"skewers" poems
Her eyes so bright;
Do you ever wonder where the sun goes at night?
The rain, dancing on the pavement
in no specific arrangement.
Luminous flames eat away at sharp skewers,
Her eyes silver-grey, clashing with the tables of steel.
Barbecue roasting, impaled through the middle
The pain paled in comparison to watching you smile.
A toast to me, myself and I, a glass of sweet solitude.
I watch tall wine glasses clang drunkenly together, alone.
A pin drops in the distance; no silence to accompany it.
Unnoticed it goes, by the arrogant lords and goddesses.
Pick a flower, compliment her hair; devil may care.
She's walking away, I tell her 'Ma'am, have a nice day'
Left alone to stumble back home,
sipping champagne royally; Mockery.
Spilling champagne and it swirls down the drain
I tilt my head back, laughing carelessly all the way.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC
Strong currents flow different ways
From where the bridge was, after the first plunge
Soothed the sun-burnt skin and the hay-splinters
Loosed the straw stuck in ears
After I left you under the porch light
Alone on the other side of the night
Where poplars reached for the moon and stars
And the cows chewed on bits of memory from when
In the cobwebs and calf pens
They were brought to life by your gentle hands
You crossed two worlds to find me in the darkness
But I was not the one you were searching for
You prayed for miracles while
God stood by, arms crossed
Just taking in the sunset and the clouds
Like an old tree beside a grave carefully fenced
To keep it disheveled amid tended fields
Thus the cancer had its way and I could not
Fill the void left in your heart or mine
With no more tears to soften dry leather
I put our hearts on skewers and held them
Over the bridge's burning planks
Too close and they were immolated
Not carefully spun to stay golden and warm inside
So I packed my own hollow heart full of nothing
Filled the passenger seat, until
There was only room for me and the steering wheel
And no way to turn
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:55 PM UTC
He struts down the sidewalk
With a hint of a frown
His spoon swings beside him
Jaunty hat as his crown.
Childers peep with a gasp
As they watch him strut down
The musk that follows him
The stains on his gown.
There he goes, they whisper,
As the sun settles down
The Badass Chef, they say,
Of this Badass Town.
He pounds dough to a pulp
Whisking eggs beyond shape
Beets up on the salad
Stomping vatfulls of grape.
Skewers meat without thought
Chops neat through a bone
Flays sharks without care
Needs no sous, works alone
The Badass Chef
Of this Badass Town.
He hangs up his cleaver
At the end of the day
Dripping droplets of what
None have courage to say
He blows out his flambe
Spoon back at his side
Turns back to his war zone
Fists clenched with quiet pride
There he goes, they whisper,
As the sun settles down
The Badass Chef
Of this Badass Town.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
Mandrake the Magician
now you see him
and now you don't
you will marvel at this magic
while the villains won't
**** he is gone
or changed in an illusion
he can read your mind
and cause constant confusion
the bad guys will lose
crushed by his friend Lothar the King
the strongest man alive
wearing his fez and a golden ring
Mandrake waves his magic wand
to hypnotize the evildoers
while his lady the Princess Narda
applies the skewers
Theron, Hojo and Bradley the chief
keep him protected from harm
with Magnon, Lenore and Karma
at his home Xanadu keeping warm
the villains are many and rotten to the core
Cobra, Brass Monkey and evil Deleter
even the Enchantress Aleena must scurry
Ekardnam his twin in the mirror retreater
so you may try as you might
to remain evil and mean
but Mandrake and his crew
will make you come clean
Gomer LePoet ...
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 12:02 PM UTC
beholden green
the hot road
rusting groundless leaves
icicle landscape
St. Four leaf Clover
Skewers on the grill
Candy on a trail
5th avenue in snow
Busting sprouts
Dandelion Wine
Harvest yellow
Yuletide fire flame
Rain filled creeks
Dried up clay
The last hurricane
Rains turns to ice
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 4:35 PM UTC
The green combusts, the cherry sclerotized mask dances above
the invisible paper carapace.
Stuffed full with Rotten skunk innards and burning,
tongues of heat sweat away its crystalline hairs.
Aren is hunched and crooked, all teeth and lungs,
under the mixed halogens of suburban porchlight,
being bathed in bluescale waves from the
strobe of the neighbor's telescreen.
Ropes of smog pour from the slats between his picket fence ivories and get frayed.
I drink the filth, choking down the viscera of the vermin.
It doesn't seem to get easier.
Stumbling inside, my feet detach and I throw myself on the door
until I've locked out the sickly tide pool light of dawn,
and I'm rolling toward his bedroom.
Jolting and sputtering, and
grasping at the hands of the clock,
listening for the steady metronome to
count me through.
And then numbness.
I know the feeling, and next come the
pins, digging into my
fingertips and the pads of my
toes, and then I'm all body and silent prayers.
And I'm whispering sick thoughts to Aren -
*"Those adrenaline demons
will do me in,
and if only I could relax,
and my dear mother
used to have a stalker,
and I almost got run down
by a car on the highway when I was five,
and asthmatics are five times as likely to have a
generalized anxiety disorder."*
The adrenaline demons gather my tendons in pincushion palms,
tugging at the strings,
panicked arthritis and my fingers are
twitching and curling backwards
while I glare on with shallow breaths and cataracts.
The organs moan in the cavern of my body,
with thick wet air pouring from the opening.
I'm standing now,
a fetishized devil doll,
shaking out the pins
and the needles
and the sick splinters of glass
and the long holy skewers
and I'm breathing again
and I sit and
I breathe.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
On wind torn cliffs
they hop and bound
these bright beaked birds
diminutive sweet clowns
They are prey to many a Gull
skewers do take them on wing petrol
cute and gentle they look to me
yet never to small fish of the salt seas
See them plunder the shallows
then rise from water cold and blue
watch them in their cubersome wonder
flying and flapping like humming birds
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 9:27 PM UTC
there's no need to bring
the wine in goblet
for I am so much drunk
seeing those eyes
and I lost my senses
and lost my sight
all I could see is ecstasy
all I hear is ecstasy
all I could say is ecstasy
all I wear is ecstasy
and since I have worn
this love's hairshirt
I put skewers in my eyes
and put my head in dirt
yet the immense beauty
doesn't stop to overcome me
and I live in ecstasy
I breathe in ecstasy
© Ali Ashraf
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
The hatchet starts it all.
Burrowing into the lower depths.
Spaces so small.
The layout underestimates, deceives us.
A need for freedom.
Attempts to resist are futile, outrageous
Then the sewers.
Murky, rancid and foul is the stench.
Senses dulling, aromas piercing like skewers
Don’t stop now.
Elbows, shoulders, calves are tense,
Faintly hearing the moo of a cow.
Just a little more
Finally the light beckons…….all hope is lost
The final barrage of bullets shake to the core.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 7:01 PM UTC
You wake upon a carpet soaked in wine
to feel the walls around you stretch and shrink
and press against the pressure on your spine,
unbed yourself as tucked upon by drink.
Unwind the vise that clamps around the head
and loose the ***** that tightens at the jaw.
You twist the tendons, heavy as a tread
and strip the bolts that drive into your maw.
You wobble, wisen upright with a yawn
and warble, crooning, swooning to the floor
and crumble on the carpet with a coo.
Your cogs are locked; your curtains let the dawn
abound, secured unfirmly as the door,
as bright and strident skewers ****** you.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
Bright blue skewers the dark,
navy fingers grow into nothing.
A young girl's helium squeal hisses high,
'oooh.....ahhhh.'
Emerald gunshot ends another life.
Velcro-splitting,
amber glitter
sparkles upon
the night's stars.
Toothpicks ***** the sky,
crimson ribbons dribble down
like blood dripping from a nose.
The orchestra of colour plays
before black devours them all again.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
When it rains, it pours;
A downpour less frequently wet, sure
Dancing a shambling, ill-dressed manticore
Who has barely the strength to shake anymore
Find the only chagrin of the forecast is yours
But you bring some fine wine, a handle of Dewar’s
Your mind ascending from improbable sewers
Searing tomatoes, aged beef on skewers
Burned-off or absorbed during barhopping tours
With whom you lounged on Mediterranean shores
In your history head: Mongols, Turkmen, and Moors
It hits you again ‘til another drink floors you
Sleep on a sofa where bad weather ignores you
And somewhere inside a girl asks, “From who
Comes a voice (yours) at night ambling the halls?”
The friendliest ghost, not haunting at all
Who’ll likely come by if you give him the call
But leave in the morning before sunlight is tall
Out of fear of breaking some protocol
Despite this, you’ve certainly seen so
They keep you around as part of this scene, so
This is your life, just how it should be, so
Thank you my dears, my beloved Piso
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:33 PM UTC
Blade grazes skin in horizontal hatred
teaching lessons in guilt and lies
crying truth that won't break the surface
which hides the tar that seeps
through a soul unseen
Prtty, Prtty smile
on a Prtty, Prtty girl
and the lines break surface tension
'twas all the glue would hold
Every turn a reflection in karma and self-loathing
perceived as an undeserved consequence
of a past that holds no regrets
One layer breaks free
and he fails to see her cracks
through the scars he was forced to stitch alone
with the rusted skewers of time
A second pass and the blade runs clean
as idle threats yield no change
a liar demanding truth of the one who gives it freely
as it has always been
Only seeing lies oneself would tell
unable and unwilling to realize
that the truth remains true
even when seen through one's own lies
Beaten into submission
that reeks of forced pity
only covers the truth
with lies that make one feel like
A Prtty, Prtty girl
with a Prtty, Prtty smile
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
Lord grant me the audacity.
To again be a 23 year old marshmallow
Partying every night at the campfire with a bunch of skewers.
The audacity
To feel outstanding
With an underdeveloped frontal lobe
Floating around in cherry bombs and Stroh’s
To survive being invincible and brave and strong enough to make bold and terrible decisions
And blessedly wake to another sunrise
Never grateful to be alive.
******* *****
How does anyone survive their early 20s.
Sheer audacity.
Nov 1, 2021
Nov 1, 2021 at 11:15 PM UTC
This road is forked so I walk straight
Left is only right, but opposite
and right is only wrong, but different
I am talking in circles
I am walking nonsense
I am singing television
and watching harmonies in solitude
I am walking on my hands
I am writing with my toes
I dream in a reality
and live in a fantasy
what is right in front of me
comes at me from behind
a bullet skewers my back
while a knife shoots through my chest
I paint sculptures and statues with crayola
and I build Mona Lisa with bricks and stones
I dig to the depths of Mount Everest
I climb to the top of Death Valley
I dance in stillness to silence
I sleep in motion to beats
I talk to myself
I listen to you.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 5:43 PM UTC
blue shards of time
inching and pinching through
some (hidden) remembrance
this stickilyooziness that runs in my veins
one lazy drop
by
drop
collecting in a pensieve
shattering through the myths-
(that is where the shards came from)
The dreams are concrete
touchably real
the images swirl
their spinality affirmed
in the red ache that sears
recall on skewers
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
30.08.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 1:13 AM UTC
*October bonfires for Autumn lesser pyromaniacs ,
with Oak , Hickory and Fall leaves , ashes floating
in the Black Moon night , they ride into star clusters
then fade out of sight
Locked in flames allure , counseled by fire , glowing
embers , hypnotic flickering light , running nightfall shadows o'er the hardwood lines
Gardenia perfume , warm coats , our uncloaked breath mingling with sweet smoke , cricket songs , hand-made skewers with
bratwurst and marshmallows
Trading stories , relearning one another ,
growing stronger , warmer , drawn into the wavering glow , crackling
tinder , white ash flurry , kindling eventide mellow* ..
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 11:29 PM UTC
A child starves to death in the developing world
where is the justice in that?
I don’t see none.
the world, round,
like politicians
rotates unbalanced in its axis
their skewers rotate in excess
we’ve got the means to fill a child’s belly with food
but where is the will?
there’s enough to go around for everyone
how long will this injustice continue?
those in power
happily sipping their floats
while millions of bellies bloat
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 2:18 PM UTC
why do we love
open the door to be robbed
raise the portcullis for invasion
leave our frail hearts open to the skewers and the pain
open our arms for an embrace at knifepoint
put our neck in the guillotine
feed each other our torn-up hearts?
for a smile or a kind word
in fair exchange?
the story of love is loosened ties and running mascara
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
Who I thought you'd be
Is not who you are
It skewers me.
Left to cook like meat on a stick
Leftovers that are never eaten
A flavorless piece of swine
Wrapped around miscellaneous produce
Eat me!
Eat me!
But I never will.
Keep in my fridge to eye
Watching as it molds...
...the skewer stays right in my heart
That once beat for you
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 2:42 PM UTC
Action - reaction 🪦
Action - reaction
Does this bring you satisfaction?
Slice myself in such a fashion
Can you feel that? Not a fraction.
You could care less
how you make people feel
Pushing buttons and turning wheels.
watch stories unfold as you run the reel-
So much happiness to steal.
Misery blanket- pass it on!
Share your misery, then be gone
Let it encompass those you’ve wronged
Your ignorance present, remaining headstrong.
Do you know how far it goes
when you pull from above -
to drag down below
Wrapping me up
in the hatred you’ve sewn
Cocoon me in feelings I think I’ve outgrown.
Gather in comfort
to watch the premiere
of denial and lies,
Of pain and fear.
I’ll provide complimentary
in depth commentary
for those who are confused
and those who are wary.
The act contains violence
and furthermore silence
from the ones who cause pain
and drive the victims insane.
A malevolent force
from an outside source
is attacking this being
on the screen you are seeing.
This production contains gore
and tears on the floor.
If this is something
you cannot endure
Then, please, leave quickly
and use the backdoor.
If you do not like this film
and choose to deplore
Write us a letter don’t
cause an uproar.
The writer does not
much care for the viewers
They will take your opinions
and roast them on skewers.
So if there something
that you detest-
write it to your journal,
that would be best.
© KD
1/10/2021
Jan 6, 2023
Jan 6, 2023 at 3:13 AM UTC
Vampiric lambs feast on their Sheppard's herd.
Breaking bread of thy neighbor
How loves call of fertility
Now the bane Bull of consumption's horn.
The Sheppard ****** to death by panic.
Unable to guide or save, is now on the menu
Prayers silenced over the band of gargling stomachs
His papyrus stand of power dissolved in crimson soup
Milk and honey crossed out of the starving mans Gospel
Warp the plains in sabbath machinery
Capital becoming its own atoned staff
The meek claims of natures **********
While drawing a line to the factory
The staff now a fork on the dinner table' crossroads.
One seat at the table for Perdition
Groaking civilized parallel.
No hope lies on silver dished entree
Cornucopia is the decapitated Sheppard' head
Apple fastened in mouth
Olive pits replacing holy eyes for edible sight
Pickled tongue to speak holy when the belly is full
Ears dehydrated for the holy word.
As said with Christ, we dine to forgive our sins.
Lambs forgiven
Vampires forgiven
Cannibals forgiven
Meek forgiven
Hungry forgiven
All is forgiven
We are organized and all is forgiven.
God forgives in his name.
For tomorrow, we cut out our new Sheppard from papyrus,
Tomorrow, we ***** his word.
Tomorrow, we take the skewers of the Kebab
And give the Sheppard his staff.
Tomorrow, we chastise the hungry.
For his spilled blood.
For his eaten flesh.
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
no one knows when it’s our time to go
none has a magnifying glass into tomorrow
do we live in joy or sorrow
or thrive on time that we borrow
yesterday we could have been at play
is our life fully on display
the present is a gift a not to delay
or are we clinging on to stay
what do you do with all your time
do we corporate ladder climb
search out every penny and dime
or write poetry that we make rhyme
have we found that tender squeeze
that turns out to be a tease
and makes our life a breeze
or try to everyone else please
is taking that child out of a cradle
the same as holding a ladle
will there be time to paddle
or do we sit on our hands idle
how else do we joy bring
striding out in nature is that our thing
watching the early morning sun rising
or are we part of a crime ring
where do we get our culture
draw a picture
think about the future
or are we hovering about like a vulture
are we divers
sitting at the side of rivers
roasting on skewers
or have too many shivers
on a long summer’s day will having a beer
bring on friendship and cheer
especially enjoyed with someone dear
or is it all about fear
Andreas Simic©
Jun 17, 2022
Jun 17, 2022 at 7:10 AM UTC
no body thinks about us.
they only care about what we puncture;
the tasty meat, sweet fruit, and the good intentions.
they never think of the sticky residue
left behind
and how we
will never be
truly clean
again.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC