"spake" poems
“Moby **** Herman Melville
<•>
~for the lost at sea~
after a year of saltwater absence and abstinence,
return to the island caught between two land forks
surrounded by river-heading flows
bound for the ocean great joining
the Atlantic welcomes the fresh water fools,
bringing with them hopefully, but hopeless gifts of obeisances,
peace-offerings endeavoring to keep their infinite souls
sea accepts them then drowns the
warm newcomers in the unaccustomed
deep cold salinity, which
sometimes erodes
sometimes preserving
their former freshwater cold originality
I’m called to depart my beach shoreline unarmed,
no kayak, sunfish or glass bottomed boat needed,
walk on water and my toes, ten eyes to see the bottom,
no depth perception limitation,
reading the floor’s topography,
millions of minion’s stories infinite,
many Munch screaming
god’s foot, heavy upon my shoulders,
a daytime travel guide, hired for me,
not a friendly travel companion, nope,
God a pusher showing off a drug called deep water salvation,
designated for the masses, can handle large parties
my in-camera brain eyes,
record everything for playback -
the lost and unburied, bone crossword puzzles
walk shore to ship, on soles to souls,
is this my new-summer nature welcome back greeting?
puzzled at the awesomeness of vastness,
conclude this clarification for me of the occluded-deep,
is a stern reminder of my insignificant existence,
my requirement to walk humbly, spare my sin of vanity, and
forgive my trespasses upon the lives of others
perhaps then the infinite of my soul perchance restored,
older visions clarified and future poems
will write themselves
and sea to it my predecessors
be better remembered
Memorial Day 2018
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 11:53 AM UTC
The likes of you I can't describe,
Yet I love to eat between your thighs.
The melody you spake to me
Unfolds my greatest sovereignty.
I crave to quaff all of your spit,
And swallow every drop of it.
Don't cheat me of your tasty flesh,
Those bare and supple ****** *******
Your eyes that follow my firm gaze,
While we kiss and lick and misbehave.
I need to feel each piece of skin,
Smashing girl and boy parts over and over again.
It's such a treat to eat you whole;
I'm obsessed with eating 19-year-olds.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
My sun has set, I dwell
In darkness as a dead man out of sight;
And none remains, not one, that I should tell
To him mine evil plight
This bitter night.
I will make fast my door
That hollow friends may trouble me no more.
"Friend, open to Me."--Who is this that calls?
Nay, I am deaf as are my walls:
Cease crying, for I will not hear
Thy cry of hope or fear.
Others were dear,
Others forsook me: what art thou indeed
That I should heed
Thy lamentable need?
Hungry should feed,
Or stranger lodge thee here?
"Friend, My Feet bleed.
Open thy door to Me and comfort Me."
I will not open, trouble me no more.
Go on thy way footsore,
I will not rise and open unto thee.
"Then is it nothing to thee? Open, see
Who stands to plead with thee.
Open, lest I should pass thee by, and thou
One day entreat My Face
And howl for grace,
And I be deaf as thou art now.
Open to Me."
Then I cried out upon him: Cease,
Leave me in peace:
Fear not that I should crave
Aught thou mayst have.
Leave me in peace, yea trouble me no more,
Lest I arise and chase thee from my door.
What, shall I not be let
Alone, that thou dost vex me yet?
But all night long that voice spake urgently:
"Open to Me."
Still harping in mine ears:
"Rise, let Me in."
Pleading with tears:
"Open to Me that I may come to thee."
While the dew dropped, while the dark hours were cold:
"My Feet bleed, see My Face,
See My Hands bleed that bring thee grace,
My Heart doth bleed for thee,
Open to Me."
So till the break of day:
Then died away
That voice, in silence as of sorrow;
Then footsteps echoing like a sigh
Passed me by,
Lingering footsteps slow to pass.
On the morrow
I saw upon the grass
Each footprint marked in blood, and on my door
The mark of blood forevermore.
7k
she lieth clay, huff fled, withdrawn;
sun sleeps unturned, no lilt, no dawn.
the child stands silent, priests deceive,
she lingers not, the Lord won’t breathe.
they spake of light, of rule, of psalm,
yet death embraced what once was warm.
he looked and found the flesh laid bare;
at last he grasped, God was not there.
Jun 17, 2025
Jun 17, 2025 at 3:16 PM UTC
Flaming bridges up in smoke—
ashes scattered in the wind
Requiem to passing yesterdays;
vestige of all that’s lost —
bestrewn in prevailing currents
amongst the drifting autumn leaves
No smoke on rising waters
— lingers between
growing distant shores
Untamed rivers rising
rinse away
the taste of sparks
spake from silent tongues
Portaging all that once was
with all that could never remain,
back to the briny deep
An uncontainable
rivers pilgrimage —
entombing reverently
ancient fractals of being
Sowing feral rivers' ashes —
sacrificial scatterings of destiny
washed afar unto the flotsam
on shoreless stormy seas
Jesse Stillwater
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
I. TO DIONYSUS (21 lines) (1)
((LACUNA))
(ll. 1-9) For some say, at Dracanum; and some, on windy Icarus;
and some, in Naxos, O Heaven-born, Insewn (2); and others by the
deep-eddying river Alpheus that pregnant Semele bare you to Zeus
the thunder-lover. And others yet, lord, say you were born in
Thebes; but all these lie. The Father of men and gods gave you
birth remote from men and secretly from white-armed Hera. There
is a certain Nysa, a mountain most high and richly grown with
woods, far off in Phoenice, near the streams of Aegyptus.
((LACUNA))
(ll. 10-12) '...and men will lay up for her (3) many offerings in
her shrines. And as these things are three (4), so shall mortals
ever sacrifice perfect hecatombs to you at your feasts each three
years.'
(ll. 13-16) The Son of Cronos spoke and nodded with his dark
brows. And the divine locks of the king flowed forward from his
immortal head, and he made great Olympus reel. So spake wise
Zeus and ordained it with a nod.
(ll. 17-21) Be favourable, O Insewn, Inspirer of frenzied women!
we singers sing of you as we begin and as we end a strain, and
none forgetting you may call holy song to mind. And so,
farewell, Dionysus, Insewn, with your mother Semele whom men call
Thyone.
__________
The Homeric Hymns in the Hello Poetry collection are provided by:
Online Medieval and Classical Library.
Source site: http://omacl.org/Hesiod/hymns.html
4.2k
In braze, silent breeze of dreams incantations,
Shiva arms sway in the forest dark, mushroom,
Cloud, lord with fungi, mosses whose clinging
Shades of branches, braids deep, forking stories
Of old, brooding cauldron Druids, sidles Eastern
Spindrift words of Sanskrit spake, told in veined
Sacred hands unfound, celestial spines, moulded
Green, in the windy monkish statutes of the fallen
And single handed claps of the missionary leaves.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
Finally, closer I came to you,
Realizing that desire held for lifetimes,
Welcomed by the soft winds you blew,
The ancient memory, I forget sometimes.
The fool I had become,
Trapped in a mess, that Illusion,
Your sweet voice spake, called me home,
Said, " In dropping the question, lies the solution."
You touched me, so warm, exquisite welcome,
Wasn't the first, yet, so new.
Reminded, " There ain't nothing to do, nobody to become,
You are born blissful, so blue!"
That smell, the distant drops of dew,
The graceful fall to the earth,
For that one taste, my senses subdue,
With life answered, you gave me a new birth.
Here I was, exactly where I needed to be,
"All so strange", said my wonder.
"What caused this divine surrender?
Was it you? Or was it all just within me?"
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
I felt a spirit of love begin to stir
Within my heart, long time unfelt till then;
And saw Love coming towards me fair and fain
(That I scarce knew him for his joyful cheer),
Saying, 'Be now indeed my worshipper!'
And in his speech he laughed and laughed again.
Then, while it was his pleasure to remain,
I chanced to look the way he had drawn near,
And saw the Ladies Joan and Beatrice
Approach me, this the other following,
One and a second marvel instantly.
And even as now my memory speaketh this,
Love spake it then: 'The first is christened Spring;
The second Love, she is so like to me.'
3.1k
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Was weary night and day
For half his flock were in their beds
Or under green sods lay.
Once, while he nodded in a chair
At the moth-hour of the eve
Another poor man sent for him,
And he began to grieve.
'I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace,
For people die and die;
And after cried he, 'God forgive!
My body spake not I!'
He knelt, and leaning on the chair
He prayed and fell asleep;
And the moth-hour went from the fields,
And stars began to peep.
They slowly into millions grew,
And leaves shook in the wind
And God covered the world with shade
And whispered to mankind.
Upon the time of sparrow chirp
When the moths came once more,
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Stood upright on the floor.
'Mavrone, mavrone! The man has died
While I slept in the chair.'
He roused his horse out of its sleep
And rode with little care.
He rode now as he never rode,
By rocky lane and fen;
The sick man's wife opened the door,
'Father! you come again!'
'And is the poor man dead?' he cried
'He died an hour ago.'
The old priest Peter Gilligan
In grief swayed to and fro.
'When you were gone, he turned and died,
As merry as a bird.'
The old priest Peter Gilligan
He knelt him at that word.
'He Who hath made the night of stars
For souls who tire and bleed,
Sent one of this great angels down,
To help me in my need.
'He Who is wrapped in purple robes,
With planets in His care
Had pity on the least of things
Asleep upon a chair.'
2.8k
Cauld-bluided, humphing ower the stark grey hills
Gowd een skinkle to an fro
Split tongue lappin at the wind-blown smells
Bog grass blackens whaur ye go
Smoke split shielings and the clammerin o bairns
Bone cracked mithers in yer wake
Heirt-scaud ruin fae the valleys tae the cairns
Driven by a drouth ye canny slake
Crib tale shapit unner creakin heather thatch
Howf born craitur o the nicht
Auld sangs spake aboot the maidens ye would ******
Fleggit bairns tae keep intil the licht
True? Naw, havers, juist the blaflum o wives
God nivver biggit ocht sae fell
But ae bairn crouchin in the ruins o its life
Can think o naethin else the tale tae tell
Blin, lost, forwandert fae the shattered faimly hame
Warslin wi fear tae unnerstan
White winds whistle as he gies the beast a name
And dragons whiles can take the form o man.
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 11, 2011 at 2:39 AM UTC
The prosperous and beautiful
To me seem not to wear
The yoke of conscience masterful,
Which galls me everywhere.
I cannot shake off the god;
On my neck he makes his seat;
I look at my face in the glass,
My eyes his eye-balls meet.
Enchanters! enchantresses!
Your gold makes you seem wise:
The morning mist within your grounds
More proudly rolls, more softly lies.
Yet spake yon purple mountain,
Yet said yon ancient wood,
That night or day, that love or crime
Lead all souls to the Good.
2.8k
.
In braze, silent breeze of dreams incantations,
Shiva arms sway in the forest dark, mushroom,
Cloud, lord with fungi, mosses whose clinging
Shades of branches, braids deep, forking stories
Of old, brooding cauldron Druids, sidles Eastern
Spindrift words of Sanskrit spake, told in veined
Sacred hands unfound, celestial spines, moulded
Green, in the windy monkish statutes of the fallen
And single handed claps of the missionary leaves.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
Shakespeare’s Dog
in the theater tonight, the notion of a poem-potion
courtesy of Shakespeare's dog came unbidden
So when home arrived, was unsurprised that this
very peculiar pug was farting before my own front door.
get lost, I announced got what I need from your boss,
but before I could kick him across the floor,
the pug spake thusly:
*this dog knows the boot too well,
it is parcel of this dog's life of no quality,
but if you give me shelter tonite, I will provide,
share some of Speare's un-Published Works
and you can claim it as your own!*
kicked that dog across the room,
(having pity earlier I let him in and enter)
told Jim, (that’s what I called him)
he can stay the night, or long as the sun rises up
and goes down unbidden, but, if I ever
caught him plagiarizing, selling sonnets on the side,
I would report him to the ASPCA and the Poet’s Union.
The American Society for the Poets of Conscience Alive -
might have his low hanging ***** cut off in retribution.
he laughed out loud, rhyming funny, pontificating:
*well mate,
thanks for the soliloquy,
me ***** long time gone,
but what I know and what I’ve seen
if tale-told you, and you were to listen,
you would keep me around as fodder
for your artistic soul.
in return chappie,
you need only provide me a rug, a fire,
A/C for the languid summer eves,
fodder for me body, and your boots,
far removed from my hindquarters.*
We spoke much thereafter,
turns out he served his poet-masters
in many ways, more than a mere footstool.
his snoring keeps me awake some twenty years later.
his love for country music makes me put him on nice days,
outdoors, his headphones securely strapped round his double chins.
ugh that pug. became my best becoming love, old friend,
one of us will pass someday and an elegy composition,
the other devotee will furnish sadness utterly becoming.
so if a farting pug before your door you’ve found,
take him in, give him water, an amply supply please
of Carrie, Trisha and Chaplin-Carpenter for his immortal soul,
but beware, he might try to sell you
some of my words, as your own.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
—Brook and road
Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass,
And with them did we journey several hours
At a slow step. The immeasurable height
Of woods decaying, never to be decayed,
The stationary blasts of waterfalls,
And in the narrow rent, at every turn,
Winds thwarting winds bewildered and forlorn,
The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky,
The rocks that muttered close upon our ears,
Black drizzling crags that spake by the wayside
As if a voice were in them, the sick sight
And giddy prospect of the raving stream,
The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens,
Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light—
Were all like workings of one mind, the features
Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree,
Characters of the great Apocalypse,
The types and symbols of Eternity,
Of first and last, and midst, and without end.
2.5k
Swamy Downey and SIRI
Taking a stroll
Along the beach
SIRI said
No man is committed
Uh huh
Said Swamy Downey
Where can I find a committed man?
SIRI wondered aloud
Thus spake Swamy Downey
Mental hospital
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
In braze, silent breeze of dreams incantations,
Shiva arms sway in the forest dark, mushroom,
Cloud, lord with fungi, mosses whose clinging
Shades of branches, braids deep, forking stories
Of old, brooding cauldron Druids, sidles Eastern
Spindrift words of Sanskrit spake, told in veined
Sacred hands unfound, celestial spines, moulded
Green, in the windy monkish statutes of the fallen
And single handed claps of the missionary leaves.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
Milton! I think thy spirit hath passed away
From these white cliffs and high-embattled towers;
This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of ours
Seems fallen into ashes dull and grey,
And the age changed unto a mimic play
Wherein we waste our else too-crowded hours:
For all our pomp and pageantry and powers
We are but fit to delve the common clay,
Seeing this little isle on which we stand,
This England, this sea-lion of the sea,
By ignorant demagogues is held in fee,
Who love her not: Dear God! is this the land
Which bare a triple empire in her hand
When Cromwell spake the word Democracy!
2.3k
It is not to be thought of that the flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world’s praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flow’d, ‘with pomp of waters, unwithstood,’
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,—
That this most famous stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.—In everything we are sprung
Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold.
2.3k
Grass turns rest round
love set world self need.
Vomitorium forget word
hand thought waste powdered
leaves minds present
wills leak simply
say wan turn time neon
Dreams moments' control
Idea, ascent;
graze cliches
Adversity based lump myth solid
disguised cancer cages.
Repetition, test, twist, strip, sew.
Entered shortly.
Promptly moral,
border seeing stirred tale wanton.
Spake grace,
“Eat, scar message
loses heed, seemingly!”
Serpent gravity,
tame killed bearing.
Engine resound telekinetic
499 merry-go-round repeatered,
answer's 'cos empathy's idealogical.
We've sapphire muppets
when'll sighn heat-ray -
Truithfilled.
Beltsched.
Amyth.
Ord's sighns,
discotheques placticity teaste;
firstless plasticity.
Algorithms gruesome
argue opaque feeding.
Cheated clips lame distraction,
beings tease statement,
cogs cote photosynthesis.
Evasion necessarily replenish
ebbs divided.
Tamed, ensues coils ajar
freed shed attention.
Mountain lined sail, future redeemed.
Talk.
Seen heart grind, operate wings.
Tail door using shared stop,
kept heard miss.
Music start:
sky winds lust shall gave bit kiss.
Feel like know just way,
live left fall
sees mind truth.
Wrong room.
Disdain.
Eye life face writhing coat,
drinks rhythms
fat appeared blade.
Died state half answers
broke wheels simplicity.
Bliss.
Solution deeply faced, fades perfection,
rises failed.
Necessary lines selling,
read,
asked.
Catalyst train turned lead memory,
lights feeling book grave.
Algae sent burns bear,
dove follow led.
Field filled
astray comfort.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
From Job
A spirit passed before me: I beheld
The face of immortality unveiled—
Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine—
And there it stood,—all formless—but divine:
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
And as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake:
“Is man more just than God? Is man more pure
Than He who deems even Seraphs insecure?
Creatures of clay—vain dwellers in the dust!
The moth survives you, and are ye more just?
Things of a day! you wither ere the night,
Heedless and blind to Wisdom’s wasted light!”
2.2k
We shall wipe you OUT
We will ERASE you
We are the children's of Cain and that is what we do
I come from the lands of the Baobab tree and Cocoa Tree
Steep in the tradition of revering life and nature all free
By my wits and honest endeavours toiled and earned my fee
Never harmed nor injured never stole even a penny wee
Paid my dues and gave when I could always busy as a bee
Now YOU the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
I come from a land that knows parched earth and hunger
Where great rivers flow yet clean water comes in little beaker
Proud animals run free and only the rodents are for hunter
Trees are fertile with fruits aplenty and vegetables are litter
In gleeful kin and merry we share harvest with each other
Now you the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
What is my crime pray tell me when in honest endeavour
I gave and shared my wages and food to an errant neighbour
Who repaid my kindness by robbing mine with cruel vigour
And whilst I remorsed such vileness with fervent pained ardor
They riposted, a trip back to your jungle is what we will conjure
Now YOU the children's of Cain spake and declared
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
Children's of Cain know nothing but death and destruction
You came to ours and plundered all you could with ruction
You stole, fornicated, ruined and destroyed with glib seduction
Modern times has merely refined your vainglorious disposition
Distinguished misrulers, liars and evil masters of misappropations
We shall wipe you OUT
We will erase YOU
Children's of Cain OTHERS know all YOU do is ****
Like your FATHER killed his BROTHER
Like your FATHER killed his guiltless BROTHER
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
It is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world’s praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, “with pomp of waters, unwithstood,”
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.—In every thing we are sprung
Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold.
2.1k
My visual field flashes white in a moment of highest swelling heart
white light dissipates following blackness of my hearts lowest sundried hurt
my view of oppressively low hung clouds questions any earthly sensation, twerked torture
of a selfinflicted radiation of irredeemable gloom, hung by self
The acrid ebony of my soul dissipates to an antique comfort with love stretched infinity
I then breathed an atmosphere of sorrow; snapped, shattered infinity into a pile of broken windows
My call of a family of evil given in an intolerable agitation and searched remedy
led to be found abandoned within a continual struggle of grim phantasm
Necessity spake in me, called one milihelen enough to launch my remaining ship
a cadavorness of complexion, forced portside of me when crystal ships started to drip with lies
a guttural utterance whispered blankly, alluded keine endurance
as I could only wear certain textures, and not endure the physical elements of this sensory deprived flower
My conjured will, looks upon the morbid moral of an undiagnosed existence
if not unreservedly found in the recesses of self
rosie cheeks forced not by pleasure, but screamed excitement of eternal enjoyable nothing
as my visual field flashes white with a moment of highest swelling heart
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 9:30 PM UTC