"sanguinary" poems
The sewer stink of street trash
marries the scent of desire
veiled in crimson shadows
reflected on the damp pavement
Thoughts silenced by the gasp
of nylons being shredded by possibility
Teeth grip then slip
on the sweat of a humid night
Fireball burns sweet
as night lands on the flesh in city soot
a grit that makes every movement
a sanguinary promise
forged on the edge of pain
Owned. Taken. Willed.
Filled with primal intoxication
that turns warm city nights
into shameless memories
wrapped in the stink of street trash
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
In blood, a precious cake dancing
aflame in whirlpool of
cyclopean darkness.
The triggers of sanguinary
guns are tumbling down tears,
sorrow and grief in gush on
the cliff of darkness.
The moon, a crimson cake of
venom toasting blind sun in
gory rays as stars twinkling
blood at dawn.
The orphan profusely wailing
for peace in her own bizarre
carnage in bazaar of iniquity
and rivers of blood.
Let the world stop this blood
Lest this blood stops the world!
©2018 KAYODE STEVE ADARAMOYE
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 4:55 AM UTC
Charming lass, the shark she did trust , was a nimble one,
softly nibbled the dead cells laid crusted on her heart
genial it was so she felt like closing her tired eyes a bit,
her bed, lukewarm water, ominously bobbed all the while.
A woeful clown, she dreamed, tried everything to make her laugh
with his pathetic pranks; a jellyfish wearing a wedding dress
seeing this, smelled blood, tried to raise an alarm.
The shark was the one responded, "Don't you wake her up"
the waves were lapping on the shore, then dense silence reigned,
as expected a sanguinary sunset it was,on water blood lay splattered.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
Head a hostile environment again
Emotion overthrows intelligence
Fragile skull accepts another beating
and indecency becomes preference
Absorbing black into gray matter
Meticulous infiltration;
Makes death a desire
and living a fear
Friendly fire
Mind battles disease, disease
obliterates mind to violence
collided with sharpened corners of myself
****** mess, wrong message
Swallowing hostile heavy medications,
contain my elation so that overjoy
doesn't morph into mania, or joy
Mass of electrons now inside
find nothing positive; thought paralyzed
Deviating cells that scare themselves
from the darkened sanguinary state.
wide eyed faces searching for a homeostasis
Far from stable since demon's rule
Constant epiphanies with no execution
turn to facts filed in brain catalogs
Fully aware solutions are there,
but the drawers are glued shut
~kb
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 12:43 AM UTC
I dreamed of Frida Kahlo
"yo era ella amante"
pure, paupered prince to her primal queen
yet still I hollowed a carnal niche into the midst
of one perdurable, lurid " noche de los muertos"
and fingered the lachrymose from her lacerations
counting prurient time in a piercing nine of
perennial persecution before I wore her pelt
to lay me down in her sanguinary glow
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 6:54 AM UTC
To the warmth of life
And passing through with grace
Of a woman in hand under veil,
Lavished in her unconquered beauty,
Enamored with her saving grace
Amid the elation of first kiss,
Under the spell of first eternity.
And through the veils of silence
When the swarm of sounds of
Making love have devoured the hours
And he stares into fertile eyes,
The truth of his belief in them,
And the prelude to forever's nest,
The dove returns upon white unifications.
But soon the dove will deny the embrace,
And the cold lonesome dove
Will be forgotten in the skies blue,
The touch of ****** prowess ,
The soft moist of lips that convened
A destiny of adornment with kisses
So deep and meaningful that it vibrates
Through times like a phantom flame
From forever's fire,
The bitter flight of the dove with passion
To ravage her body,
Upon the return open does the veil.
Before passion abandons,
Let them return home to nest
The kisses from that eternal night,
That journey for the taste your
Of your sanguinary fruit
Provoking the eternal flight.
Before her lips close at the dove's
Return, lift the veil of forever
On the romantical threshold,
The death and purity,
The light and the venom,
What white veils may hide.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
*Perdition falls from your lips in pretty posies
sanguinary lies woven within an embellished fairy tale
they drank the kool aid of your bastardized aspersions
it's evil spell cast, hypnotizing the living dead
devil with archangel wings doth pose in velvet idioms
spewing respite in dark undertones of ego's rejection
perusing any that would annihilate acrid truths
peer in the mirror to see the lying heathen lecher
****** venom dripping from your deceptive sword
in bitterness of jagged tongue's kissass contempt
hell hath no fury as a soulless man scorned*
How did you get to be so unkind?
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
**Perdition falls from your lips in pretty posies
sanguinary lies woven within embellished fairy tale
they drank the kool aid of your bastardized aspersions
it's evil spell cast, hypnotizing the living dead
devil with archangel wings doth pose in velvet idioms
spewing respite in dark undertones of ego's rejection
perusing any that would annihilate acrid truths
peer in the mirror to see the lying heathen lecher
****** venom dripping from your deceptive sword
in bitterness of jagged tongue's kissass contempt
'don't talk about it, talk about the weather'~
hell hath no fury as the man unveiled to the masses
history repeats itself and no one seems the wiser....**
How did you get to be so unkind?
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 10:12 AM UTC
Show him your knife, oh! lovely killer, he wouldn't mind,
Seeing your weapon of destruction before the bull is felled,
How much should he suffer,not any more swiftly bring to an end
Was your's love?In such ingenious disguises, how clever!
Well polished and sharpened is the weapon, such meticulous care,
For the precision expected, never ever you missed your target.
A gleaming cutting edge, you sure want to make him proud.
Now I see this clearly, the magnificence darkness processes!
If a sanguinary end of love life is thy pleasure, may thy will prevail,
Yes your love has been expressed tarantula like , from the day one.
The dark angel, with a vengeful gift, you are, the dark bloom too.
Yet another martyr of love, all his pain equals to your one searing kiss.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
Out of reach from any sound,
Beyond the highest thought,
Invisible across an astral scene, too
Aeonian home,
Forever free
The planets are like
great eyes to me,
My wife owns the moons.
The kids have turned
all fix'd and strange,
Been feeling awfully tame,
Poor things,
Remembering days
insane with esprit,
Moving willingly
through tilted palms,
On crescent waves,
Surrounded by
the clearest ever blue,
Deep under sanguinary hues
and tropic reverie that loom
to meet the sever'd, melting sun,
Arising horizons,
One hundred and one
As violent as fire,
Enough for them all!
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
In the murky clots of consciousness
between sleep and awakening
we clung to an icy overpass railing
spitting down on graffiti camouflaged
train cars as their charging rickety
boom carried our uncontrollable laughter
toward destinations unknown
Our spirited tenacity was matched only by
turbulent winds whipping us into submission
Forcing us to brace ourselves to avoid getting
swept away
You tumbled backward off the slick rounded bars
of the overpass rail
and bit your lip so hard
I thought you would need stitches
but you kept on smiling as the blood plummeted
dripping all over the tracks in a sanguinary frost
Feeling arrogant and invincible
like two avante guarde dog soldiers
we marched past our old urban battlefields and
grimy fast food cattle fields
closed in on a ramshackle bar
and drowned our taboos and inhibitions in
foam drenched pitchers until we closed out that
ramshackle bar
We gleefully stumbled
wearing hazy street light halos
back to the
duplexed squalor of my doorstep
Sloppy kisses stained with the scent of
cheap beer completed the night
as we tore into each other and
made love on that ratty creaking mattress in the front
room
All I had at the time to rest on
was that ***** old bed
and you
until several months later
when they confined you to
pristine hospital beds instead
Intravenous deceptions and false hope blood tests followed
but even with all the motions of our modern medical drama
we couldn't avoid you getting slowly swept away
I regret never having the strength or honesty to visit you
just as I regret never telling anyone about you and I
I go hang on that overpass railing sometimes
remembering the knock-down-drag-out-reckless perfection
of that night
knowing that my agonizing love for you should
have been something I proudly proclaimed to the world
Now the trains carry away my atrocious wails
as the weight of my shame
nearly pulls me onto the tracks
and spills my insides in sacrificial testament
to all we've lost
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
***Crimson poppies shot through
deadened ****** soil
midst fields of deliverance,
as every mother's tears rained
upon sanguinary retribution***
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
The howl of the wind creeps into the darkest parts you; finally ridding the dust that lay heavy on your aching bones.
A single bite from her starved mouth envenoms you with addiction – another, and she’s left sanguinary. hungry and wanting for more.
Wait for her night to find you – let it sink its claws into your back; smiling as she watches you bleed.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
Coranalled with ruby lumanecents,
She purified her hands sanguinary,
Disdaining her heart's curt, desperate repents,
She plunged into Phlegethon pensively.
Like a mother nursing her one child,
A metal bottle played her heart's succor,
She saw the world: imperfect, defiled,
And laid herself to rest on the wood floor.
Then she prayed, "If I die before I wake,
I pray the lord my branches don't break"
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 5:41 PM UTC
A solemn painted picture stands,
Before the reach of sober hands,
Funereal strokes; grave-tone acrylic,
Woe is he, sought tones idyllic.
What to expect, thought painters mind,
No solace brushed, no hope defined,
No revelry, so reconcile,
Behind the guise of broken smile.
Foreboding canvas, realized him,
‘t would never-ending be life grim,
Fettered anguish, bound by sorrow,
Clatters every waking morrow.
O dreams of bliss that never show!
So wearisome I ever-grow,
These chains, they offer no release,
Should I seek elsewhere means of peace?
An answer forms behind blue eyes,
Draw from life, to grant apprise,
A final coat of crimson hue,
A thousand words to those who view.
His chosen palette, from arms length,
A sanguinary loss of strength,
In crowning strokes, awaited bliss,
An amity in work dismissed.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
Women i love you for your boisterousness
and softness too, harshest lighting
notwithstanding
You are poems of poems of poems
in moonlight beneath crimson moons
encouraging mystery
Women your sanguinary allure holds
me never but your pernicious sorrows
are as captivating as ever
You are goddesses and ****** and archetypes
all the same from salon to Wal-Mart
to the Barnes up the Parkway to the Zoo
Wymyn you are ***** on bykes leather
lesbian jackets and caresses of chains
silent cervixes smattered and schmeared
Ladies your parts are none of my business
and my love's too Western for that nonsense
but I wish them all good health and plumbing
Listen sisters, allow me some gravy
for respecting the curvature without
ever needing to ride like Sally into orbit
Your ******* are thousands of temptations
to many men but I'm only enamoured
by your foreign policy experience
Women you know how to know what's what
and make yourselves muses and heroines
perfecting heterosexual enchantment forever
Hey ladies let's be friends and not so secretly
plot for you to really start conquering the world,
ok?
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
We are all like deformed seraphs
With seven wings that flight death.
We conceive filthy cherubs in swamps,
That dwell in the eden of our own making.
We have inherited muck from our fathers,
Passed on as glorified heirlooms;
And like fools we are, we proudly raise
That useless dirt we crawled out from.
In an effort to save our decadent ways;
We put our own blood over our doors,
And don our fig leaves that wither
As ******* sons and daughters of the earth.
Like heretic church curators we are,
We gather choirs that sing hymns of lies,
As its melody echoes in a swift pace
To defile the hearts of the innocent.
Truth and Beauty, do we even know?
Our own replica of it, we create.
We liken it to things that poison and ****
And celebrate upon ruins of graveyards.
We have taken Death’s sickle,
And used it to tear the Book of Life.
We sleep in the mount of skulls and bones,
Where our castle of agony lies.
We dwell in the place of worms,
We have built a throne of flesh,
We have dined on decayed carcass,
And drank sulfur for wine.
We have fed our children to the wolves,
As the blood of our people
Seep in the soil of the earth,
And flow in the waves of the seas.
We have crept like marauders
Under the beds of our neighbors,
To slit their throats in their sleep;
So that we may bathe in their blood.
For we all desire to be drenched in blood,
To be covered in its velvet cloak.
Not knowing, that the blood we seek all along,
Is the cleansing blood that Christ gives.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 5:53 AM UTC
The impress of form 'neath a veil,
Her scars are but sediments of sentiments
Outlining without specificity the ebbs
Of her dark, internal reservoirs.
Scrolls of indiscernible braille,
Her slashed forearms convey
In archaic lexicon the innermost
Artistry of her sanguinary soul.
One finds within her labyrinthine mind
Innumerable subterranean recesses-
Balmy hollows carved of ashen loneliness-
With room for one and one alone.
À chacun son gout;
She traverses with ethereal placidity
The bounds of her self-erected walls,
Searching for nothing and everything
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
We're a sad starving bunch
of stupid teenagers
sipping from the sky
an occasional rain drop.
We're a sad starving bunch
of secret-keeping teenagers
shrieking to the sky
the phantom growing pains and all too real slowness of our sappy lives.
We're a sad starving bunch
of sanguinary teenagers
shooting our brains toward the sky
attempting to sacrifice ourselves for something more serene.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
Just because you now use your spear
as a walking stick, doesn't change
your past's sanguinary veneer
men, women, and children, your range.
All for us to sing of your κλέος,
the shades come back to haunt,
your glory, your fame, your albatross.
dreams of slit throats and screams daunt.
You have given up bloodshed,
we no longer sing your praises,
now you can finally rest your head,
and the enemy thanks you for your hiatus.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC
he goes to work and sees too many things
for a man who's barely 43
people in plastic wrap
and suitcases
bags and boxes
wash up on the edge of the Mississippi
sanguinary flowers bloom from temples and chests
needles and pill bottles
scattered on floors of broken homes
victims and families
go through so much more
but that nagging worry still pierces my chest
that one day it will become too much
for that man who's barely 43
that it will hollow him out
and that he will be haunted
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
Class is done today
Sanguinary dismissal
Sorrowful homework
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
Its not what you think it is
When I let you in
Into my head and thoughts
into my quirks and knots
into my bed
where your morals take over
and refuse my lust
you're the type of guy I should be with
but you dont understand that im wounded
still have yet to heal
wounds that I fill
with fire and alcohol
wounds that I ease
at the expense of you
its true
I don't really like you
but you can come over tonight
and get me high with finger tips and lips
teeth on hips and racing blood
just don't look too much into it
i'm ravenous, sanguinary
you're timid
weak prey
offering up a vein
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
Beat the drums of bold death
Call forth the gods of war
Offerings of fresh blood upon the altar of sacrifice
From still hearts that will beat no more
Summon the warriors of the sword, knife, and mace
The gladiators of Roman legends and lore
Beat loudly the man skin drums of death
Call forth the gods of war
The Hordes of Genghis Khan
On the sanguinary quest for the world
Cruel despots composed the Mongol core
Would beat the echoing drums of death's onslaught approaching
Call forth the gods of war
With solemn stone faces
Go the last soldiers of annihilation
Whose lives soon would bear consequence no more
Beat the drums of smiling death triumphant
Call forth the gods of war
All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby Sept. 18, 3019.
All Material Stored in Author Base.
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 9:35 PM UTC