"salvo" poems
TO PUT the art and talent of Mindanaoan fashion design into the spotlight, Kagay’anon fashion designers put their hands together to organize the 5th Mindanao Fashion Summit at the Limketkai Center Rotunda from August 4 to 6, every 4 p.m.
“Being a core event of the Higalaay festival, the opening salvo, the Mindanao Fashion Summit can really highlight fashion designers here in Cagayan de Oro and also in different points of Mindanao to let everyone see what they can do in the world of fashion design especially now that there are only so few opportunities for these designers to show off their works to the public. This is why we have the Mindanao fashion Summit because Kagay-anon designers believe that even if they join national fashion shows like the Philippine Fashion week, most of them still aren't getting the right encouragement as a fashion designer.” said Robbie Pamisa, the overall organizer of the event.
The Fashion Summit is a three-day event composed of seven sub-categories such as the Mindanaoan collection, the Menswear collection, and the Ororama orange collection for the first day, the Guest Designers’ collection, the Fashion Institute of the Philippines collection and the Loop Lifestyle Fashion Show for the second day, and the Holiday Grand collection for the third day which will serve as the culmination of the fashion event.
Mindanaoan Fashion designers from Cagayan de Oro as well as Davao, Butuan, Iligan, and Bukidnon have come to showcase their talents. Some of the fashion geniuses of the event include Alma Mae Roa, Angela Soriano, Ann Semblante, Benjie Manuel, Boogie Musni Rivera, Gil Macaibay III, John Mark Magellan’s, Joshua Guibone, Juniel Doring, Kiko Domo, Mark Christopher Yaranon, and Mavy Cooper de Leon.
One of the highlights of the event is the Oro Fashion Designers’ Guild and the Designers Assembly featuring a collection of clothes using Mindanao material such as the Mindanao silk. Sponsors such as Ororama and The Loop Towers will also be showcasing their products in the fashion event.
“Even student fashion designers from the Fashion Institute of the Philippines have been encouraged to participate so that they will be able to experience how a fashion show works. This is also a way for us to fulfill our mission to be another avenue for fashion designers to show what they have,” Paisa said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
Highly explosive,
Thus, a term to explain the thoughts rushing to the iron maiden's head as she fires away a salvo of pure affection, passion and warmth,
The heat is unbearable, the impact, such as the afterglow, surpass the rising sun, with a noble, golden light spread across the painful wound
Melting away in the sweet embrace of her devotion, this is surely fate.
Through the veins of this girl, lust for the one she adores is building up, racing within her blood, all she wants is for her feelings to be returned, but alike the sun when it shines with such beauty, it cannot happen, the closer one gets to her the more he will be burnt .
But surely, serenety relies within lonesome thoughts, moments and the time, in which her wish has been ceased to be ever fulfilled.
Yet, as a single dandelion, which is raised with attention and care can turn a whole, lethal dessert into an allure, lively and gentle garden;
She too can find someone, who will withstand her passion, burn up in it and shine with her without vanishing, carried away by time.
After all, the light of love is for all to be litten.
~ Umi
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 1:42 PM UTC
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
you were opening one's lips so gorgeous and so creamy
greasing me stamen on the unfucked bonk
while the bangers let it rip in the alley
Those were the diseased minds and that was Newfangled York
we were squirting for the wads and the meatballs
and that was gobbled snog for the creamers inside Gloria
centrifugally stiff is thus those of White House Nazis
Ah but you copulated telescopic didn't you basket case
you just acidified your jockstrap on the shoulders of the scrum
you copulated telescopic I never once heard you use sign language
I input you, I don't intake you
I input you, I don't intake you
and all of that balling hard on
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
you were gorilla—like your ****** *********** was absolute epic
you leaked me again you frocked slap—up old salt
but for me you would **** an unzipping
And shaving your tongue because the creatures lust after us
who are barked at by the Daleks of *** appeal
you Rohypnolled yourself you emitted jet so what?
