"severing" poems
Even the idea was worthy of a fight
and all too much preparation.
We dolled ourselves up for alienation,
even though the faces present
were so familiar and etched into memory.
Who are you Mr.Cool?
If that is your real name.
Whiskey breath and filterless smokes
only impresses the girls in the movies,
with scripts written by clueless men
like you, who can't supply injury
so they bring only insult.
You are a secretary bird,
a mime, and the copycat kid.
Trying to be a bad boy and hide
amongst the spoiled brats you claim.
Keep on burrowing and severing ties,
ravishing resources leads to ruin.
You say you've heard rumors?
Well, I've heard facts.
I've seen facts!
Your parasitic disguise will crumble
under the weight of your genuinely selfish persona.
While the company I keep will only know
the side you wished to reveal
in front of all the pretty boys and girls.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 12:04 PM UTC
I watched the old
gray haired
son of a *****
approach my fence
in the back yard
today,
he - looking up at the
beautiful work of art,
a brilliant Magnolia
that had just flowered
like a proud yawning
lioness at sunset,
his gilded tool
with it’s dangling rope
to hang a miracle
because it had spilled
into his yard
like pink paper leftovers
everywhere,
he decided to repress it
bordering the fence
it was annoying him
and his domain
Rousseau was dead-on
about my chained freedom
the manacles were dangling
and I could hear
him severing and slicing
her arms
it somehow made him
feel better
and he moaned
his wretched realm
on his side of the trellis
and he walked away
after the limbs had fallen
to the ground
to make his cheap ***
ground chuck on rye –
it smelled like ****
the amputated Magnolia
and grease spinning
around my head
I stood there, quietly
thinking how this was
so unwarranted
and what a waste of time
this was,
the tree crying out to me
and somewhere else on earth
another yawning
with laughter.
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
Wintertime nighs;
But my bereavement-pain
It cannot bring again:
Twice no one dies.
Flower-petals flee;
But since it once hath been,
No more that severing scene
Can harrow me.
Birds faint in dread:
I shall not lose old strength
In the lone frost’s black length:
Strength long since fled!
Leaves freeze to dun;
But friends cannot turn cold
This season as of old
For him with none.
Tempests may scath;
But love cannot make smart
Again this year his heart
Who no heart hath.
Black is night’s cope;
But death will not appal
One, who past doubtings all,
Waits in unhope.
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Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
There is exemplary synergy in Nature
Coexistence of the birthed life
It’s a wonder for the wanderers
We try to create an imbalance
By our negligence and ambivalence
Bound and cloaked in this invisible bond
We are at risk of alienating ourselves
Severing ties with the lifeline
We cannot decipher the rich synergy
Mortals we all are, but some, lesser mortals
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 2:04 AM UTC
I threw away all my dignity, I decided it wasn't worth a fight. Spent to long trying, praying that I'd get it right.
I took a match and caught that tree, that shaded marriage vows. Watched it go up in flames, and found the strength to walk away some how.
I bandage the wounds left from you, cut by that blade of poisoned lies. Took the knife out of my back, now I'm severing any ties.
I sewed my lips shut with straps of leather, that once belonged to you. I packed my bags and filled my pockets, in hopes of something new.
I carved Divorce into the wall, with the shattered shards of whats left of me. I took that blindfold off my eyes, so I now can clearly see.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 11:52 PM UTC
when words are few,
or stuck in dictionaries
unused or unknown
like
compassion,
tyrants and wife-beaters
scream
with iron fists,
silencing fluent lips
in clotting streams of blood
...and machetes,
severing lucid limbs
from able bodies
in active states of articulation
...and guns,
the kryptonite of cowards
and buffoons,
the callow voice of philistines
and goons,
blasting cogent words
and vocal women
into oblivion
....and laboratories
where forensics of
fingerprint and dna
scream loudest,
sending tyrants and wife-beaters away
to sleep with the devil
in a shallow cell
on earth
or
hell below...
~ P (#Pablo#OTAWB)
(8/11/2013)
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
He is known as The Leader of Men.
His combat skills and his undisputed valor are unparalleled.
The cryptic tattoos of his body are the gospel of neighboring regions.
The utter of his name sends shockwaves of fear and trepidation across the land.
Biding idle time by sharpening his spears, swords, daggers.
Gutting, severing, and beheading those opposing his path and will.
The elders say he is the son of Achilles.
Yet at the twilight of every night of battle,
He lies at his bedside.
Alone.
He never talks, he never sleeps.
Just gazes upon the blood spilled upon his hands.
He weeps.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 6:56 PM UTC
How do I go on?
You claimed to be my White Knight
Your words not mine
I felt a disconnect and knew you would break my heart
I tried to break it off
These words I said
I love you deeply
You my soul mate
The response was the same
Your words
You are my soul mate
We were so happy
Happily ever after type
You begged me not to leave
Called me your lifeline
I would have given up everything
Just to be in your arms
A picture of you
Shared only with me
So I thought
You said only me
Only me
We were a secret
You didn't want others jealous
But everyone knew
You get to the airport
Tell me it's just me, only me
My friend talked of you
I confided in her of Us
A letter arrives
You cut me to pieces for telling her
Telling her we were Us
You were my White Knight
I was your lifeline
Pulling you from the brink
Soul mates
Stars aligned
I will never know
You would never tell
The picture partly a clue
You sent it to her too
Dumped me for saying you loved me to her
She was our friend
Only a friend you said
Then why
why all this pain
I saved you
You almost killed me
I saved it all you know
Every word, phrase, poem
The pain unbearable
You had to know
I would try to end my life
Your lifeline would be dead
Nothing but silence from you
One day out of the blue you show again
Say you still love me
Still desire me
What were you thinking
After all that time
Just needed your lifeline again
Then what
Disappear after
What you did White Knight
Was inexcusable, cruel, vindictive
You swore you would be back
I would see you again
You might as well have been the knife
Sliding across my skin
This time you succeeded
Severing all ties
Bet you didn't think it would go this far
No longer your soul mate
Your lifeline gone
All because our friend's feelings were hurt
You could have done better
Should have done more
Now I am gone forever
They buried me today
Our friends were there
But not you
Not even then would you show
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
The ground connects us through our feet
We connect the Earth through our minds
And connect our hearts through our hands
Until the ground beneath our feet
Begins to crumble
We dig up hatred and then repeat
As we stumble
Attacking the planet to cut our connection
And severing our stability
When the ground is filled with holes
And the ground is filled with those
We chose to dispose
For what they know
Or what they show
We told them no
And dimmed their glow
We feel dirt between our toes
As the quicksand embraces our ankles
We let a malicious mudslide flank us
The Sandman continues to introduce us
To our own eternal rest
On his endless conquest
For minerals in his midst
Sentiment unable to penetrate his sediment
The dirtiness in his heart becomes evident
When he drowns us in dust
And colors us rust
He feels he must
But he made a fatal mistake
Not realizing we are attached by soil
As the soil becomes a lake
We find relation deeper than oil
The Sandman seeks our species' slumber
But the power of our tears
Are strong when shared
And shower us with love
That runs through our blood
Moistening man
Soaking the sand
Once we see life grand
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 5:38 AM UTC
Alone with only the piles of ash as company,
I harden a little more.
Severing cords and burning bridges can be tiring and I have had my fill of useless people
so sleep is in my future.
I have never known love;
I know this now.
Hollowed out by wicked inclinations,
tempered with deviant leanings,
filled with poisonous lust
and fueled by misanthropic,
misogynistic misgivings,
I have become bereft of
all that is good.
I have given up
on ever being happy.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 3:02 AM UTC
She was like a loaf of bread
Unexpecting and unafraid
She didn't expect him to cut into her
Severing her from the feeling of being whole
She also didn't expect for him
To plaster her with sweet honey and jam
He filled her with so much sugar,
But his sweetness was a simple distraction
How could she have known he would consume
The delicious treat he made of her
Only to tire of the taste
And allow the rest to go to waste ?
Though there is such tragedy do not fret,
There is still beauty there in every crumb
He may have taken her apart
But now her next love will have room to overflow
She is the most desired pastry of all
She turns her crumbs into cake
The delicious treat she makes of herself
Will never go to waste
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 11:12 PM UTC
BULL FIGHTING
(WITH A CLASSICAL TOUCH)
* By Raj Nandy*
(I)
The Minoan Civilization of ancient Greece,
Was well centered in the Aegean island of Crete;
And around 1600 BC this civilization had peaked!
Seeing their frescoes, and paintings on potteries
and vase,
Scholars concluded that ‘bull-jumping’ was
perfected as a gallant art!
Those jumpers grabbed the bull’s horns, -
And receiving momentum from its violent
head-jerk,
Vaulted over its back in a somersault,
To land on both feet to break their fall!
I was spell bound by Minoans courage and agility,
Their acrobatic feats performed with such
dexterity!
Those bulls were not killed and no blood was shed,
Some acrobats might have been injured instead!
What a shame for our bull fighters of date!
(II)
Today bull fighting has become a popular sport,
Where the bull gets slaughtered amidst loud applaud!
I recall those Roman amphitheaters that remained
jam-packed,
When the Gladiators performed their fatal acts!
But even those Gladiators had a chance to survive,
Our cornered bull has no place to hide!
Friends, to see blood is an age old thrill,
But none would like to see their own blood spilled!
(III)
Our Matador today is like a popular Rock Star,
While the bull becomes a martyr in the pit by far!
The bull’s mighty horns are sharp and strong,
Can lift up a man like a rag doll!
But when the Picador lances the bull’s ****
The bull never gets a fair deal and jumps!
Next the Matador waves his ‘muleta’- a red cape,
The bull makes a final charge but cannot escape!
I wonder if the bull sees red!?
The Matador then amidst much pomp and applaud,
Spikes the neck severing the bull’s spinal cord!
He is greeted by flowers and cheers of ‘Ole’! ‘Ole’!
Let us learn from those Ancient Minoans, -
That's all I have got to say!
- by Raj Nandy
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
I turned as new resigned:
A summer gleaned, my business was within,
My charge the sober mind,
My care the wintry bin.
And found the boughs in stain,
Past-promise-hued. O not
Before, earnest as rich was yet so plain;
A harvest was ungot.
Beech drenching down my pathway goldenheart,
Ash, pensive light-cheek rose,
Both pluck the thought apart,
And meant you, heart, to close?
So fell the doomed farewells;
So, so looked forth a thing:
Regret, reproach, what else
Must baffle, vex, beguile this severing
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Thou art so conniving
You conspire to purge me of my sense of reasoning
Leaving me bare to suffer the perils of an incongruous world
Belittled by all and sundry
Or how else do you explain a scenario where
The words I am sorry are too heavy a spittle
To be spoken to a loved one to whom I’ve wronged
Severing a lifelong relation in the process
Could be am being too hard on you
And that you are so patronisingly benevolent
Condescendingly overseeing my rise up the social ladder
Trouncing and prancing on the shrewd and their kind
Either way I salute your ingenuity
Indeed keep up the uncanny spectacle.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 7:01 AM UTC
I stepped out,
finally, a terrestrial in Istanbul.
My leveled shoulders carried
an empty satchel of undone buckles
To let every fresh sip of raw experience
tumble inside,
my adventures impatiently plucked
from the closest branch
of a banyan tree bearing
a crisscross of endless tales.
I rescued my lungs with air,
thick with resentment while
swallowing astringent flavored symphonies
and ballads of orchestrated ruckus as
women deflated their lungs
blowing out antipathy, through high pitched whistles -
A forgotten kettle blowing off steam.
Adorned in scorn, sardonic welcoming mats lined the airport.
Women pushed at their car horns as if the dragging sound,
like a severing saw can cut through
the tenacity of the ones with innate ear plugs.
They have become obsolete traffic signals -
First, their green light diminishes - like their wages
Then, their red light is dimmed -
it stops too many people in their footsteps.
And thus the world just races past them,
And they are left only with yellow -
Telling them to slow down.
They said it was an act of love.
That their plumped crimson lips,
Glossily complimented with nails
that matched the tails,
of the so-called mile high club
was just too much to handle.
Priming for work meant neglecting their love
for the perfect shade of watermelon lipstick,
No more sweet ketchup fingertips
Showing you the emergency exits. No more,
lipstick stained glasses
of a self made woman.
These cumulating lip kissed glasses
stack up like trophies,
that sway in the heavy panting
of the ones who can’t keep up with this generation.
So the women gracefully conducted the orchestra
and through lipstick stained whistles,
They tried to drown out the dogmatic policies
And with unrelenting strife,
they passed on some advide
stop shattering our liberties
And underminining our abilities for
Endless possibilities.
Because we are the ones
Who fly high and soar
And we will always
look fabulous
while doing it.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 7:45 AM UTC
I had an underwater swordfight
with a giant squid.
The only way to win
was by severing the head.
He had eyes the size of skies;
a heavyweight leviathan
with perfect purple skin
spanning 1000 mile limbs.
There was blood in the water;
it was all that you could see.
The monster that was slain
had been slain by only me.
There was blood in the water;
it was all that you could see.
There was blood in the water,
but it wasn't from me.
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 12:50 AM UTC
Such an abused past, much vast… Darkly basked and masked!
Badly, sadly bruised or roused, from the cold or scold! Bold or
old! Coerced or forced! Victims of heroism, terrorism, **** or
scraps. Casual, intellectual, punctual, sensual, ****** or virtual.
However its clever affliction, direction and infection. Its con-
densed defense, a pretense of self-sense and intense suspense!
Unfortunately, if induced, seduced or misused, the abused may
eventually fuse! An abstruse spruce, controversially in use.
Gratefully to some; the increasing of peace and a truce is to become.
I proclaim with claim! It blames, deems and seems forever! For those endeavoring, policing and severing this noose and nuisance of abuse!
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:50 PM UTC
It wasn’t really John’s saw
that carved the branch into logs -
its blade severing rings of time.
The saw was mine but just like his.
Resting for a spell, I thought of John:
clearing his spread by the Williamson Road,
building fences, raising his barn,
or, like me, cutting wood for the hearth.
But perhaps I didn’t “think” of John at all
since he lives in each cell that I am.
He may have just stirred a little within
to recall pioneer paths we once had walked.
The long branch shortened
as John and I pistoned our arms
in unison across centuries
slicing through time and space -
stacking fuel to warm a cold winter’s night.
May, 2006
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 6:29 PM UTC
I
Everything is cast asunder
Chopped like waves
A scintillating shattered mirror
II
Memory is an ache in the mist
Settling into a backward moving river
That snarls into an ethereal past
III
Quivering in the skin, an embodied seer;
Flesh with entropic and generative visions
Alive with terror and imaginative beauty
IV
A burning longing is cooled in the waters of grief
Where space is apart and falling; When time cuts eternity
And all that was, and will be, is here, broken
V
Pulling colours out of a boundless light
Severing into the spectrum
Tearing hot white nothing into variegated hue
VI
A depth of shade holds together layers of truth
Concealing the unknown in echoes of shadows
Contours and grooves, carving out reality
VII
Loosener of holding; shaking catharsis
Bittersweet, uncontrollable chaos
Bare and raw and momentary and changing
VII
Like the fall of a giant old growth tree
that lays to waste and nourish
an abundance on the forest floor
IX
Like the blossom of a wild flower
tired of tight closure, breaking open, petal by petal
to expose it's heart to the sun
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
If you have money you work
and if you work you have money
and the cycle continues
especially in a place like New York
that do the same thing over and over again
But there is a difference between workers
I am a worker
I look at the tall buildings in New York
Like a medieval anarchy
the top full of kings and queens,dukes and knights
the bottom full of peasants and slaves
and at the bottom full of witches burning in hell
those witches burning in greed and sin that they did not commit
there feet burning in ashes from their work from surrendering to the higher ups
crying to be release to the surface
but knowing they will always be chain to their hell.
So while I was sweeping the floor for greedy saints
I look up, took my broom and fly
fly just like a witch
breaking my ties with eternal hell
forever severing the bonds of surrendering and greed
of work and money
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
I used to compare you to a hurricane,
I used to describe what we had as something like a giant, destructive ring,
With a calm, seemingly odd centre,
I used to tell people, that when things were good, and going strong,
That we were in the centre, we were in the eye, and we had nothing to worry about because we had found the calm in the storm,
I was told to not compare us to something that is notorious for being destructive,
Because I was told that we were in fact, the opposite of that,
I was told that you were not a hurricane, and you were not the centre of the storm,
Instead, you were pure calm, and pure safety, likened to summer nights and sunsets,
As I grew wiser, I likened us to a hurricane more and more,
As the months passed, and we trickled through the cracks more and more,
It became more apparent to me that, we were not a summer sunset,
We were a hurricane,
When things were good, we lived in the centre of the storm,
We had calm, and peace and we did not have to worry about the mass destruction going on around us,
However, like a hurricane, storms move quickly and safe havens in the centre change,
The only mode of survival to keep your place in the eye of the storm is to adapt,
To move quickly with the change and the direction of the storm,
So we tethered ourselves to each other, so that even if we were on opposite sides of the calm,
Too far to touch,
Too far to see,
We were still connected so that if the storm moved, we could move with it together,
The funny thing about hurricanes though, is that they move quickly,
And sometimes you do not always see them changing course and direction,
So in the midst of our perfectly calm centre, we were thrown off course, and thrown in opposite directions, our tether which was keeping us together, tangled and weakening,
In the midst of the storm, and our calm being thrown off you got scared because this was the worst it had ever been,
And our tether was so damaged, and so strained that it felt like we would always be too far to touch, and too far to see,
You took, action, you cut me off, severing our tether and suddenly, we were not in the safe place in the centre of the storm,
We were thrown in opposite directions, into the destructive, black swirling rings that we had avoided with such courage,
And so here I am, beat up, black and blue, trying to find my way back into the centre of the storm,
Silently praying that maybe you are too.
EMW.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 2:38 AM UTC
A ghost doesn't always need a host.
Hidden messages they can post.
Finding children who are missing & lost.
Whatever the cost.
Ariel is the boss.
We suffered a severing loss.
She is still in charge.
We ain't living that large.
She is motherless.
I am childless.
Our sacred bond was forced broken.
Bitterness & scorn is choking.
Ireland we can run.
A vacation would be fun.
Ariel is a magnificant star.
The target of a custodial war.
She is gifted & talented.
A spirit that's been lifted.
She joined my life.
She is still Fatherless & I not yet a wife.
A celestial being which I am seeing.
She has always been the plan.
I am her biggest fan.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 12:17 PM UTC