"skulled" poems
Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark, as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fools' Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.
Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bud and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.
12.9k
distant ships sailing through the
pink crests of brain matter
brimming with cargo; the unit
of knowledge burrowed in flesh
unable to feel pain, passing the
sensation on skulled flags—beware,
remember, know that these things
can haunt you.
(know that these things may one
day heal you)
this is who you are now: yellow,
sunflowers wreathed in knotted strands
of wheat-colored hair, pill bottles
half-full, hands like rotting fly traps
curled in supplication on a
Thursday morning when the pain is
too much to bear alone.
this is who you will always be: a series
of binary sparks, a long silvery tunnel,
streetcars laden with passengers
weaned on anger & fear & love--
a construction site.
you are a work in progress.
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 9:52 PM UTC
Picture of girls face: 10 likes
Picture of girls face featuring slightly/damn near totally visible ***** bumps: 5000 likes.
What the **** people, its the SAME GIRL.
Her **** are there in BOTH PICTURES yo.
But due to the difference in likes, there's no doubt as to what the true focal point of the photographs are.
Honestly, I'd much rather see a picture of a ladies face instead of one featuring the awesome breasticles.
Because, while those **** do, without a doubt, totally rock, they should also be respected and like, viewed as something special for only that certain special person to see.
CONTAIN YOUR **** YOUNG FEMALES FOR THE LOVE OF ******* GOD.
You aren't attracting very respectable fellows by being so flaunty.
People that are into you only for your tits/various other dank body parts you may or may not have, will most definitely end up hurting the beautiful blood pumping anomaly that lies behind said ****
I mean it's your body, do what you want to do with it, but there are more then enough **** bouncing around the world right now to clog our minds with sexuality and distract us from accomplishing things as it is.
WE DON'T NEED YOUR **** IN OUR FACE.
not to mention, some day you're going to find a man or a woman that's going to love you for the super radical person that you are, and to them, your **** will just be like, the most awesome bonus, and by covering up just a bit more for all the numb skulled hard dicked mother ******* this world seems to have an endless supply of, you'll make that special person feel so so so so so so sooooo much more special when THEY get to see them.
You know what i'm saying?
We're in a society where your **** can take you further then your personality can and it's ******* ********
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
The evening clouds,
are grey from increasing shadow.
The jagged mists, according to my minds eye, take the forms of dragons,
Encroaching upon me
Until they shatter into ash, their own burning might having destroyed them.
The skulled faces stretch out as if in one last grimace.
The second sooty mass forms into hooks, as the monsters’ lower half tries try reconnect with its collapsing upper.
Rose and tangerine flames waft,
Vanishing into oncoming blackness,
Like spirits hiding into caves, to be reborn as the souls of new mythic reptiles.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
Our words are immortal
To those whom are dead
For we celebrate it all
Where others feel dread
A new speaker succeeds
From generations advanced
Speaking good and evil deeds
Truth of life no longer danced
Speakers for the dead show all
None can be hidden
That moment of shoplift at a mall
And care to another's son
What we ignore today
Will be plain in the end
For others will finally say
If they were truly a friend
Society will never change
But it's occupants can
See others without derange
As merely a human
*But who am I kidding
When I say things with hope
I know none will listen
Not a soul will really hear
For people are thick-skulled
And hear what they want
Not some beggar on the street
Or an artist wishing to preach*
So I continue to write
Not knowing the purpose
With all this blindness
Who will dare to see?
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 11:31 PM UTC
I come to you by way of my pen,
to dispell some rumors told.
To hear the lies being spread,
does make my blood run cold.
There is no basis in facts,
that I have a heart of gold.
Never should it have been said,
that I could be a beauty to behold.
Then there is the one that states,
that I have complete self control.
Aparently, someone out there,
swears, I am not yet looking old.
I have a group of so called friends,
that claim I am not thick-skulled.
Some even swear I am demure
and have never been overbold.
It's a shame that lies like these,
have a way of taking hold.
Eventually, they may have even I,
resembling this picture they mould.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 5:38 AM UTC
Cold and naked like iron church bells
I rang thoughts each more hollow than the next.
Through my mind I skulled over tomorrow,
my bare-mattress weight stuck to my twenty-one-year-old
bones hesitating with the heat.
July tastes all moonshine and sunshine
until your alone without company and the fruit
of adventure decays romance from it candy sweet
fragrance leaving like a raspberry bruise,
a penalty scared on your mommas red lips:
How ya gonna make a living sweetheart?
Eh, I’ll grab a buoy and drink wine until
my teeth rot and ill say **** tomorrow,
Ill **** drunks and scribble my tin sorrows
in ***** yellow journals. I’ll bear my chest
to strangers with ******* hard against the moon.
Because I know
when I find routine,
I’ll be skin-laced and bored,
undertowed and unseen.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
Green skin, skulled face,
Candy red? Or lime green?
I do not know,
Both, maybe.
Creature hatched from a sugary treat,
Eggshell sickly sweet.
I devour it,
Nothing remains.
I am no longer a creature,
Two sides split:
Lime green, candy red,
A sarcophagus as my bed.
I house a bloodbath.
Candy red soldiers
March across and slaughter
Lime green maidens
Weep and flee and cry out
I am but a cage
Housing opposing sides of colour
Who is winning?
Can you tell?
The deed is done.
I surrender.
The Muse has been struck down, space.
A mark left in her place.
I surrender.
The Lord has won this war, time.
I am no longer mine.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC
There is one time when the body pauses
The dazzling placid late night
Inside a concealed crisp castle
There is a slacked thrown of pose
One trivial light flickers softly
Beside a firm restful coffin
Now I lay me down to sleep
A phrase heard through life
Happens in the reality of this moment
Stripping cloth from the frosted vision
Once again becoming true natural
The chilled air surrounds the body
Seeping in the lowered soul
Laying ever so still on a lush plank
A quicksand of memories as the body sinks
The light now slender
Nothing but the somber knights
They cover a chattered body
Leaving a sense of protection and warmth
Are the eyes open or closed?
A thought lucidly pounding in the brain
The sense of smell is the true friend
At this sudden listless time
Only supple crystals shift the nose
Tingling the starved fragile hairs
Face cannot be wiped
The body is made of oppressed stone
The arms weighted to a pull
Tied down by tickled silk shackles
The legs a block of endless heavy
The body is no more a vital vessel
But an anchored hard shell
Although the fleshy mind stays alert
Thoughts, dreams, emotions
Marinating in a skulled ***
Fusing together to make a dream
An intense deep sleep
In the world of non reality
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 6:50 AM UTC
And I've loved you entirely
Greedily
Grasping at the edge of your soul for comfort
I've stolen the remains of your empty heart
For my own sick pleasure of piecing it together
To marvel at the finished product
Of a shiny porcelain doll
My entire being, surrounds the bleakness of your scattered mind
Spotless, without reason
The purpose of my shallow breaths
Lost in the sound of your voice
Intoxicated, stumbling blindly, drunk off the rise and fall of your heavy chest
Thick skulled and battled to fracture
You fight sleep
You fight me to stay awake
You clutch to your last ounce of awake
To stare deep into the black eyes of mine
That hover reality momentarily
Only to flee to the imaginative world we created in our clumsy childish minds
Falling in love quickly
Breaking barriers
Defying absolute gravity in an incomprehensible manner
Longingly invisible to all outsiders
Breathtaking inevitability of a crash
The kind that pops your ear drums
And all noises turn into the muffled screams of your own mind
But love
Your love
My love
Pulls sound into these hollow ears
Holds my feet to the hot cement
Beats my heart unsteadily
Creates beauty
Creates life
In the simplest of ways
Your smile etches out a life I had never envisioned
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
Empty headed, and thin skulled, we lurk, pace and crawl
Forget, forget, forget, then remember and reminisce and hurt
Thick skinned, and heavy footed, we stomp, scavenge and maul
Destroy, destroy, destroy, then build and burn and ruin
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 6:17 PM UTC
If people were trees,
You'd be a pine.
Ancient, scraggly, thick-skinned
Thick-skulled.
But you remind me of Christmas.
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:05 PM UTC
Dear Generation X,
Please take a step or fifteen back,
if that is what it takes to make you see
that some of you are thoroughly misjudging me.
Dear Generation X,
Please stop sh-tting on me when you
see me in a low-paid job because you
think that I'm uneducated, when in fact I'm
earning my own money to help fund my education.
Dear Generation X,
Please don't patronise me every
time I raise my voice with an opinion
of my own, prepared to eloquently argue
up against others more than twice my age, restraining my
own temper so that I remain polite, whilst condescendingly
you reply with "you're a little brat" who should "f-ck off and find her manners."
Dear Generation X,
Please refrain from moaning about
how the youth of today's generation
never have anything intelligent to say
when you place gags in our mouths, or that we're all too thick-skulled
and should go back to school, whilst simultaneously shouting at
us all to "get a job" and "buy a house", when many of us are drowning
in student loans, granted for gaining the knowledge needed to bag a "decent job."
Dear Generation X,
Stop trapping me.
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 12:43 PM UTC
Styrofoam Soul,
You fit the mold.
You’re light,
And hollow,
And fragile.
My fingertips
Hardly graze
The surface of your
Skin,
And yet you still
Crumble
Under pressure.
You are close
To broken.
I am closer
To putting you
Back in the box,
And shipping back
The mentally defective,
Thick-skulled,
Sulking, narcissistic,
Woe-as-me *******
To the “non-profit”
“Go fund my happiness”
*** kissing
Organization
That brought the two of us
Together in the first place.
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 2:42 AM UTC
Will you sit with me in March?
And wait for the haze to pass. Let us sit
By
The abandoned bandstand and upon the
Trimmed patch of grass
Where you once bravely
Asked,
‘Where ought we stare when the postman
Stands by the door and
Lingers there for far too long?’
I digress.
And I digress.
Conversations are empty lately, they
Have taken the form of the streets;
Empty but filled with crass souls, wandering
For a place to buy sea shells.
Seemingly an innocent task and yet so pointless
To ordinary folk.
I hope.
And I hope
That these men, these hollow skulled men, find
Delight in the barren streets,
Like a treat
After a numb month’s labour.
I speak.
And I speak.
‘Hold me to these streets, where men once worked
By the arching lamp post and the
Abandoned home of the
Holy ghost.’
Will you come and walk in May?
When the birds
Scramble on the park floor
As if to bluntly say
We are rather dull and
Dire in the way
We walk and
Play.
I am aching and grey.
And I am aching and grey.
Do a man a favour, and
Refrain - please
Do not stay.
Let my hair turn dry and grey, and
Let my
Age fade away. Please
Do not stay.
I have talked with the doctor, and they
Often say
That I will be
Okay for today and perhaps
Tomorrow I will not. Alas!
All people will
Decay. And
Minds never stay
The same type of sane.
Hearts
Will often sway and sway.
And death yields no delay, it comes
When it ends, and starts
When it comes. Whether
Young or almost done.
The fun will cease, often
On that empty street
Where crass men wander, or
By the postman who
Happily lingers.
Will you embrace me in November?
Where my limbs are weak, and limber.
Where the bandstand singer has
Moved on to some place bigger.
Will you let me go in December?
Say yes, and please
Remember, that we both surrendered.
Let us spend this time
In slumber, so we can find some kind
Of splendour once the streets
Begin to busy again.
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 7:42 PM UTC