"severs" poems
Good-Night by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill
Which severs those it should unite;
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
A star of blood you fell
from the point of the hypodermic
singing of fabulous beasts &
spitting out the *** of vowels
Your poems explode in the mouth
like torrents of ***** on a night
full of zebras & bootheels
Your ghost still cruses the river-
fronts of midnight assignations
in a world of dead sailors carrying
armfuls of flowers in search of
your unmarked grave
Your body no sanctuary for bees,
Death was your lover in a rain of
broken obelisks & rotting orchids
In the tangled rose of a single heartbeat
I offer you the shadow of a double
profile,
two heads held together at the bridge
of the nose by a nail of *****
smoke
in the long night's dreaming
& memory of water poured between
glasses
In my mailbox I find a letter from
a dead man & know that for every
shadow given
one is taken away
Yet subtraction is only a special form of
addition and implies a world of hidden
intentions below a horizon of lips
thin as your fingernail sprouting
mysteries in the earth …
The ace of spades dealt from the bottom
of the deck severs the hand which
retrieves it & the eyes of Beauty
sewn together peer over a black lace fan
in the ****** sunlight of a Spanish
morning without horses
The Belt of Orion is loosened
before you as you remove the silver
fingerstalls from your mummy hands &
kneel to plunder the nightsky in a shower of
bitter diamonds.
(Somewhere under a blanket someone weeps
for a lover.)
Peace to your soul
& to your empty shoes
in the dark closets of
kings with no feet!!!
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill
Which severs those it should unite;
Let us remain together still,
Then it will be good night.
How can I call the lone night good,
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
Be it not said, thought, understood—
Then it will be—good night.
To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light,
The night is good; because, my love,
They never say good-night.
3.5k
You are the gold thread;
Life is a yard of fabric
You can choose to weave.
Other threads weaving
May intertwine with your frame,
But darkness severs,
And light may accept them home.
Though the end is far,
You cannot wait to live life;
Weave your tapestry,
Run the line and chase the sun
Until it westward sets.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
A rain of bullets hit Las Vegas, leaving blacken skies
From disgraceful clouds of a loose cannon.
From the first 911 call to storm's demise
72 minutes downfall took human companions.
For them, life for one minute enjoying country songs
In the unbridled company of each others innocence.
Then good faith served the merry goers wrong
As the concert venue became the tomb of dissonance.
It hurts my heart to follow this story unfold
Of the climbing death toll, making this the worst ever.
Harder to imagine a mass killer cut from this mold
Of being so heartless and desensitized to life he severs.
To the victims accept my cries of condemning this worm
While paying homage to harmonious humans imparted from the eyes of the storm.
Logan Robertson
10/4/17
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 6:36 AM UTC
This is because of you
the night falls as if slain by the sun, entwined are we.the salvation for which you sacrifice yourself flares once, then dies,devoured by a velvet ebon nothingness.all hope must surely perish.
your soul thrives no more.how could you tear us asunder?shadows surround us, crying,save us from ourselves.
Around, all around, the sinister creatures gather.My dread grows as the Dark One's touch falls against my naked soul.It severs me, and darkly my essence drips to the wicked earth that is my prison.In my madness I call your name while my doom takes my hand.Now alone, my cascade of tears falls upon bleeding eyes.
what have you ruined?a dark black shadowy cloud of betrayal as affections seep.once we savored paradise,untainted and wide-eyed,but your desire soured.a vengeful pool of bitterness -memories follow pain, follow hate,love bled dry.in a storm of vengeance,i still love you.
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
Life
And all its endeavors
Usually end in forever
But never
Surrender
Your smile
Death
Is an unjust
Punishment
But never
Surrender
Your smile
Power comes
When weakness grows
But never
Surrender
Your smile
Evil will triumph
A time or two
But never
Surrender
Your smile.
Because smiles have power
Smiles are infectious
Even when life is sour
Smiles' sweetness silently severs
Our connection to pain
Pleasantly putting to perspective
This putrid pestilence
We call progress.
So when you feel down
Never.
Surrender.
Your Smile.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
I
I am in Cardiff,
Where waves pummel the jetty
I am in Cardiff,
Where crab skeletons blanch the beach
I am nowhere
II
Where the sun severs the street and
Slowly, methodically,
They come, they come.
Electrifyingly stupefied in the dawn,
Tenantry not bound to cause and
Helpless as marred lead in the wind,
Stuck to strata and
Battered under **** pale-green
Thinned on spread fingers.
III
There is intent when the addict mutters ---
Alienated in his nettled gutters ---
"Life is cheap and love is free."
Hopelessness's epitome
Sits naked beyond the wall.
IV
And I am in Cardiff,
Where waves pummel the jetty
And I am in Cardiff,
Where crab skeletons blanch the beach
And I am nowhere
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC
A poet is daydreaming – contemplating,
Stale is his entire mind surpassed;
An accomplice confers his realization,
Neither to suffice the fool – disillusioned.
That poet daydreams, dismayed in trance,
‘A truce!’ he barters, on a fitted fray.
Frailty of his core seems definite in stance,
‘Tis anecdote… apparent of dismay.
The poet daydreams of the one he loves;
Severs the sympathy by egoism and contempt.
Scalar quantity of a breaching throb,
Under the tutelage of an infidel attempt.
The writer’s words are never dull, always honed;
Unyielding cutting edges fit for the crockery.
Elusive as emotions – tender as the blade of words sliced,
Thus cuts through the flesh, mind and soul like mockery.
Thus the poet’s mind can never be measured,
Nor does the ability of a man can overcome;
For both come from the Divine – Oh, highly favored!
Poetry of prose, so unique and unstrung.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
Reassuredove strides over modern bridges
occasionally glancing for somewhere to sow his seed
Her scicle a slicing scythe smoothly severs
the flesh like a mongoose strike
tasting the life fluid
Quickly everyone dances in a sober pattern
the wake of a speeding ship shooting across the surf
White dog, walking at your side
you see it in the sober sun
unblemished by uncertainty
Reassuredove wont leave you all alone
rich genius. Tomorrow is the dawn of a greater day.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 4:13 PM UTC
Behind the sky the Weaver knits
All beautiful and ugly things
Together as with perfect wit
She severs and she stings.
Each and every little soul
Safe to her downy back she brings
While their forgotten lullabies
She strums on silver strings.
Apr 24, 2021
Apr 24, 2021 at 12:31 PM UTC
Torn between conflict of facing the truth,
and the urge to ignore such predictions.
Outside perspective, an internal sleuth,
will avoid any sudden afflictions.
"But what," says my mind "if wrong is the right-"
"- and you brush off your soul's obligations?"
Should ignorance fail to conquer the fight,
and instinct: that of keen observation.
New, sharpened blade severs guilt between guilt,
bitter shame sitting right in the center .
If you must know me, then know to the hilt,
that my mind is a crevice you'll enter.
Shed light on masquerade, faces of doubt,
Faces of nothing, if light were without.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
Vane, young in yeares, but in sage counsell old,
Then whome a better Senatour nere held
The helme of Rome, when gownes not armes repelld
The feirce Epeirot & the African bold,
Whether to settle peace, or to unfold
The drift of hollow states, hard to be spelld,
Then to advise how warr may best, upheld,
Move by her two maine nerves, Iron & Gold
In all her equipage: besides to know
Both spirituall powre & civill, what each meanes
What severs each thou hast learnt, which few have don
The bounds of either sword to thee wee ow.
Therfore on thy firme hand religion leanes
In peace, & reck’ns thee her eldest son.
1.4k
She is so good at burning down bridges
That I don’t know what to do with the singed rope
Hanging from my backbone
But thank goodness
She birthed a crash-lander
In the off chance she severs our last ties
Because if I pinch my vocal chords tight enough
They double as a rip-cord attached to a parachute
I got buried in my heart
This doesn’t feel so much like having the wind knocked out of me
As much as it does landing safely
It’s how she made me
Raised me to crash and live
I am broken bone-callous- heal
Knuckle-scar and broken tooth smile
And you made me
Like that one time
You let him make me
Place my hand on the car door frame
So he could smash my fingers in it
I don’t even remember what I did that day
So doing it again?
Probably I’ve done it
My hand used to hurt some nights like a memory
It takes long time to forget
How to phantom limb our trauma
Like we might learn from it
I am not perfect
Which is why they remain nameless
I have probably been guilty
Of doing the things I am accusing them of
Hurting people I love
But thank goodness
Nature is the kindest architect
And I am ready to rebuild
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 6:39 PM UTC
She slices the ribbon of an old tape cassette
Alone, she sits perched on the charred remains
She breathes in slow motion and recites the alphabet
Alone, she sits and embraces the inevitable change
A delicate flower of truth, love, and regret
A pulsating fountain severs the deepest vein
Flowing emotions puddle underneath the bed
Alone she sits, she is always alone
Jun 10, 2021
Jun 10, 2021 at 4:22 AM UTC
We drink wine
As the weary wings of the dove
Labor over restless graves
Weaving between the carnival cruises
Drifting along the red canal
Three hundred cubits long,
Fifty wide and thirty tall
Rivers red overflow
The cypress whip cracks
Licking the ****** hide
With a serrated tongue
Ripped from gnawed ******* Raw
From the desperate lips of brothers and sisters.
Rivers red overflow
With the whimpers of last breaths
Muted by the blade of violent delight
And teeth grinding machines
We sit in our squeaking rubber boots
Cutlery clinks and clacks, saws, severs, slice.
Rivers red overflow
With an anguished unholy
Screeching sound
Deaf are our saintly ears
We drink wine
As the weary dove
Returns empty beaked
Once more to his perch
And preens his scarlet feathers
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 10:56 AM UTC
there she is: a glimpse of purple in prehistory
highlighted on the bluffs like an exhibit of magnetism.
a zooming highway energizes the distant panorama
making the evening surge like a crowning infant against her back.
it fills the canvas sails of her muscles in gusts of bravado, daring her
propelling the stiff mechanisms of her legs and arms
9000 stars shatter her cheek bones
as the sun severs its main vein making her
just another small boat to crash on an undiluted shoreline
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 11:31 AM UTC
Search out no lie in words that follow
Though, lie and liar have come before
A child’s dose is smooth to swallow
Packaged, pretty endings from the store
Even homes lined with white picket fence
Are filled with macabre, bright-eyed babes
Soon, they’re taken without recompense
None forbearing of life’s costly wage
Don’t you see?
There is no happiness in ending
The promises of life that cheer me
Keep facades of continuity
That’s why the message that I’m sending
Is of pleasure that an old soul takes
Always looking into the same face
And of the heartfelt pain that severs
Spring lovers lost to winter’s weather
So, when seasons turn, shall we follow
The courtiers guide this frenzied waltz
Through strange and tightly spun ellipses
And, knowing this dance and all its faults
My account has strained into thesis
It seems some, stoic toward our fate
And fixated always on an end
Come to ever practice means of pain
To remind them that indeed they live
As the coupled who attack their mates
As a child draws blows he cannot fend
As a young girl pulls steel cross her veins
Sin against self, hardest to forgive
Yes, so they won’t have to look inward
So he won’t have to fight what’s inside
So her pain is seen, but never heard
Thus, old wounds live without parting wide
So, you see?
There is beauty in our suffering
It is filled with tales of honesty
And, though it’s a morbid offering
I hope some smile at its honesty
With each little piece of me that dies
Drowned inside this bottle that I hold
I try to douse the flames of old lies
‘Cause there’s still some story to be told
And where we go, no words can follow
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 3:56 PM UTC
I know I'm clingy, I latch on like a starfish, but at least I'm not a stingray, I won't strike when you least expect it, my only motive is to love you and it's the farthest thing from hidden. Maybe that's the problem. I tried to be a little more quite, shelter my thoughts so you wouldn't take off running but what I need from you is a roof over my head, cause I can't provoide it for myself when my words are protecting you like an umbrella during a rain storm. I've always loved you in waves and lately everyday has been a hurricane. But as I bite my tongue I find that my heart is cracking like the ground severs in the middle of a drought. I can not swim against the current and you are uncertain, and unsteady like the Nile River. Eighty percent of our bodies are made up of water, it's about time you let the flood gates down and opened your mouth.
-Kahla Mercadante
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
eye of storm
feels good
inanely safe
cloak of unreality
supplanting sense
as trap shuts
butterfly hovers
gently
in silken web
rests stupidly
charmed
while harm beckons
illusions numb
cerebral
space
battle weary
instincts spent
on long haul
gusts of
warning winds
ignored
as incongruent
aberrations
unworthy of note
but sword will drop
mayhem eclipse
former state
past suspension
truncated
exposed
as raw reality
severs dreams
barnacled
to beguiling
specious
notion
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 6:46 PM UTC
You undersell me
And overwhelm me
Your lovely tidal wave
Cuts like a bridal blade
Your knife slices so deep
It drags on my bone
Your knife must meet sheath
For me to find home
Your blade
Is high grade
So sharply acute
It cuts all roots
I didn't realize emotions went this deep
You use your blade to slaughter sheep
If they don't survive your brain surgery
Or your engrained perjury
You're the blade
But you don't hunt vampires
I want you to stay
And light my heart's fire
Don't Wesley snipe at me
Or point your knife at me
Just hold me
So I forget the old me
Cut out what you don't like
Until I made only of light
The process is painful
But you change me
Cut from every angle
You rearrange me
You make improvements
By cutting grooves in
I'm so afraid I may disappoint you
Because I have already anointed you
My king
I wear your ring
That severs my fingers
Making me useless
When so much love lingers
But I can't prove this
There is a ****** blade at my throat
While our love precariously floats
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 5:31 AM UTC
When I fingered the thin skin on my left, vein-bulging limb
Where the forearm adheres to the costly little hand
I realized in all my intense ardor for pain
That there in my penitence, self-pity, self-loathe
I am a narcissist.
Laden with self-obsessed sorrow
There is a selfishness in being a dreary,
To feel for oneself,
When others care too much
An aggregation of sympathizing sobs and tears
Too much for an egoist
Who would rather wallow alone
In the orange-tinted hue of twilight turned nightfall
A ray of the luster in all subtle shades,
Can I summon the force to recall
Why I hate myself
Is it not that all despise me for a purpose?
And those who are inept at reasonable loathe
Are marooned in deep shame
That they had degraded themselves for what?
For a felon? Such as myself?
Deep in such sorrow,
Deep in my self-loathe
I have encountered the truth of all fruitless self-regard
I am a narcissist, egoist, one who self-loathes
Who slashes and severs and cannot speak love
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
I seek to come to know the Present by scrutiny, without perceiving
myself to be, at least not here; not here where there's not a soul around, and where day surrounds me in sunlight clear: but the Future becomes born as I seek out the moment I have bound, where I am falling into the depths of Misery, which is and will be, inaccessible to your view on my paths overgrown. Yet o'er tears and reflections I see, reliving my tattered Tragedy within, as I trod the
often traveled moments of my Past --my thoughts are trampled
by my echoes therein.
I seek to come to know the Present by inquiry, without realizing myself to be, tempered by stones and crags, in the depths of Eternity:
--but the light falters before bursting, scattering upon the Autumn
morn, whereas I harvest my Sadness like a brooding reaper in
Spring, as the Sorrow is again reborn.
I seek to come to know the Present by reverie, without finding myself a being, thru the valleys enveloped in a column of light; and souls encircling me like ivy green, which severs me from a pain that
died, and this time my Happiness is reborn; reborn out of the Gloom, and into the Light that bears my fond memories of yore.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
Once again Classy J the definition of a sin,
Deceased kindness that passes down to my kin.
Addiction restricting timeless memories that pour's softly within.
Sadly this is the only time warmth ever greets me,
Can I ever change? Beats me?
So maybe when history gets spun again and again the future has no choice but to be grim?
Fairy-tales woven into white lie's that negate horrific sins.
Minds going crazy that's got me turning into Harley Quinn.
Happily never after reforming heroes, that severs off well intended meanings.
Exceedingly dreary reality fraught with fog that makes it hard to see where we first began.
That lights holy crosses on fire like the ku klux ****
Entrapping lost souls inside a raven claws diadem.
No glad tidings left residing in thee,
When humanity keeps going on killing sprees.
Will we ever be truly free?
Or is freedom just a double edged poisoned sword like a hamlet tragedy?
Fending off hatred but how can one do it peacefully?
For even with civil rights the media still has no problem linching minorities!
So I’m left Watching as nightmarishly thin cows start eating up the healthy ones, who knew one vision of a Pharaoh could become reality?
For when good comes, the bad comes shortly after, so maybe instead of pointless debates we need to implement actions?
In order to have a true happily ever after!
But that all depends on us incompetent humans who divide everything and everyone into class systems.
With phobias turning others inhuman or illegal aliens that are in need for dissection.
Chopping up our own kin or refusing to vaccinate them because some stupid doctor claimed it causes autism.
So, we’d rather **** our children rather than having them associate within a disorderly spectrum.
Hmm. If you ask me that’s pretty ******* dum!
Guess that’s what happens when humanity tries to hard to get to the sun?
Thinking ourselves as God’s that be damning what others have said or done.
Getting offended over everything, man this **** is sure getting tiresome!
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 12:51 PM UTC
All around, the mourners gather.
My dread grows as an avenging sword falls against my heart.
It severs me, and darkly my essence drips to the thirsty earth.
In horror I call your name
While death's shadow hovers close
Now alone, my cry of mercy falls upon wailing eyes.
This is because of you
That I look upon Death with my own eyes.
Such vengeance you have over my broken body
This vessel no longer mine
I bear all to Death's wrath.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC