"slams" poems
late night by the holland sill
white framed and frilled
alongside the meadow
down by the grand
where cat fish
and cow pies
and silly yellow bees
make their stay
there are swings now
and empty barns
(with quiet corners
and broken walls)
echoing chambers
that speak of the past
...and little dogs
not big ones
the plaster cracks
and wheat sways
from a warm west wind
it’s about time
for that late afternoon pour
you know how it cleans the soul
old percy would say
and flanders
(the holder of those pigs)
who fed us good
with sow and milk
as we plowed the
dusty fields
into the
hot summer sun
i can still hear the screams
of river shore dreams
the grand slams
and flints run dry
the barks
and breaks
and bends
a world past
with forbes
and dolls
and crab apple trees
think i’ll take a trip
up the back lane
they’ve cut the brush
and opened the line
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 4:46 PM UTC
is when they mess with your head
light fires in your mouth
and make you hide in your bed
put stones in your heart
to drag you deep down under
they fight and they fight
their screams predictable as thunder
the rain is the part that gathers in mom's eyes
when she keeps you up late
to tell you lies
lying on the couch
her arm over her face
foundation in streaks
like old dry erase
it's when she lets you stay up late
to read to her specially
just to give her departure
more brevity
when she kisses you on the cheek
and holds you tight
then calls the cops on dad
that same night
when she only gives you presents
to make you feel bad
when she feels better
by making you sad
emotional abuse
is when she calls on a restricted number
tells you she loves you
but won't let you see your little brother
when she slaps you in the face
slams your arm in a door
well
maybe that's not
emotional abuse anymore...
when she tells you she loves you
but leaves anyway...
abuse is abuse,
it all feels the same.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
When you look in the mirror,
You see a girl with a fear,
A girl with a mask,
and a task to take you down,
whenever she gets the chance,
Cause she knows you'd be a nail,
and she'd be the hammer,
she slams you down,
and makes you cry,
She's hurting your feelings,
and you expect to make it through the night!?
Lost in your mind,
you have thoughts that make you cry,
but when I sing this lullaby,
your heart slows down and your tears go dry,
you're lost in time,
you never meant to lie,
you're tears go dry,
when I sing this lullaby...
Lay down your fate,
Set that ***** into her place,
she's going out of line,
and she does it all the time,
but you're done,
you're sick of it,
and you wanna break it up,
but she opens her mouth and toughins up!
and just as you're ready,
to knock her to the floor,
Your feet break lose and you run for the door!
Lost in your mind,
you have thoughts that make you cry,
but when I sing this lullaby,
your heart slows down and your tears go dry,
you're lost in time,
you never meant to lie,
you're tears go dry,
when I sing this lullaby...
Then you're walking down the hall,
when you feel your feet stop,
as her hand meets the touch,
on your shoulder,
her hand pulls you closer,
you shover her,
you kick her,
you run away after,
she lays on the floor a total disaster,
and you sing!
I'm lost in my mind,
I have thoughts that make me cry,
but when you sing this lullaby,
my heart slows down and my tears go dry,
I'm lost in time,
I never meant to lie,
My tears go dry,
when you sing this lullaby..
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
where am i?
how am I to write when
I am no different from
those gaseous ephemeral words
who lie prostrate upon
the pages of my dictionary
carved plainly into
those battlefields strewn across
the wartorn country
my heart the despotic dictator
whose primal drumming
carries no tune
and no rhythm
and throws of explosions
grenades that
black out the world for
a brief moment
until it careens back and
slams into me
disorientated
i should have been born twice
for how could i have
both my body and that
intangible inexplicable
something inside
it stirs at the molten core
of me
that chasm that forged
those graven images
that first gave way to
a pictographic language
and offered me
a voice
to explain that immutable
all powerful
urge
lust
to throw myself on that
red button and
detonate
burst into a million pieces
and finally relieve that
nauseating pressure
of adipose smushed between
holy bone and
saintly skin
interloping in that space
and separating two lovers
barriers create madness
walls box me in
and yet i grow
an expanding balloon girl
macy’s day parade and
candy littered streets
and razor sharp edges
to steel walls pressing harder
against me than
my supple skin could
ever possibly press
back
i can’t breathe
there is no room
for my lungs to expand
and feel the
fresh sun filled meadow
of crystal air
delivering oxygen to
starved alveoli
and i can’t find your chest
to guide me
in impossible respiration
i’m suffocating in my own skin
from no outside force
but my body itself
turns inward and
shouts its dominance at my
cowering self
sniveling in the corner
of my dusty half used heart
where no blade could possible
land a blow deep enough
to silence the torment and
particular personal poison
a torture to course through
every part of me
activating every single neuron
and making me
hyperaware of my
shame and noxious
venomous corpulence
a reality i
never wanted you to see
but is written plainly
in fiery script across my forehead
and in every fold of fat.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
OCD And I
We go to couples counseling every week
you know, the usual "Has there been any progress?"
You see, OCD ... he is a bit obsessive.. and doesn't understand why we need counseling
His nails grind into the office chair and slams the door on the way out
He loves and cradles me with commands like flowers that bouquet against my mind
And the next morning as if the bouquets were to fall over from their steady placed vase, he apologizes.
There are mornings where I cannot leave the sheets because his arms are wrapped around my waist and do not want to let go because if he did I might as well be **** independent
If he loves me so much, why is it that I must wash my hands after tracing over everything he has touched.
OCD says he wants to protect me from all the dangers of the world...
and he reminds me by constantly ticking in my head
asking me if I locked the door...Yes
did I turn off the lights... Yes
did you turn off the stove...Yes
We went to counseling again this week
She says I'm closer to being independent
That little by little
I will be able to strive without OCD
by my side
There are mornings now
where I can leave the bed without his arms
sinking into my waist
and his demanding words
whispering in my ear constantly
"Just stay a little longer... The world is dangerous"
Now... when OCD leaves...
I tell him to make sure he closes the door on the way out.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 9:53 PM UTC
He is narcissist of highest character
is sunshine that is so smug
with its
wide smile
and rays that
poison
yet sunshine is
still your happiness
he is holder of many hearts
he likes to clutch them like
soft baby skin
to his soft chest
and feel the
beating and
warm gush
of blood
against
him
it feeds him
some say
like your eyes
never could
like the spark
that
pumped
like the
breath never could
that
beating
marvel
never could
like you
never could
he tells you that he has always loved the sun
you believe it is because he
sees himself when he
stares at it
in the reflection of the
car door
it slams behind him
as he steps over the
threshold
he does not whisper
of how your lips
were the key to his
he does not let his tongue
trail across your aching chest
as he murmurs
of how
you are the sun
baby
you shine so bright
baby
your skin is so soft
baby
sometimes you believe he has forgotten
that he was once you
was once the boy who lied
beneath the hungry tiger
and let its jaws
wrap upon his neck
and squeeze
sometimes
gentle narcissist
is he,
he likes to hold you to his chest
to feel your heart
and whispers about how
beautiful
you are
and how he
doesn't care
a pang shoots through your chest
and you feel tears leaking from you
you feel as if he has betrayed you
and then he
puts down your heart
looks you in the eye
and says
I don't love you for your beauty
baby
I love you for the fire
that spurs my wind
and
darkness that
sets my
skin aflame
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 6:08 AM UTC
He is rougher then being dumped
from the saddle of a bay mare,
but perhaps she shouldn’t be riding
******** past vineyards of red rusted vines.
And if she is on fire then she should probably roll
or climb into a hot tub on ***** Thursday
and put out the flame ignited by the thought
of hoping to God his parents can’t hear her.
She had always wanted to know what it felt like
to slaughter someone. So when he placed his palms
on the arch of her back and massacred her lips,
I imagined her smashing his skull against a brick wall.
And when she is in the bathroom washing him off
her hands, with a published poet in the next stall
she shouldn’t yell **** you, I’m not a flower
and start listing off the ten rules to **** ***
Because no matter how many times she uses him
as her own personal merry go round or slams
back beer after beer, he will never die in a coffin
so that she can say he is already dead and
buried.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
Hurry now, it’s leaving soon
Car door slams, gravel underfoot
And from the boot
Grandmas lil helper is lifted
Oh! Where did it go?
Wind twists scarf to snake
Released from frames captivity
I stoop and tug
Under your foot, Gran
She shuffles,
Ties it firmly around tiny shoulders
Bright colour against delicate skin
Paper thin, both,
One for beauty, one to hold the blood in
And may it hold the blood in,
Just a little longer...
The train awaits,
Monstrous,
Steele stark against surrounding bush.
Matt has a sausage,
Mum bothers about tickets,
Both fuss and fizzle,
I press lips firmly together
Deciding then and there
Never to let entertainment turn to stress;
It’s more than it’s worth.
We’re to be in the engine room,
The rest will be left behind -
As something faulty.
Matt lifts Gran up;
She’s tiny,
She’s flying,
She’s in.
And then we’re all in.
Crammed.
We stare longingly through grimy glass
At empty carriages
Can’t we be in there? It’s all a bit stuffy.
There’s a fire along the track
But we don’t go any further.
The smoke streams out over forest.
And jerking and bumping,
Dipping along,
We reverse back to whence we started.
Petrol fumes and smoke fill our tiny cocoon
Here, let me help you
Passenger to passenger,
Fellow human,
Compassionate eyes.
Gran has a seat;
She sways while we lurch.
Deep within
Railroad country
I make believe
I know something
Of the girl
Of the Plannies;
That sacred connection
To land and sky,
To Native country,
To Golden Macrocarpa
I stare over hills of tree ferns,
Kawakawa, Wheki, Punga
And, knowing no other,
I feel this land
Majestically
My own.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
Perhaps the greatest tennis player the World has ever seen
She had won nine Grand Slam tournaments before she was nineteen
Till her marvellous tennis career was prematurely ended in such a tragic way
Thrown from her horse her foot was crushed that's life as some might say.
The marvellous Maureen Connolly the greatest tennis player of her time
Her great career had ended long before she had reached her prime
Nine grand slams as a teenager her record may never be beat
She won every grand slam tournament in which she did compete.
The greats of present day tennis we hear so much about
Though 'tis not on their greatness we ever cast a doubt
But of nine Grand Slams as a teenager none of them can boast
To the late Maureen Connolly we ought to drink a toast.
Great tennis players like the Seasons they come and then they go
But there was only one Maureen Connolly the legendary 'Little Mo'
Nine Grand Slams as a teenager believe it if you may
The champion amongst champions her record stands today.
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 5:41 PM UTC
at high noon
at a small college near the beach
sober
the sweat running down my arms
a spot of sweat on the table
I flatten it with my finger
blood money blood money
my god they must think I love this like the others
but it's for bread and beer and rent
blood money
I'm tense lousy feel bad
poor people I'm failing I'm failing
a woman gets up
walks out
slams the door
a ***** poem
somebody told me not to read ***** poems
here
it's too late.
my eyes can't see some lines
I read it
out-
desperate trembling
lousy
they can't hear my voice
and I say,
I quit, that's it, I'm
finished.
and later in my room
there's scotch and beer:
the blood of a coward.
this then
will be my destiny:
scrabbling for pennies in tiny dark halls
reading poems I have long since beome tired
of.
and I used to think
that men who drove buses
or cleaned out latrines
or murdered men in alleys were
fools.
5.4k
Contemplation for days and hours
As all the beautiful flowers devour their worst enemy
Trying to defend me, no decency cause I tell myself I’m horrible
Gravity slams me to the floorboard of a moving car
Let me go, let me breathe
My reality deceives the truth that you and I were once meant to be
I overlook, my eyes force me not to see
All the pain, all the lies
**Just **** you**
I despise you and your ******** *** ways
And I’m still sitting here in this haze
Of my sweet mary jane, that takes away the pain
Because she actually gives a **** about what I have to say
And she don’t question me
She smooths the depression out of me
There’s not a doubt in me that I won’t see better days
You’re in the past
There’s no way we would have been able to last
But I be me, I do me
I don’t give a **** about what your eyes want me to see
They see what they want to see and I be what I want to be
I laugh at your failure to attempt to change me
I’m invincible, not dispensable
You can’t just use me, I’m insensible
Good luck finding someone as valuable as me
There’s no next time, there’s no meant to be
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
This man is dying on his bed
Empty bottle in his hand
Suffocating from the drugs
And liquor he took
He falls as he struggles to stand
He's laboured so hard
But all his earnings —
Down the drain
Did the blood storm his brain?
Does he feel himself going insane?
Has the coke left his veins?
As he slams back down to the floor
He makes no other movements
And no other sounds
Now when someone enters
They'll know he died a clown
Oct 12, 2022
Oct 12, 2022 at 2:44 PM UTC
The night approaches swiftly, like a tiger on the prowl,
As the night moves forward you can hear the hoots of Great Horned Owl.
The hours pass by and the clock keeps on ticking,
And here I lay on the couch just thinking.
In my time of relaxation I pondered and I thought,
Is the path that I’m on a wise one or not?
Hour after hour I begin to feel sleepy.
So I rush to my bed, relaxed, until I feel something beneath me.
In a rage the room turns pitch black, with flashes of red and yellow.
And in a panic I jump off my bed and run like a crazed fellow.
The door slams shut and my panic becomes deeper,
Until I hear the voice of a mysterious twisted creature.
“He says be wise with decisions that are made with haste,
You would never want a fortunate opportunity to go to waste.
Never feel forced to be on time with what you choose,
Because it will not be the respect of others, in which you lose.
Indecisiveness is wisdom, which with time will bloom,
So from here on out do not spend your days in gloom.
If these words are not followed, a different life you shall live.
A life in which you are selfish and refuse to charitably give.
One that is chronological and filled with bland affairs,
A life that is careless and lacking in truths or dares.
In the blink of an eye light pours in from spontaneous lightening,
And in a matter of seconds this all feels more frightening.
I turn to open the door, but the door will not open,
Scared for my life, I scream “This isn't the path I have chosen.”
As I lift my head up and turn around, the monster in no longer there,
At last my room is filled with light, it was all just an insightful nightmare.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
He walks through the door,
And he holds me tight.
I can feel it already,
Starting to rise.
He picks me up gently,
Throws me down on the bed.
Touches my body,
And kisses my neck.
My hands slide down
His chest,
Looking for the tool,
I need
to fix
my
needs.
We don't use a ******
'Cause I'm on the pill.
So he unbuttons my jeans,
And I'm begging for more.
He takes of my shirt,
sets it down on the floor.
He takes a deep breath,
As I undo his jeans,
Open my mouth,
Aiming to please.
His hand is on my head,
And I pick up the speed.
He pulls it out,
and I say,
"Put it inside me."
He does what I ask,
And says,
"Oh my god, you're so wet.
And so tight, oh god.."
And he slams into me.
While I begin to scream.
Scream his name,
And scratch at his back.
All fairytales,
Have a happy ending.
He indeed had,
A happy ending.
All over my chest.
Mar 15, 2010
Mar 15, 2010 at 4:20 AM UTC
In a Somerville coffeeshop, waiting for his single origin light roasted Pour over,
Frankenstein reads a philosophy magezine, seductively planted by the lounging area.
"One lives two lives."
The magezine reads,
"That which one spends in their physical body,
and that which begins the moment one leaves that body,
lasting until all witness to ones first life has spoken its final word".
The baristas eyes widen when he sees Frankenstein,
The barista says nothing.
He knows better than to raise the dead.
Frankenstein is often confused
for his monster.
Condensation rises between crocheted mittens, Frankenstein Lingers on the Cherry notes in his Coffee, while it combs icicles into his snow white mustache.
He likes this new version of an afterlife. It empowers him to take advantage of the time he has now, to make his second life last as long as possible.
He's in the middle of this thought
When his face slams against ***** snowbank.
Dog **** mixing into the icicles of his moustache.
A familiar mob of torches and pitchforks only see the monster.
They take turns kicking.
Kicking
Frankenstein wakes to a lynching.
When he lives
He is not a monster.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 8:06 AM UTC
Her *** is red
from the slams in bed
I can see her face through the spider plant
A bit creepy as she reminds me of me aunt
Another shot of *****
She wants me to call her mama
The ****** could be hear across London
I made it into her dungeon
We flirt like Tom and Jerry
Back in prom I'd pop that cherry
After the release She looks in my eyes
a few moments pass and she implies
- Ride me again like a Porsche 911
and rev my engine again u gorgeous
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 6:29 AM UTC
In the witching hour all is quiet except for the beating sound of two hearts entwined with passion and agony beating more angry by the minute.
Blinded eyes try to pierce through the dark abyss to find sanity in a place of cold nothingness and desolation, as the tortured mind cloudy with regret slowly fades away..
nails claw at blinded eyes longing to see the clouds part and behold, his goddess is there basking in the pale yellowing aura of the moon, as he looks longingly upon her..
skin and curves of perfection soaking up the yellowing, becoming golden upon his slightest gaze.
Knees become burning furnaces of pain and torment as he falls to kneel before her, begging with soundless words of an open mouth for release.
Paralyzed, hungrily devouring as her sightless eyes fall upon her brooding brow trailing down to the blinding stars that become her eyes under the harvest moon.
The wind blows fierce surrounding her in a halo of color plucked dead limbs, trailing off into oblivion.
She gazed upon his visage, her fierceness burning his soul in eternal torment she smirks and glides toward effortlessly slowly,
tantalizingly slow,
causing him great anguish and letting her sadistic humor known to all..
he lashed out and traps her in his iron eyes transfixed on lips so full and soft as crimson color them tricking down her body hungrily eating her perfect curves he kisses her
hard throwing themselves down a bottom less pit entangled in passion he forces her legs apart he slams into her as she drips wet in anticipation..
She moans breathlessly in extract, her ***** like velvet greedily devours his hardened **** of stone repeatedly ****** her innocence, tired bodies continuously fall exhausted.
She tried to flee, but his fires flamed inside hotly he takes her again.
His embrace hard, intense
his iron will dominating her.
Breaking her wild spirit, she gasps as he unleashes a relentless force inside her driving her to the edge of sanity and back again.
Her eyes close for the last time giving into his dominance
she embraced him.
Her wild flaming spirit shattered knowing that as he worships her it is she who is forever a slave of their passionate love,
melding bodies together,
as they fall endlessly in the abyss.
Apr 13, 2022
Apr 13, 2022 at 9:04 PM UTC
Once, when I was just a little girl,
I think it was my ankle,
I hurt it one way or another-
Kids will be kids, they say-
So I told my Daddy.
Well the best advice he had was,
“Just hurt something else- it’ll hurt less that way.”
It was never an injury
In their eyes
Unless it was a
Bleeder.
Once, when I was just a little girl,
Mommy was soo sad after having
Her little baby boys-
They call it ‘postpartum depression’
But I’ve always considered it regret and
Even now,
I still wonder,
If they ever wanted me.
I guess that’s the damage inflicted
By knowing that your siblings
Were all mistakes.
Once, when I was just a little girl,
Mommy would get these
Horrible headaches
So I choose silence-
I choose silence a long time ago-
And I haven’t found my voice since.
Once, when I was just a little girl,
Mommy and Daddy turned our house
Into a war zone-
Coming home was like an active tour of duty.
Two super powers constantly at ends-
Well, as you can imagine,
There was collateral damage,
And I can still see it in my brother’s eyes
Whenever Mommy raises her voice
Or a door slams a little too hard.
Once, when I was just a little girl,
I read a poem at school
About killing myself.
It’s funny that some other kids mom
Cared more than mine
For my wellbeing.
Because I still sport battle scars
And they’ve asked
And still did nothing
Even when I lied
Right to their faces.
Well, Once, when I was just a little girl,
My big brother died
And so did everything good
In the world.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Ever time a mountain erupts in as Volcano
Every time the sea slams the shore as tsunami
every time the huge buildings are brought down to shambles by quakes
every time a part of the world is swept by floods and tornado's
The earth is just trying to remind us one thing,
I am your creator, I can be your destroyer if you don’t behave.
Save your environment, protect your lively hood.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
"Stay with me, please. You don't need to go!"
"You know I can't - "
" - Can't? or won't?"
"..."
"...fine,then leave. It's what you're best at after all."
"..."
A car door slams, an engine sputters to life, tires crunch over gravel, and red tail lights light up a lone man standing on his porch.
~
" - Please just - "
"I said no! You know I can't stay! Why?! Why do you always have to ask?!"
"Look at you! scars, fresh bruises, you flinch every time I raise my hand."
"..."
"Please, just - "
"Just. Stop. I can't"
"Can't? or..."
"..."
Again a car door slams, again an engine starts, and again tires crunch over gravel, and once more red tail lights shine upon a man standing on a porch.
~
"Please, please, stay with me! please! nonononono, don't close your eyes! STAY WITH ME"
"..."
"...please"
"...i'm..."
"please"
"...s-sorry..."
"no, please! please don't go...."
"..."
"please"
A pulse stops, a last breath has been breathed, lungs no longer struggling to keep functioning. A hand falls limp, gray eyes staring at a man on his porch, as red and blue lights bathe him and the still body laying there in his lap. He hears the sound of the sirens, ambulance and police vehicles alike as they pull up the drive.
It's too late
~
A car door shuts, tires crunch over gravel, and red tail lights shine upon a man dressed in all black standing at the gates of a graveyard.
He enters.
He pays his respects but before he leaves he swears he hears her voice,
"Please....stay - "
" - with me", he finishes softly, he turns to a headstone - marble per the request - and looks at the name carved on it.
"I can't, you know I can't", he then turns and walks away leaving the stone behind.
A figure appears in front of it and watches him leave,
"Can't...or...wont?"
There is no response.
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 2:20 PM UTC
hole in the sky. tap tap, the empty vessel flows out. a weightless sink. the hour goes, blaring swell of humidity, and the jug lukewarm, leaven oft in the barred space. I return to my room. I drink the cold milk on the sill. I finish the third wretched spill of the journey to Olympus.
Downstairs a howl, a wind slam SOLOM OBSERVATIONAL MATRIX STRUCTURED TASKS AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY TO ASSIST WITH INSTRUMENTAL DECISIONS. I close the door I close the door I close the door I close the
In this uneasy slumber, the bed shakes, the windows rattle, the sky splits, the earth floods a red simpering capitulatory spasm of earthly flesh. Here is the circuit, the tired nervous tic of inaction, I shrink back from the outstretched hand, a condition which recommends two pills in the morning to mask the double image beneath my hands.
i have slept through the week again, this pathetic flesh obeys nothing, where are my pills inescapable ******* dullery
THE JUG IS HOT. I return to my room. I close the door two pills on the sill to go down with the milk
THE DOOR SLAMS GALL BUCKLING FIT ODE BREATHLESS CLOSER CLOSER CLOSER BUT THE SOUND REMAINS
Figures muffled by the walls. There are guests in the house, the looming presence of multiple species with incomprehensible intentions. In a bout of uncharacteristic curiosity, I slip my sight through the crack of my door. UNDER RCG IT WILL BE MANDATORY FOR ALL CUSTOMS CARGO REPORTERS IN THE AIR SEA AND ROAD INDUSTRIES TO SUBMIT REPORTS TO SARS ELECTRONICALLY. I am unmoved by such perceptions. I prepare the final climb to Olympus.
the cyclone is ended. the front door is barred. the jug is cold. the yard is littered with unmoving shapes.
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
As a maddened beast it charges
Emanating with expanse
Brute techtonic plate reaction
From the epicentre’s stance.
Huge concentric rings diverge
Expanding at horrific rate
Black, titanic, towering waters
Ploughing to a deadly fate.
*Kneeling in her bed of roses
Pollinating bees abound,
Morning sunbeams kiss her shoulders
Peaceful garden bliss surrounds.*
Surging to the coastal shelf
The black gigantis rears on high
Claws toward the placid beach
Seabirds scatter to the sky.
Tide receds to bare the reef
Stranded mackerel whitely leap,
Enormously the massive wave
Attacks the land and they who sleep.
Death comes fast to they who loiter
Violence in the tangled purge,
Massive pressures, crushing debris
Broken buildings in the surge.
Ships and cars are tossed asunder
Inexorably it slams
Far inland to slay those fleeing
Locked in highway traffic jams.
*Strange roar at the garden wall
Terrified, she finds her feet,
Roses, bees, sweet girl engulfed
As black entombedment swamps the street.*
Far inland the chaos flows
Wreaking death's destructive bands,
Halted now by highland hills
Where souls in horror, wring their hands.
Slow retraction leaving ruin
Desolation far and wide,
The smell of new death in the air,
Heartbreak in the countryside.
Marshalg
For Nippon
18 March 2011
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 4:44 PM UTC
When you don’t know when to shut the door—
Someone slams it for you.
Then what?
Open the next one—
find your treasure box.
It’s difficult through when
all you get is a brick wall,
or a child who needs to grow up.
“You sir, are a savage. Caught me in the woods—
and I more like the rabbit you shot for Harvest moon.”
That thirsty water becomes summer gaze—
dark tides take those eyes away.
Hexasize they say is just a phrase
but I don’t see why when its---
Hansel and Grettle or
Wormwood in Screwtape Letters or
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
With your legs quivering
Hands and arms shaking
Voice cracking
Look up to see the light
The only light
Focused on you
Only you
Look back down
To your audience
Staring
No, observing
Intensely
Right at you
And only you
And as you speak
One more word
Nothing else comes out
But a trace of
Grasping breath
The lights turn of
Or so you think
The people disappear
Or so you imagine
Losing yourself
Somewhere between the stage
Or your thoughts
Thoughts you could've said
Or performed
Either way taking over you
Leaving you in an unconscious state
Lost, confused, and frightened.
-djs
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC