"ruts" poems
.
***Ancient games
tell tales of dust. ||| A story drawn
from the lips of two poets.***
~~~~~
It's the wits that **** not Queens of ivory or ***ink. ***
Charged with coal strokes, scraping up the lies.
Pawns & Knights slip between the grasp of the sun, leaking into* lion jaws of Leo.
Shifting these granite plates, ignoring the Rooks common price of aslant.
Here we have slain kin, crescent traitors that backstab the night and battlefield.
Closed doors and trap floors, trade me a tie, swindling your tactic ruts.
Reality never got the noose around our necks, check turned into manslaughter, and kingdoms ripped asunder by the roar of Jupiter
Get up, get up, get away from these liars, they can't have your rank or your fire.
Peak a notion, this match is spared by a luft.
Toss away the pride buried 'neath your dusty skin, it don't matter no more if death has you by the lips.
Silence is a language too in our eyes of earth.
Take my hand, knott your soul into this downfall, and brace yourself for the wreckage in our bones.
The Sword of Sorrows will fall 'pon your shoulders, not to slay thee, but to dub thee a new day.
The drums of war will knit the lyrics in the sky,
singing:
"The mighty sharpen their fangs, the weak sharpen their wisdom"
~~~~~
I'm tired of your wishbones, and golden scales, give me the hard-earned truth.
Hot coals of honesty may you tread upon, shadow-bitten remorseful may you be, don't stray off the course of Ursa major.
The North star isn't the one I follow
It's the moon with all of it's phases,
Eclipsing and crescent, tipping the sky with it's beauty.
Now let this sink further than any soul has ever sunk,
no man could ever
*rule the moon.
~~~~~~
***Shoot on command,
C
h
e
c
k
m
a
t
e***
~~~~
You could drag me to hell and back and those words wouldn't mean anything.
Let this downfall become a downfell,
Because last I checked
"Wolves worship the moon"
and I have broke it's reflection in the water
*Just
by
throwing
s
t
o
n
e
s
.*
.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 3:19 PM UTC
"Every man gotta right to decide his own destiny."
-Bob Marley
"Facts on facts, and things on things: that's alot of fuckin' ******** Hear me! there is no truth but the one truth, an' that is the truth of Jah Rastafarian."
-Bob Marley
"I don't stand for the black man's side, I don' t stand for the white man's side. I stand for God's side."
-Bob Marley
"in the abundance of water, the fool is thirsty."
-Bob Marley
"the harder the battle the sweet of jah victory."
-Bob Marley
"open your eyes & look within, are you satisfied with the life you´reliving."
-Bob Marley
"in this great future you can't forget your past."
-Bob Marley
"If you get down and quarrel everyday, you're saying prayers to the devil, I say."
-Bob Marley
"Just can't live that negative way...make way for the positive day!"
-Bob Marley
"Life and Jah are one in the same. Jah is the gift of existence. I am in some way eternal, I will never be
duplicated. The singularity of every man and woman is Jah's gift. What we struggle to make of it is our sole gift to Jah. The process of what that struggle becomes, in time, the Truth."
-Bob Marley
"Life is one big road with lots of signs. So when you riding through the ruts, don't complicate your mind. Flee from hate, mischief and jealousy. Don't bury your thoughts, put your vision to reality . Wake Up and Live!"
-Bob Marley
"People want to listen to a message, word from Jah. This could be passed through me or anybody. I am not a leader. Messenger. The words of the songs, not the person, is what attracts people."
-Bob Marley
"Until the philosophy which hold one race superior and another inferior is finally discredited and
abandoned...WAR! So that is prophecy, and everyone know that is truth. And it came out of the mouth of Rastafarian."
-Bob Marley
"The first thing you must know about me is that I always stand what I stand for. Good? The second thing you must know about yourself listening to me is that words are tricky. So when you know what me a stand for, when i explain something to you, you must never try to look upon it in a different way from what i stand for."
-Bob Marley
"Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our mind..."
-Bob Marley
"The good times of today, are the sad thoughts of tomorrow."
-Bob Marley
"You can fool some people sometimes, but you can't fool all the people
all the time."
-Bob Marley
"Don't gain the world and lose your soul, wisdom is better than silver or gold..."
-Bob Marley
"Rise O fallen fighters, rise and take your stance again, He who fight and run away, Live to fight another day"
-Bob Marley
"The power of philosophy floats through my head, Light like a feather, Heavy as Led"
-Bob Marley
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
T'was just before Christmas and I went down to the garage
To have my old car looked at by a fellow known as "Sarge"
He said I need tires and my wipers weren't so hot
My hoses all were leaking and my muffler was shot
The repairs just kept on coming and I saw a sparkle in his eyes
He was counting all my money, he was the devil in disguise
I told him "Thanks, but I would go and get another look"
Before I signed for his repair list and I was on the hook
So I went on to my friend's place to see what he could do
We've been friends for nearly 30 years...since 1982.
His mechanic took it out back and while he had it on the hoist
I saw a woman at the counter, looking rather moist
She said my car is leaking there's a hole that must be filled
I thought that if Rob had a coffee, it'd most certainly be spilled
A girl came in and she told Rob her boyfriend had loose nuts
And whenever he was driving her, they slid into the ruts
Rob stepped back, grinned a bit as he was looking down her front
And from where I stood behind her I could almost see her
Donation to the Angel tree that was standing in the corner
A door opened, a breeze blew in, and there was no time to warn her
Her skirt blew up, exposing her tattoo of some sprigs of holly
And Rob came round and covered her just like Sir Walter Raleigh
I'm sorry miss, for I did look when your skirt was lifted
And I must say, you made my night, for my drive shaft has shifted
And then a man came through the door and said "My name is Nick"
"I've problems with my reindeer and I need them seen to quick"
Rob said "we work on cars here sir , I can fix tires or a hose"
"It's nothing major son, I need a bulb for Rudolph's nose"
"It doesn't stay on like it should and the other deer get frantic"
"And I can't risk it going out when I'm over the Atlantic"
"So, if you would replace it now with something nice and bright"
"I'd pay you well for all your time and for aiding in my plight"
Rob stepped up, fixed Rudolph's nose and said "This one's on me"
"And for all work done in my shop you get a guarantee"
We all stood round as Santa left, for we new that it was him
For he left us each a candy cane in a metal alloy rim
And as we watched him fly away, I'm sure we heard him yell
"There's mistletoe tattooed on her too, but...where I'll never tell!"
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
Recall when you feel
of course you don't
don't mean to interrupt
it sometimes makes me forget
when the nights have been so numb
you don't even remember routine
a vicious cycle of not remembering
when even vicious is not visceral.
Person per person
Have told me their ruts
It takes time to get out
For me, fruitless yells of 'get out.'
Instead of ruminating, you stew
Instead of contemplation, you fester
Instead of crescendo, you ******
Through hoops of negative feedback loops.
You sink until beyond your point of bearing
Every cell in your body becomes saturated
with pale thoughts that make the water dry
so dry, you become breathless of a different kind.
Except it is known well, and only you know
you hide it, because these thoughts crave isolation
don't show among people so they won't be affected
but its because these thoughts know you're far worse
You can't function during nights
yet it still knows how to engineer
the perfect circumstance to keep descending
to that nadir which has no bottom.
People make you sick
Things once enjoyed, tire and bore you
Ideologies are far away on a plane
You could never catch
Because the fever you caught
Makes you see the ends
Don't justify the means
It all seems so pointless.
bombardment, attrition, unrelenting.
And for once, you are granted a small reprieve.
The morning hungover from intense thoughts
Happy that for once
I don't despair to just be.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Hey girl where you going?
