.
And she bled musings.
And Phantasmagoria exuding from her holes
And Spurting into mine like a cascade of brooding melancholy.....
And.... And....
The night my mind lost its virginity,
I sat down to write.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 6:21 AM UTC
Your a wraith, a ghost dedicated to a dying faith, like a mistake, you used life for your needs and gave only to take, as a friend you offered lessons in hate but reeked of an essence that only you could create, ignorance, selfish religious babble for instance, attacking the ideals of others with a dagger between your teeth while preaching against the dangers of he who lies beneath, dont confuse evil for pain, try to experience pleasure from the searing rain that hisses off your hatred, if you can't then I'm sorry my friend, but you've already gone insane
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
The place was dangerous as hell; we had no business being there. It was a complex, composed of four immense structures, looming on the bluffs between Lake Michigan and a ghost town. I'm not sure which side of the fence brought forth more eeriness - the sight of four massive industrial skeletons was indeed an eerie one, but within the village that must endure it's haunting presence persists a dwindling heartbeat... and together they produced a heightened effect of slow decay - and that was what drew me in.
The place was magnificent day or night.
By day, we'd explore the groundworks while the light allowed us to admire the massive machinery, which by then had accumulated copious amounts of corrosion. All those dead giants, never to function again. In the spring time, beams of light would penetrate the ceiling above, caving in from years of stress sans stress tests. Even when the light was not shining through, one could make out where the beams have been because in their wake they left a trail of life. Up to that point in my life I thought that was the most beautiful scene I had ever seen - a thousand tons of old machinery, and a stubborn sunbeam poking through, incubating it's au natural industrialized chia pet.
By night, we would ascend to the rooftops of these four story horror stories and gaze up at the stars. Sometimes, when our ***** were feeling particularly swelled, we'd venture across the rooftops as if in some post-apocalyptic videogame. And sometimes when we were feeling a bit rebellious and artistic, we'd bring along some cans of spray paint and redecorate to our desire. Oh, and another reason the place reeked of death was surely due to it being a glue factory... wherein horses were killed in order to gain access to their foot-stuff. I was told by an unfortunate local that they'd bury the unwanted horse parts in big pits back behind the place... this man had told me that he fell into one while wandering around back there - nearly died trying to get out.
We knew the place was soon to be leveled, but we did not know when. Eventually I ended up moving out of state for a while, and alas, upon my return my childhood fascination was no more. shrugs... So it goes.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC
How wonderful it is, I say, to the retreating
yellow form of your feelings I mistook
For Infatuation, you’re a romance heckler
far and far away from
Accepting fruition within classrooms and
being labelled as an angel.
And it was within forbidden hell of
euphoria, I found
You nestled in the society’s psyche
neither content or calling
For help. Neither did you neglect the
pink spectacles of the society,
Even found yourself moulding and moulding
into a fungi green
That I could not recognize, within that
half-sanctum, half-oasis I found you
absentmindedly
Bathing in, you were already out of
its waters.
And I was no longer seeing you within
the dry desert or the sibilance
of my desires, but instead
in cement woodlands and
Within artificial communication and
Intimacy I gave willingly.
Now how does it feel, to have your
heart in one piece,
How does it feel to not use
whipped cream to fill in the
Cracked, salty sections of your
own ***** that,
Out of confusion, continues to
play its favorite song but
in all the wrong beats.
Somehow within cacophony I found
you, nestled, comfortable in
Bogus, fraudulent wings of a former
angel- who now weeps under our
Feet in theory- Somehow, somewhere,
I lost you within an epiphany
That reeked of bliss and pleasure-
Somehow, we end up losing
Twins of the heavens when all is well.
How wonderful.
How wonderful it is, I say, to your
lost, secretly-weeping figure
That I can’t tell whether transparent or
yellow your figure is.
But I keep speaking-
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To love the first angel I’ve set
my eyes upon-
“Oh, how (falsely) wonderful it is-
To lose an angel, no matter how
phoney, to a social heaven.”
- enriko. aug 5. 11:45pm
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 12:32 PM UTC
All she wanted was to
cry her heart out
but her stubbornness
never allowed her
to shed a single tear
so she changed
her eyes turned into
deep blue oceans
holding their stroms with in
appearing so calm and smooth
her saltish smile
sweeter than honey
never reached her eyes
anymore
her laughter was like
waves smashing
against a glass wall
she reeked sadness
intoxicating millions hearts
who dared to inhale her scent
she was a broken witch
yet they were all under her
everlasting spell !!
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
In rows like crumpled paper set,
The way one might design a brooch,
There sets a sparkle down so purely
Capital, beyond reproach and sure
She is the blackest flea who sits
Upon an old green dog, now should
You query, her name's a pond. In Gaelic
It's pronounced: Baile Átha Cliath—
But in Irish she's plain, mightily named,
Dublin. Where broods the dove, linnet
And swan. Now take them pi'jons, they got
Dank habits and linnets lament the silent
Stones. Sure, the goose gave out and took
To the air, but the swans, they've landed,
To roost, enchanted as 'Children of Lir,'
And so becomes a changeling child's
Fair city, for in her anointed proximity,
Gracious white birds do bathe and molt,
Supplied as I can tell, she looks black-
Pooled in clusters, long side her creases.
Stout nectar flows in near every nook
And cranny, but yer man, he's never
Busy, that malty fish, daftly avoids,
Swimming spirals round like buggies
Do on petals, he'd rather grace gardens
By drinking their dew. O Dublin town,
She wends her ways and rows her houses
Round-a-bout on cobbled shores in tribute
To sprite, deary and fey, Anna Livia—
Who like a stem of blood, stabs right
To the heart of Dublin Bay— and proud
As a crowned thorny, who once had reeked,
She's bloomed large, into one grandeous
Beauty, like a céilí so finely fiddled—
A sandy, spirited, bombastic beach-
Flower, she is, a flag so fitting upon
The doons. In dream, I flocked to her
Like the wild geese and saw her coy'd
Repose and there I spied, from mackerel
Skies— one monstrous, Irish rose!
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
city in ruins
acid green night sky
flames in skyscraper windows
the flakes of ashes
filtering the staunch air
if you breathe in you can
taste the souls of the dearly
& painfully departed
I roamed the underground
silent subway system
in search of an easy ****
long black coat trailing my
fast-paced footfalls
dried blood smeared on a
restroom door
the smell no longer made
me sick
I throw it open
& step inside
the room reeked of
sweat and vile
death
the hair rose on my skin
as I faced the mirror
to greet my weary, shadowy-eyed
reflection
it was then that I saw the
pair of yellow eyes
watching me
& before either of us
could blink
I hurled my dagger at
the corner ceiling above the
empty stalls
spearing the small winged
demon
it fell to the floor in a heap
of rotting dust
there was no time for me
to react
when a figure burst through
the doorway
a dark-skinned girl with
long braids
who didn't catch my gaze
as she slammed her
purse on the filthy counter top
& began to apply her
makeup
"What are you doing here?"
I asked the young woman
stunned at her nonchalance
she never once stopped
moving the pink brush against
her skin
"Gotta go to work,"
she said briskly
as if the whole doomsday planet
was a waste of her
time
I had forgotten there were still
people living in
hell
who bothered to look
pretty
I said no more
& went on my
way
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 5:27 PM UTC
You stripped my soul,
Ripped me from my shoes
Where I stood
in innocence.
You extracted my childlike traits,
Treated my body
As your ********* paycheck.
My whole future
Was laid out in front me.
Now you fabricated a dent in it,
One that has shattered me
Forever.
I used to smile,
Be full of life,
Slept at night,
My body never reeked the incessant scent
of the lifeless souls you sold me to.
My heart ached everyday,
I longed for home, where safety was waiting for me.
Everyday I was a raindrop,
Trying to cling onto the window of hope,
But always slipped away.
You don’t understand the pain,
You’re only in it for the hunnits
Please understand,
That my dehumanization is not worthy
For what you gain.
My body became an abstract canvas,
For your ugly pleasures.
Bruised, bloodied, beaten, and battered.
Cuts and aches line my delicate skin,
But to you all my pain is fake.
You slapped my delicate face,
every time I asked for my precious prize of my childhood,
every time clear oceans surged out of my eyes.
“Shut the hell up!” You yelled
As I let out wails of agony.
You stepped all over me
Like I was a used cigarette.
You ignored my shrieking screams,
Actually,
You loved it.
You forced me
To comply with their beastly gratifications,
Only in return for your abundant riches.
You stepped on me,
like I was a ***** grimy, muddy puddle,
over and over
Even so,
I was still considered desirable.
I am NOT your canvas.
I am NOT your paycheck.
I am NOT your plaything.
I am worthy of honor,
worthy of respectful awe and delicacy.
I did not feel the worth of a human being anymore.
I felt ill treated, broken, bent, demeaned.
You stripped my soul, and,
Deprived me of my self respect.
And I will never
Ever
Be the same.
The only thought
That seeps into my mind
At sunrise and the brink of midnight,
Is that
I
Was someone’s *****
Listen to the pleas of
Children,
their ribbons shriveling up.
Spouses,
their vows rupturing.
Siblings,
their hearts torn apart.
Parents,
Bawling for their sanities,
Waiting to rejoice
With their miraculous bundles of joy—
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 11:13 AM UTC
O'er the South landscape a force did attack
Whipping winds thrashed furiously about
Buildings were smashed down by the great thwack
Angrily the tornado voiced its tout
People cowered neath protective cover
The skies were tinged in a grey green rage
Twas like a roaring train passing over
The ghastly scene was of utter carnage
Driving rains fell they added more insult
Oklahoma's South witnessed devastation
Nature had reeked an awful assault
A twister caused so much destruction
The tornado was of powerfulness
All in its path under extreme duress
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
In rows like crumpled paper set,
The way one might design a brooch,
There sets a sparkle down so purely
Capital, beyond reproach and sure
She is the blackest flea who sits
Upon an old green dog, now should
You query, her name's a pond. In Gaelic
It's pronounced: Baile Átha Cliath—
But in Irish she's plain, mightily named,
Dublin. Where broods the dove, linnet
And swan. Now take them pi'jons, they got
Dank habits and linnets lament the silent
Stones. Sure, the goose gave out and took
To the air, but the swans, they've landed,
To roost, enchanted as 'Children of Lir,'
And so becomes a changeling child's
Fair city, for in her anointed proximity,
Gracious white birds do bathe and molt,
Supplied as I can tell, she looks black-
Pooled in clusters, long side her creases.
Stout nectar flows in near every nook
And cranny, but yer man, he's never
Busy, that malty fish, daftly avoids,
Swimming spirals round like buggies
Do on petals, he'd rather grace gardens
By drinking their dew. O Dublin town,
She wends her ways and rows her houses
Round-a-bout on cobbled shores in tribute
To sprite, deary and fey, Anna Livia—
Who like a stem of blood, stabs right
To the heart of Dublin Bay— and proud
As a crowned thorny, who once had reeked,
She's bloomed large, into one grandeous
Beauty, like a céilí so finely fiddled—
A sandy, spirited, bombastic beach-
Flower, she is, a flag so fitting upon
The doons. In dream, I flocked to her
Like the wild geese and saw her coy'd
Repose and there I spied, from mackerel
Skies— one monstrous, Irish rose!
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
so i guess this is it,
the end of forever;
no one could've seen this coming.
the separation of past, present, and future.
past:
a smile from you
could spawn
a kaleidoscope of monarchs
in the pit of my stomach.
i fell in love
with the way you rested your chin
upon my head,
we were invincible.
i could have laid in your arms
for years.
i would have.
i had enough hope to feed a village.
present:
you tell me
this was long overdue,
that we're past our prime,
but there's no expiration date
on the sound of your laughter.
how do i explain to you
there are parts of my life
that move slower
without you in them?
today i am a quiet shade of blue.
future:
people will ask me
what was loving him like?
and i will smile and say
***it was as if
the sadness had never swept me
under the rug***.
i will tell them
how i felt whole,
how you gave me something
to look forward to.
i will tell them
how you lit a fire in my chest
and evacuated only yourself.
no words,
no warning,
not even the butterflies
made it out alive.
i should have known this was coming
by the way you always reeked of smoke
and bad intentions.
you see,
i confused you for someone
who would hold my hand
when things got dark.
i just wish i had some closure.
j.c.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC
My complexion is too dark, too dark to be viewed as beautiful. He told me that the color of my skin is what makes me appealing, which then makes it a blessing. So I took some time for reflection, as I started to question myself... The blue eyed news reporter, the fair skinned cosmetic advertisement, the tall Scandinavian woman on the bus.. the lack of representation... what was it that they had, that I didn't... The words of my mother became the bullet I so desperately tried to dodge but couldn't ... "save yourself my child and paint yourself white" .. My beauty was not welcome in my own home. My skin I tried to peel off my body .. the diaspora reeked in my veins. My hair that I tried to straighten . My knees that I tried to hide with long socks. My body was tired of hiding. As a result I began to self hate at first grade, until it became the reason of my escape to a place of no return.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 6:39 PM UTC
My hands that reeked of death.
I was stained before I knew.
What it meant,
What loss entailed.
I was different once,
Now I'm different too.
The loving gaze,
Reached me from the stars.
One faithless day.
I watched me die.
What I could've been if I never knew.
You stared at me like the gravel.
I laid to rest,
All my innocence.
The light inside me,
Snuffed before it could form.
The cold metallic taste now stuck,
Clinging onto me.
Like nothing ever will.
Because I will always reek of death.
And I will mourn for you.
For what I could have been.
Your life that had only just begun,
Pretending that it was enough.
You will never know what it is, to stop.
-Persephone
May 2, 2024
May 2, 2024 at 12:59 AM UTC
In rows like crumpled paper set,
The way one might design a brooch,
There sets a sparkle down so purely
Capital, beyond reproach and sure
She is the blackest flea who sits
Upon an old green dog, now should
You query, her name's a pond. In Gaelic
It's pronounced: Baile Átha Cliath—
But in Irish she's plain, mightily named,
Dublin. Where broods the dove, linnet
And swan. Now take them pi'jons, they got
Dank habits and linnets lament the silent
Stones. Sure, the goose gave out and took
To the air, but the swans, they've landed,
To roost, enchanted as 'Children of Lir,'
And so becomes a changeling child's
Fair city, for in her anointed proximity,
Gracious white birds do bathe and molt,
Supplied as I can tell, she looks black-
Pooled in clusters, long side her creases.
Stout nectar flows in near every nook
And cranny, but yer man, he's never
Busy, that malty fish, daftly avoids,
Swimming spirals round like buggies
Do on petals, he'd rather grace gardens
By drinking their dew. O Dublin town,
She wends her ways and rows her houses
Round-a-bout on cobbled shores in tribute
To sprite, deary and fey, Anna Livia—
Who like a stem of blood, stabs right
To the heart of Dublin Bay— and proud
As a crowned thorny, who once had reeked,
She's bloomed large, into one grandeous
Beauty, like a céilí so finely fiddled—
A sandy, spirited, bombastic beach-
Flower, she is, a flag so fitting upon
The doons. In dream, I flocked to her
Like the wild geese and saw her coy'd
Repose and there I spied, from mackerel
Skies— one monstrous, Irish rose!
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 3:36 PM UTC
Once, I bathed in anxiety,
soaking it all into my follicles and letting it slide
between my bones and through my muscles like ice water.
And I reeked.
Others couldn’t stand to be around me.
I became an inhuman symbol,
something robotic and unfeeling.
Then, I reached the peak of hypocrisy--
rejected sparkling convention yet was
simultaneously enamored with it.
I binged on harsh words
aimed at diminishing my sense of self.
I was a frail,
98-pound girl
looking into the mirror
and seeing only excess.
Throughout, I was weighted with bruised limbs--
from being grabbed too hard and pounded too rough against the floor,
and broken down doors and cracked cellphones--
which my father threw violently against the wall.
I watched the glass shatter and end tables topple
down at my mother’s feet,
her eyes wide and glassy,
her face fallen.
Once, I stood naked in a sputtering shower
and slammed my fist
—twice—
into the face of the person I loved
the most, leaving him
with a haunted
eye.
Then, I picked a flower from the sky.
Throughout, I cried because my father left me,
while pretending I was only crying
about a sad song.
These days no longer belong to me,
but the voices are still there.
And the ache.
And the fear.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
Water is reeked with nicotine
The souls are reeked with Ginsberg
but the heads and the thoughts have both pungent smell like
hot rooster comb flowers
I slept last time the day before yesterday
I saw the ****** Mary so beautiful
in that glow of blue & gold
neons of Bethlehem
thumbing a lift near a cadillac with CD plate
& the jazz was caroling in wet sand
there were twelve bars in the honour of that boy
who has to come here one day finally, ****
he has to come just for jamming in this world
as it's said he could /!/ get all that mess of ours
off ourselves gentlemanly playing the part.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 5:31 AM UTC
In rows like crumpled paper set,
The way one might design a brooch,
There sets a sparkle down so purely
Capital, beyond reproach and sure
She is the blackest flea who sits
Upon an old green dog, now should
You query, her name's a pond. In Gaelic
It's pronounced: Baile Átha Cliath—
But in Irish she's plain, mightily named,
Dublin. Where broods the dove, linnet
And swan. Now take them pi'jons, they got
Dank habits and linnets lament the silent
Stones. Sure, the goose gave out and took
To the air, but the swans, they've landed,
To roost, enchanted as 'Children of Lir,'
And so becomes a changeling child's
Fair city, for in her anointed proximity,
Gracious white birds do bathe and molt,
Supplied as I can tell, she looks black-
Pooled in clusters, long side her creases.
Stout nectar flows in near every nook
And cranny, but yer man, he's never
Busy, that malty fish, daftly avoids,
Swimming spirals round like buggies
Do on petals, he'd rather grace gardens
By drinking their dew. O Dublin town,
She wends her ways and rows her houses
Round-a-bout on cobbled shores in tribute
To sprite, deary and fey, Anna Livia—
Who like a stem of blood, stabs right
To the heart of Dublin Bay— and proud
As a crowned thorny, who once had reeked,
She's bloomed large, into one grandeous
Beauty, like a céilí so finely fiddled—
A sandy, spirited, bombastic beach-
Flower, she is, a flag so fitting upon
The doons. In dream, I flocked to her
Like the wild geese and saw her coy'd
Repose and there I spied, from mackerel
Skies— one monstrous, Irish rose!
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 12:31 PM UTC
Softly, she ventured into the violent night of May,
Where pitch-black winter soaked her bones.
The sea, full of teeth, bit and insisted as she stood there, unmoving.
It was full of music and empty promises; she let the vastness of the agonizing waves drown her rotting body.
The sharp smell of air reeked of bitter billet-doux.
It had been her three hundred sixty-five attempts to be silent; barefoot, she waited and waited and waited.
Under the moonlight, she appeared as a ghastly ghost.
For a moment, she wondered, “Only the wicked remember the sea’s harshness and stay”—a woman personified as storm, mirroring her rage.
She is a twisted soul; death sighs at the sight of her.
The moon exhausted its entire being. “She is full of herself,” he whispered into the dark, corrupted sea.
She imprinted the sands with her unnerving gravity—she walked, and walked, and walked,
Haunted by her visions and dreams, terrorizing the melancholic earth.
Months passed—it was now September.
She’s restless; all she could do was remember.
She kept bathing in the black sea, passionately driving herself to madness.
She kept being pulled and pulled and pulled,
Until survival was no longer an option—her hair slowly being grappled into the lake of fire.
Her last remaining thoughts were of long-forgotten, enchanting, sweet eyes of his.
She dreamed of him—those big, witchery eyes of his.
She remembered, and so the sea deciphered her yearning and pulled her in.
Sep 8, 2024
Sep 8, 2024 at 5:10 PM UTC
The Warden roused them early
on this, their final day.
He marched them out on hobbled feet-
Grey trucks took them away.
Doctors, lawyers, engineers,
All captured in a raid.
German Soldiers had been killed
Reprisals must be made..
Fathers, Husbands, sons all caught
within the **** snare.
Among them was a carpenter
Who bowed his head in prayer.
He’d walk the hills of Rome no more
Nor touch a lover’s cheek.
Here, near the Via Appia
He’d find eternal sleep.
Five by five they entered in
to the foreboding cave.
There they knelt for benediction,
the kind that pistols gave.
The cave became a charnel house
Each man shot in the head.
It reeked of blood and excrement
Flies feasted on the dead.
The carpenter fell once or twice.
Can blood for blood atone? .
His killers coveted his coat
and forced him to disrobe.
By now they had grown sloppy
with drink and hate and fear.
The first shot missed completely
The second grazed his ear.
In seconds live eternities
He said his final prayer:
“Forgive them, Father, even this
done out of hate and fear
several shots rang out just then
each found his noble head
they shot him once more, in his side
to make sure he was dead.
Explosions rocked and sealed the cave
With tons of rock and stone
They didn’t think to post a guard
The grey trucks drove back home.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 7:20 AM UTC
In rows like crumpled paper set,
The way one might design a brooch,
There sets a sparkle down so purely
Capital, beyond reproach and sure
She is the blackest flea who sits
Upon an old green dog, now should
You query, her name's a pond. In Gaelic
It's pronounced: Baile Átha Cliath—
But in Irish she's plain, mightily named,
Dublin. Where broods the dove, linnet
And swan. Now take them pi'jons, they got
Dank habits and linnets lament the silent
Stones. Sure, the goose gave out and took
To the air, but the swans, they've landed,
To roost, enchanted as 'Children of Lir,'
And so becomes a changeling child's
Fair city, for in her anointed proximity,
Gracious white birds do bathe and molt,
Supplied as I can tell, she looks black-
Pooled in clusters, long side her creases.
Stout nectar flows in near every nook
And cranny, but yer man, he's never
Busy, that malty fish, daftly avoids,
Swimming spirals round like buggies
Do on petals, he'd rather grace gardens
By drinking their dew. O Dublin town,
She wends her ways and rows her houses
Round-a-bout on cobbled shores in tribute
To sprite, deary and fey, Anna Livia—
Who like a stem of blood, stabs right
To the heart of Dublin Bay— and proud
As a crowned thorny, who once had reeked,
She's bloomed large, into one grandeous
Beauty, like a céilí so finely fiddled—
A sandy, spirited, bombastic beach-
Flower, she is, a flag so fitting upon
The doons. In dream, I flocked to her
Like the wild geese and saw her coy'd
Repose and there I spied, from mackerel
Skies— one monstrous, Irish rose!
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 2:49 PM UTC
How much do we have to take before we can go without, how long before the draught? death by entertainment, it seemed so glamorous how could one go without?
I knew better to begin with, now its time to have faith in my oneness. opening a new chapter to a story that has no end, doing away with infinite incarnations perpetuated by masochistic sin. Death to the creator, the created, the masturbated, incubated, presipitated falsehoods of pajentry. Death to all the silly megabytes of pompous epiphany. Death to the beast that thrived off of insecurity. Death to all that which is no longer me.
Unsimulated, unappropraited energy that is free to be anything but alerts on a screen. False flags of fullfillment waving endlessly with self pity. Perfectly punctuated cries for help and lol's that reeked of nothing but "I hate myself."
Cut the net, it's a trap for something fluid with that which doesn't connect. Don't bother looking here for love, it is already in all that doesn't limit itself.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 5:56 AM UTC
some claimed the paddies smelled like
fetid fishes, ***** some said like the dung of oxen, peasants
or other beasts who squatted there
others whispered the fields reeked of death
while I found no odor to be grander evidence
of life’s languorous longing for itself
we marched those mired moors, as hunters
of invisible prey--ourselves too being stalked, or worse,
mocked by other hairless apes,
who like we, sought light, but
could divine darkness far better, for we
knew little of night, its sacred riddles
some said those places reeked
of rotted flesh, the festering relics of our deeds
I inhaled deeply, slowly
only rich, fecund stories
were revealed to me, ones I fear yet
this silent night
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 7:37 AM UTC