"scathes" poems
Just a single thought of you shakes my very being.
Sending tremors straight down to my core.
This feeling pulsing and echoing throughout my veins.
Straight to my lungs, making it so hard to breathe.
Your laugh, has me trembling, reminiscent of a choir.
Your personality, kindhearted, sweet, and comical.
Your accent, melting me like ice cream on a hot summer day.
Just a single thought of you shakes my very being.
Sending tremors straight down to my core.
This feeling pulsing and echoing throughout my veins.
Straight to my heart, pumping fast as if on caffeine.
Your presence, calming, laid-back, relatable.
Your demanour, silly, upbeat, adorable.
Your beauty, an unparalleled charm in this world of billions.
Just a single thought of you shakes my very being.
Sending tremors straight down to my core.
This feeling pulsing and echoing throughout my veins.
Straight to my stomach, excited and terrified, unresting as it disharmonizes with the rest of my organs.
Your willpower, to endure through hardships life scathes you with.
Your passion, able to pursue what you wish, and with no regrets.
Your talent, unique and detailed, parallel to your drawings.
Just a single thought of you shakes my very being.
Sending tremors straight down to my core.
This feeling pulsing and echoing throughout my veins.
Straight to my legs, fluttering and weak just imagining you speak.
I know you don't like compliments, but it's hard to hide the truth.
I could banter, and talk for decades as long as it's with you
I could wait forever, as long as it's for you.
Just a single thought of you.
Makes me feel the way I do.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC
for Ruth Fainlight
I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root;
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there.
Is it the sea you hear in me,
Its dissatisfactions?
Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness?
Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it.
Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.
All night I shall gallup thus, impetuously,
Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf,
Echoing, echoing.
Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons?
This is rain now, the big hush.
And this is the fruit of it: tin white, like arsenic.
I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root
My red filaments burn and stand,a hand of wires.
Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence
Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.
The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me
Cruelly, being barren.
Her radiance scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.
I let her go. I let her go
Diminished and flat, as after radical surgery.
How your bad dreams possess and endow me.
I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it ***** out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?
I am incapable of more knowledge.
What is this, this face
So murderous in its strangle of branches? ----
Its snaky acids kiss.
It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults
That **** that **** that ****
4.2k
if i were to bread my tongue
with rocoto and cornmeal
and twist to reach the andean soil
my tastebuds long for so many nights
out of the year
olfaction and your left-sinus blockage
would stay cradled
in broken-baguette bread-crust baskets,
a trebuchet's missile,
naïve to the horn of the world,
and brittled to a carcinogenic crisp
caped in my earthenblood geysers
en el humo, en la tierra del fuego
in(fierno)
i recount by the tally marks of black felt
resorted to in the puddling of spilt tea,
(like broken china, you never missed
a beat to correct potential error
and my memory),
i count them to remember
the epiphanies standing over a red faucet
a gallon water jug, whistling snail-trickle,
wishing away the cracks in the grout
or the grout itself,
wishing away the cracks in the pottery
or porcelain facade of which
you're so fond and grace with singing cuticles
the fingers of a pianist
lacking the wherewithal
and solid brick gall
to answer the ivory's summons
i am not a piece of clay,
i respond poorly to your sculpture of my surface,
covered in oxides and baked in
hell's oven, your mountain fire
scathes me as it does cedar resin
and i am similarly embittered,
pooling sap & draining smoke
in the embers and dead charcoal
of your embrace
avant le corps, sans l'âme
sans le corps, avant l'âme
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
I turn off the phone,
throw the television set
against the wall,
a knife of the electronic
debris cuts into me,
as my cheek begins to bleed,
I scour the shelves for the
whiskey I need--
I cleanse my wound,
and douse your former future groom,
I hit play,
find a hit melody
to take me marching through the parade--
my hands feel perfectly pyro
as the match sweetly scathes,
in the morning I will wake to find peace--
for now, I'll close my lids
and
dance in my own flames.
Apr 18, 2011
Apr 18, 2011 at 9:54 AM UTC
Pardon me while I remember.
when sight scathes, used upon,
this glass shatters I love the sight of you.
in days the Sun trembles
through a fist of streaming light.
I can only think of objects the size
of my clenched hand
a pear, an empty basin, a flower deep crimson
between fingers wanting to break
stem twice-told pains the sound of it,
a flat black disk on the turntable bellowing
sounds of the bones we made in love.
we are mirror
facing mirror -- our distinct quiet held us
shattered,
standing apart, I running towards, and you, from,
feeling the wind glaze the wounds retold.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 8:33 PM UTC
There is something to be said
For a hideousness so potent
That mirrors are perhaps an enemy
Or something to be avoided.
There is something to be said
For a self-esteem so insubstantial
Not even the most excessive false bragging
Can repair a single shamble.
There is something to be said
For a weight so displeasing
That the scale can cause a panic attack
Cheats heaving, troubled breathing.
There is something to be said
For a body so scarred
Not even summer can shorten the sleeves
Or remove the stiff collar.
There is something to be said
For a voice so deep yet not quiet
That it jars the ears, scathes the mind
Until it simply remains silent.
There is something to be said
For a boredom so immense
Not life or love or fun
Can spark a sliver of ambition.
There is something to be said
For apathy of so great a measure
That the thought of suicide
Simply requires too much effort.
There is something to be said
For a face makeup cannot beautify
Not even when applied heavily
Does it become pleasing to the eye.
There is something to be said
For a personality like a punch to the gut
That changes constantly yet remains unpleasant
Mimicking every emotion, save love.
There is something to be said
For a complete waste of space and air; see
Not to be around the bush, it's easier to say:
There is something to be said for me.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
during steaming showers, i decide
whether or not to **** myself, or touch myself
once last time (how many times?) to the thought of
his collarbones and never ending pride.
i like it hot, so my skin is pink like a baby’s ****
and raw so it screams and scathes over wounds
i had long forgotten.
i breathe in vapors thinking them as gas, wondering
how long it took for Plath,
for Sexton until they kissed their own eyelids.
i imagine his lips as he said i was a sweetheart, a doll,
i daydream of his fingers as they entered me with no
worry, two snakes, the venom explosive.
showers are a dangerous time,
i come out alive, with bile and dynamite shoved in my throat,
with my heart seeping through the tiles,
my sanity disappearing into the condensation
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 7:39 PM UTC
Your warmth can thaw
the ice that wrapped itself in
thick sheets around my heart
But frost scathes and
scars can't be melted
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
For you,
my love is as endless as the deepest blue
shrouded in mystery, exploding with a force
strong enough:
To shatter steel
To erode stone
To birth life.
My love,
softer than the rays of sunlight fluttering
as orange specks underneath your eyelids
kissing your pupils with their delicate touch
Embracing the liquid of your orbs with a citrusy warmth
Showering you with the joy
Of a thousand torn dandelions
Smiling down at you
In the distance
Distance.
A funny concept.
A million loving words
spoken back and forth,
a thousand steps
taken towards the same direction
A billion I love yous
Over and over again.
Yet,
we are still distant.
Still distant,
because my love is an ever consuming bonfire
Where close
could never be close enough.
Where I can wrap you in my flames
lure you in with my warmth
provide you with a hearth
for as long as you want.
Or as long as you can stand.
Until your skin burns
And my love scathes
With the rage of a million rays of sunlight.
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 7:37 PM UTC
When she touches me,
It is not just my skin she scathes,
It is my soul.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 2:43 PM UTC
There’s a swan on the line,
Taking your time,
So bow to the seagull in Jewels.
The Burberry is real this time,
But the face still spits and scathes
At those below his mental might,
It is Golden muscles this time,
Not concrete knuckles,
That deliver this slap in the face.
We all sigh,
And roll our eyes,
Cocking our heads like the red-eyed
Pheasant
That lies flattened on the next track over.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
in another lifetime
we stand grounded in perfect heat
your gaze keeps me from drifting
and you hear my whisper above the
roar of the swelling throngs
we feel no pain now,
though our cheeks once knew
the salt of tears and blood
yet you were there,
you washed my face
and i yours
because you never once doubted
what i looked like beneath
and once our feet hit the ground,
we are here to stay,
fixated on an astronomical alignment
two stars, illuminated:
you and i
but in this lifetime,
you burn too bright
an imperfect heat that scathes the skin
gravity pulls me from my dreams
and keeps me orbiting around reality
we drift slowly past,
brushing briefly, only
long enough to believe i know you
but in a moment, when
time and space disagreed
our propinquity lasts a lifetime
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 8:47 PM UTC
TLACAELEL [to audience as spectators]
Hear ye! Of these five games, his majesty
The emperor has won the first two rounds,
And Hungry Prince has crowned the third and fourth.
Who takes this final set will clinch the match.
HUNGRY PRINCE [aside to Motecuhzoma]
Motecuhzoma, why not call it quits,
While thus we tilt in equilibrium,
So time may be arrested in his stride,
And nothing will be proven to your loss.
MOTECUHZOMA
Oh yes, well, well you should prevaricate,
Since you recoil, and your horoscope
Is but a bunk, evasive, spurious sham.
HUNGRY PRINCE
We used to sport like willful brothers once.
This pointless schism scathes me to the core.
MOTECUHZOMA
Play on! Your grace, equip him for the serve.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Behold this little token of a ball-
Through this ordeal, symbolic of the sun
When- swallowed nightly by the earth’s dark mouth-
He spars with demons of the underworld,
To birth anew at dawn. So does this sphere,
Across the blood-bathed flagstones of this court.
Regard it so. The gods assort you both.
To one: bask in divine approval’s nod,
The other: dark ignominy. Engage!
He throws the ball to HUNGRY PRINCE. MOTECUHZOMA and HUNGRY PRINCE leave the stage separately.
TLACAELEL
A solid serve.
PRIEST OF TLALOC A capital return.
TLACAELEL
These salt-and-pepper gents belie their age.
Look how they swoop, like eagles bloody-beaked.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Our monarch springs, a glistening dynamo.
TLACAELEL
And his contender sheds years as he runs.
Tell me, your eminence,
What are your sentiments on Hungry Prince?
PRIEST OF TLALOC
Though not a brilliant statesman, he remains
The most perceptive prophet of the earth,
With whom the gods must share their captain’s logs,
His auspices so rarely miss their mark.
TLACAELEL
You’d buy his soothsaying?
PRIEST OF TLALOC I'd say I would.
TLACAELEL
That’s to the heart of this imbroglio.
PRIEST OF TLALOC
What is the real dispute, then, of this duel?
TLACAELEL
You’d know their true contention?
PRIEST OF TLALOC Tell me.
TLACAELEL So . . .
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
Beaming bright, like sweet sun – it bounces.
It burns, it scathes and it blinds –
It is love like your lips are my lips
and my lips eternal.
It is insecurity like I care too much about my hips
that are your hips eternal.
But it is sweet because your heart is mine eternal,
It is sticky because you cling to me so we bounce, burn, scathe and blind,
It is sleepy-strong, like the tendrils of your murmured words as they fall
in the dark, dark night
where we tumble,
heated and cooled,
twins in our agony, striving for the peak.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
Take a lonely stroll through the park of life
Why not kick a stone whilst you’re there to enjoy the mood?
Turn and face the oncoming sweep of hatred with pitchforks at your throat
All you did was kick a little stone.
The rope is tight, it cuts and you bleed
But try to smile as the hateful hands stroke at you with enviable despise.
They drag you through dirt that scathes your façade.
But still you show what’s left of your smile.
The ropes pull and off you fly behind hooves of hatred,
gored and disfigured you cheerfully drag yourself up from behind the horse.
The horse **** tearing at your wounds as you try to stand.
Such a crowd
You wave at your fans and they pelt you with vinegar,
acid bubbles into the bastardised crevices,
your legs buckle as you’re yanked from behind ,
your eyes falter as you watch your essence snake out into the rabble.
They lick at your heels as your mind begins to wander.
Back to the block. You come to, the crowd is cheering
They’re happy and so you thank your audience.
Your eyes adjusting to the love as the axe blade cracks your neck through to the jaw leaving your disfigured skull rolling down into the dispersing gathering.
Jul 5, 2020
Jul 5, 2020 at 8:11 AM UTC
Night is your "Hair" with a silver there is no despair.
Arms are the branches your matter is a tree swaying in the ice cold breeze.
This fantasy is moving and jumping.
Held green light for the animals to walk threw to get a drink of water as the machines halt until the next day at noon.
Trees screaming for help a smell was contrasting all senses.
There alive as me and you are and with out them a planet turns to dirt and dust.
So hinder there strives is some what of a must busting there medal hulks are our diffusion sketches.
An artist only sets with a brush and his thoughts to examine a fair leaf fall his path of imagery ideas.
Off he goes to explore, its landing with an ideal he transits its area
Flairs filled the sky hammers slowed there strikes in boarders of agreement.
Bigger machines with solar panels came in with drones of saws for higher yields of wow.
A budget was none for there pockets were ships and canals.
The wolfs and deer cast a moon kind of spell with there egos on edge they'd beyond there hunger for flesh.
Men what's in our sky, I see its blue and crystal and mist in a breeze.
The men all ran fast he couldn't believe then the machines rusted every so instantly.
His plains were erased it was to be seemed and then on he could weep.
Nature is not like "Gold" it does bring money although it will slow breathing when gone.
So maybe this could become a song when paper planes are all that's left.
And medal doors and medals shelves.
Medal scathes your face when you open up your door.
And a melody is produced and nature smell like s'mores.
You hear it now at least for now.
The sounds of tents unfolding and being set up.
Because its summer again and smells of nature that are unbending.
Arousal your heart beat with astounding.
Your skin gets goose bumps the first sight of deer dropping's strange at fact no its just appraising.
Ants and stick also insects climb trees in fun surviving.
When a man in a beard came up hiking.
He seen this tree man was it becoming his exciting.
The insect move faster from this man of in freighting.
And hunker down and give off a sting of flight to give him something he would much not find he like.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 2:43 AM UTC
There's a place called Hell
It's burning fire in a cell
You could be headed there right now and you don't want to know it
Or maybe it hurt's you to much to show it
Hell is a place of fire and torment
A place of loneliness
You may be asking why I say this is the truth that saves
It sounds like that truth that scathes
The reason is because you don't have to go there
You may think I know I'm good enough
Well being good could never make you clean enough for heaven
Sin sends you to Hell
Jesus sends you to Heaven
The Bible says for all have sinned
And fallen short of God's glory
We are all headed for Hell originally
But lucky for us it didn't stay that way
Because Jesus didn't stay in the grave
He was God who came from Heaven
To be sin for us
There had to be a payment
Jesus was the payment
He loves you so much that he died for you
So you wouldn't have to go to Hell
And spend eternity in that cell
Accept his gift
You were warned of Hell
What's you're choice
Heaven
Or Hell?
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 7:34 PM UTC
i.
this is such graver in silence when all of
the sound has conspired in the multitudes:
hands like machineries
and the groaning of the bones, when such desires
are but thirsts intimately quenched
ii.
all is but silent as brookwater:
the image in the surface is surfeit
amongst the froth of passing images.
iii.
what strangeness shall we inherit
when your face is but melded into
the many? when your name is but a passing
utterance with its immense battlement?
when your dance is but offbeat and my song,
clenched?
iv.
you are silent. and I began to speak you.
which days pass on in the flutter of your eyelids
whose nights fractured by distant shrieks
and of no delight,
what deeply-plunging moon scathes itself
with this riveting quietude,
v.
I am all but answers and you are enigmas.
my voice is young.
let my mouth be ripe.
let my teeth gleam with light,
let my all be tender with your name
that the feel of you under me,
and I over you,
like bridges stoic, steel with stillness,
will never utter a word
and only the loudest of quietness
the world will ever hear.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 12:56 AM UTC
The queen of rage
Her breath is fire
And her gaze is ice
Her mouth is twisted
Into a cruel smile
And the words she spits out
She aims at your heart
He fury is chaos
It scathes and burns
Pray you never face it
She doesn't ask
She demands
She doesn't forgive
She never forgets
She is powerful
Like wildfire
A tiny flame
Burning up a forest
Aug 9, 2019
Aug 9, 2019 at 11:31 AM UTC
*why are you so easy
to walk passed
but then so difficult
to forget?
a cattle brand
sears waking memory
scathes dreams of night;
what remains of you
are rumpled bed-
clothes at sun up
and crumpled sheets
on litter-strewn desk*
●○
°
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 10:30 AM UTC