I’m very much a talker
Cos I can’t dance good
And I never been a stalker
Where you off to my l’il lady?
Hop in my left seat for a ride
Wind it up or slow it right down –
I can get you to the other side
I’m just a country boy
And I can take you up city streets, country roads
Just a poor l’il redneck
But I’m sure I can get you to where you want to go
I got a full tank of gas
I got an all-terrain SUV
You sure do look good
Buckled up next to me
I can take you up the fast lane
I can drive you round the cones
I can take you slow through the forests
I can take you fast through 30 zones
I got air conditioning in here
Chamois leather seats as soft as babys butts
I can take you across the smooth asphalt
I can take you through the deep ruts
Putting on my aviators
Just let me know if we’re getting close
We can slip on out
Or we can take the main roads.
Just listen to the music
And i can listen to you if you like
I can rev the V8 and take you there
Be it day or be it night
I got fully automated
And a nice little gear change
I got super beam headlights
With a three hundred foot range
I can go on the straight and narrow
I can take you down winding roads
Nothing’s a problem for us; we know where we come from
And I can get you where you need to go
Yeah, I don’t dance so good
But I’m a country boy,
A nice little country boy.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 9:06 AM UTC
The horizons ring me like *******
Tilted and disparate, and always unstable.
Touched by a match, they might warm me,
And their fine lines singe
The air to orange
Before the distances they pin evaporate,
Weighting the pale sky with a soldier color.
But they only dissolve and dissolve
Like a series of promises, as I step forward.
There is no life higher than the grasstops
Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
Pours by like destiny, bending
Everything in one direction.
I can feel it trying
To funnel my heat away.
If I pay the roots of the heather
Too close attention, they will invite me
To whiten my bones among them.
The sheep know where they are,
Browsing in their ***** wool-clouds,
Gray as the weather.
The black slots of their pupils take me in.
It is like being mailed into space,
A thin, silly message.
They stand about in grandmotherly disguise,
All wig curls and yellow teeth
And hard, marbly baas.
I come to wheel ruts, and water
Limpid as the solitudes
That flee through my fingers.
Hollow doorsteps go from grass to grass;
Lintel and sill have unhinged themselves.
Of people and the air only
Remembers a few odd syllables.
It rehearses them moaningly:
Black stone, black stone.
The sky leans on me, me, the one upright
Among all horizontals.
The grass is beating its head distractedly.
It is too delicate
For a life in such company;
Darkness terrifies it.
Now, in valleys narrow
And black as purses, the house lights
Gleam like small change.
3.3k
***** and butts
****** and *****
parents and "tut tuts"
shimmies and struts
primps and cuts
falling, falling into ruts.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 2:35 AM UTC
The horizons ring me like *******
Tilted and disparate, and always unstable.
Touched by a match, they might warm me,
And their fine lines singe
The air to orange
Before the distances they pin evaporate,
Weighting the pale sky with a soldier color.
But they only dissolve and dissolve
Like a series of promises, as I step forward.
There is no life higher than the grasstops
Or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
Pours by like destiny, bending
Everything in one direction.
I can feel it trying
To funnel my heat away.
If I pay the roots of the heather
Too close attention, they will invite me
To whiten my bones among them.
The sheep know where they are,
Browsing in their ***** wool-clouds,
Gray as the weather.
The black slots of their pupils take me in.
It is like being mailed into space,
A thin, silly message.
They stand about in grandmotherly disguise,
All wig curls and yellow teeth
And hard, marbly baas.
I come to wheel ruts, and water
Limpid as the solitudes
That flee through my fingers.
Hollow doorsteps go from grass to grass;
Lintel and sill have unhinged themselves.
Of people and the air only
Remembers a few odd syllables.
It rehearses them moaningly:
Black stone, black stone.
The sky leans on me, me, the one upright
Among all horizontals.
The grass is beating its head distractedly.
It is too delicate
For a life in such company;
Darkness terrifies it.
Now, in valleys narrow
And black as purses, the house lights
Gleam like small change.
2.9k
Can peanuts breathe within their shell?
When they’re eaten, might they go to hell?
Or are they, truly, lifeless nuts
No sadness, madness, or stagnant ruts
Perhaps the peanut has a king
A mighty ruler that makes the law
Or perhaps the peanut has a queen
A tender mother without flaw
Who knows, the peanut could be grand
With magical tales of Peanut land
Castles, Wizards and Warrior hunts
Pursuing their foes, Macadamia Nuts!
Galloping upon their steeds
Peanut’s charge! Peanuts Breathe!
Screams so loud the birds doth fall
Pulverizing the enemy’s wall
Now the Peanuts have an “in”
They focus their gaze upon the ****
Hoarding together & funneling thru
Macadamia nuts receiving a chill
Piercing shells for 3 long days
Injured Peanuts in gruesome ways
Mournful moans of agony
Numbers declined, so tragically
Is this the end of Peanut land?
Why couldn’t the Peanut still be grand?
“Get up I say and finish your quest!”
The Peanuts did and fought their best
Above the smoke, white flags flew
The Peanuts emerged victorious!
Striding thru familiar front gates
Returning home, so glorious!
Perhaps, in fact, this story is true
That Peanuts breathe like me and you
But one might wonder of Peanut land…
How Peanuts ride with no hands
And if you truly wish to know
How Peanuts talk and Peanuts grow
Open your ears and do come hither
“Duh! The Peanuts have a Wizard!”
Oh, the tales and jokes they tell
One day, they’ll be on TV
Perhaps in films known by all
Like, “Harry Peanut,” aired by BBC
Or, maybe they are just meant for our bars
And smashed and spread upon your bread…
But next time you eat this salt sprinkled treat,
Ponder, “am I sure this Peanut is dead?”
- BPW
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
♀↵ϖ†∅↨⊕☺☼↑↓
Apples will be cantaloupes
depending on their nurture;
and so I cherish rainbow hopes
for our collective future.
Oranges elect their hue
improving Nature’s seal,
while pronouns stifle what is true
suppressing the appeal.
Fruits may choose to change to nuts
and fowls select their plumage.
Why settle in Tradition’s ruts?
Such rigid roles do damage.
Nuts in turn, may feel like flowers,
picking how and when to bloom.
So ambisexual thought empowers
androgynes to court their doom.
A leopard, too, may change his spots
(or turn into a vegan bunny)
No law’s tittles, neither jots
make Speciesism funny.
If you decide to see it so
the sky above is yellow.
Perceive as pink the grass beneath
and better times must follow.
Gender? Merely social constructs –
preach it to the masses
until tradition self-destructs
and *** takes off her glasses.
Babies need no Dad (nor Mother):
sexist labels, obsolete.
Love is blind. There is no other.
Bats must bark and chickens bleat.
Integrated water closets
show how far we have evolved:
urinary bank deposits
(with no member account involved).
Foolish thinking from the past
(like water being wet, and such)
calls for re-education, fast.
The State will lend its human touch
compelling all to sing the hymn
with genderfluid motions…
so birds can preen their scales and swim
in dry and waveless oceans.
(Yet “hymn” sounds sexist said out loud –
we ought to sing a “her” instead…
no – make that “us”, since we are proud,
lest misconceptions be misread.)
Shake a healthy dose of salt
upon this strange post-modern food.
May God re-set us to default
with human common sense renewed.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
Ah here sits the stone on the ground
The shrub on the hill. A
Natural state of affairs if you will.
Retched Earth, abominable stone
Why the nerve of the rag tag tree
To perch ones self in stark relief
Blocking the skyline, space invader.
Thief.
Why the unmitigated gall.
Of the rain to fall on withered
Pate..
Tis the empty barrel that rumbles profusely.
The shallow stream that muddles at the bottom.
Pyramid craniums, issues forth babble.
Slackjawd mouth-breather.
Knee **** Buffoon.
Perched in perpetuity,howling
at the moon.
The my way or the Highwayman, astride a cocked horse.
The cant see the beauty of the Forrest for the treeman.
Bull headed, Ram goat Salty old ******
Failure to Communicate.
Rush to excommunicate
Monolythic seer
Cotton eyed joe
Constipated thinker.
Oh the comfort and surety
of riding in the ruts.
.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
From a pavement bistro, enjoying an alcove espresso and jam scone
After fresh rains, scenic smiles yet the road is of red sand
Young children play ball in park adjacent, some teen skaters pass by
Skirt-tugger hangs on for dear life, while she perambulates the baby.
The little, old man places with care, two stones behind his back wheels
His car stuck on the muddy, wet road
A small, slow push by stranger passing; it rolls easily from soft, red ruts
A wave of thanks, a friendly smile and off he goes.
Anna steps in ruddy hope, septuagenarian in jaunty hat and Sunday best
Ready to meet the one of a lifetime, widow of a decade
Correspondence long-time with namaste-man, final reward
Ribcage busy, beat in mouth, eyes flit eagerly, hearty salutes.
But nobody knows that someone is being watched,
From across the distance of the park, a clutch of strangers
Their beady eyes, hooded expressions, they wait
Fate is sealed when car drives by; irrevocably red.
S T, 11 May 2013
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
Run from me.
Did you run from me?
No baby runs faster into my arms, i'll cause you no harm.
I can softly soothe my icelace fingers into the sockets of your eyes, my hands may shake but it's only from love as I move your veiny white eyes to my palms, let them melt like your voice let them drip like your bottom half on my ***
And now you just can't look away, i'll stare into your eyes forevermore, forevermore.
Oh darling, you're trying so hard to get away, Its so ******* cute that you cant tell that i'll make you stay.
My lips on your lips, my teeth bite your tongue, harder harder hurting hurting, copper ink spills through our kiss, and your tongue dripps so lonely from your cold purple lips.
You have my heart so i can take you apart until you give me yours.
Brush your hair with my fingers, dear you'll stay with me forever.
Your soft large thighs, so easy to cut, fingernails, fingernails, fingernails in the ruts. Pull the muscle, bone and flesh apart, make art my lovely canvas. Now i can taste what you really are, my beautiful work of art. we fill your legs with our wedding cake, oh baby aren't we so cute?
Can't run from me now, your mine and you love me but you don't say it enough so I bit off your tongue.
And Im Here smoking cigarettes yet still i want a kiss, burns at the back of your mouth.
Every strand of hair burns just like candle wick, your skin, it cracks moaning like a house full of poisen.
You only moan when I hurt you, but hey, it's sexyer this way aint it?
Dec 2, 2020
Dec 2, 2020 at 12:25 AM UTC
We are the terraced women
piled row on row on the sagging, slipping hillsides of our
lives.
We tug reluctant children up slanting streets
the push chair wheels wedging in the ruts
breathless and bad tempered we shift the Tesco carrier bags
from hand to hand
and stop to watch the town
The hill tops creep away like children playing games
our other children shriek against the school yard rails
‘there’s Mandy’s mum, John’s mum, Dave’s mum,
Kate’s mum, Ceri’s mother, Tracey’s mummy’
we wave with hands scarred by groceries and too much
washing up
catching echoes as we pass of old wild games
after lunch, more bread and butter, tea
we dress in blue and white and pink and white checked
overalls
and do the house and scrub the porch and sweep the street
and clean all the little terraces
up and down and up and down and up and down the hill
later, before the end-of-school bell rings
all the babies are asleep
Mandy’s mum joins Ceri’s mum across the street
running to avoid the rain
and Dave’s mum and John’s mum – the others too – stop
for tea
and briefly we are wild women
girls with secrets, travellers, engineers, courtesans, and stars
of fiction, films
plotting our escape like jail birds
terraced, tescoed prisoners rising from the household dust
like heroines.
Pennyanne Windsor, from Poetry 1900-2000 One hundred poets from Wales
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
*How does one overcompensate
For the incompetence of a nation?*
No compromise for the masses
undeniably stuck in ruts of habit
These days Ive seen and see
We're all craving harmony
With no equitable solution
To take the race out of the face
It's just accumulative corruption
Apprehensive assimilation
Aggression stirring underneath
A stone passive shade of sentience
Now say we might anticipate
The fantasizing fringe of youth
Where we will conquer or be conquered
By depravic spurring truth
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 2:07 AM UTC
---
Some people are diamonds
Some people are stones
Some people are skulls
and some just bones
Some people are spiders
Some are flies
Some are snakes who
Hypnotize
Some people are roads
And some are ruts
Some people are vinyl
Who stick to your ****
Some people are weeds
Some are heather
Some people are just plain
nasty weather!
But you? You're special.
One of a kind
I love your poetry
Love your mind
There are many metaphors
Yes It's true.
But only one poetfriend...
... *and that would be YOU!*
SoulSurvivor
2/7/2015
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 10:08 PM UTC
Livin’ and breathin’ is all that I got
Take a deep breath got my stomach in knots
Can’t tie me down, no you can’t enslave me
Hopin’ someone will come out and save me
Fear and depression are clouding my head
I’m closing my eyes, I think that I’m dead
Fighting for sanity, fighting to lose
Fighting for the chance that I get to choose
Running from something I can’t recall
Too many steps and I’m gonna fall
The buildings edge is right in my sight
One little leap and I can take flight
Lost in the sounds and lost in the pain
Know what I’ve done’s been done in vain
I’m haunted by the past of me
A ghost of who I used to be
Their mistakes are all that I can see
I’m running, I’m running
I hate the scars along skin
A memory of where I’ve been
They’re white lined trails of my darkest sin
I’m running, Im running
Screaming and crying filling my ears
Covered in burns from venomous tears
Im breaking mirrors, I’m screaming in pain
Can’t go on living, theres nothing to gain
Losing myself in the ruts of my days
Breathin’ in smoke with eyes blurred by the haze
Once a week poison killin’ me slowly
Devil on my back, they call me unholy
No where to go, got hounds on my trail
Begging that somehow I will prevail
Imagine a life where I can rest
Instead I’ve got this weight on my chest
Got these voices, they callin’ my name
No one around me, no one to blame
I’m haunted by the past of me
A ghost of who I used to be
Their mistakes are all that I can see
I’m running, I’m running
I hate the scars along skin
A memory of where I’ve been
They’re white lined trails of my darkest sin
I’m running, Im running
Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 10:54 PM UTC
on a dark road
below a black hill
headlamped vision
gritty verge littered
with insect road ****
husk moth bodies
beetle shell mud
defiled ox-eye daisy
dumb weight tramping
the treadmill night
day-shot with the memory
of those lapwing hundreds
wheeling in ascent to fall
on folded wing and again
gyre up to the brink
of abandonment
green silent fields away
as when in advent there
the hills rose up before me
and the thirst for their
awesome green
loth to return
to that vortex drawn
down ice-pocket ruts
my city captive goes
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 8:09 AM UTC
Godless happiness, conservative mind
Blue eyed, blonde hair criticized
Big talk no bite
Vegetarian life
Life ***** when you have none
I scream.
Ruts ****
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
Step over step, a skip and a stoop
You watch while I laugh
and I sing while you dance
We pretend we're all we have
The woods around are echoing sounds
The town is close and the railroad ties
They bake in the sun, old familiar smells
Of oil and wood and bright, clear skies
I miss the comfort
I miss the house
I miss where we were
I miss our bouts
Let's put a penny on the track
Pretend that train is rushing back
Let's put a chance card in the bag
and pull out one where it's our turn
again
A bittersweet ending
It's almost what you wanted
You think you know what's best for me
I guess you're just too honest
Because if there was such a thing
Treasure it and keep it bound
like an old diamond ring
You'll pass the goodness down
I miss the comfort
I miss the house
I know where we are
And I still miss our bouts
Let's put a penny on the track
Pretend that train is rushing back
Let's put a chance card in the bag
and pull out one where it's our turn
again
Crown your hair with daisies
They may wilt but I will not
I can wait for answers
Patience learned but never taught
Kick the ruts in the path
We can tap our heels together
I'll be waiting on the tracks
No regrets here whatsoever
I miss your comfort
I miss the house
I know where you are
and what we're all about
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 12:29 AM UTC
Dull ruts and periodic lulls, cast
Iron wrought.
A life of sea salt;
Choking on ocean foam, walking
On rusty bones
Sifting through ashes.
It's all growing old
Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 10:21 PM UTC
This **** really fries my brain.
Wish I was on the road.
Playing guitar all the time.
Moving.
What is it about now that
keeps me in ruts?
I wish It was raining.
It would fit well.
The mood.
Woods.
Those trees keep calling me.
They feel like home.
When I'm sitting amongst them.
In the decay,
Of pines and leaves.
This **** fries my brain.
I feel distant.
Farther in my head.
Eyes more like windows.
Not sure if I'm an odd one.
Or if I'm just crazy.
My handwriting is bad.
As much as I write, you would think,
My hand writing would be better.
All those curls can't hide these
shaky hands.
Well,
Shaky bones tell me the winds are coming.
With the thunder;
Mystic changing powers.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
The world is colder when you open up its’ jaws.
The sign says no, but your heart says go.
You’ll blame the stars or the snakes beneath your feet,
don't forget to hide the receipt.
You inject blame to the dead.
Where are your morales, where is your sense?
Where is the blood when you need to mend?
This is your fault and this is your sword.
Please, take your daily dose.
Ignore our existence, so you can beg for more.
Beg for the claws inside your heart.
And once they’re out, once they melt,
I promise, I promise
It’ll cool you like a quilt.
I promise, No!
I guarantee-
You’ll miss the bruises and the cuts.
You’ll miss the screaming and the torture.
No more clay in the ruts, no more tape to the edges.
Just blood and heart attacks.
Oh, You’ll miss it.
And when you sleep at night you’ll ask the ceiling “why?”
“Why is it so cold?”
Because you opened up it’s god ****** jaws,
slit your wrists and fed the beast.
A meal on a plate, dessert in it’s hands.
Torture that you call it, a blessing that we give.
Seasons kiss your skin, but pain will destroy it,
no mending for your sin.
No light will kiss you, no laughter or kin.
The Ice will take you in!
The Ice will take you in!
The ice will love you. The ice will bathe you in it’s grin.
You will miss us dear, oh how I promise.
Do take a walk in the forest. Let the wind sink in.
I will whisper I will scream.
You will shiver to my note.
The cold bites honey, wear your coat.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
wheels splay mud ruts,
lazy "S" tracks tender turf,
eyes trail to horse barn.
Mar 11, 2011
Mar 11, 2011 at 7:39 PM UTC
Creases cemented in skin of ages,
bending forward ratcheting wrinkles
piled like a car crash, systemically dried
routing for moisture moguls, malfunctioned,
marked measures of time spelt skin attack,
pillowed ruts run deep, prolonging
their birthmark, plumping....out on a date
with new age spaces yet to be filled
Sarcasm streets, filching frowned brows
suns' stolen chastity, lifting out brown
messages spotted at random
grey mandarins, juiceless, bribing
to be heard, a manifesto hidden,
shrivelled prunes wallowing in dried skins
reaching out for the bottomless custard jug
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC