"smuggles" poems
A little life with
Works and schemes
And white hairs strangled in the snow
Feathers more than choked I hope,
Well oh **** help me...
Let me go?
Snow Callie.
One Callie
Cally-in-the-Spring.
That's maybe what they'd call you
Based on what your life could bring.
So many names invented
Based on hedgerows where you hide
Tell me you're not lurking there
- or tell me you're alive -
Don't. I see you Em, and Em and maybe all besides
I see you smile sadly and the lonely long low tides
The waves crash on; I think I know - I see the way she smuggles much
I know she smuggles something and yet never quite enough
Break rocks and snap her feathers
but maybe do not curl her
locks
For I know she's taking notes and her world will be made of rocks.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
As time quickly approaches
On the planed escape
Gunther smuggles the files in
While Mildred bakes the cake
But that doesn't much matter
For our two on the run
In all the confusion
The oven was never turned on
So they slipped out the front door
When Gladys the receptionist was gone
Out for her morning coffee
And cigarette on the lawn
They made it as far as the sidewalk
As far as the authorities could tell
When they both turned around
Before their bladders gave out
They need a new plan of escape
One that can be followed with ease
Before it's to late
Since they're both weak in the knees
Our hero's will have to wait another day
For their chance at freedoms song
For now they'll hang up their walkers
And devise another plan on getting gone
It was a heated night of Bingo
When Gunther got the idea
They'd go out with the wash
In a basket both hid
So they packed up their dentures
Along with their Poly Grip
As both of them readied
For their laundry trip
Now in the back of the truck
Rolling down 95
Same age as our escapee's
If you care to count time
They later hijacked the truck
When the driver they sacked
Now they travel life's highway
With nothing but the wind to their back
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 7:56 AM UTC
We- The streets that fathered the lost freaks.
Let them step on us, **** on us. Now the whole town reeks
of defeat. The concrete crumbles under their feet.
Splits and cracks now the living and hell dwellers meet.
Soulless creatures cut the preachers nose from his face.
Tie his tongue in a knot to stop the loud talk.
Then chase the lost children away from gods grace
to taste lust on their young tongues. To waste breath
with blackened lungs.
*Half hell, half town.
Can’t you tell we fell down?*
We- the town that belongs down here now-
Watch the children bow to the man with the crown now.
Red skin, black suit- and it really burns how
his tongue twists truth like a noose for a neck. “Bow
Your little heads”.
*Half hell, half town.
Can’t you tell we fell down?*
The little flowers in full bloom don’t long for a groom.
Instead they swoon for the creatures and take them to their room.
The smell of sweat, lust and perfume. We can only presume
That it won’t be long before theres a monster in the womb.
An Ungodly creation.
*Half hell, half town.
Can’t you tell we fell down?*
The first baby is born- and every parent is mourning.
The devil has sworn that by the time his hairs thorning
he will be all knowing- they will be saved by his fore-warnings.
Unless, torn by his human half he seeks a quiet cold morning
above ground.
*Half hell, half town.
Can’t you tell we fell down?*
And What can a parent do? Staring at the cold truth
in their fiery endless doom, they can only cry for the fate of the youth.
They can only obey the orders of the red crown and black suit.
They can only watch as he takes each and every single tooth
of their young.
*Half hell, half town.
Can’t you tell we fell down?*
The new mother struggles without a man to aid her.
Her earthly father smuggles food to try and save her
and her young two week old son from their slaver.
But caught, he’s left to rot and told over and over he betrayed her.
His blooded hands cease fighting.
*Half hell, half town.
Can’t you tell we fell down?*
*We are the redemption of an eye for an eye.
We are the blind world that it leads to.
We are the bodies hung high and dry.*
You are but the mouth that this world feeds through.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
My world is a stage where its inhabitants dance to different kind of music .My world is a beautiful place flooded with an infinite spectrum of possibilities .We transition a series of rhythmical steps towards its epilogue in each passing minute .The biblical plagues preach the fulfillment of the prophetic unto the hour glass .My world has evolved into the devils pawn shop where he smuggles souls into his kingdom .
It's where the devil ministers the gospel of Christ in sheep's clothing .
It's where men are married to money and fame such that they would **** to preserve the marriage .
It's where true love has been exiled into obscurity .
It's where a desperate lot have put prize tags on their bodies for survival .
It's where Adam and Steven can get married and parent a child .
It's where terrorism and coups have become the most efficient way to either stay or get in power .
It's where moral decay has become fashionable .
It's where men and women are enslaved to religious ,traditional and cultural believes such that they would sacrifice anything to abide by them .
It's where wheels of justice have been shredded into worthless pile of scraps
Corrupt corporal perverts rob the people leaving them with cotton candy promises .Churches and temples have been initiated into the industrial sector .Poverty and suffering have become spikes in the flesh of the oppressed .The ignorant majority has bleached into an artificial grey race .Most of our trusted comrades have mutated into fake plastic counterfeits infected by the Judas Iscariot virus .The moral compass has been broken into pieces and tossed away .My world is at its boiling point full of uncertainties .
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
I’ve tickled it into his naked back,
When he’s ******* me it spools around my tongue,
I devote myself with every playful smack –
And harder still when certain smacks have stung.
I never thought I’d fall for such a man,
Who smuggles love like drugs inside a coat,
I love loudly just because I can,
The words collect like songbirds in my throat -
Or three boats arranged into a fleet,
To sit behind a hesitating sky,
Sulking with the shyess of retreat,
Billowing with every loaded sigh.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
There's more to it and more to come,
save your daylight
but
burn the sun,
I've run out of matches,
and
Lowry
painting matchstick men is unaware
of my desire
to torch and set the world on fire,
then
when this is then and now was when back then
I'll paint my life as matchstick men.
They've offered me therapy
because they want
a quiet me
but I'm not going to have it
I'm just going to rant a bit more,
I told you there was more.
Easter eggs.
Why we overindulge on these chocolate treats
beats me
and what do eggs have to do with Easter?
the juggling jester smuggles in laughter
as background to his show
and that's what it is,
a show
Easter bunnies and upset tummies and
a long queue for the conveniences.
Killjoys are not always little whining boys
men can be them too
I can whine as well as anyone
except
the whinging 'Pom'
he's in a class of his own.
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 1:01 AM UTC
She withers like dying leaves.
How did she survive?
Her husband, tied beneath the chestnut tree.
She smuggled the gun
to save her son.
Long live Ursula—
epitome of strength,
embodiment of power.
A time when darkness forged her
into a force,
until she shrank,
and the dead birds fell to the ground.
Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 10:00 PM UTC
I would thank...you
There is such beauty in your...pain
And there is the...healer in.me.
but the ache let's me know I'm alive
I've loved you in my hea(rt)d
and my hea(d)rt longs to.know.you.more.
I was so rarely lonely...before,...I met you
...and it doesn't/wouldn't/couldn't/won't have
to make sense to anyone,...but me and {maybe} you
//how you seeped into my bones//linger in my mouth//your pirate smile smuggles my thoughts//
And,....tell me now, darling; how do I get
through...tonight...today
{knowing you are out there}
And we con-nect-ed....
SO...ManY...Dots...
andwordsmatter.
When it went // silen.t. //
well...
it just knocked me to the floor...
...and i've been laying/lying/laid/lain there
ever...
...since...
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
"It's raining in my skull,"
says the woman who creases
matter-of-factly into sunned chop
of stone beside me on a city corner;
her eyes topple and drop into
her sullied mauvish oval bag
which spills crowds of rag and bone
into her floral fields of lap.
Then: a sudden psithurism
fences us in elm tilt, we sag
into the listen; what strange words
these foredoomed leaf-curls brush
into prose, sericeous speech
that smuggles death lessons
through the ring of afternoon.
It shakes us both: a mouthful
of extermination addressed
to us in the language of night places.
An empire of silence is reinstated
for a lonely tyrant minute until
the bus arrives; she gathers
her handfuls of sparks and solemns,
steps up into the air, and is gone.
Alone, I rescind every mercy I was ever given.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 11:07 PM UTC