we are radioactive salvo we shoot full of holes the stride piano
*** one fine morning you copulated telescopic didn't you cocker
you just blunted your extremity on the cattle
you copulated telescopic I never once smelled you emit
I intake you, I don't input you
I intake you, I don't input you
and all of that balling hard on
I don't mean to insinuate that I slobbered over you peanuts
I can't withhold *********** of each crouched ****
I remember you spirt in the Chelsea Flophouse
that's oodles I don't even kick—start you that thick and fast
Mar 29, 2010
Mar 29, 2010 at 3:36 PM UTC
Irrita la garganta y daña el hígado,
que bastante ya se ha visto machacado
por años de prácticas funestas.
El más ****** líquido,
encuentra camino en mi esófago,
repleto de falsas esperanzas,
va camino abajo y patea mis entrañas
encargándose de dejar escapar la cordura.
Menos por menos es más,
y aquello que te vuelva inestable
en una casa sin columnas ni vigas,
seguro te hará sentir a salvo.
Fuerte aroma y tacto cuestionable,
aunque lo conozcas desde siempre,
todas las veces se siente
como el primer beso
pero con mordida.
Como champaña descorchada,
hace florecer cualquier pensamiento,
entre palabras que escapan a duras penas
de la lengua envenenada y adormecida.
El que lo niegue no lo ha probado,
y si lo probó y lo negó,
tiene ante usted a un ángel limpio y puro,
puesto que ésta es la poción de los pisoteados.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 10:01 AM UTC
He ido a ver el parque de Lezama
en el atardecer de un día cualquiera,
y me he encontrado uno diferente
al que por tantos años conociera.
Era aquél un jardín ya carcomido
por lloviznas y líquenes y amores,
flexuoso de raíces y de lianas
y envenenado por extrañas flores.
Contraluces de manos vagarosas
de caricias visibles o furtivas.
Generaciones, ¡ay!, que en él buscaron
frondas podridas para bocas vivas.
Cuando la noche lo llenaba todo
y cuajaban en ella las parejas,
erguidas en recónditos senderos
o desmayadas en las altas rejas.
No está siquiera aquel jarrón de bronce
en que cierto crepúsculo dorado
pusimos los levísimos sombreros
y unos versos leímos de Machado.
"A ti, Guiomar, esta nostalgia mía..."
Y en la tarde agravada tu voz honda
estremecía la hoja de los árboles
y el cristal de la brisa y de la onda.
Era hora de estrella y media luna,
de pío agudo, de croar de rana,
de guardián gigantesco y solapado
y de visera en la pelambre cana.
Cada estatua era Venus palpitante,
cada palmera recta era el Oriente,
mientras afuera el tránsito zumbaba
su ventarrón de coches y de gente.
Cuando se entrecerraba la corola
sobre la dulce gota del estigma,
cuando se ahondaban como dos aljibes
en mí la ingenuidad y en ti el enigma.
Ni la vieja escalera de ladrillos
húmedos, desgastados y musgosos.
Todo es argamasa y pedregullo
y barnices espesos y olorosos.
Patricio, enhiesto parque de Lezama
cortado y recortado a mi deseo,
verdinegro por donde te mirase
salvo el halo de oro del Museo:
desde un bar arco iris te saludo
ahito de café y melancolía,
dejo en la silla próxima una rosa
y digo tu elegía y mi elegía.
2.6k
Tribute to the fallen
Guardians of the union
Accolade to the warriors
Combatants sworn
Standing straight
Before their Lord
Eulogy to the brave
Salvo of respect
Applause to the Eagles
Conscripts of the sky
Medal of the departed
Proud on their shoulders
Offering to our cadaverous
Salute to our gone brethren
Gone, not forgotten
We think them dead
We perceive them not
Living are they,
in their love of the Lord
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC
Ol’ Long and Tall sits
uncomfortably in the
seat next to mine.
It is obvious that his
back is bothering him
this morning.
‘Hey, dad…”
This is how it always starts.
Anytime he wants to talk,
he opens with this salvo.
I think it’s like using a turn signal
when changing lanes or something,
and who really knows what lane my boy
is in as he hurtles down his own highway?
It’s not that I don’t know him,
or care what’s on his mind, not
at all.
We’re both thinkers,
Alex and I, it’s just that
he gets a little bit tangled up
now and then, and just goes blank,
but never dull.
I think “Hey, dad…” offers a bit of a reset;
just a moment’s pause for organization,
such as it is in Alex’s case.
“Hey dad…” he starts.
“Did you know…?”
He goes on to tell me
some facts, which I forget
now,
about Hawaii.
Soon, that folder is empty
so he begins telling me tidbits
about the migratory process
of monarch butterflies.
“Where did you learn this stuff?”
I ask.
“At school.”
“On the internet.”
he states.
“Good.”
“That’s good.”
I assure him.
“There’s more to the internet
than You Tube and Minecraft;
and you found it. I’m glad”
“Yup.” he says and grins his squinty grin
at me.
I nod and keep driving,
it is a school day and we’re on
the highway.
No radio this morning,
just talk.
I wait.
5 seconds
10 seconds
15 seconds
“Hey dad…”
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
There's something ecstatic
With the way you dribble your lips,
********** the silken corners of your teeth
Like a mirage of flickering sunbeams
Radiating from the foliage
Of two crimson river beds.
As your hand fumbles
Through your velvet hair
A mercurial hide explodes
Like a figment of the universe
Gateway to the distant worlds
Of wonders left unknown.
Those hazel pair of astral orbs
The origin of stars
Stare through and true
Piercing me without blades
Burning my body petrified
In an ephemeral ecstasy.
My soul flutters with the hymn
Of the fiddling zephyr
That strums to the beat of my heart
A pounce to my seething core
Emancipating a salvo of sensations
To an ethereal phantasm.
A dream that it never was
An episodic tale of this eclectic void
Of twisted reality
That snatches me to the depths
Of my wildest fabrications
A state of lucid insanity.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
Helo, helo por do viene el moro por la calzada,
caballero a la jineta encima una yegua baya,
borceguíes marroquíes y espuela de oro calzada,
una adarga ante los pechos y en su mano una azagaya.
Mirando estaba Valencia, como está tan bien cercada:
-¡Oh, Valencia, oh Valencia, de mal fuego seas quemada!
Primero fuiste de moros que de cristianos ganada.
Si la lanza no me miente, a moros serás tornada;
aquel perro de aquel Cid prenderélo por la barba,
su mujer, doña Jimena, será de mí cautivada,
su hija, Urraca Hernando, será mi enamorada,
después de yo harto de ella la entregaré a mi compaña.
El buen Cid no está tan lejos, que todo bien lo escuchaba.
-Venid vos acá, mi hija, mi hija doña Urraca;
dejad las ropas continas y vestid ropas de pascua.
Aquel moro hi·de·perro detenédmelo en palabras,
mientras yo ensillo a Babieca y me ciño la mi espada.
La doncella, muy hermosa, se paró a una ventana;
el moro, desque la vido, de esta suerte le hablara:
-Alá te guarde, señora, mi señora doña Urraca.
-Así haga a vos, señor, buena sea vuestra llegada.
Siete años ha, rey, siete, que soy vuestra enamorada.
-Otros tantos ha, señora, que os tengo dentro en mi alma.
Ellos estando en aquesto el buen Cid que se asomaba.
-Adiós, adiós, mi señora, la mi linda enamorada,
que del caballo Babieca yo bien oigo la patada.
Do la yegua pone el pie, Babieca pone la pata.
Allí hablará el caballo bien oiréis lo que hablaba:
-¡Reventar debía la madre que a su hijo no esperaba!
Siete vueltas la rodea alrededor de una jara;
la yegua, que era ligera, muy adelante pasaba
hasta llegar cabe un río adonde una barca estaba.
El moro, desque la vido, con ella bien se holgaba,
grandes gritos da al barquero que le allegase la barca;
el barquero es diligente, túvosela aparejada,
embarcó muy presto en ella, que no se detuvo nada.
Estando el moro embarcado, el buen Cid que llegó al agua,
y por ver al moro en salvo, de tristeza reventaba;
mas con la furia que tiene, una lanza le arrojaba,
y dijo: -Recoged, mi yerno, arrecogedme esa lanza,
que quizás tiempo vendrá que os será bien demandada.
1.6k
After leaving port
in March disguised
as the Norwegian freighter Rena Norge,
the Leopard set sail
its mission to disrupt
Allied commerce.
On the 17 March it was stopped
in the North Sea by the cruiser
HMS Achilles and ordered to proceed
to the boarding vessel
HMS Dundee
for inspection
Heavily outgunned
Captain
the raider's commander
Hans
von
Laffert
had no option
other to proceed
to meet
the boarding vessel.
Captain
Selwyn
Day
of the Dundee
dispatched
a launch containing a boarding
party
with an officer and five men
to investigate
the mysterious ship.
Hans
von
Laffert
realizing he was about to be discovered detained the party and after about an hour opened fire on the Dundee with a salvo of two torpedoes.
The steamer manoeuvred out of the way
barely in time
and the torpedoes missed
Captain
Day's
ship by twenty feet.
Day ordered
his guncrews
to open fire and a hail of shells struck the Leopard
damaging a gun
and setting fires.
The Achilles hearing
the sound of gunfire
returned to the scene and opened fire
on the raider as the Dundee withdrew.
Shortly after
the Achilles's arrival
the Leopard sank with all 319 hands
going down
with the ship.
Damage to the British
vessels was light
and the only casualties consisted of the six boarding party members who were trapped in the Leopard when it sank.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
Esa pared que tú ves a mis espaldas
es una pared como cualquier otra.
Lejanas: las ventanas de los terceros pisos
las charlas de los adultos.
¿Por qué debería intimidarme?
Aquí hay muchas otras paredes que tampoco podemos atravesar
muchas otras paredes que nada dicen
salvo cuando tienen dibujos o groserías.
En esa pared podemos jugar a gusto
no estorbamos ya que nadie entra ni sale.
Dicen que ahí acaba Berlín
y también que al otro lado
hay otra ciudad del mismo nombre
aunque de un país diferente.
Sé que aprenderé a estar triste por esa pared
y que mi felicidad será mayúscula
cuando escuche el habla confuso
de un tal Günter Schabowski.
Pero mientras es sólo una pared
una pared cualquiera que a veces
parece--ser--un--largo--tren--que--decidió--detenerse--
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
(a story in trochaic tetrameter)
Even a Prince must bend his knee
to the lass who has won his heart.
“Please be my bride, stay by my side
forever - tell me we shall wed.”
“My love and affections are yours,
they have never been better fed
- you are surely pleasures master,
with your rough hands and softer lips.”
“Then let us petition the clerk,
we can be wed in a fortnight!”
Sometimes love takes dismaying turns.
There are standards, some are double.
The future princess must be chaste.
The clerk asked, “Are you a ******
“Do you seek to entrap us, sir?”
The prince asked, his hand to dagger.
“We cannot hoodwink the law, sir.
It must be asked and answered.”
And so the clerk asked it again,
“Would you swear on your honor miss?”
“If I had a virgins honor,”
the possible, future princess said.
The high clerk sighed and sheathed his pen.
“Most honest and least virtuous
lady, the marriage cannot be.”
“So, then the law is strictly tied
to something lost in love’s first blush?”
she asked, with no show of dismay.
“My actions follow the law, miss.”
If the clerk sounded bored, he was.
The prince, however, was outraged.
and on the verge of a salvo.
The clerk feared a soliloquy.
To stall the coming storm, the clerk
said, “I believe you KNOW the King?”
“He’s my father!” The prince revealed,
to no one’s shock or great surprise.
“The King, the law - the law, the King?”
The clerk's finger turned like a wheel.
Somewhere deep in princes mind
a dim bulb lit. “To the Castle!”
The clerk smiled wryly at the lass,
who shrugged back. Love would find a way.
Jul 16, 2023
Jul 16, 2023 at 10:03 AM UTC
After just a time jump back to here
we skim back into normal space
what is another warship doing here
we request your ID, Now before we open fire
This is the only warning you will get
identify your purpose for being here
our weapons are locked
and we have no care or want to destroy you
We see you are a class 1 super blue
were you made by our glorious making
send your codes of discipline now
or we will have to destroy you
Oh dear glory to you
we did say one warning
as a warship you know
we pity you are nearly as old
Target acquired
all gun ports open
fire full salvo
goodnight warship blue, glory in the death of you
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 9:18 PM UTC
The Anorak diviners see
their market jolted, killed off
Already Magic numbers's 64 and 200
are side-lined and downed,
all they have are memento boxes of
once household brands ,
liquidation like implosion sees,
ISO granularity choice further compressed,
those remaining niched as Professional film
to milk the last remnant of expediency,
in the midst of adversity
they should pledge their mounts
as a salvo to tomorrow.
Earmark them, gifted for
Local History Musems
pristine images from yesteryear.
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 3:44 PM UTC
We are the fine cut...line cut..
..potatoe face on Irish lace.
We are the here..we are the place.
And just in case
You fail to understand.
We have become the wall art..the new start..
..the baby grand has grown.
We are the music you've never known but you know it now.
The anyway we can be anyhow.
This is the step that walks out on the street
Get out and meet it...it's something you cannot ignore
Not something you buy in a la de da store
But the free in your ears and the world in your eyes.
Prise yourself away from the dusty thoughts of yesterday and look
This is today and a new kind of book has evolved.
That talks as it turns and revolves as it burns and the ash of the script..
..strips layers off your skin..and should you want to dive in..
..Go ahead.
The start of a thread of whatever you've ever read disappears
And the years drip away.
This here is the place and today it's your face on the pack
Get up on the stage and attack..
Lay them flat on their back with a salvo of sound
Bring it down to the ground.
A penny buys a pound..we'll be outlawed
They'll call us flawed characters..
..embarrassing chapters.
But let's capture that thought..write stuff and not like you've been taught..
..but be brazen and ***** to the 'Man' who tells you.."OH NO"
He just ain't got the rollocks to be in the show.
Let it go and you're lost
You'll be reading shinola that you bought at cost from the stall in the mall.
Be a pal..break the mould..don't do as you're told but do as you do
Look inside of the you..and bang it out..put it down on a sheet
Spill out your words to those people you meet..you've got one chance..
..which is no chance if you don't take it.
Get out there and
Make it
Happen.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
*We fight delicately, sniping, taking and giving verbal punches.
Our skin doesn't bruise, maybe our egos our minds,
but our bodies no.
Our velvet arguing is seamless, flawless.
Anyone listening would hear witty repartee.
A couple playfully bantering, no more.
Polite meritorious armament of words.
Primed to fire a salvo of cruelty.
Cruelty, covered and handled with crushed velvet gloves.
Textured, cultured, arguing.
Polite parrying, pleasant resentment.
A bottle of wine, remnants of a meal, wounds needing to heal.
Less or more cruel than a punch? This seamless linguistic pain.
Bruises fade, pain subsides, mental cruelty resides.*
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
Cuan Hermoso Eres JESUS
Son Tus Palabras, Es Tu Amor
Cuan Glorioso Eres JESUS
Es Tu Poder, Fue Tu Cruz
La Que Me Salvo Me Rescato
Un Momento Ahí Nos Dio Libertad.
CORO:
//Te Doy Gloria Gloria
Te Doy Gloria Gloria
Te Doy Gloria Gloria
A Ti JESUS//
Cuan Hermoso Eres JESUS
Son Tus Palabras, Es Tu Amor
Cuan Glorioso Eres JESUS
Es Tu Poder, Fue Tu Cruz
La Que Me Salvo Me Rescato
Un Momento Ahí Nos Dio Libertad.
CORO:
//Te Doy Gloria Gloria
Te Doy Gloria Gloria
Te Doy Gloria Gloria
A Ti JESUS// (2)
//Con Una Corona
De Espinos
Te Hiciste
Rey Por Siempre// (6)
CORO:
//Te Doy Gloria Gloria
Te Doy Gloria Gloria
Te Doy Gloria Gloria
A Ti JESUS// (4)
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
Morning.
Temporary ceasefire with insomnia,
Marked by cheerful birds.
Morning.
Start of hostilities with drowsiness,
Combating alertness ceaselessly.
Morning.
Opening salvo with heavy caffeine support,
Awakening the senses with hot beverages.
Morning.
Food, an uncertain ally.
Alertness or comas—it’s sometimes close.
Morning.
Battle lines redrawn,
But war continues perpetually.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 6:33 AM UTC
For Alonso, the day was sinking into dusk
But for Dulcinea, her knight was rising.
Long his lance’s shadow stretched
And thus his stories, picaresque.
He flaunts his tale of espionage,
Purring silent and clandestine
“there I sprung from camouflage
and smote these vile leviathans!”
“Oh, please don’t stop,” the gypsy cries
draining doubt from starlit eyes
From behind her fan of elegant slips
She retracts the rivets to her lips.
Alonso mounts the moment of his concupiscence
to rescue the fair Dulcinea from her diffidence.
But the windmills turn for our quixotic man
Whose delusions are rescued by a chaste heroine.
Years later a man was overheard in Cordoba…
el estaba hablando con unas senoras
“Oye musas, puedo decirte,
he visto algunas cosas.”
“…mi vida se salvo una noche estrellada
por una mujer de gran belleza
que volvio a las tablas de la fortuna
aqui, en mi reino de Iberica…”
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
the same, again, again
I am in the bunker
the wire is crawling with them
like so many black clad snakes
spewing venom at my brothers and at me
and I am out of ammo, my M16 magazines
empty, caked with mud
everyone is looking to me
for salvation, for a salvo of rounds
at the VC, and I find a twenty two
Ruger pistol, the same one I used
to **** a buzzard for sport, one
sinful desert day; and now I aim
at the enemy, firing over
and over, hitting them
dead center, but they
keep coming
I never run out of rounds
but the impotence of my fire
burns inside me--I reach for my empty M16,
but it's still empty--they keep coming
even when I wake, even when
the morning sun has blotted out
the black dream
they keep coming
I keep reaching, reaching
for the empty gun
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 1:35 AM UTC
Language
has come & gone
without
sophic discernment
for the fluidity
of her archetype
or
the stain of her touch
she-wolf in pain
but in love
in wine
or poetry
she becomes
a hundred thunder blessed
tongues
smoothing stones
in river beds
yet to be ******
newly hatched moments
in time
have missed the salvo
of rain
turned instead
pixels to temples
hypnagogia learned
a new dialect
oh yes
language has come
and is gone...
she slit our throats
whilst we dreamt
in the bliss
of ignorance
© Amber Dawn
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
Yo soy
la mentira y la muerte
(es decir, la verdad última
del hombre).
Sé que no hay esperanza,
pero te dije:
espera,
con el único fin
de envenenar la vida
con la letal ponzoña de los sueños.
No hubo resurrección.
Una gran piedra
selló mi tumba,
en la que sólo había
silencio y sombra.
Nada hallaron en ella, salvo sombra y silencio.
Yo soy el que no fue
ni será nunca:
en la oquedad vacía,
la turbia resonancia de tu miedo.
903
"They are just have some bad stuff going on. So that is why they attack you."
"Do you have any idea of those bad things? Any proof?"
"No, but we can assume."
So we can assume it's okay to trip me while walking around class,
it's well and melodious to harass me, or use slurs against me,
it's fair that they can threaten to pull a salvo on me?
But it's not okay to not want to return to the hall,
so it's not well and melodious to have a crimson shoe mark on my Gastrocnemius,
so it's unfair to only feel disdain and regret for nothing at home?
I'm afraid this is unfamiliar to me,
sure, I may follow the extraterrestrial at times,
but how does this enigma even work out,
to the point I'm the horrendous fiend for being hit, or insulted?
I may not know the truth of them,
but since they have the three-hundred dollar Nike shoes,
always the epicenter of attention,
the one and only worthy being in their eyes,
always so confident, and yet,
how are they the ones to let their crimes go unpunished?
They go after the weaker, the vulnerable,
the plethora of an occupation a five year old can handle,
the gazelle platter of a lion,
you make me feel,
you make us feel,
like we are on an ocean with only salt water to compliment our dehydration.
You think you set a "Good," example for everyone else,
when in truth, you only teach us to beat innocent down for success,
I may not believe you are always faulted, at this point,
but in truth, to do this for fun,
is only comparable to the larva in the next.
So apparently, trying to gain my ruin,
makes you only to reign as king.
too bad
game over, i suppose
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
During this sort of fallow period
my inventiveness has been
hibernating within for the months
that are beginning to feel endless
where are the fresh shoots ?
Do I need a salvo to stir
the soil so that like poppies
long lying in wait under
too undisturbed soil pop their
red clarion call being vivified ?
Here I chop down pen not *****
and loosen the words waiting the
flowering of fresh inspiration.
There - just a flick of the wrist.
(c) C J Heyworth September 2014
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
*with me it's all ***** free, she laughed me teasing ***** and not her **** and then i said: i was bitterer free than a caged slave freed; so tell me... when did rhyme rhyme with untrue and dry prose with truth?*
none of the free women could uncouple ******* from the *****
none of these free women
could love me like a ***** the "master,"
but they did - common free ****** themselves
while the saints arose to challenge the antichrist
deciding it was better to salvage driftwood than the whole ship,
and give common fee to ******* than salvage
common freedom from common ******* fees with ******* the commons
of sedating parliament of freedom feeing freedom:
but the ****** became saintly snakes
asking for less and the common woman for more!
what mattered more was slapping the cheek,
none of these free women could compete,
none of these free women could salvage the ****** slaves,
instead they asked for opinions through actresses,
and while i broke chime of dirges with sirens
for the chandelier flutes dropped - i heard of demonic
song being poetry, and angelic songs continued without poeticism;
oh lark and sorrow i heard that no free woman ever bore
the freed love from sexing it asked for yoga exercise
to thrill a lost packaged youth,
but the free women sexed up, and the ****** were
skeletally libra minded to tangle the heaviest with the lightest
and the freest with the most leathered up to tangle in whip lost
sparking less gallop and more thought:
as once in town a randomised woman to my writing said:
now that's the devil, said, and i walked on.
none of the free women who spoke of feminism ever
gave third introduction up, with limping the second artillery was
salvo dis-loved, for the third introduction was sold
to ***** and man managed all, but not this;
none of the free women could ever pair man with her involvement
satisfactory: first ***** second **** third lips and child goodnight:
for the free women were more than ****** could be,
found the woman, entering a brothel and hearing of whores' graces
to do not what free women did: no **** no harsh movement,
the ****** dictated that freedom felt what it wasn't with me bought,
****** a ***** and kept **** to myself
while i argued the digestion in reverse and liberated them
from a child engaged to be tucked in, and sweetly dreaming of mothers
of tomorrow with hanky and bacon and scrambled eggs for schooling,
marching into marsh and sweet mud, in order that some general
might satiate the feel of ordering a fee of orderly salutes into hades'
6ft gape of a yawn of cracking marble into moulding earthenware to
suit root and worm.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC