"shacked" poems
I was shacked with a
24 year old girl from
New York City for
two weeks- about
the time of the garbage
strike out there, and
one night my 34 year
old woman arrived and
she said, "I want to see
my rival." she did
and then she said, "o,
you're a cute little thing!"
next I knew there was a
screech of wildcats-
such screaming and scratch-
ing, wounded animal moans,
blood and **** . .
I was drunk and in my
shorts. I tried to
seperate them and fell,
wrenched my knee. then
they were through the screen
door and down the walk
and out into the street.
squadcars full of cops
arrived. a police heli-
coptor circled overhead.
I stood in the bathroom
and grinned in the mirror.
it's not often at the age
of 55 that such splendid
things occur.
better than the Watts
riots.
the 34 year old
came back in. she had
****** all over her-
self and her clothing
was torn and she was
followed by 2 cops who
wanted to know why.
pulling up my shorts
I tried to explain.
9.4k
*She was way too tough for me.
no it's more I was not hard enough for her.
The old ***** brick houses
of Englands industrial north
caught between industrial revolution
and social unrest .
I was just a youth back then.
The big war fading from memory.
I stopped at my friend's back yard
it was a hot summer back then.
His souped up bike was gleaming
like a prize racehorse.
She pulled a flask of *****
and took a long pull
her bright red hair
like glowing coal
her eyes as black as darkness
she was hard pretty.
Her mini skirt flashing
her shaply legs.
a stray dog big and hard
just like her.
jumped up and licked her face.
she Laughed
they were like two
kindred spirits
like sisters by nature
wild and drifting and free.
She had *** with me
the first time I met her
and told me I was not
rough enough for her.
I just was a bit scared
of telling her
I wanted out of it.
The kick-started bike roared
like the steel lion it was.
She squealed in delight.
then the stray dog peed
on the concrete.
she lifted her skirts
like the hard ***** she was
and peed next to it.
she jumped on the back
of his bike and they
went off at full speed.
To test his bike out
at the racetrack.
I hear they shacked up together.
and we're very happy.
I dated a nerdy young woman
quiet and conservative
who became a librarian.
We got married
four years later.
had two kids
and a housetrained dog.
She never once told me
I was not rough enough in bed.*
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
i remember it like it was yesterday, which i have to say is strange, because i have trouble remembering everything else. i remember you were sitting in front of me and i was terrified, palms sweating, eyes watering. i was truly scared if you, or rather of myself. a little part of me hated you too. you looked so, self-righteous sitting in your rolling chair, with you perfect posture and your clicky pen. when you started to ask me question i ignored you. id been shacked up in my head for so long i forgot how to talk to people. anyways, my head was comfortable, familiar. i had a bed full of memories and a closet full of monsters. i had drawers full of hopes (i never opened them of course), but they were there, it was nice to know they were there.
my favourite possession in my mind however, was a little glass jar on my nightstand. it looks empty at first glance, but the harder you look the more you see. there are colours, like rays of light, they swirl around and hit each other, a vibrant crimson color. theres a green in there to, if you saw it you'd swear mother nature put it there herself. theres also a blue, its the largest of all the swirls. it looks royal and dark, beautiful.
theres also a yellow. but its different, not in its beauty or vibrance, but in its location . it isn't in the jar. the yellow swirls around the edge of the glass. occasionally bumping into it almost as if it wants in, but theres no way for it.
i remember holding back, never telling you that because i thought you'd think i was crazy. so i didn't say a thing. but man do i remember that jar. that room. i remember the colours, their saturation, how they moved. i remember the monsters beating on the closet door looking for a way out. i remember the bed of sweet memories. but im sorry, i don't remember more important thing, like how to feel. i truly am.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 11:22 AM UTC
You can bet I've broken so many metaphorical bones,
You can bet I've collected so many cursed tokens,
You can bet I've been selected to get my head shacked, she said depression,
I said repression,
Cause denying makes the truth all the more shady,
And then I've shaken to fading on the daily,
I'm a killer of a very special Miller,
Or perhaps that was the killer of me.
Now I'm a special boy,
Taken and shaken around like a toy,
You can confirm my death with many people,
Those who build steeples and feasible sentences,
I'm a prototype of a man,
Just watch as I ran to the sand underneath the sparkling grand moon man.
Take me up into the wind,
Bring me to the sinners den,
I will take his rusted hand,
And escape without a stand.
You can bet I've murdered so many beasts,
You can bet I've ruined so many well-lit feasts,
You can bet that I've introspected, to the point where I've retrospected into the infected past,
I keep on regretting going fast,
You're stuck in my head now get out before I pluck you out,
Tuck and roll to **** at everything that I lay eyes on.
Cause denying makes the truth all the more shady,
And then I've shaken to fading on the daily,
I'm a killer of a very special Miller,
Or perhaps that was the killer of me.
Cause denying makes the truth all the more shady,
And then I've shaken to fading on the daily,
I'm a killer of a very special Miller,
Or perhaps that was the killer of me.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 1:20 PM UTC
******* ******* Father, *******
Left mother, ran away from his problems. Shacked up with a piece of ****
A mother's tears, a sister's tears. Brother so far away.
Forgiveness is not forthcoming, hurt still raw.
Why did he leave?
******* ******* Father, *******
Jan 31, 2010
Jan 31, 2010 at 9:22 AM UTC
In this wasteland of avarice, I struggle to pull silver threads
From this gray cover of smog. The sound of brittle bones aching,
Drowned out by the quaking footsteps of titans.
Men, who would be gods, push for you to play your hand.
Knowing from their fingers, have you been dealt the cards.
A deck of diamonds, devoid of Kings with hearts.
Honor has been dead, since Pride married Malice and,
Greed shacked up with strife. 21st century freedom.
A modest monetary price,
For ownership stake of your life.
Jun 30, 2021
Jun 30, 2021 at 10:09 PM UTC
DXM-choke me down, restart again because your princess is in another castle and she's shacked up with some ******* a trailer-sailor with cheap beer on his breath and his roving hands groping for her chest. You've already folded before you check the hand you've been dealt because this is the worst pain you've ever felt and so you robotrip 'til you imagine you've sunk his ship. Hide behind these substances that you pretend give your life sustenance, but they don't and I see you clearly and hold you like a child to my chest dearly; please don't fear me. I'm not trying to flirt, I just want to soothe your hurt, but I'm too weak and too meek to assist, so I don't insist. Just pretend I don't exist; not a malignant tumor, but benign cyst, and what humor; a dark twist.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 5:17 AM UTC
Burning nostalgic memories
letting the smoke flow out my nose
Cause I resigned myself to just sit and pine
and dream about times where I paid no mind
to past lives
The past five years
I though the world would end
I shacked up with one that decried
my wasted potential in normal jobs
Like where do you get off
if I'm making halfway decent bucks?
The irony of our artsy resurgent humanity degrees
Just go and sell life insurance
Them boomers turned us into gloomers
Generation X, my young parents
the first victims,
at least they had half a fair shake in life
I think the 90s had it right
dripping in yin yang rings and necklaces
so we wouldn't lose our way
Woo wee, where were we?
Hiding from my brother in a clothes rack
with my parents at the mall every weekend
So much confidence in where we were going
The end of history itself
in our careful chaos regulation
Feb 27, 2021
Feb 27, 2021 at 6:02 PM UTC
Chains.
I am bound by chains.
I am chained to my past;
I cannot speak.
Shackled.
I am shacked to life.
Too afraid to let go-
Yet too weak to fight.
Help.
I need help.
I can't do this alone,
And I am so scared.
Alone.
I'm alone in the world.
No one can help-
Yet who would want to?
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
Liberation discharge has a loud call, need
to unwind shouts boldly,
as the fettered heart feels no better until
it is de-controlled.
Caged, a muzzled soul will unravel slowly
having freedom, believing,
when turned adrift emancipation widens
as it homes for relief.
So unhand my heart, release me, disband
this neglected affair
and leave hold of erroneous persuasion
that shacked means care.
Who I am is unique and of late I begin
again to celebrate
life for my own pleasure, and not for what
others think is my state.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
Thief of words
Thief of mind
Is it envy?
Resonation?
Or is that poetry mine?
You mine and you dig at my future thoughts
Dig away at my throat till the language is lost
Tossed, torn, thrown aside
I lied
you cried , you're a tourist to my eyes
Shacked up in this place just somewhere to hide
Then I finally realised
They're yours to keep
Maybe to be a poet
I am just too weak
you're a thief of mind
Thief of soul
Carrier of mystery
Miner of gold
Float along now
With your shoulder strung sack
You're striped stealing suit
And your pen, jet black
Write the things I'm going to say
Cause they'll choke on my tongue or hit the hay anyway
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 10:31 PM UTC
Erudite eyes see materialism & conformity
As a menacing, monstrous, moral deformity
From which vast misery and decay is sprung
A dirge for its mass of manufactured souls sung
Your words tap in to raw, primal currents
Torrid, terse, you talk in torrents
Poured straight down in to your thirsty mind
You are risen, no more blind
Your mind mimics the blossoming of wilderness
Balancing its danger and its tenderness
Singing of the cosmic dimension
Allen is rapt, in glorious ascension
Conjuring the words of muse
Which exposes the grand consumer-world ruse
Without this dreamy, hazy vision
Of inexplicably divine precision
Allen would just be one more mind
Shacked in manacles, going blind
At once he communicates the joys of the Universe
But lays ‘Howl’, his elegy, at its hearse
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
I want to get lost and never come back. I want to not give a **** and be high as a kite and fly above everything so far away that all that can be seen are crop circles and property lines breaking the world into a million puzzle pieces that will never quite fit together just right again. But that's not how it is I'm down on earth shacked by the knowledge that I must do something. Knowledge. the difference between a carefree bird flying unaffected by the world below and a dog with the choice of wondering the hopeless streets unsure and alone, or being chained in security day in day out
pick your poison.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 11:41 PM UTC
Rumor has it
That I am a liar
A *****
A cheat
Can't trust me
Rumor has it
That I am shacked up
******* off
Leeching from
Some old guy
Rumor has it
That I ran off
Disappeared
Abandoned ship
Just because I could
Rumor has it
That I'm nowhere
Don't care
Beware
Stay away from me
Rumor has it
Truth is
I don't care
What rumors say
Or what you think
But you wonder why
I ran away
Truth is
You made me do it
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 7:17 PM UTC
If I were strong
I would say I'm not okay
But I am weak, so fine I stay
If I were to stare down into your face
I'd smash it in with my graceful words
Swords, knives, that's what your words feel like
I feel this ache in the space between our sour meetings
Do not touch, so I won't touch
See no evil, so I look away from you
I'm weighted down by the emotions that lay heavy within me
I carry them like shacked round my ankles
I carry them in spaces between my teeth and tongue
They fall out when the pressure is too much
It all spills out, soiling the sacred ground
Burying the good news which surrounds me
I have this ache in my chest, where love used to be
It's dull and sad and it pains me
You smile, I cringe
You laugh, I cry
You gain control and I wither in my soul
In this ache, I want you to feel these knives and aches and pains and stops and starts and agony and woe
But no
You simply won't
It's this battle in my head and my chest and legs and if I stretch far enough, breathe deeply enough, and smile widely enough
I will no longer think of you
No God
No bad
Oblivious
In bliss
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 5:02 AM UTC
I devised a form of torture not in our history books, a shackle is placed at the wrist and bicep holding the arm toward the sky and leaving the body to dangle so that only one but cheek reaches the ground the other arm is shacked to the ground at the wrist about half as far as it can reach, then a tube is placed near the mouth so that it can be bit at and reached with some effort food is blended and feed via a funnel into the tube with little to no warning, done properly the arm may be above a walk way with the funnel for intravenous assess or some other nefarious reasons like tickling or just so they cant see it then they would always wonder where it was especially if you ****** with it now and then....
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
Running the fine hairs against my palms,
The cold wooden, slick wooden, handle,
Wondering which tree was this tool born from,
Vast colors on every single pallet,
A simple two syllable word,
Could not desribe their rich beauty,
My shaken hand guiding,
The straight and steady paint brush,
Lines lines lines lines,
Dark and light and dark and light,
A swirl of emotions on a piece of paper,
Heart racing,
Mind wandering,
Wanderlust,
Or just lost,
Not enough color,
Not enough shapes,
Swirls and spirals,
Like spirits in the sky,
Aluminous beauty,
Sprites dancing under mother Luna,
A shabby shacked city,
Full of sleeping children,
Or maybe star crossed lovers,
Maybe the kids from sandlot,
Cause they never really grew up,
Maybe heaven or hell,
But it's beautiful,
And I made it,
I drownd the paint brush,
Into the blackish blueish pool of water,
Swirling,
My finger tips dip into the paint,
Cold and calming,
Like a ghost of a friend,
I use to know,
Smearing the masterpiece into exiestence.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
Ariadne lies
beside Bernice
on the big bed
her once cropped
red hair
is now long
and over her shoulders.
Bernice sleeps
facing the wall.
Ariadne's
abusive father
is dead
alcohol poisoning
her mother
shacked up
with another drunk
as if she
were attracted
to that type
like a moth to flame.
She looks at her lover's
long mousey hair
the naked shoulder
visible from the duvet.
12 years together
since that pop concert
in the Park.
She wants to kiss
her awake
make love again
before work.
But she lets
her sleep
enjoys the sound
of her breathing
and her nearness.
They'd made out twice
in the night
each taking
the other
to a seventh heaven.
The sunlight pours
through the gaps
in the pink blinds.
Bird song
from outside
the window
and inwardly
a soft warm glow.
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 6:36 AM UTC
If I could repeat a
moment,
it would be the victory sign
I gave you.
The sign of two fingers used in
singular usage.
those of an educated and memorable
use of wordage.
One meaning I'm free of the shackles,
and that I'm no longer
beneath you.
Instead it meant in an aspect of freedom,
but then I got real turning it
on its head.
And to others that saw it meant what it said,
Fuck you....
I'm no longer yours, I'm free of you...
and my life is mine from this day...
Mine to live,
no longer shacked
by others
weak bonds that I'm free of.
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
I meet a spider one day who could never stop it always shacked, the days became long 10 seconds later there was no one there to hate.
One day I had to walk into a place that was Filled with Misery, there was hatred around sadness was it’s destiny.
The people all around were Lost souls that needed resting, it had taken days for me to understand how far away my addiction had taken me.
A voice from inside was screaming at me to stop, it echoed in my ears and was as silent as a water drop.
My addiction held me close as I was the Heart Beat of it’s every need, our secret kept it alive like a smile wanting to cry.
I'm now trapped in the same world were my thoughts come to hide The Reality my eyes see make them want to shout and never breath.
All the words in my head are as confusing as the spiders web “I meet a Spider” one day who never cared and only waited for death.
Jidos Reality 8.11.12
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 4:35 PM UTC
You're just a hood cat
living on the street
shacked up with a ***** rat
but always lands on her feet.
You arch your back and extend your claws
when you see him with his filthy ******
somehow he's got you on a tight leash
despite his roaming and quick release.
You still have nine lives
but none involve me
you visited all the dives
as far as the eye can see.
Under your constant spell and bewitched
as you purr content and whiskers twitched
always bringing you saucers of cream
days spent cat napping, watching you dream.
Don't answer when called
never listen or schooled
no time for interaction
or love and satisfaction.
Easily led but not easy to follow
the words you said now seem so hollow
and yet my door is always open
to take you in when you are broken.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 6:23 PM UTC
I surveyed the scene
about me
it was our first camp base
and out tents
were in a field
a guide pointed out
It was raining heavy
and I and this ex-army guy
ran towards our tent
and once there
we clambered inside
and zipped up
They say the rain in Spain
he said
but didn't finish
we could hear the rain
hit the canvas
above our heads
there was little room
in the tent to do much
so we lay on our sleeping bags
our cases unopened
by our sides
I mused on Miriam
and wondered who
she was shacked up with
ex-army spoke about
his time in the army
and his mother's new boyfriend
whom he loathed
and I hoped the rain
would soon stop
so I could get
a beer and burger
with fries from the cafe
in the main building
and find Miriam
but it rained still
and I listened half-heartedly
as Ex-army got on
with his dismal speech
and I wanted Miriam
but she
was far from reach.
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 3:49 AM UTC
A girl called Luna wished someone found her sooner.
Out in the forest, a rope as her tether.
Whatever. She didn't care.
She wondered what they'd think once they found her there.
She left a sign, "no need to stare",
Something hidden, nothing to share.
Her parents met, shagged, got pregnant,
Shacked up, split up, the ****** slipped up.
She grew up in a broken home, alone,
Only a picture of her dad to show.
Wasn't loved, didn't need it.
Found with desire it was easier to hide it.
Loss of control led to fear at home.
So she managed her food.
She didn't grow, stayed 5ft 4.
But eating wasn't enough, she needed more.
She can't recall how the blade first met her skin.
Now withdrawl's the symptoms of keeping it in.
"What's that?", "Just a scratch (that grazed her bone)".
"Long sleeves?", "For the cold (that chilled her thoughts)".
Only 14, what a dream snatched away.
A boy came along, took her innocent days.
He was an ambiguous malaise
But was something solid amongst the waves.
Still people leave, like him on the slightest breeze.
Her arms filled with scabs like the bark on the trees.
Her stomach felt full so she got on two knees
And purged it.
Her mum clocked, urged it to stop.
Luna wouldn't listen, her guard wouldn't drop.
It became about the next hit, the next drink,
The next guy to sleep with.
Dreaming feelings, keeping a furious pace,
That way she didn't have to face the night.
She eventually hit the wall,
Broke down, tears and all.
Looked up through her window at the silver moonlight.
Had a moment of solemn revelation,
She'd been committed to self-condemnation.
She didn't want to anymore,
But the only exit seemed the next life's door.
She made an oath, to herself,
By next week she'd end her life.
That's how she got here.
If only a friend, a boy, a parent had not remained silent.
Nothing could've harmed more than the ubiquitous hush. Her mind rushed.
Walking to the woods, she heard birdsong.
Wouldn't be long.
Her survival instinct fought in a riot.
Now all she heard was eternal quiet.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 8:12 AM UTC
i don't think i have ever
let myself heal in between
storms, i have shacked up
with missing roofs and
bullet holes in the trim
the rain soaked carpets
a mere nuisance like
creaky doors--
but lord would I love
to pop the seams on
every shoddy job i've
done, lie all the materials
out on the floor and accept
the work, look at what a mess
I am, people can love messes
but for their sake, I would
like them to love
a little more so--
don't mind the holes,
the haphazard strings
and leaflets--I am still
learning and moving,
sewing, accepting,
working.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 5:39 PM UTC