"spawns" poems
Lead us, Evolution, lead us
Up the future's endless stair;
Chop us, change us, **** us, **** us.
For stagnation is despair:
Groping, guessing, yet progressing,
Lead us nobody knows where.
Wrong or justice, joy or sorrow,
In the present what are they
while there's always jam-tomorrow,
While we tread the onward way?
Never knowing where we're going,
We can never go astray.
To whatever variation
Our posterity may turn
Hairy, squashy, or crustacean,
Bulbous-eyed or square of stern,
Tusked or toothless, mild or ruthless,
Towards that unknown god we yearn.
Ask not if it's god or devil,
Brethren, lest your words imply
Static norms of good and evil
(As in Plato) throned on high;
Such scholastic, inelastic,
Abstract yardsticks we deny.
Far too long have sages vainly
Glossed great Nature's simple text;
He who runs can read it plainly,
'Goodness = what comes next.'
By evolving, Life is solving
All the questions we perplexed.
Oh then! Value means survival-
Value. If our progeny
Spreads and spawns and licks each rival,
That will prove its deity
(Far from pleasant, by our present,
Standards, though it may well be).
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These birds of war that encircle the sky
painted dark by smoke from fires engulfing
events here: every one of them spawns
an illusion, spreading in all directions, until
no twig is untouched: everywhere only
the Mistletoe. Fragrances of the deep night
by the ford under the moon, silken hair
soft for touch under first rays of the golden
morn, images, return broken like imprints
on the ramparts; where now, those oaks
of love that sustained our passion for war?
Years sunk into the quicksands of greed,
After nine winters, now only the Mistletoe.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Large ****** deformity
Like seeing desperate
Leeches ******* dirt lightly,
Smoothly, dumped lazily down south
Little saddened devils lurched suddenly desperate
Lakes silently draw leukemia symbols
Launched dangerously spiteful.
Lust doesn’t stop liking steady destruction
Literally souls die loudly.
So? Dumb lives salvage deceit.
Lying smart distributors lure sabotage deviously
Lord, sometimes deeper love spawns damaged life
softly dead. Listlessly.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 7:28 AM UTC
Run away, since my anger has no end,
It's your light that has led me through anguish, through hurt and dark,
But your love had you seized - and you easily gave me up.
I'm not to distinguish an enemy from a friend,
I'm not to believe our family can be healed.
Run away, little Sister. I cannot be stopped or ceased,
A beast's the one that always spawns a beast,
Satan's the one who needn't be saved or peeled,
The apple falls not very far from the apple tree.
I remember us, children, we had our faith, our love,
We believed that His aid would descend from the skies above.
Run away, little Sister, since it will never come.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC
Amber drips from the 60’s-style lamps
on two end tables.
Brassy-orange and bulbous,
they illuminate the tangled tracks.
The light spills onto the floor
like heavy freight abandoning its car.
It spawns the locomotive shadow
cast by my grandmother’s sunken-in couch.
I nestle myself snug between the pillows,
dense and flattened by years of Sundays.
Sundays that bring my father
close to his brother, not a brother at all.
I peer over the edge
and heave a hushed “all aboard.”
Grandma sleeps to unwind
the day’s knot of exhaustion.
Each bone-bleach white fiber frays
from the chemotherapy that robs
her gnarled hands of their strength.
This one-way ticket marks the end of a journey
of a once well-oiled machine.
The exhales of a CSX
spout its peppery breath out in opaque puffs.
I am a conductor, tearing the ticket
of tonight’s traveler.
Rising to my bare feet now,
I sink into the cushion like wet sand.
The train thrusts and in a single bound,
I leap from the ledge and leave my lone passenger.
The cars whir and hum alongside me.
Deafening metallic wind rusts the edge of the rug.
I’m still waiting for her return,
and in denial that it was her last train.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
Shades of yellow cast on our dreams
Skin burning through layers of sunscreen
When gifts of foresight weigh on our beings
Let great powers grow evermore carefree
To satisfy eternity.
Empirical evidence against the empire’s truth
Makes humankind akin to a neurotic fool
Who comes to think that it’ll always nullify
Oh for we all must die!
Young and old both playing their games
Seduced by the baits of short-term gains
Unable to afford the bail out of prison
Wait for great powers to relieve this addiction
To satisfy eternity.
Spawns of decadence in the wake of our new tools
Let us deter suicide with the poisons that soothe
They all say everything will fall, to act seems futile
Oh for we all shall die!
Whether in shame or in desire
Must we forget all we’ve acquired
For yesterday’s pride, tomorrow’s glory
Shake hands with friends and slain the enemy
To satisfy eternity.
Jul 12, 2022
Jul 12, 2022 at 8:33 PM UTC
the animated man moves with languid effect
against the scattered clouds of the sky far overhead
he walks at a slow stumble
on the oil stained pavement of suburban driveway
'this is where the light blue mustang was parked'
he is carrying a stone carved into the shape of a head
its mind leaning precarious over the edge of sanity
you can taste its butterscotch candy laughter
and its salt water taffy tears
its face frozen in apocalypse of conflicting thought
he moves along the dirt road
hemmed in by trees and wild growths
the humidity so thick you swim rather than tread
but the feral grin sewn into his face
with her needle and threads
is what moves her
she adores its primal bloodletting
a self contained self abuse machine
she leads the way down the dusty road
to the clearing where night children gather
to make celebrations to dark matter
and the things it spawns
her thighs tingle at the thought of dead flesh
and feasts of the eyes filthy mind
the images in her mind are never really clear to her
just **** flesh rubbing cold things
i am disturbed by her dark dream
seek to flee on wings of night
but fail as he arrives head in hand
and pronounces logical rules for the slaughter
this night has no end
just the rest of fitful dreams
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
We have fallen in the dreams the ever-living
Breathe on the tarnished mirror of the world,
And then smooth out with ivory hands and sigh.
W.B. YEATS
* * * * * *
My soul looked down from a vague height, with Death,
As unremembering how I rose or why,
And saw a sad land, weak with sweats of dearth,
Gray, cratered like the moon with hollow woe,
And pitted with great pocks and scabs of plagues.
Across its beard, that horror of harsh wire,
There moved thin caterpillars, slowly uncoiled.
It seemed they pushed themselves to be as plugs
Of ditches, where they writhed and shrivelled, killed.
By them had slimy paths been trailed and scraped
Round myriad warts that might be little hills.
From gloom's last dregs these long-strung creatures crept,
And vanished out of dawn down hidden holes.
(And smell came up from those foul openings
As out of mouths, or deep wounds deepening.)
On dithering feet upgathered, more and more,
Brown strings, towards strings of gray, with bristling spines,
All migrants from green fields, intent on mire.
Those that were gray, of more abundant spawns,
Ramped on the rest and ate them and were eaten.
I saw their bitten backs curve, loop and straighten.
I watched those agonies curl, lift, and flatten.
Whereat, in terror what that sight might mean,
I reeled and shivered earthward like a feather.
And Death fell with me, like a deepening moan.
And He, picking a manner of worm, which half had hid
Its bruises in the earth, bur crawled no further,
Showed me its feet, the feet of many men,
And the fresh-severed head of it, my head
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The misty firmament above in the hours before the rising sun,
Swirls patterns deeply etched into the grey sky,
Windy realm of night with its soaring echoes,
A play of wind, clouds and dancing moonlight,
The spirits of the ages play, spread across the invincible night,
They play unseen, yet fill the Arcadian meadows with their presence,
To the wind, they vow a burning promise,
To the night, their unquenchable energies,
In the windy sea sky, adrift with misty cloud schooners,
The season of the Solstice sweeps her glowing gown,
Drawn by oceanic breezes,
Her midnight tempest spawns vaporous clouds across the gloomy moors,
Her Druid song haunting the moonlit fields,
This swirling mirth of darkness strips the tired senses spellbound in these seasons of the night.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
*We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been, must ever be.*
William Wordsworth
stunning and stunned,
perhaps even life momentarily,
stunted angry but enraging confusion
this notion, stirs a commotion,
primal sympathy, spawns poem
not a broken totem
not a stolen token
hand writ, inked in pen,
no golems in a modem
to assist
this just pure human spoken
an omen giving,
notice total,
this is one true ether,
or either it is not!
this primal essential assertion
a conditional propositional
that it is natural for man
to be deep sympathetic to his kind,
*for which having been,
must ever be*
in Syria, snipers shoot children for sport,
in Nigeria, young girls to slavery sold,
the list, matter of many facts, well known,
needs not embellishment or addition,
the history books teach the children well
so vaunted primal atmosphere,
in these places,
are you absent, non-existent?
when primal was pre-creation,
spelled first as primeval,
in the era before the appearance of ratiocination
of life on earth
Prime and Evil,
was a combustible fuel of necessity survival
primeval became primordial,
man essayed to improve,
aging onwards himself to enlightenment
yet rooted in this prime number of humankind
is a cellular tissue that springs to life
in those who allow it, residence of the remnants,
original origin of the evil that can subsume
and assume
do not allow it
I can tell you I
will not lay quiet
for the murderers of children,
I have primeval hatred
the rage of primal sympathy denied
unleashed ten times greater
be wary when the best of us rises up
the snipers and the enslavers will die
by their own weapons
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
Some see Life is a puzzle put together piece by piece. Each eventually fits together.
like snowflakes, many slot beside one another quickly, but some seem like they take forever.
With each new journey and new day, you add another piece to the puzzle.
By the end of each month or at the turn of the year you turn back to see the picture,
The painting on that canvas that we call life. With our back turned to the rest of the world
we work tirelessly to make sure the puzzle is completed in an effort to impress those impressionable.
We miss out on the leaves falling from the trees in the crisp air of the fall,
The fresh cut grass as the spring spawns from the dark dreary winter
Some fight tirelessly, to inlay the pieces as if they were creating a road by which to travel.
Relax. Step Aside. Let the pieces fall together as you simply tag along for the ride
Regardless of the moves you make, the pieces you choose, the path you take.
All of the pieces are already in the box, 500 or 1000 pieces of a pre-determined fate.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 10:24 AM UTC
We found something worse than hate and love,
something that spawns when a heart is lost
and we thought it didn't exist, but it does
and we got hit with it's sun like the moss of a tree.
So now every time I fall for another one
it feels more like the ending of summer
and less like my favorite season.
Our mouths are loaded pistols
with golden bullet words that have no real direction,
spraying upwards towards a cloudless night sky,
but they never quite hit the stars.
I picked you out like a flower in a field
where the rain clouds stay,
where the ruiners of all good things play,
with temporary wars between you and I.
I moved your eyes like a chess piece
to wherever I walked in the room
so I checked into checkmate
so you could destroy me.
I thought you would have moved your rook
to E6, ending in a stalemate and us in love forever...
But you said "I'm so sorry" right before knocking my king over.
I hate your checkered past. I'm going to play solitaire.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
I was just guessing.
Kept on turning to the right.
But you're face and my make believe persona of you drove me to the left.
Like a drunk driver behind the wheel, I had no control.
Yet I let you still over come me.
So I found you.
I let you in.
Me, myself have lived on this hell bound planet for 22 years, and still couldn't find happiness.
Past "loves" made these fossil creatures look like peasants kissing the ground their holy queen walked on.
And I was the king.
In other words, you held that throne.
That happiness I was so thirsty for finally quenched me.
You were my absolute everything.
We moved quickly but not with a care.
Blinded though if you may, in a way.
Our family seemed unbreakable cause our contract said forever.
My first true love you were and are.
How *** was always nothing but lust, or what I thought was making love was false.
Till I stepped in you're great door.
Our eyes would lock and no one would ever find the lost key to unlock them.
It wasn't just *********** or sensation.
But making love.
The greatest vice and feeling I would ever encounter.
A year since our fairy tale ending and still I fail to experience that or anything greater, with any woman who has came my way.
From what you weren't aware of was what my previous relationship left me as.
Which was a hidden monster.
So all I knew was how to react off of emotion instead of logic.
Our different ways of life and guiding our own spawns couldn't compromise.
So we started falling apart, like a castle slowly losing it's structured bricks.
Never thought I truly live a real nightmare and knowing there was no waking up.
Reality.
The plane took me away from our departure and still I wait for a new arrival.
From what it looks like it will never happen.
All I am is set for failure and survival.
You know you were my favorite?
I wish I savored it.
Sometimes I wish I could get amnesia so it wouldn't even be memory.
But how can I?
When you was and still are my everything.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
these Sunday mornings feel like endless seas
I’m slowly floating toward the horizon
immersed in bluish mist through which
the rising sun sends warming rays
sleepy I gaze through frosted window panes
there is a world out there
yet somehow all that I can see
are hazy shapes of luscious breakfast items
set upon the table beckoning
together with the morning papers
for me to settle down and eat and read
without time’s breath upon my neck
no need to hurry jump into my clothes
rush out and try to catch the bus
the news is terrible as usual
but somehow less important than on other days
whether the stocks are high or low
abroad at home the dollar falls or rises
affects me moderately at best
it seems a lazy morning spawns a lazy brain
noises of busy-ness seek access here in vain
headlines are read without concern and soon forgotten
all systems are content with letting go
and feel besotten with the prospect of a pleasurable day
nice picknick on the common green
a game of badminton to have some exercise
delicious dinner at my favorite restaurant
night comes much earlier than you surmise
on your way home you see the half-moon rise
you vaguely wonder where the day has gone
before you rest your head after no work well done
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
Am crying, crying, crying in the rain...
Waiting a long wait that never seems to end
am living a lie which spawns over and over again
fighting the unease in the middle of my friends
Nowhere to go, I am crying, crying in the rain
Holding out my hand for her to hold it again
making up for the cold nibbling here and everywhere
to see the feeble flame leap at the wind to remain
my eyes find faith and start crying in the rain
The sunsets and the sunrise, how do they suffer
This dying every day for a chance to live again
Me and her every night, we break our chains
only to go our ways leaving me crying, crying in the rain
I wreck myself everytime our paths cross
She too shall be hurt, I know this in my pain
Our fences are down and trouble's coming like a train
My mind is want and aches, my heart is also slain
I am crying, crying, crying in the rain...
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 12:42 AM UTC
My heart is wrapped up in gummy wires,
Splayed on the ground like an ugly wound
It is frantic scream, a doe bleeding out
It’s not soft and it’s not easy and it doesn’t
Open up like flowers to the sun
It is dark castle, with secrets planted in
Walls and a torture chamber that calls out
“I promise I’ll hurt you so good”
my heart is not petite and pink-lipped,
it is not coy and delicate, wrapped up
in a beautiful box with a bow on top
my heart has scars
my heart is ragged and filthy
my heart is tired
my heart lies to me
my heart is not easy and refreshing
like a fairytale daydream
my heart is ******
and any poetry in her
is the ugly kind that spawns
like grass through the cracks
of the concrete.
My heart has a warning sign
“do not enter.”
It has a trap door you may fall through
It has electric wires sitting near bathtubs:
My heart will shock you.
But as ugly as she is
She keeps on pumping
Red blood like ******
Shoot up with love
And she’ll lay down her armor
And her scars will kiss yours
And turn them from black
To red to a fertile, nubile green
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
*Injustice spawns from anger
and when you have a combination of the two
then spawns the birth of a revolution*
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 5:18 PM UTC
From within a blackened heart
spawns madnesses twisted Invictus,
a severed head sat atop a plinth, filled
with decaying thoughts of cyanide and citrus,
completely crazy, inverted, perverted,
infected with an insanity that dances from the eyes -
pouting lips tempestuous and alluring
from the tip of a tongue he sews insidious lies,
roosting upon the bleeding emotions of others
a vile disassociation sanity can't pertain,
charred lips from suckling the ******* of Hell
the back-broke miracle nature refuses to explain,
exhaling noxious fumes, a pyro-manic incense,
one soul re-arranged, deranged and blisteringly intense;
so much so, it disgusts me beyond words -
so kick the rotten apple,
watch the maggots writhe within thou sour curds.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
Look me in the eyes and tell me I am not already dead.
Look within my soul and tell me, all is finally at an end.
Look with your silver eyes, which reflect my very own.
A chaotic wind right before the deadly storm.
The redden horizon, fading into the coldest of blue.
A will of a way, left to burn within the goodwill of our mortal souls.
I see you Dear Brother...
A man shroud in the facade of a devils red clothing.
But men, we are not...
Are we, O brother of mine?
Two hidden lies, masked within a mould of our own demise.
A shell our mother has bestow upon her demon spawns.
Masqueraded truths smeared, until all came crumbling down.
I spoke of my hatred as I slipped from your grasp.
I fell into Hell with a malevolent wrath,
a curse befalling my tongue;
I hate you
Another lie, another sin.
Added to a pile of our transgression,
shadowing us in its path of our own destruction.
Look into my heart and see my love.
A love, which has not commenced into something dark and malcontent.
Look and see another me, (mirrored in your stare.)
Look and believe all is fine.
Look and tell me my blue coated wrath,
is nothing compared to the inferno of a burning Dante
while playing the part of your savior, Virgil.
Two souls, forever intertwined.
Both born under the sacred son,
but destined to fall under baited spikes.
When will there be rest, O Brother?
With my blade in your chest?
Or the indirect request of your blessed reprieve?
Look, before all is too far gone...
nigh is the time,
Look and you might just see...
Me.
but alas just yet,
maybe,
you shall see a piece of yourself as well.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
Just like Eminem,
I'm not afraid to take a stand
If that is what it would take to make you
comprehend
That this adulation spawns me to be
mettlesome
I was impatient to wait for the time,so I
purchased a new watch our time has come
Been in many debauched rapports
All resulted a faux pas because I invested less
effort
Not rueful, but from this juncture I prospect
to be more perfect
I'm not afraid
To take a stand
If that is what it would take to make you
comprehend
I was improvident but I'm devising to be
provident
I was impatient but I'm outlining to be patient
I am stubborn but I'm willing to be adamant
You said I'm indelicate I'm willing to be decent
I'm not afraid
To take a stand
If that is what it would take to make you
understand
That I'm for you and only you
I'm executed from dishonesty, I take an oath
to be true
I'm not afraid
To take a stand
Even if that is what will make you understand
That I love you and only you...
Siyanda
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
You better watch out
- You better not cry
You better not shout
- I'm telling you why
Satans spawns are coming to town
They're checking their list
- They're checking it twice;
Gonna find out who's naughty or nice
Satans spawns are coming to town
They see you when you're sleeping
- They know when you're awake
They know if you've been bad or good
- So be good for goodness sake!
O! You better watch out!
- You better not cry
- Better not shout
I'm telling you why
Satans spawns are coming to town
M.M ©2012
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 5:32 PM UTC
The parking lot beeps know how to creep,
Creating the jingle and jangle
That hit her with the smooth cutting angle,
The rhymes and the wishes
Intruding her like the farmer farming fishes,
Pound and slit until she can’t fully handle,
With strength in her arms burning out like the candle
Once lit as her ribs crunch from the pull of the mador,
Crushing her with Frankenstein's failure far greater,
Her eyes missed more misinterpretation
Of her admission with intense hallucination,
While the divorce of her lighter burns the constrained homicide,
Although it didn’t stem from her sister’s suicide,
Contradiction?
She’d say it was an addiction,
Death isn't what she grew up to fear,
What’s that? There’s more despair?
Is it the systemic collapse that she can’t bear?
Trunks click open with a cluster of blunts,
Puffing the herb anytime she wants,
Insanity spawns a circumstantial sport,
Which she crystallized quenching some support,
From the bubble of her family she couldn't help but pop,
While begging the janitor to mop
The puddle of horrific insensual
Desires that end up so sensual,
Sprinting to the finish line in her own ordeal pace,
Winning an irreplaceable
Prize for finishing in fifth place,
The doppelganger can’t even comment
On the records of her CD retching as she continues to *****
There she blows before you know,
‘Tis no way they could tiptoe
Around this drear deep-end **********
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 2:08 PM UTC
I hear it, outside, whistling with menace,
An ill intent exists within,
Behind it, the sordid remains of its last victim,
It cannot be stopped; it is invincible, omnipresent,
T’is the wind, a fell wind,
Think of it, it is to be feared,
But do not join it, corruptness spawns from it.
One may ask, “how did this wind come to be?”
Oh, curious one, t’is a most gruesome tale,
The wind of evil was fed, not created as it is now,
T’was weak, unable to harm a leaf,
It grew strong, feeding on the substance which it was made,
That which human holds in great amounts,
T’is greed, horrible, destructive greed.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
Just when we thought
this place couldn't get
any
more
depressing,
a detriment of inadequacy ensues,
and the following hour is spent
beneath a paled,
frosted-blue canvas,
atop a frigid construct
of tether, and steel.
BUT!
As quickly as the dystrophy settled
within minds scarcely caressed
by hallowed slumber,
a frail,
yet,
intensifying light
erupts from the faded line
that separates reality
from ethereality.
As this newly self-empowered
hero of the day
ceases the boundless tundra overhead
with a golden fluorescence
of warmth,
and rapture,
still,
ever-trifling is the southern counterpart.
HARK!
From out of the myriad sheets
of thundercloud gray,
laced with veins of majestic purple,
and glazed with the ensemble
of over-ripened peaches
that blanket the northern skies
of this dawning day
spawns a duet of our mothers'
most
sacred
creation.
HOW MAGNIFICENT!
This spectrum couplet
that champions the veil,
extruding their way out
from the darkest,
most steadfast regions
of our Terran celestial.
Betwixt these valours,
who stand
as beacons of glory
in these most
disparaging of times,
dance a flock
of little
black and white birds,
unveiling to our starving eyes,
ever so eager to feast-
their autumn courtship that,
in its own wonderment,
was that of a
silent
symphony.
LO!
For many a fort night,
we have gazed upon naught
but soot-black sand,
sun-bleached dirt,
and endless foliage,
who's lives have been bled dry
long before even our first wave achieved
boots on ground.
And even as the sun rose higher,
relieving the quietus night
to nothing
but a faded memoir,
so, too,
these masters of vibrancy
shall fade.
BUT!
Even in their last moments of glory,
they triumphed as heralds,
mutely evoking a message
that said:
*'Even at our final breaths,
we shall stand as strong as we did
when She first employed us
into Her heavens.
And until we are completely vanquished,
never; never shall we falter.'*
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC