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Wk kortas Jul 2018
He has taken rake and shovel in hand,
Taking advantage of the light,
Rare in these climes this time of year,
Still welcomed, though rendered severe
By the sun's reluctant trudge above the horizon,
The type which, sauntering through a window pane
(Falling upon a crucifix anchored above a cradle
Or some ancient, gilded frame
Containing a photo of some grandparent's wedding day,
Exploding into full undifferentiated diffusion)
May possess a dram of warmth, albeit resigned, nostalgic
A bittersweet reminder of what has gone by
(And in the shade, the air is filled
With the portentous chill of what lies a few months hence)
But there nonetheless as he tends to those final farewells
From the trees bowing to December's inevitability,
The droppings not the *******-esque bursts of October
(Those having been collected and consigned
To the normal corner of the back lot)
But dreary brown-hued things, not welcomed by eye nor heart,
Simply corralled perfunctorily and dismissed.
One could contend that such activity is unnecessary,
The mere vanity of all endeavor,
As the snow will come soon, and steady as well,
Performing the seasonal, cyclical function in its own time,
But he soldiers on nonetheless, a unseen one-act nearly-farce,
Painstakingly raking and bending and scraping
To leave his patch of green uncovered for a little while
Until the locking time comes to seal the earth's secrets once more,
To be revealed to those
Who shall receive the teasing ministrations
Of the fickle, fitful March equinox.
ryn Jan 2015
.
\       |       /

\               •think my               /
pen's almost dry•it's get-
ting oh so hard•ideas seem to just
\   fly on by•i'm unable to deal any more   /
cards•bottom of the barrel•i seem to be
scraping•trapped in a long, dark tunnel•
coherence eluding...the words that need
inking•i need a simple little trick...•to
soothe this perpetual itch•need my
/        bulb come on really quick•hope-        \
fully as soon as I flick on
/               the...switch•               \
|   ooooooooooo   |
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••
ooo
Skaidrum Jun 2015
•□•  Can't shake this mist  •□•
Draggin' paged swords down my stomach,
Split my opal skin
wide open
ccrack
find a sunset gushing out
¤twist¤
can't swap the dead sea
and the larkstone coffin
in my cherry-blossom throat
°scatter°
All these razor droplets
'◇quiver,◇'
bronze scraping at my jawline
/|*groan/|\
And look yonder---
a lonely crow
whispered louder than thunder
'''
scratch'''
•□•  Can't shake this mist  •□•
....
Come back to haunt me,
but my poetry already has me
six feet under.
¥ Demons ¥
€ squirm €
in
the
₩ Soil. ₩
"We aren't any different now, are we?"

.
I'm done fighting.
This might be goodbye.
Dear Dragon and Wolf

© Copywrite
MeanAileen May 2018
This is not a love poem, my dear,
no....this is a poem of defeat.
To let you know you have won this war...
I give up....you have me beat.
I can no longer fight for your heart
while scraping my own from the floor.
I can't ask you to feel something you won't...
and I can't handle hurting much more.
Your will of disdain is so very strong
it's one I just can not break.
I thought I was worthy, but I was wrong...
was dreaming, but now I'm awake.
I've been running a race I just can't win,
chasing what will never be mine.
And at some point I fell, head over heels,
now I'm just running on borrowed time.
I think I thought there was something more,
a real connection between you and I...
And I guess I thought you felt it too,
I swore I saw that same spark in your eye.
But I'm just a fool and you a joker,
roles we both play well.
So where does our charade go from here?
I guess only time will tell...
Just a poem...
Skaidrum Jun 2015
.
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
                               ­        .

.
A collab between
The Dragon Prince & Skaidrum.

I'll give most credit to
Kalum here.

© Copywrite The Dragon Prince & Skaidrum
Chris Neilson Aug 2018
Along the bus filled corridor
from the south of the city
through the Victorian architecture
of Withington and Fallowfield
to the world food of Rusholme
with its plethora of barber shops
shoe shops, shisha bars, cafes
Philips Park and the eye hospital
then the university quarter
students like woolly hatted ants
a human tide of books and backpacks
our future professional generation
of doctors, scientists and philosophers
part time poets and musicians

Into the city centre bustle 
of hipsters and hustlers
high flyers and homeless
rough sleepers and penthouses
side by side in a sea of incongruity
The roman settlement of Castlefield
now sky scraping soulless concrete
in this original city of industry
where workers downed tools 
in cotton mills for anti-slavery 
American Civil War brethren
built on old world immigration
integrated into a working class
of blue collars, graft and toil
bones of its makers in its soil

Images of the lost industries
now decorate ornate beautiful bees
scattered in and around the urban sprawl
timely reminders of our heritage
of Northern grit in all its colours
of invention, science, sport, music and art
of protest, achievement and inspiration
a city that's historical
a city for the here and now
a city for future nascent talent
a city that's changed the world
Manchester, a city for all ages
I wrote most of this after returning from a hospital appointment earlier this year but have now added to it to bring it up to date
Purcy Flaherty Dec 2018
Mining for nose goo;  digging in deep,
plucking, pinching, scraping the meat.

Busily forming sweet salty clumps.
squidging, rolling and flicking off lumps.

Piggies, bogeys, snot and green crows,
I'm mining sweet nose goo;
right under your nose.

I'll hide behind a book, a hanky or a rag, slip my belongings in a nose bag.

Piggies, bogeys, snot and green crows,
I'll be mining sweet nose goo;
right under your nose.
posey, hanky, rag, Piggies, bogeys, snot, crows, nose, goo
jane taylor May 2016
eking out the ultimate gasp in my last breath of impulsion
i collapse without a touch of grace at race's end
how i made it i will never know
dazed and in bewilderment
i reminisce upon my journey

an aggregation of barricades assailed me
with iniquitous decadent delight
seeming to writhe in triumph at my possible demise
capitulating as it devoured and spewed me out the other side
i humbly reassembled fragments of my near annihilation

temporarily rehabilitated
i recommenced the toilsome climb
to the treasured peak atop the mount
when in would come the tempest with its furor
and render me asunder

mere exhaustion is not the word
for death experienced recurrently
ground to mulch and back again
screaming, pleading, surrendering
proved futile as i newly met the same demise

near incapacitation i miraculously emerged
and scraping pulled myself with broken heart and bones
scratching my way through the darkness
toppling at the pinnacle
to victory's end

with exhilaration it dawns on me
the long dark night is over
i passed the test to realize
it is not the finish line
but only the beginning

©2016janetaylor
Pagan Paul Feb 17
.
I have one hand on the handle of the mad sane door,
the other is scraping shards on the missing floor,
my mind dissolves away into a hurricane squall,
and my face is the mirror on a stark naked wall.

My life is a fluid flowing through images weird,
dripping through the cracks, tactile and veneered,
pouring dark thoughts into a head once cleared,
the door whispers promises of nothing to be feared.



© Pagan Paul (14/12/17)
.
repost
.
Kara Jean May 2016
Tightly forcing her body against the clay
Scraping her tarnished skin, on its unforgiving stones
Determined
Unhinged, narrow thought became disturbed
Intention, soaking the soils energy
Becoming one with nature
Persuit, rapid decaying
No trail of life
Evidence faded
Secluded mountain peak
30 miles in, her only goal accomplished
Her pocket knife she holds over head
Pretending to cut the fluffy clouds in half
One fast Stab
She lays in her vanishing grave
Cné Jun 2017
James
Trying to find a place to ***
I went behind a big o'l tree
She saw me there
Completely bare
Then we became a WEE!!

TF
Oh the deepest trouble, *****
Playing with girls, that sin
just ware these words
don't think her absurd
when she wondering says, "is it in?"

Cné
So glad for you, on getting some
while relieving yourself, on the run
Girls that sin
worderin'
bored, did she ask, "Did you ***?
Or are you done?"

Sorry boys, just having fun!

James
Hey, welcome aboard
if you're feelin' bored
just give it a rub
but not a snub
that's how we scored

TF
Y'all are so bad, yes it's true
just tell me when your through
pushing, pulling
tweaking, fulfilling
your hands now full, of goo

Cné
How could I be bored, with the likes of you two
in need of rubbing, please don't be blue
Make no mistake
I have what it takes
especially, for men well overdue

TF
Talented and beautiful too
always pulling it through
it must be fate
it's always so great
getting a tugging, from you

James
Walking the streets before dawn
you looked and her light was on
you saw her fare
but didn't care
and wonder where your money's all gone

James
Poor Bill, he never did learn
he saved all the money he could earn
to pay a sweet lady
at place that was shady
and wonders why his ****** still burns

TF
Bill never learned his lesson
the burn just grew, not lessened
he never went back
his ****** he lacks
no more ****** sessions

TF
The ladies of the evening
sights beyond believing
the things they do
while making you
penniless, and leaving

Cné
A working girl, works it
with Johns, turning tricks
*******
and f¥€king
can't blame her, for getting you sick

TF
The doctor told her to take a break
her body one day, might break
all that cavorting
and oral contorting
she just really loved, her tube steaks

James**
He told her to take a seat
when she really wanted a treat
she was feelin' dry
and wasn't shy
And so she went after his meat

James
Cruising the streets just chillin'
searchin' for a chick just millin'
She shook her ***
I couldn't pass
Oh, well, another shot of penicillin

TF
Something's wrong with Suzy
something oozing, from her coozie
she scratches at an itch
her john's just call her a *****
that's the sum of it, laying down, with floozies

Cné
Suzy was rode hard, put up wet
with men on the street corner she met
Wiggling her ***
for just a little cash
***** status. she earned, you bet

Disclaimer: It just gets sicker from here...

James
Went to the bathroom to sit on the ***
I like to **** while I'm on the clock
There wasn't any paper
I used a finger scraper
I might better had used my sock

TF
Now if there's one thing I know
being a clock, that's fast, and not slow
fingers be scraping
flecks are escaping
****, will under the fingernails, go

Cné to James
Please wash your hands before you eat
Be careful cruisin' down the street
or chillin'
with penicillin
I fear a terrible peril soon, you will meet!
Keiji Apr 2014
Foggy, lighting and bellowing screams


my fist shoot through glass shoving through flesh scraping against tendon tainting the walls a new ruby coating, when it drys like granet
red on white statin
precious porcelain on ebony asphalt
the sound
crystal symbols being slapped together
or maybe cherubs screaming
the air coats my tongue my mouth my lo=unngs like cooper, perturbation and rapture
this storm

I get lost in it , until the rain comes and
washes the blood and dirt from my face it stings

There is fear and helplessness
something old I wrote
Mikaila May 2014
Thin, white wrists.
Bone white
Like china
And just as brittle.
They make that coarse, scraping sound when they touch one another.
The kind of sound that delicate, expensive teacups make when stacked
The wrong way.
It makes me cringe.

Little blue veins kiss the surface of them,
Hissing and sizzling when the air gets
Too close
Like tiny snakes.

These wrists
Have made promises.
They have
Borne loads.
These wrists have snapped like twigs
Under the weight of a heavy,
Punishing love.
But, pressed back together the way they'd been,
They hardened oncemore
Like stone
And the cracks and fissures
Sank inside again
And smooth, unmarred, delicate white skin emerged
To begin the process over.

At night the snakes whisper and murmur against my cheek in their sleep
And sometimes, quite suddenly,
They sink in their fangs
And I awaken with a start,
A sharp pain radiating out to my fingertips
Like a shock.

Last night I felt their strikes by the hour
One,
Two,
Three, more.
And this morning a strange... fullness
Began in my wrists
And seeped out
Up along my arms
Through my collarbones and down
Into my heart.

Perhaps it was the venom
Working
But where it spread I
Settled
Like an old stone wall.
Like the halls of a castle
That has seen too much death
And too many kings.

I sank into myself
For the first time
And the ground felt heavily solid
And I felt
Only the hollow hiss
Of little blue and green serpents
Dreaming inside me
And that
Was something like certainty,
Although of what
I still don't
Know.
Hg Jun 2018
we’re rubbing our twigs together
trying to make flames
but instead of that
we’re scraping back
our bark revealing rings

and things that we’re not proud of
times we thought we passed
struggling to hug
with ****** knives
stuck in our backs

we’re just two wounded people
trying to start a fire
using wood
already burned
from the last scorching desire
©Hg
The sky crackles and I feel the most alone.

Just like that day in the woods.

My special place was off the trail, but he couldn't have known me,

I was so young and such an idiot,

Not everyone is genuine but I was so trusting,

I can still smell the sickening mixture of fresh-fallen rain,his sweat, the mud around the creek and salt from my tears.

With every atmospheric collision from the sky
my stomach churns tasting the blood in my mouth from his fist thundering against my tear stained cheeks.

When the wind blows  
I can still feel his callous hands bruising and exploring my unwilling body, and scraping against
the most intimate parts of me.

The lightning is when I remember the rock that found my desperate palms and crashing against his temple

The wind howls and the rain finally starts to fall then, near my belly button burns just like it did when the blade he swung wildly cut me before I could run and the water is my heartbeat pounding  in my ears,
but I can hear him behind me
The rush If my blood reminding me I’m still alive mind begging me to stay that way, his threats pushing me further

Head pounding ,body burning,
I burst through my front door

And then I start to cry
Rain storms are actually very hard for me to get through due to some other traumas but the storm that passed when I wrote this smelled like that day. Thunder really triggers me especially when I'm alone I used to cry in school when it thundered in the weeks after this incident but then I started to internalize it and I'd just be really quiet on those days. Trigger Warning, ****, molestation, violent attaked on a minor.
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