"shunt" poems
flex and perspire my darling
would you mind a small suffering for craven kisses
to have your dark fig **** and drenching *****
stroked with a tickling finger lingering
and strong hands around your sweetly curved throat
that shunt the breath
to yield willingly for sharp-toothed nibbles with surprise tongue whipping?
will you present your soft belly and cupping *******
for dark cruelties that excite beyond tabulation
will you present yourself with smiles
and goddess leg show
sobbing for feral pink spires gleaming
while quivering thighs
turn hot red from the slap of the leather strap splitting stings?
will tears of love
mix in wild berry utterance
and flashing spitfire’s tongue?
are you made for this?
your every whimper an invitation
like an open pink gate
do you need the saint of dark desires to rescue you
from banal dim-witted all american in and out?
do you need to drown in oceanic wave tsunamis
of hot butter **** glitter, blood flooding gasms
and tender aftercare?
my wish
that you shimmer like silver
possessed
by the saint of sadism
popes of eros
who fill you with the milk of the moon
all stars that melt you into the depths of paradise
and that this dark ecstasy
is the only suffering you will ever know.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 6:27 AM UTC
Thoughts of cotton candy kiss laced with guilt.
Bubble gum wrapping the shame.
A deceit told through a mouth sewn closed.
But eyes held wide-shut.
A lie supported by another lie, bracing itself before falling.
Should I let the guilt be known through a cotton candy kiss?
Let the bubble gum wrapper shunt my shame.
Will I hold our secret behind stitched sewn lips?
All the while, holding my eyes wide shut?
Could I support this burden, bracing it with another lie?
Before I let it slip and fall?
A dangerous dance our feet have started,
where it goes I am not for certain...
A wicked path we've lain before us.
where it goes I am not for certain...
An affair of just wanting,
but nothing of taking.
Where this is leading I am not for certain.
For: where I hope we are going,
Well now,
that is another matter all together.
Fin
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 4:56 AM UTC
There's a silence in the evening,
A silence most displeasing.
It's not the absence of mowers running,
Or bedsheets flapping, motors humming.
Trains still shunt, foghorns blast,
Where are the sounds
From our past?
It's not the sound of contrary laughing
Walking from a parent's lashing.
Something's missing, sounds are gone,
Familiar sounds from our lawns.
The sound of rope slapping cement,
Fantasy games kids invent.
An echoing slapshot before, "Car!"
These missing sounds are so bizarre.
Those yestergames we played in jest,
Like Hide and Seek at dusk was best.
But outside games gave way to screens,
I'd rather hear childish screams.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
Will you love me if I said
I have AHDH
(attention deficit hyperactivity disorder)
That I will jump before you speak
Will be impatient to get my way
I can love u and hate you at the same time
I will nod, but not understand.
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I have BPD
(Borderline Personality Disorder)
That I will be so drawn to you
That I'll throw myself at you
That more often than ever
I will question you if you me love too
Then I'll doubt you if you do
I'll accuse you of using me
Then I'll offer myself to be used
I will shunt between 2 shades
There is no grey for me
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I have Bipolar (Disorder)
That my mood swings like a pendulum
That I will drive you mad
Or make you sad
Or I'll laugh till I drop
That you will never understand
Who I am today
Dealing with my situation
Will depress you.
I can literally **** your life out too.
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I have NPD
(Narcissistic Personality Disorder)
That I will always think of me
That my dreams and aspirations will be so big
I wont have time for empathy
That I left my childhood behind
So don't bug me with sensitivity
I am afraid of your committment
Cause no one can hold me still
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
Will you love me if I said
I am terminally ill
That my pain is unbearable
My hope has dimmed out too
And I can see no end to my misery
But even though my life's a thread
I really want to have a full life again
I want to be able to trade my pain
If someone would only be game.
But I know it is not possible
Hence I ask for what is
Will you love me truly, even then?
Cause your love will make all the difference.
You see this world's bursting with people who ache!
You and I have the difference to make.
It is so easy to empathize
With someone who pain is visible in daylight
But spare a thought for those who ache inwardly
Trapped in a battle with their minds eccentricity!
If your courage be so strong
That pain not withstanding you choose to bond
Live that life that gives glory
Share that love, that speaks a story
Love ceaselessly, love like it truly is!
Love above humans no one can
Cause loving like HIM,
Needs a supreme hand!
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC
“I want!”
Begged my heart,
As it strained against its chain,
My brain screamed
“You shunt!
“I won’t let you hurt again.”
My heart cried,
“Why not?”
And “Where is your pride?”
My brain mocked.
“You’re built to bleed, and not to think.”
My brain convicted,
“Like you where built to lead, but not to link.”
My heart contradicted.
“Love is for fools and fools alone.”
My brain predicted.
“Well then a fool I am for love of fond I’ve grown.”
My heart conflicted.
“You are nothing without me.”
My brain told,
“I beat without you, as you can see.”
My heart said growing bold,
There was a silence,
Between the muscle and the head,
My heart needed guidance,
And without my heart my brain would be dead.
“You know I wish to protect you.”
My brain whispered now,
“But I must reject what you do.”
My brains authority my heart could not allow,
“I am not so callous that I do not care at all.”
My brain explained,
“I understand that on my decisions it’s your function to implore.”
My heart disdained.
“So you can see now why I hold you back?”
My brain feebly asked,
“You are the reason freedom to love I lack!”
My heart finally did at the notion grasp.
Contemplative silence filled the air,
Until my brain did declare,
“If that’s what you want, then go now and don’t dare cry,
But don’t come back bleeding and broken,
And say I did not try”
And so my Brain had spoken.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 6:07 AM UTC
Retail-hunter gatherers pick
clean processed bones, digging graves
with their shiny teeth, studious in
their reveries as they drone
past worlds dumped in the thresher;
the trucked-in fields of film-wrapped
gore splayed lustily before the managers
wound tight in Machiavellian design.
A shepherd herds his flock of
wreathed iron back to its pen, its
skeletal tangle lit in riotous gold by
swords flung from lambent eyes of
pre-dawn’s shunting chariots
Cages shunt and bobble like tugboats
chugging stoic up swimming pool lanes
of nondescript tile, cheered on by shouting
colours to float through archipelagos of
paper towel and chocolate blocks past
the vegemite diaspora, and the arctic
wastelands cased in sliding glass fields of
perfect steady storms as wraiths baked in halogen
ask silent questions of the silverbeet, while
Lana Del Ray’s voice falls like
nightshade—slutty and serene—coating
shelf stackers in a Piaf sadness as the
shelves reach their arms out for more.
The check out chick hatches
a sense of déjà vu as carrots
and biscuits drone towards her
mind berEFT of any twitching
sense of POSsibility that wised
up and flew this leering coop and
deep in her catalogue of grey folds
something stillborn and waxen is
perched on gleaming steel, reeling
out her guts like cassette tape with jerky
nightmare arms and laughing like a
banker watching ***** films, mornings
dull cerise an invocation through
auto-jaws as she bursts out to warble
with magpies in car park’s climbing fire.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Some time Life is like a dark room,
Indiscernible indulge to intuit incurring infusion
Infusion of irrelevant and irregular,
Leads to a moment of disappointment and despondent!
******
But when light penetrate
Everything becoming vivid - vivacious
and set up Valve to visions!
*******
Allow light to break in and spread all over.......
Make everyone spirited and shunt for
Peace and progress!!!
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 3:59 AM UTC
Hanging on the wall, next to my bed post,
A friend of the forest looks surprised, most.
Oh dear, she did not hear the gunshot near,
Nor tree nor hill nor her fawn shed a tear.
Over there, the finest hair of the hare,
Cute and fluffy hopping into my stew.
It's seat is sweet and hard to beat I swear,
Though his hide is gamey and tough to chew.
A sow, a cow is how I eat for now,
I feast on the beasts with the finest meats.
Fresh flesh on my breath, fresh blood on my brow,
Slaughtered, like their daughters; fair market treats.
I feel nothing for these creatures I hunt.
Would you rather feast on the yeast they shunt?
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 12:48 AM UTC
these feet, a rambler's. wanderlust
soles tied from genetics of the epi-
kind. his feet did ramble so as these
now do. his difference, he trek'd with
steel shunt in arm. he trek'd slums'
floors. grit-ingrain'd skin, pox'd wh-
olly and now pushing onlys. pushing
ash against the walls of Death's
container. body aged thru time,
more than doubled - more like
end'd - by that refined infusion.
these feet, a rambler's. walking forth
existences' hundred-mile wilderness.
his feet had also, and his feet defer'd
before sixty-six. these continuing
onward searching ancient trails. loo-
king to start another day, looking
for to never quit seeking another
day before the unlit walls of Death.
before the darkness consuming
of depths never known, always near.
these feet, a rambler's. of well-worn
leather. relinquish'd of cares, desire
or ambitions by brambles strangling.
blood running by access of natural
means. slate gash'd soles, crevices
open'd of the crust throwing chal-
lenges toward the sky. heights im-
aginable if only to forsake lazed
calves. heights set for disappearing,
where tracks never lead. no wrong
side in non-existence, no wrong
sight for the rambling feet worn lea-
ther.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 7:40 AM UTC
***No one passes through here ever stays for long
i can't even seem to catch sight of my own road home
The body hanging at the end of my own line i don't recognize
waiting for a change ― that never comes around
Fleeting through the primrose path crossroads in a blur,...
right now i'm standin' here like a brainless scarecrow all alone
Just another familiar frost heave pothole barely shunt
swerved around like an unmarked bump
on this frozen lonesome road
i let you see it and you told me what it was ,..
but the rear-view mirror only reflects the tracks left behind
Looking for the Black Box to unearth the cause of the crash
somewhere underneath a black and white rainbow i can't find
If you see a wayfaring stranger that abides undone
don't even stop to feel the ache that trickles down
Just hit the gas and hold sway the wheels go round,
look off---- the dead raccoon lay sullied at the side of the road
No one passes through here ever stays for long
i can't even seem to catch sight of my own road home
The body hanging at the end of my own line i don't recognize
waiting for a change ― that never comes***
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 12:48 AM UTC
You can pour love completely
into a wine glass body
Write heart wrenching verse
pure soul poetry
but when you are beat,
dead,
done,
exhausted
weary
the lover beside you
becomes dismantled
and arranged into parts
of burden
temporarily.
Pointy elbows drilling into spine.
Rock hard knees buckling thighs.
Razor sharp toenails
scour
ankles and calf.
Sprawled limbs
invading your bed half.
Thieves of warm sheets
and cosy duvets.
Gurgling,
snorting roars
snoring,
snoring,
snoring away.
Or teeth grinding
piercing anvil,
hammer and drum.
When extremely tired
Only then your love isn't as fun
as and hour ago
when limbs, torso and flanks
eagerly woven
discarding blankets,
But that was then.
Sleep has a stronger lure
and retorting with your own elbow
or *** shunt
just can't end the snore.
Crying for snoozeville,
you can't take any more.
Suddenly,
a choked snuffle
then blessed silence
as they roll back onto their side
And you sigh, “I love you,”
But grateful for the stop
Better off with bunk beds,
one can still go on top.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
You don't want your burden to drag others down,
So you hid it and try stand strong on your own.
So you created that carefree facade,
But you know it's starting to decay.
Your truth speaks within your lies,
You kept your face hidden but expose your eyes.
You tell them what they want to hear,
Because rejection is what you fear.
You seek approval so pleasing others is your focus,
But the world just seems so hopeless.
So away from everything you shunt,
Because you can't accept what's in front.
Your view is really subjective,
But that's only one perspective.
You are your own friend,
Don't let that relationship end.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 7:29 AM UTC
Here I stand upon this stop,
It's my ritual every day,
With all the other zombies,
Tired and looking grey,
The thought of public transport,
Irritates my brain,
As the bus arrives at my stop,
Packed like a commuter train,
The usual faces look away,
Thinking please don't sit with me,
I park my **** upon their bags,
I pretend I didn't see,
The huffing and the puffing,
People late for work,
The woman sitting next to me,
Thinking...he's an effing ****
Trying not to look at her,
Or the hairy man in front,
I look at the condensation,
As her elbow gives a shunt,
Getting up from my seat,
Needs balance and an awkward grin,
The bus brakes late upon this stop,
As she heels me in the shin,
My eyes welling up,
As I let out a massive ****
The poor old lady gags,
Pulling up her winters scarf,
Embarrassed by my actions,
I pressed the button quick,
The odour travelled up my nose,
I think that i'll be sick
Fighting past the commuters,
Trying to get some air,
I knew it was too late....
Throwing up on some ladies hair,
So now I drive to work,
Past the Bus Stop that she waits,
We are married with two children,
Some people call it fate,
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
there is a door
obscura
in my mind
a black ocean
that smears alizarin mist
between love
and the dissolute
i hear
a storm of thick whispers
a breath calling
in free fall
my malleable lover
plays voodoo poppet
carousel of lady buddhas
diagramed unholy ***** *****
with scumbag eyeballs
contort for eager ruin
an ornamental cadaver
bejeweled
in a lake of tears
give me flesh
smell my rich ****
bouquet of **** the *****
transfixed eyes of flames
spread legs wide
thigh spillway buttered
loving the snag
and strangle
of a silk tourniquet
watch me shunt
and glassy stare
a glittering doll shimmies
blood bauble
and flapping tongue
torrent of curving jaws
clever teeth
to tear
and lips to be torn
a cockeyed brain
drowning in
illegible consciousness
for foot slaves
in a sweat and ****
magick show
body of irresistible horror
in descending spirals
to love
in the grotto
of furies
imbued with prayers
that fill the spaces
in her throat
martyr of transfiguration
she falls as
dust falls
i depend on her
tapestry of shuddering lust
in moist air
locked behind
a blood stained door
marked no exit
this savage pageant
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 12:27 PM UTC
This is the fourth time it's happened this winter
The fire is sparking
("Put on another log to dull the flames")
The wind, whipping up chaos outside, conspires with the moon
to plaster open our eyes, and
tangoes with the red of the streetlight to foreground the terror, the dramatic pull to this scene like the beginning of a barfight.
But all you notice is the snow.
Captivating Slush, like the wondrous stupid glow of children's television
("Close the door quickly, it's below zero outside!")
My chest wakes up to the sleeky bitterness of it, gentle but rousing,
like the critique of a crush taunting the back of your neck, but in reverse.
You've said that last line, and it's the response of everyone who can't savor what they most anticipate, the arrival of the thing itself cast aside for something mundane like safety.
The thing itself for you is watching snow,
and now you gladly push it away.
Life is so unpredictable, yet so callously routine.
To live in seasons is to be constantly surprised at things exactly how you've seen them before.
It's not emotions that frighten us, emotions are hand-me downs, the old favourite band t-shirts of experience, often ones we've worn before.
It's the feelings that surround emotion that we shunt out, that we tipex over in our journals of memory, our synaptic splints.
The tears of children who never turn back
to confront their tormentor with their tears.
And so now I'm walking upstairs as a means of brushing off these notions
("For the love of ... make sure the bathroom window is closed")
And I check my phone while debating how to spend the rest of my evening engaging with my phone while you rewarch American sitcoms, so cosy, your contentment as reliable as Irish wind
Then I sigh and look out the Bauhaus insulting bedroom window
Again I see the circus coloured tarpit the weather has made of our street
And wait a minute, trying not to feel anything
Because this is the fourth time this has happened
This year.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
It’s a large cavern. A gaping hole—
A black hole.
Slow and fast. Pain and numb. Yin and yang.
The blackened lung. The bust vessel. The mutated cells.
It’s everything and nothing at once.
What is the condition of my heart?
I couldn't begin to tell you.
It’s hope and
it’s anger and
it’s frustration and
it’s a corked bottle on high heat.
Lush leaves. Turquoise lagoon. Iron sky.
Everything looks like it's
filmed through a blue filter, Twilight style—
this is what my heart looks like.
Grey like brain. Serosanguineous like cerebrospinal fluid
collecting from a shunt to a bag from a cracked open skull.
Purple and green and yellow like bruises on
hands that don't have enough platelets to heal.
Teal like an N95 mask. Lilac like a casket spray.
Soft pink like the padding of a wood overcoat.
Grey. Grey. Grey.
This is what you will find if you crack my chest,
spread my diaphragm,
my sternum,
shuffle my lungs.
Sounds like asystole on the monitors, but still
somehow producing electrical currents.
The condition of my heart is cavernous.
A sunset on the east coast; a sunrise on the west.
Bittersweet.
Aug 30, 2021
Aug 30, 2021 at 4:36 PM UTC
I see the way she looks at me,
Her words and her body language are contradictory,
She smiles but behind it is everything she thinks me ignorant of,
All her hate and no love,
She wishes to take from me,
Show me she can have what I want,
She wishes to break me,
And show me she can what I can't,
Her compliments are to miss-make me,
And her insults are in jest,
Her eyes scream I hate thee,
And her smile whispers I'll you best.
My mind whispers hate her,
But my heart whispers don't care,
One day karma will take her,
So don't act on what’ll make it fair,
She likes to push me,
Claw at my surface,
She wants to drag me,
It is when I stand tall she grows nervous,
Even if I break,
I will put the pieces back together,
I am what she fakes,
I will brush her actions off with a “Whatever.”
She is what she is,
But I am who I am,
I’ll greet her with calmness,
And not fall for her sham,
She can take who she wants,
They where of no worth if they walked away,
Truth is she my friends’ shunt,
Because they're the ones who will stay,
She's a waste of breath,
A waste of time and hate,
She's a waste of my depth,
A waste of mine and fate,
She is what she is,
But I am who I am,
She can’t beat me with this,
Because what she can’t I can.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
In a society where
people shunt you
for being different,
label you crazy
for writing words
that don't make sense to them.
I have found acceptance
in this shelter home
for meandering souls,
a place to rest my bones.
It gave a shed
to my passion filled heart
from the calamities of life.
And armed it with a pen.
My heart felt
homeless
no more.
I have found like minded people
who provided me with,
the support of friends.
The comfort of family.
The coziness of home.
Thank you Hello Poetry
for being that home.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
A haze.
I'm breathing so heavy.
My eyes are half shut.
Why are my legs so far away?
What is this creeping sensation,
Eating away at consciousness?
A blur.
The world is on mute.
I hear people talking, but they aren't saying anything.
I can hear myself talking, but I'm not saying anything.
Or am I saying things but not really talking?
I just don't know.
A glow.
I can perceive my condition. Rationalize it.
Shunt my thoughts into a presupposed state.
I know what is weighing down upon my brain,
But the feeling is too fantastic to even begin to care.
Normally I'd be talking, but for once in my life...
I'm content to just listen.
A buzz.
I don't worry any more about what people think of it.
I am expanding my knowledge about reality,
Just by perceiving it differently.
Perhaps I am altering my mind, but I have to ask you,
Is any other form of learning anything else?
We are all modifying our minds, at all given times.
I consider it just a way of igniting that creative flame.
I am ******
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 11:38 PM UTC
fresh stripping decay
delicate and voraciously succulent
(on the meager rectangles
crammed with flaccid light
how grand thou art: pumping of the very stiffest asphalt garden
glinting relentlessly)
a comical filigree
spat by Mans most least clumsy
fingered mechanisms
; cLipPing the common strip of cobalt languid sky
i'm in it's jowls
the rollicking neon punch
of ***
and bricks
the addling conjure of moist trepidations
in clear or amber juice
of the fuddled *****
the barman proffers;with his grimy note
and assertive beard lined vocal shunt
"what,ll you have ?
"
Mar 6, 2011
Mar 6, 2011 at 2:00 PM UTC
Stomping from above
stealing the opportunity
to guess where she is.
Door slam.
Quick
Stomp, stomp, stomp.
Clunk, clunk,
There goes her shoes discarded across the room.
Slide, pause, slam
Slide, pause, ....
Slam- the dresser draws.
Thump! What was that?
Thump.
A jump?
Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp
Furniture
Dr-----a-------g and stop.
The creaking tiny top door of the wardrobe,
The one she can't reach without a chair!
Creak
Shunt- the top door never closes properly.
Return
Dr-----a------g.
Stamp and whump
Bed springs whinge
....then the call
"FOUND IT"
and mercifully
silence
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
you ever nothinged with the **** graceful wind of blue? hue rightly void, the impervious shunt of caking dramatic trees. grip havoc dangerously and collide
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 12:22 PM UTC
she plots your course but let's you plot your coarse
and mavericks stammer in the haze-what? of her misadventures...
save those who plus.
if you must know, then you are obsolete... you may repeat the same **** questions
and flee elite. you may squander your whimsy
in shunt courts, and bind your Thoom !
you may chum the waters, some sharks shun
in favor of clear doom
of stayed
tongue.
you may this all, or remain
or remain,
young.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC