"sizeable" poems
I scrutinized the miserable wretch harnessed to the table
Polished my knuckle with his murk, malice, and fable
Placing a centipede on his stomach as it shuffled to his eye
Languidly impending horror as he begged me to die
I put pressure on his abdominal with the ball of my hand
Took a breath to my diluted lungs as the boy’s jawline ran
Tantalizing screams of dread, poor boy fastened on steel bed
I protruded my hand deep and to his intestines, it fed
My malignant clasp ripped and mangled as it went
Like the centipede too, itched and mangled as it went
And as his entrails to, like sizeable centipedes they went
In a ****** stream of fluids crawling and sprawling as they went
I bound up with glee as my poor wretch lay be, and I swung him head-toe to a pit
Where billions of legs crawl, but human ones not at all, a realm where arthropods permit
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
Do dust bunnies have consciousness?
Does instinct guide them?
Instructing their best chance of survival
Is to hunker down,
Go out of sight,
Hide under a piece of furniture?
Will they survive & thrive in Dust Land,
Dust Land Planet Earth
Where cat hair is
“A sizeable constituency,”
So would say some latter day Machiavel’.
When spring comes, at last,
Will the minority Party
The Politburo in absentia,
Pick up on,
Comprehend the fact?
The red-red boffin
Goes beaucoup mnemonic, again.
“Wake up, wake up you sleepy head!
Get up, get out o' bed!
Cheer up! Cheer up!
The sun is red.
Live, love, laugh and be happy!”
The red-red-Redbird comes
Hammer & Sickle cell, again.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
Picture it when in a flash of a description, brought you the news
it said was your derelict.
when in becoming we ultimately fail
our being championed by our unbecoming
seeking the real scathed by a sizeable truth
like a persimmon in your tender hand.
This is the default
sketched over a sagging paper, plugged within the air
the motes depart and is as easy as it is explained: an elusive
thing that may never be captured. Something the arriving
betrays then assuages with a word treated benignly:
a transit.
let gray define the day: let the file describe the motive:
let presence soil where we stood our place
like a monument: let it seek a real object
or a found language
a wafting presence is lost somewhere gliding over unnamed territories
commencing a displacement said was our undisputable location
roads becoming roads vehicles becoming salvage
birds becoming orchestra shambles becoming complete
thus dearth becoming us before our denied image
from a source that was our implacable place like a deadspot discovered
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
youll see me half dead lying in a ditch by your mothers house. shes smiling, but your tears,quarters,dimes are worthless here. egypt. land of your gods' daydreams; twelfth sister of the night. shimmered and weeped. under your eyes are millions of disguises you have yet to unveil. we wore seashells and flowers. decorated ourselves in jewels. nightclad. venus slept under the afternoon. black and siamese twins have yet to uncover a sizeable difference between me and you. took scissors to carve a name into yourself. "JESUS" and "KING." got drunk before i rolled my eyes back into my head. forever uncovering diamonds in your snow. foggy and blue. giggled and worshipped pictures of ourselves. we are the sky's undead children
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC
I took to the shore my final day
my final few hours
the Sun was low and the breeze had a coolness
though it was blistering hot earlier
I was watching an osprey returning from the ocean
a sizeable fish in it's claws
the beach was sparse this late
I relaxed and enjoyed the sounds and sheer beauty
of the Outer Banks
from my left I heard a light gasp that startled me
as I hadn't noticed her approaching
she spotted a lettered olive
as the sea gently lapped the shore
it was rolling back towards the next wave
but she managed to grab it just in time
a look of delight crossed her face
glowing like the Sun itself
'Nice find
those are tough to come by in that condition' I said
'they are my favorite' she responded with a smile
her eyes sparkled blue and her auburn air
tied in a bobble hung far down her back
'nice to meet someone who still appreciates
the beauty of a sea shell'
I was hoping for a name but one didn't come
instead,
she sent a gaze that ignited not shivers
but an energy down my spine
'If only everyone knew the beauty that lives here
It's nice to meet another who sees as well'
I started to respond, but she turned and continued down the beach
her white kimono gently flowing with the ocean breeze
appeared to be from a time past
I turned my attention briefly to a group of pelicans
playing 'follow the leader' just above the waves
I could not let her go
I gathered enough courage to continue this chance meeting
but when I turned, she had disappeared
impossible
we are no less than 50 yards from the path off the beach
I just saw her less than 30 seconds...
I called out...but felt foolish
I tried to gather my thoughts
a light voice...or thought came as the breeze quieted
my name is Eve...
I walked the shoreline until it became too dark to stay
bewildered...I bid goodbye to the ocean and turned to leave
something caught my eye in the sand
amongst the thousands of shells on display
there lay a beautiful, perfect lettered olive
I will hold onto this one
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 7:32 PM UTC
You want to love me.
You want to taste my fear,
and cure
my insecurity.
What you hold about me
seems dear
when it's in your pocket
and
close.
as a child
when the ice-cream truck rolls around.
The looping rhythm
of every day
is a clear sign
that you
need to move
and hold me more.
I **** your *******
lap at your legs,
crumble in your words,
erupt in your anger,
and you think I need you,
and I relish
in you needing that
needing.
But then the need bites,
rips,
destroys,
and the black hole of our apartment
is reality
when you sleep
and hear me snore.
You know that i will get fat
when I am older,
and I know that you will slowly
become bitter
as raspberries;
Me thinking you're ripe
and perfect,
when you're holding in so much
and don't
even
know
it.
Don't touch
those broken stars.
Don't try to cup
my nebulas
in your hands,
or grip
my exploding novas
into concrete baseballs.
They cannot be hurled into oblivion
to make a sizeable dent
in eternity.
They burn
and crush you.
And I whiff
at your beautiful pitches.
Your words crumble,
and slither,
when they are meant
to soothe
and restructure.
My love
is horrible,
stupid,
and placating,
because I made ramen noodles for two
and you ate them
because it was a sweet thing to do
and that was the only reason
you ate them.
On the way down,
those noodles say that my love
is the best love,
but poison
in your gut.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC
A Dotard deals directly with death
His empty head wastes it’s breath
Fire and fury; war and worry
Life lost like a blink of an eye
A flash in the dark and then we die
Another ****** on the news
Black, white, Muslims, Jews
Fears of terror on the rise
Weapons of sizeable lies
Pray for Paris, stand with me
Pray in public for people to see
We’ll send our thoughts, a share, a like
And we’ll declare another drone strike
Tears shed for the injured and dead
For every white city stained red
Another elementary school mess
Caused by a child’s carelessness
Or some ****** having fun
With the barrel of his gun
A classroom of souls sit silent
Victims of a life so violent
Education spent on waging war
Using the pockets of our poor
America’s defence, say the boasters
Our children, new age holsters
A mother explains the world to her son
That’s ruled under finger and gun
Until a time when tragedy hits here
We all live life, paralyzed in fear
A world in decay and that’s okay
Because her child won’t ever know
The sky on fire raining ash-like snow
Won’t ever see the rising sea
Will not hear the screams of the free
As they rally together for peace
And are rained down on by police
Higher he will have to rise
Higher, after he dies
No longer burdened by the blow of living
In a time of eternal unforgiving
Plunged into a nightmare, he screams
Softly, slowly, delved into drowning dreams
As his mother stands above
Holding him under with love
A monster, a fiend they’ll see
An American reality
Another victim of violence
A soul becomes silence
Hearts break, tears are shed
Out of jealousy for the dead
For all the world’s war and strife
He’s just another casualty of life
On the news, a leading millionaire
Offering a thought and prayer
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 8:09 PM UTC
aloof alphas attack!
banal betas boom, before backing
cautiously, creeping
down, defensible dark
estuaries, estranged escapes
from fierce fiery-eyed
giant gators gathered,
hard hearted hedged
in impossible illumination, irate
jowly jeering jaded jackals
**** **** **** …
let loose low laughs
making much mirth mercilessly
now none need nourishment
oblivious obvious, overt
a putrescent phalanx,
quite quintessential a querulous quorum
a quatre
raucous resounding raptorials retreated
subsequently seizing sizeable sarcoid
sections in scissor strokes
total tormentors, that time twists the
ugly utilitarian
veracious victory
works the wild
yearning as
zealots
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
she picks the nail polish off her nails
words cut her open when at school
when the sizeable switchblade slashes her skin
her curly hair covers her face
her teachers actions stress her out
paper is thrown as she gets off the bus
a mile she walks as she gets taunted
she slams the door to find love and affection
a smile on her face as school is not a thought
In her bed alone;
Darkness creeps
Schizophrenic ways
Fire inside
Rusted blades
she wakes up at night to find morning again;
Sizeable Switchblade
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 6:02 PM UTC
.
it's like finding an exciting new disease
*that you never knew
you couldn't live without*
it becomes your spirituality
after a "spiritual experience"
affecting everything you do
you're on the path to destruction
and you chase things that leave you empty
like impossibilities
you spiral down, down
until you reach the bottom
and there's no one to break your fall
..
after being down for long enough
your anxieties are replaced with apathy
to where up and down look the same
and if you're very lucky, someone may come along and make a huge impact
somewhat restoring your will to live
gratitude turns to love, love to obsession
as they become more valuable to you
than anything else in your existence
...
determined to be enslaved no longer
you cast aside your old, toxic friends
in favor of healthier choices
with a sizeable chunk of your life missing
you are left with a hungry void
that must be filled with something
so you take up a hobby, or several
and feel some contentment, but it don't last
you're trading one addiction for another
....
your demons haven't gone, but
you find you can keep them contained
if you can keep yourself busy
they're too weak to fight, but they will still
try to trick you into submission
by manipulating your dreams
and even with all the will you can muster
you find that you are basically powerless
and your higher power is tired of your ****
...and it will always be a part of you
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 4:24 PM UTC
Written shots come in all shapes and sizes,
Size matters like size six, eight or fourteen.
Fortune braver the first line alternates the second so on so forth.
What becomes sizeable?
What's your size?
Little antidotes from a measured eagle size flies,
Weighs it all up from a prolific mind blasted out its circumference,
Two lines make three so on so forth.
In size short or long corridors open left and write,
Rooms of poetic justice words escape its meaning of pride,
Trying to connect its versatility,
Weighing up all its options to a third eye so on to the forth.
High five thinking outside a sizeable box,
A perfect band meets five,
Your five a day fruit flavoured squashed for you,
Drinking your rainbow colours that your taste buds acquire,
For then be hit for six.
Six like **** curves figure dressed up in silk hanged up with a second coat,
There's a cat amongst the pigeons,
A cricket high score,
A winner catches it all out from a wicket duck 0.
A severed chase far from Devon.
Sailing on the seven seas on a ocean boat ride reach so wide,
Beckoning on a horizon with the world looking so flat but at your feet,
Never reaching the edge just for evermore,
No deck of cards would collapse or fall from this fate.
My great mate who I now hate as late as it goes round and round in a figure of speech,
Rate this of the eight wonders of the world,
Paradise monuments globalisms tournaments under and over a bridge we go and we go.
Nine I'm not taking no for an answer, upside down to the left six had it all,
Too much size from those verses,
Saliva grown twitch es,
A centre forward scores a goal,
The last but not least single number,
Einstein a rocket launch..
For then ten let it be impeccable when circling around next to its dolby one den,
Fur marks of a Lion gathered round a pack of clubs five odd and five even,
Doubled up figure of been odd but really been even Steven or maybe roughed up down in Nuneaten nine mine.
O'Reily@15112014
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
and the truly talented ones
eclipsed his paltry
writes
which engendered in him a
want to disappear their
rites
the green eye of jealousy
was constantly gnawing at
him
why he asked unto himself
are they more superior of
trim
people who knew a fine pick
would shun his dreadful
pap
they sought out authors who
wore the praise worthy
cap
he couldn't match the greater
pens that did show so
well
to whit he bought off the head bloke
with a sizeable money
shell
to-day he's the so called
genius of expressionistic
art
whose popularity on culture plus
is like a sale at
Walmart
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
She sat there and drank
As the Titanic sank
And the people were running about
"There's no need to worry,"
She said without hurry,
"I expect to be wined 'til they're out!"
The waiter dropped tray
As he scampered away
And the champagne now flowed on the floor
The woman looked down
With a sizeable frown
And gargled and belched, "I want more!"
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
My head is on fire
I’m running on water
I’m flying but
Can’t pass the ceiling
It feels so good
I’m breathless from this feeling
Talking to a million people
With a billion voices has never felt so, so great
I see you in a million reflections
Responding in a billion reactions
Time after time I keep changing my mind
But I still can’t get myself over you
You get me feeling so high
I believe I’m in sky
Voices echoing just like yours
Faces flashing just like yours
Scents smelling just like yours
My nervous system can’t stop vibrating
This Addict is in love
Like Smokers who never
Remember their days of resistance
I can’t remember ever wishing
I wasn’t feeling this way
You alone lift and elevate
My emotional status
From the real to the imaginary
Height of realms
From a crisp rub with my thumb
To a careful sieve of the shafts
A cutting of a sizeable wrap
To package it all before
Flaming it up
A drag, an inhalation
That assures of all
This Addict is out of control
Wanting nothing but more and more
Like I never knew your love
It’s beyond my certainty
It’s my hormones and cells
Flowing in my blood stream
That just can’t get enough of you
Like a bad habit
I can’t stop loving you
I don’t need a tattoo
To let the world
Know you are always on my mind
I'm already addicted to you
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 11:55 AM UTC
I've been finding it terribly hard to write more than disillusioned rants and I've been finding it even more difficult to sit still with my thoughts.
I think about you a lot and it never fails to make me happy. Never. But I can't think about you all the time, and those moments late at night when I can't see the moon for the ceiling and I can't hear your voice for the time negative thoughts linger. And usually I let them vent, like a man professing his love by writing it in wet cement, I put thought to hand and pen to paper but now... I don't know.
I can write about you and God knows I do. God also knows I have not and hope not to run out of things to write about you. But there are other things in my mind that I wish to let out but I can't. There's a purple liquid slowly amassing to a sizeable resivior in the bottom left corner of my brain; I can feel it. It's where I store my doubts and anxieties but it's been dammed.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
There once was a tiny dragon,
No larger than the palm of my hand.
She burned no village, stole no princess,
Her name not spoken in fear throughout the land.
She hoarded not gold, not jewels,
Cared not for such frivolous things.
It was memories she kept in her miniscule cave
She guarded with flickering fire and scrap wings.
I went to her cave in the mountains.
Stumbled on it, by mistake;
As I lay down my head at the roots of a tree,
By an obscure and secluded lake.
She emerged in her miniature splendour,
From beneath a nearby rock.
She let out a yawn of fire;
And I froze: in awe, in shock.
She grinned a needlepoint grin,
Beckoned with one curved claw
Into her miniscule cave,
I followed: in shock, in awe.
I peered through the half-hidden opening,
Only inches larger than my head.
The dragon spoke soft but thunderous,
And this is what was said:
“This is my hoard, young human.
This is all I hold dear in the world.”
And she handed to me a birthday card -
Some edges singed, some curled.
It had writing in a swirling foreign script
That seemed to be etched, not written.
“This is the love of my first ever crush,
In the days when we were still smitten.”
“Is this all?” I scoffed, “Just pieces of paper,
and wrappers and old useless things?”
Her doll-sized body began to shudder
With a judder of claws and a flutter of wings.
No larger than my littlest finger,
She was a smaller version of herself;
But still I froze as she perched on my nose,
To her, a sizeable shelf.
“You hold no value to memories?
Then why don’t you leave yours behind?
Since they strike you as being so useless,
I’m certain you wouldn’t mind.”
Now all my memories are scraps,
Shadows of what they once were.
I wonder if she kept them somewhere,
In that diminutive cave with her.
Notes from a wife I think I had:
About the shopping, the kids? The car?
A card from my parents, a gift from a friend,
A reason for this faint lip scar.
I try to keep letters, tickets, receipts,
Compulsively, I feel I must.
But whenever I reach for that link to my past,
It is nothing but ash, but dust.
Sep 19, 2019
Sep 19, 2019 at 4:37 PM UTC
Crash, bang, wallop
She collided with the shelf
A free standing unit
Until she grabbed it to steady herself
Down did it topple
Raining glass on her head
Sending everything flying
Through the air, what a mess!
Wine glasses, flutes, tumblers
And a vase
All hit the deck
And smashed into shards
Oh, what a racket
And a mess to behold
The nincompoop just stood there
And couldn’t be consoled
But it’s no use crying
Over spilt milk
And in her inebriated state
The thought of cleaning did she jilt
Drunk and disorderly
She sent herself to bed
Knowing that tomorrow
She’d have a thumping head
So leaving shattered
glass
All over the floor
Off did she teeter
To think about it no more
In the afternoon
When at last she awoke
The carpet was glistening
As if covered in snow
It shone and it sparkled
Like a night of a thousands stars
She wondered what’d occurred
Until her memory was jarred
By treading barefoot
Onto a sizeable piece of glass
That tore into her instep
Causing her to curse
Jumping up and down
With stinging, bleeding feet
She surveyed the considerable damage
Shocked at the scene
Of all her lovely glassware
Lying broken on the floor
A shattered picture frame
A teacup that was no more
Oops, thought she
What a flaming disaster
I’d better get a shovel
And hoover up straight after
And so she did
And all was fine
Apart from the ****
Which would heal in time
The moral of this story
Is nail your shelves down
And don’t put glass atop them
If you’re a drunken clown.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
her voice danced on the Summer breeze
carried over the garden
and graced the stillness of the catfish pond
"Suppers' ready"
one more fish, I thought
just one more
but I could almost smell the beef stew
and the apple pie Mama had coolin'
fish can wait
sometimes the best part of fishin'
is gettin' hungry
and no one in Clarke County
cooked a finer meal than Mom
I closed my eyes as I walked toward the house
reminding myself to save room for pie and vanilla ice cream
Dad's gonna be proud of the 4 sizeable cats I caught
a strong breeze and the sound of window blinds slappin'
brought me home again
a storm was comin'
why is it that the best dreams are always interrupted?
sliding the window shut, I can still smell that apple pie
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 2:24 PM UTC
There's a few of the old crowd still meet up at Christmas and
each raise a glass to the past and good friends.
The crowd's thinning out now, but I'm thinking out loud now
it's still quite a sizeable group
(If you don't count so well )
We reminisce about that and the other and
it's this that makes the bond stronger
I suppose the longer we go on the few will become less
there are flywheels in the abattoir
and they spin to a six string guitar
the piano plays on down in Abilene to the tunes of a cowboy and his praire dream.
It's all alike or a bit the same
never knowing if one had been
sane what the outcome would have been.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 4:40 AM UTC
I was out back fishing, in a pond behind my parents' house.
I caught a fish, a sizeable one for the location, and you were on my mind.
I brought it home, to our apartment, and kept it in a freezer in our tiny bedroom.
We kissed, and I felt apart of you.
It was our plan to have a family gathering, in the downstairs area of our affordable home.
Around 50 people or so.
It would be a tight fit, but we knew what we wanted.
The morning of the reunion, I returned to my parents' home and fished, this time with a couple of people I can't remember.
I kept imagining you speaking to me, about killing yourself.
I knew this was irrational, you'd never do that to me.
I tried another pond this time, and caught the biggest fish I'd ever caught there.
I took it home, you on my mind, thinking about how impressed you'd be.
I was late, arrived just as people were showing up.
I greeted everyone, had some laughs, and went back out to get the fish from the car.
Time slowed as I opened the door to our once joyful bedroom.
Years could've gone by, decades maybe.
I can't explain how I felt.
That moment when you feel your heart stop, almost as if you should die, but don't.
There, my love, my heart, my only care in the world, lay in the corner, lifeless.
I didn't see how you did it.
I didn't care.
I couldn't move.
I had to go downstairs, and somehow, using my last bit of breath, screamed that you'd died.
It was so surreal.
It was so... real.
The tears, this horrible feeling in my chest, as though my heart was too dead to beat.
Some time later, I argued with you.
I walked around my parents' neighborhood, like we used to do when we were kids.
You were there, walking along with me. I couldn't see you, but I could feel you.
And I could hear you.
I asked why, so many times.
You kept giving me reason after reason, and I kept arguing every single claim you gave me.
I've never felt anything like that before.
I've never been so lost for words when explaining emotion.
I think it was something new.
I felt like I was dead. It felt like you were alive.
Then you said you loved me.
The words rang through my mind, playing over and over again.
I love you, ****.
I... I love you, ***.
And you were gone.
And I screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
And then I woke up.
15 again.
I rolled over, checked my phone:
Eve - Good morning dear
And I've never been so relieved.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC
a good financial advisor
will tell you to ditch the credit card
for this little piece of plastic
can gobble you down hard
when you use the thing
monthly interest accumulates
so be very wary of the
bank's excessive rates
but some people keep
over drawing on the account
then they will have a
sizeable bill to surmount
luckily for me I got out of
my credit card mess
yet there are those who'll
ever be under much duress
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
when i went to my local library, to my horror
i found no books that are in my personal library...
to my astonishment i found Thomas Mann's
Dr. Faustus -
but still, in my possession as extensive
it is in its modesty i found only two books
i'd gladly reread - Ezra Pound's Cantos and Bertrand
Russell's the History of Western Philosophy -
harsh, isn't it? only two books - from a collection of
some sizeable amount, and a good fraction well
established in my head to have made tattoos into -
like that joke: what's the door most frequently
opened in the house? the refrigerator door.
so it is with a library - but there's a twist...
how fortunate you will be if the dictionary isn't
the answer... but a book that you would reread
and know all the words; so as you can see, i have
my two books i'd establish strength with,
even if it meant waging such a war with the Koran.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
Bearded, hairy, pimpled fairy,
repulsive, obnoxious, loud and anxious,
daring, daunting, sweating, crying,
lying and prying
to get the details out,
presumptious, precautious yet nosy,
bossy, knowing it all and showing it all.
Dancing for no apparent reason,
same for singing,
showering, caring and pairing.
Associations big or small,
drama at the mall,
glances, waves and smiles
helping others with piles
of work, with quirk.
Strong, fierce, succesful beings, kind
with deep eyes, steep noses, cheeks
and jaws, able to cut glass,
a freakishly tight, yet humbling behind
or ***
Adventurous, spontanious, loving
and watching and staring and matching
catching every voxel, every pixel, every line
or dot
or just a couple or just one or not.
Full, sizeable or rather small, yet kissable lips
or standing tall, bizarre
symmetry, bigotry, whining and ambitiously
becoming a truer version of what you
think you are.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 6:20 AM UTC
try to add a little sanity
but it sure is a lonely job
in a world where all is vanity
and emotion rises and bobs
thought is a solid thing
this world is way too sizeable
a speck of eternity’s wing
an’ nothing be recognizable
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
'We' are in uproar
'We' being the Anglo Americana Axis
'The West' if you will
Our uproar, this time
Russian election meddling
Now of course the yanks and brits
Have clean hands and
Every right to sit atop
Their lofty mule
'We' follow the rules
No backhand games in Africa, Iran
The entire Middle East
Not that 'We'll' admit at least
No, for now it's uproar
The West's sizeable stallion rears up
At the sly old bear
Who is stealing our tricks
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 9:12 PM UTC