"shrills" poems
Azathoth, upon the black throne,
steps of twelve hesitant to tone.
Madness and chaos swallowed your mind,
ears of the deaf, eyes dying to be blind.
Shrills of discordance to rattle this hell,
Creating our world as Barbelzoa fell.
He sees you not, too blind to care,
he can not answer to what he doesn't know is there.
Before her fall, sat a throne, the purest of white,
silver crown on the queen, a beauty of light.
The twelve danced with compassion and Joy,
the twelve being thirteen, a conjoined girl and a boy.
Ripped from the twelve, the thirteenth, a faceless creature to devour,
trickery and blood play, our darkest hour.
Nyarlathotep, a name not to be cursed under breath,
for the least of your worries will be death.
In the center of nothingness, to find all that can't be seen,
To be greeted by Nyarlathotep, who is far vicious and mean.
Gnashing his teeth as he whispers these lies,
using deceit to cover the cries.
The dread he feels to speak Azathoth's name,
To slaughter all who give him fame.
See all the countless chapters of the souls he took,
only for you to be next, carve your blood in the book.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 5:45 PM UTC
Upward I swirl
into the swirl of death shrills
Discontented about absolutism; the lies of war
Discontented about the perversions against nature; man's egomaniacal tendencies
Upward I spiral into the swirl of darkness
Gravity has no power to keep me bound
within myself
I let loose once again
I float towards another endless spiral of dark clouds,
these clouds spin expeditiously within its air-vortex
I see carnage,
I smell blood,
I witness the land of all misanthropes
Into the blackness as I spin,
my vision catches a chorale begging to be autonomous
in the state of sovereignty
The impetus in my desperate and saddened heart
I curse the gods
My tightened fist fails at at the darker darkness,
at this ominous swirling
I see no light ahead likened to the event horizon
on the outer rim of a black hole
My breath is being ****** out as the greed-succubus ***** out life
I see you in me, as we both are caught in this uninvited storm
Will we ever survive?
Will we ever survive?
So we must fight on!
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's—he takes the lead
In summer luxury,—he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant ****
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.
3.9k
Have you ever felt that your life is wrong?
Like you're suppose to be somewhere else?
Like while you're mopping the floor of your lowly dishwasher job your vision blurs and the world around you convulses turning the mop into a spear swirling the sea of bubbles into blood and the far off voice of your boss mutates into the sound of your fellow warrior?
Or maybe when you walk into rain and the soft sound of the droplets on your skin turn into the rhythmic music of things against armor.
And as you look to make sit you're not going crazy the roar of an engine turns into the bellowing of dragons, horses and more.
These flashbacks transport you to another time where the world is mystic,
The pavement transmutates into dirt as the air around swirls into sudden shrills of strengthening speeches spurring you soulfully into skillful battle.
And as you speed forward leading the charge
of your battalion of skilled men a thousand large,
The flashback stops and you're in your time,
No armor on you skin..
Or lives on the line..
But your heart is still racing,
And you remember their names,
Of the boys you were leading,
On to glory and fame,
So was it a dream?
Or a memory from the past?
Or maybe it was from your life last.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
Lets walk alongside the path of
Shattered, Crushed and Grotesque dreams,
Where we'll dance to the
Screams and whimpers in the close distance.
Their shrills excites us
As we go on a killing rampage,
Using those humans as our personal piñatas.
Feeling no remorse as we wash our bodies
In their pathetic blood and
We begin to laugh...
This, my dear, is our
heaven.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
I effortless pass through water
like gliding through a silky air.
And as you all sail through life
you all sparkle with the idea
of being near.
As I am ultimate wisdom that
comes in the form of joy and play.
As the decks are silent splashes of
water all over your faces.
Then suddenly you all cry,
" THE DOLPHINS ARE HEAR"
A tingly excitement every where
as though walking on a bubbly
carpet.
Everyone congregating at the
side of the boat hoping to catch
a bit of magic.
Gasps and shrills as bounce and
burst out of the water along side
your boat.
People stretching reaching as I offer
a new hope the light of GOD.
And when they return to the shore the
story of the Dolphins like church bells
ringing travels through the town.
As everyone longs for Holy spirit they
are eager to hear the story.
As they learn about the Dolphin
that came to there town they want to
know who actually touched it.
I am the spirit that visits the holy as
I love those who are full but also
empty.
I come to those brought to the edge
who stared down the cliff
but did not jump, as they chose life.
And to those who's world said no with
all doors closed because only they can
listen.
I come to those who have lost all will because
only those let me carry them.
I come to those who are broken
as only they can be molded
I bring you many colours and inspiration
sometimes I will make you dance and
sometimes sing.
I am the Pentacost, holy Ghost and your
Jesus Christs holy spirit.
Sometimes when you swim softly through
sweet watery emotion you will hear us talking.
When you think all is lost
you find yourself praying
even though you think no one is there
I will be listening.
Feel like you are drowning grab my
dorsal fin and I will give you a lift
even make you laugh, make it fun
even exciting.
Lost at sea sharks prowling I will circle you
as I will even fend of death for as I can
also heal you.
Some will pen me in keep me in a
small tank tech me a childish trick
and manipulate.
But only those bigger than pools
more like the sea will know I have
greater tricks to teach.
As only those without plan and expectation
can ever swim with me.
As I will guide you on your hearts
adventure into the free.
We will always love and seek to guide
you as we look for you in the sea and
gather around you in the bay.
We will teach you how to channel to
have an open mind to breath spirit
through your head.
And I will teach you how to be both
the radio and the wave.
How to be father Christmas, the chimney
and the presents underneath the tree.
So if you are needing help please
look over hear we are listening.
let yourself be empty and we will guide you.
There is so much to learn from communicating
and swimming with the Gods spirit, the Dolphin.
So let us connect with God heaven and the Dolphin
And be grateful for all her LOVE.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
Only for you! It’s true! These eccentric-poetic and theoretic views! As we breakthrough those blues, those clues, the dues and the hues. I will wait, I will wait. Awaiting, through the chills the pills, the shrills and thrills! I will wait, I will wait. Waiting through the beers, the cheers, the fears, leers, peers and tears! Awaiting through the dreary and weary...
Through the lonely and phony years... Waiting through the erratic and sporadic. The drastic, elastic and fantastic! I will wait, I will wait. As rotting bait! I will wait, I will wait. Awaiting the date the debate, the fate and the weight. Waiting to articulate and procreate! Fascinating this procrastinating! However, I will endeavor and wait,
I will wait and wait.
Horary! Awaiting I say for our hour of power. Waiting for this blissfully and wishfully day that our disgraced, misplaced ways may physically brace with embrace, grace and trace! I wait and I wait. People wonder why I blunder in ponder? You’re like the flu doesn’t that bother you? Answer, father figure I never knew? Still I will wait,
I will wait, I will wait for you…
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:57 PM UTC
I’m a wild child
Explored much, invested much, observed too much
I have danced in the dancing wind and laid naked in the crushing waves
My arms have stretched around the world
The shenanigans of unfiltered words
The crude behavior of unschooled actions
Have driven away the hearts of the expectant
I deny not my actions
For they come from the plain origin of the wilderness
I am a wild child
Gutted by trees in the forests and soothed by dewdrops from the branches
I speak not the language of man
My voice it carries across through the jungle wild
In screams and laughters and sometimes loud shrills
Like my friends, the apes or the enemy, the dressed
I am a wild child I know
I can’t be contained – I cannot be housed
I must run as with the time that never stops
I must run now – before the traps ensnare
The cliff awaits, the river calls, I leap into the sky and dive and I am gone!!
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:15 AM UTC
in lagoon the lotus ruffles her wind.
in monotone the lizard shrills his song.
the wild goose homing,
slumbered rushes oozing.
hushed lie the sedges
of beamed nuvole, vapors creep
late cranes, heavy wing, and lazy flight.
Sail the silence beneath the nearing night.
Sep 26, 2025
Sep 26, 2025 at 11:30 AM UTC
So I am a mutt
And this is my poem about having split identities
*And not knowing who the **** I am*
I am Chinese and Irish
Got them green eyes, but eat rice with every dish
Have the freckles, but my first language wasn't English
Back in high school, people called me white washed
But then,
Pointed and called me that Asian
People would sneer, "You aren't even real Chinese"
But there are so many things you all don't see
Like how my Tiger mom screams at home
About getting straight As
Till her shrills leave me frozen to the bone
And when I had a boyfriend she didn't approve of
She yanked my hair
And I cried it wasn't fair
She yelled, "oh I'll give the boys something to stare"
I watched as she cut all of it off
Strand by strand
Like a strong gust of wind blowing all the leaves off the branches till it was bare in winter
The following day at school, my excuse was I needed a new look, so this was her
And meals I don't even know how to translate into English are my comfort food
But I can down some fries and burgers when I'm with the dudes
I embrace both sides of what I am
But people categorize me into one, God ****
With my Chinese family
They straight up tell you
You too skinny, too fat, so silly
They say my accent has gotten worse
The anger builds up of embarrassment and hurt
The race makes my face so red, it's like my head will soon burst
There's this underlying feeling of shame, that's the worst
Which side of me do I need to prioritize first?
I'm drowning between the ocean of two separate cultures, I'm submersed
English is the language I think in and I curse
There's so much more I can't even tell you within this verse
Oh the irony doesn't end there
My driving stereotypes are quite the scare
Cause I'm Chinese, automatically I **** at driving
But mixed with Irish, I'm also road raging
It's probably the worst combination
Of a stereotype from two different nations
Ha oh there's more
The drinking stereotype that's for sure
Irish side could down the whiskey much too quickly
But the Chinese typically are easily tipsy
This mix is kind of risky
One turns so incredibly red
And the other can get so drunk, you'd see two heads
I feel I am constantly at war
One side always wanting more
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
Wise men in their bad hours have envied
The little people making merry like grasshoppers
In spots of sunlight, hardly thinking
Backward but never forward, and if they somehow
Take hold upon the future they do it
Half asleep, with the tools of generation
Foolishly reduplicating
Folly in thirty-year periods; the eat and laugh too,
Groan against labors, wars and partings,
Dance, talk, dress and undress; wise men have pretended
The summer insects enviable;
One must indulge the wise in moments of mockery.
Strength and desire possess the future,
The breed of the grasshopper shrills, "What does the future
Matter, we shall be dead?" Ah, grasshoppers,
Death's a fierce meadowlark: but to die having made
Something more equal to the centuries
Than muscle and bone, is mostly to shed weakness.
The mountains are dead stone, the people
Admire or hate their stature, their insolent quietness,
The mountains are not softened nor troubled
And a few dead men's thoughts have the same temper.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
The hot boiled rice
With brown gram curry
The nutty smell of sesame
Oil shrills in hurry
Deployed on a thrice
larger rounder plate
For a boy's belly deplete.
"Can't eat this much rice!"
He shouts with a surprise.
“You can do my son sure.",
Her firm voice enssures
The boys look measures.
"The remainder you keep aside"
Her remand saves his pride.
A monthly forty rupees
Should not be pretty reason
For a lodger's liberty to please
Among two of her teen sons
Than a welling spring of kindness
A heart huge in roundness
Larger than a stainless steel plate
With a profuse heap of hot rice
The smooth boiled brown pies
Oiled with fragrance fleet.
For how he fully did feat it?
How she purely predict it?
The stomach of a young one could hold
The heap of love on a stainless steel mold.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
I am a gorilla,
I am an ape.
And I’m trying to escape
This Golden Cage of youthful age,
I grace myself with the withering ineptitude
Of a penguin in commons.
I have the ambition of a pumpkin at Halloween,
That wants nothing more, than to be lit from the inside.
But my fiery breath is nothing more than whiskey
And cigarettes,
A lose regret of swollen knuckles,
Reminiscent of the iron age, I’m blowing off steam.
But it’s only condensed water on the inside of these windows.
Where the lights are off and there’s no one home.
Steve left me on the edge of moon rock,
A town that missed the stars of the night when they looked to sun,
So I sit playing ****
Puffed out like a swan but,
I’m all neck.
I wear a leek with pride and Yes,
I am a dragon on match days,
With claws and shrills, and right I’m sky high,
Cutting through your fluffy clouds, soft and weak.
Copper clad in pennyworth jeans I never chose.
Flaws that will be the floor for me,
Because in my town we never heard of stepladders,
We reach for the sky by climbing hills on tip toes.
Mountains we made with mole hills
My mother wont let go.
With **** so deep even spuds wont grow.
Apologies like auburgines, may be good for you
But I don’t like the taste.
So I’ll continue to squash the marrow between my knuckles,
But you can go gaga if you want to,
Because, I was born this way.
Great pun.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
They gave you all these crazy pills
So when you look on window sills
You will see a daffodil
And want nothing but to sit still
While the warden gets a thrill
From all the monkeys' howls and shrills
Knowing that in time the will
Will succumb to pleasant ills
After all it pays the bills
And you can't line em' up to ****
Might as well get your fill
Entertainment with the frills
Meanwhile a man with brain of quills
Is breathing like a fish with gills
And looking up, out to the hills
Where he sees young Jack and Jill
Dancing 'neath an old windmill
Or maybe it was all just nil
Guess we'll never know until --
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 9:40 PM UTC
It was a wildly windy evening
The trees were articulating the conditions
With rhythmic sways
And crispy rustling
To the chorus of native wind chimes
And the trills of resident song birds
It was only mildly chilly this evening
Light wind jackets and caps were in fashion
The sky was a smooth glow
Of delicious blood orange hues
Punctuated by the first triumphant flight of a little girl’s kite
And the shrills of such a monumental moment
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 5:02 PM UTC
In all ado
ten months in misery
It wasn't me
nor was even you
shrills at the back
of my aging doors
I mind my business
As you—
you only mind yours
Red laces tied to leave
forget twas before
Nothing—
nothing was concealed,
we leered in uncertainty
As we're losing—
losing our vast imageries
our bond was never—
just never denote to be
Cease by now
of these tortured schemes
lashing out and say
"wish it was all a dream"
departing to nowhere
as each wing soars
and all of we— all of we
used to be lovers before
and all of we— all of we
used to be lovers before**
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 12:47 AM UTC
*When it is calm here
water stained wall paper welters into iris fields
it is a loud clamor following;
bare remnant foot-stones through greenhouse gardens
over lily-pads with tongues patched by chrome specks
beautiful darkness only glowing here and there;
by dim blue candle flames
just to spy these tips of creation;
to gaze all would ruin it's form
like the ash encased ancestors of Pompeii
This is where where alarum is short lived
stammered shrills absorbed by calm
feeding off sound
the thirst for us noisy gloats*
Jun 17, 2011
Jun 17, 2011 at 3:30 AM UTC
He is screaming with frustration,
throwing objects like fits,
trying to contain his shrills but they
break through in shrieks
so I hold him.
He grumbles and growls wanting me
to leave. I just rub his back.
Slow circles; with my other arm
wrapped around him
like he is still a child.
I remind him to breathe
and tell him to try again tomorrow
and he huffs
but I can feel him releasing his anger
relaxing.
The tension in his body dissipating
until he is ready for me to
let go.
He picks up broken pieces
from the floor
tries to put them back together
the best he can
I leave him to do this.
He never questioned my fear of the dark
when I would sneak away at night,
he eagerly awaited to hear my stories
and would hug me
no matter how hard I pushed him
away.
This is a love that can withstand
fights for the mirror
battles over school.
He is ever changing,
becoming someone new everyday
but when I hold him
he is still five
and braver than I.
He is stronger and kinder.
When I was his age
he could not understand
why I would cry in the other room
and bite at the ankles of anyone
who dared to step too close.
But I understand him.
The anger that lingers beneath skin
always ready to consume
and dominate.
This household is like
a pack of matches
once he ignites he is forgotten
because we all burn up and out
without listening to his pain.
I remember that feeling,
it never fully goes away.
It is not something we speak of
but something we feel
and when he needs me to hold him
I will never be too far.
He has my ears,
my arms,
and always
my heart.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
Air fills with sharp shrills of jays,
the sounds
gratuitous warning
for feet adapted
to ground-
better directed
at a stray cat
that will dare limbs
in hope of his prize
dreamer's ears once heard
melodies of Verdi arias
through leaves,
their sweetness seeping
as from blue overhead
and imagination lured
to seek beauty in them
learning from too often falling,
wishes earning scars
that made skin numb and hard,
morning's music found muffled
by deaf cowardice,
its promise of safety
worn on gray,
dusty shoes
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 12:13 PM UTC
Let me make your life easy
Now that you making so many efforts
To end mine
Guns, Pistols, Bombs and your own body
So considerate , so kind.
So let me help,
Let me whet my trepidation
Lacerate my flesh, from inside
Let me batter my silly quivering, numb
Let me assure them ,they will be insensate
It is only a matter of time.
Meanwhile,
Tell me how would you like it?
Mere flesh soaked in ****** quagmire
Silent in death , heeding to you instruction manual
Or
Crisp shrills rising in cacophonous notes
Reciting curses in quandaries, jabbing your fiend inside
Or
should i use my imaginations
On 'how to ruin my own life?'
So behold and hold
My veins from the end
And haul towards your side,
Twist to cause added agony
Or may be crush my lungs
To hasten me out of my life
See my insipid blood splatter
As it draws tattoos of attainment on you
Hear it gurgle
As you guzzle it out of my body, as if some wine
Nevertheless,
It won't evoke any poignant feeling
Even if you realize in the end
You and i are same kind.
So drown me deep, so deep in the pool which is red
Sorry again,if you were expecting blue,yellow,green or may be white
Descend me twice the force
If i brawl or condemn against your peace of mind
Hear the music of my diminishing gasps till the end
And move on , tattooed and vindicated.
-Pallavi Goswami
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
if i wrote about winter
on the back of a starbucks menu
with coffee stains and coffee smells,
would you feel the snowflakes
miniature yet icy
bite your reddened cheeks and outstretched tongue?
if i sung about early-morning autumns
in the steamy hot shower
echoing in the long empty hallways
would you see the grey mist that cloaks the streets
wispy threads of fall-season cloud
and the yellowing of the leaves?
if i carved against a smooth surface
about lazy summer blue skies
and the warmth of the sun
would you hear the intense crash of
each wave against the rocks
and the excited shrills and laughs and chattering
at the beach?
if i painted on a blank canvas,
patiently waiting for the picture to conjure,
about chilly spring breezes
and the foggy spring rain
murmuring of what's to come
would you smell the fragrant
dainty flowers that grow by abandoned houses
or from dew-strewn grasses on the park
or the post-rain forest earth?
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 2:44 PM UTC
Within white stagnant walls kinship reeps phyletics
Lavished in immoral conducts; distributing demon fits.
I envisioned hell before me when sick pricked.
My shrills were short lived; as my ambuscade died down.
Escapading not, I did muster inducement.
Decoy to fail, could I never entice this asylum town.
Decifer the mutters I did; creating chaos while dim.
Told in realm; increased heartrate overwhelms;
*"You're a sick little ***** with the dunce smoothered cap oversized."
"Have you ov procelitized, I would be seven lighted voices and notith six dark cackles"
"I spit on you in shackles, spy the roaches and the grime"
"Crawl for Roman Nero, he wanes"
"Guttering your vessels into wine, you are now his drooping mane"*
I saw the heads of six, as roaches looked upon me taking turns to spit.
My time here arose as a feeding black hole.
I crawled for Nero and six more; I stuttered trying treason.
Here I lie pathetic; with rays of decoy,
Dreaming the nightmare most feared; most do not believe in.
Hallucinating alone within the stale walls; I felt prone to end all.
Once gathered what had struck; I knew perspectives aren't always as they seem.
Merely and only; one severe demented dream.
Shall I not turn the tables on authority once more.
To ambuscade the power; leaves needle incisions sore
Not only pain by fluid; both realities changed illucid.
I did what I must've to be discharged;
I did what I must've in best regards.
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 2:17 PM UTC
Who art thou, who art thou, oh-who art thou?
With eyes as shiny and like seas blue,
and glittering smiles so deep and true.
Thy voice as flawless as the walls,
but sleek and charming as rainfalls.
With skin as bright and slender pearls,
and lips as sensuous as mortal worlds.
And with thy golden hair thou art pure and white
as thou lay t'ere tranquilly by my side.
Ah, touch and rub my hand against thine,
but all th' way keep me still in thy mind.
Wake my soul and heal its coldness,
but fill it with more loving tenderness!
Just like th' youthful soul of an old painting,
and th' playful pages of some crusted writing.
Or like th' old door and its generous windowsill,
capture my heart and send all my spines to shrills.
And stare just like t'at into my eyes,
with gazes so clear, sweet and wise.
But never ever hesitate my love,
just like gladness nurses and shelters its laughter,
and how springs yearn to taste long summers.
Ah, thy white skin so made of eternal shades
a symbol of youth t'at just never fades.
How canst, how canst thou be so comely?
And with thy grace thou art but too lovely
For my Eastern being to bear,
and my curious soul to share.
O thee, my Western, Western prince!
Make me all brave; lure and tease me
'Till I canst no more resist thee.
How could thou but slip and enthrall my songs-
whenst all whose tones hath just gone wrong!
Andst how could thou write my poem-
with its my coquettish, and girlish rhyme;
as if having in thy hand, endless wits and time!
Ah, I hopeth thou shalt always be with me,
and wert but born and sewn for me-
o, and always just for me, selfishly.
And at one bare noon lifts my love,
into thy hands and thy merry soul
becoming thy dream princess sole.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC