"speared" poems
Welcome the new day
As night lifted her screen
The sun had brought its palette
Boasting of colours never before I've seen
Rays like paintbrushes
As they dove into the water
Light explosively burst into emeralds
Ripple and eddies would sparkle and shimmer
Bolts from the orange orb
Speared the tops of trees and sprawling ground
Tinting their leaves with green of olives
And grass with freshness abound
Its wand touched the tip of the distant lighthouse
Turning it the brightest green
It brought life back to my surrounding
Layered my eyes with the greenest of sheens
Such beauty laid bare
The difference was literally night and day
But my heart is also green
To readily accept what my mind has to say
As if a child
Or yet still a greenhorn
I should ignore the stains of yellow
And enjoy this new day that had just been born
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
the seagull diddled
when he perched on my dock,
though no invitation extended,
no offense was taken,
when in observation,
of the foolish humanish varietal,
did it opine
*"dude,
u need to move more
and exercise those legs,
eat right,
many small meals,
like me,
write your-poetry
while in airborne motion."*
all this was spoke
while he speared and swallowed
a little river perch,
in my face,
flying off contentedly,
just to drive his point home -
directly into my gut
so should the next
pedestrian creation,
be typo'd plenty,
though,
I can walk and talk,
even chew gum simultaneously,
advice from seagulls,
who defecate on my dock,
should be taken as well,
in small sized portion control
poetry is best served,
proudly prone-ly
though I did thank him kindly,
and went back to bed...
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC
Hear ye, hear ye
hearken from the medieval times of old
where knights in the round once roamed
jousting with deeds fought in truth and honor
to protect the weak, the helpless, the oppressed
with an ideology lurking since the dawn of time
that all are born free, unshackled from contrived ordeals
only to soar high with the eagles to become one with the heavens
and bask in the glory of serving the frailty and holiness of mankind
Hear ye, hear ye
it’s Merlin conjuring a magical spell for the spirit
to behold, to marvel, new stages of self-enlightenment
where the essence of the King invades sleeping visions
possibly foretelling ominous events awaiting new missions
or predestined journeys one must endure to become so bold
in knowledge and wisdom offered, living in this world’s mold
not necessarily realized, instead shrouded with unimpeded urges
akin to the signs found in youth, immaturity, the close-minded
Hear ye, hear ye
the quest to sip from the Carpenter’s silver chalice
and taste charitable love for family, friends, and foes
where reckless pride and hatred are speared with the arrow
forged in devotion of a noble belief, tempered with selfless feats
where the sun rises and sets on the wicked actions of human nature
slaughtering the divine lights prematurely, locked within many souls
yet crusades against evil continues, no retreat, no regrets, no surrender
price to uphold the spirit of Camelot, payment in full, services rendered.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 1:36 AM UTC
Far narwhaled
silly monkey speared
aquatic creature cucumbered
another mammal tonight
On the fishing boat,
they reeled in both bodies
the monkey frozen solid
narwhal flapping harmlessly
They asked the monkey how it happened
his reply was this:
So they took his wide-eyed frozen stare
as for an admission of guilt.
his shock spoke volumes like
a speaker being blown out.
Tonight, the sailors drink moonshine.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
Midnight encroaches like a Lion.
As Darkness swallows the Light.
Temperatures soar to new Heights,
on a Cold and Wintry Night.
She treated Me to Her Velvet Kisses,
and traced Her Lipstick on My Chest.
Her lofty Passions kept pouring.
On My Body, that was full of Zest.
I speared Her, with My Desires,
as She impaled Me, with Her Lust.
She Moaned away My Whispers,
at the end of every Golden ******
We woke up at Dawn, next Morning.
As the Sun showed up it's Head.
The Sun, was a bit jealous of Me.
Coz at Night, I had the Moon in Bed.
Jan 14, 2023
Jan 14, 2023 at 10:36 AM UTC
I was a shape in my cosy little shell,
I stayed...
I nestled.
My cookie-cutter thoughts would
occasionally rebel...
And stray to the windows.
But still they were imprisoned by the
walls that surrounded.
I would steal bashful peeks
out a window.
I'd let my senses take unrestricted flights,
as I stared into the grandeur of the carnival
that seemed to have sprouted overnight...
Just beyond the confines of my home.
"What a marvellous circus!" I'd think...
I'd gawk with child-like adoration
and never blink.
The universe lay sprawled
in a celebration of systematic chaos.
It stretched far into the horizon...
A delight to the senses,
perceived through such young eyes.
The world had told me stories.
They were like fireworks
that speared up to the sky.
I wanted to be a part of the jubilee...
I longed for the validation of my existence.
I wished to claim the gift of life bestowed upon me.
I'd resent being held hostage by my indoctrinated ignorance.
I was a shape.
I knew I was a square.
I knew I had a home...
But not within those four walls.
Simply because...
My heart wasn't there.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 8:32 AM UTC
if the sinking-of-boat …ice-cream by name
be deducted from the swept-off-in-flood … by name roll no 31
then would the wings of the comics
cease to exist
what says the uninterrupted sound of water-falling
from the stomach of the moon
what writes the pus and blood
what writes the fuming-hot rice
the creepers and the herbs grow continuously
in the insomniac bath-tub
the sounds of the horse-hoof floated by the river
used to change the velocity of its clothes
both in the morning and evening
the birds from the cornice go to school
by dip-swimming
it may come one day when the fishes
become very angry and in the tale of the sweet-meat
the potter will destroy the jointly-built bee-hive
then all hurricane would be habituated to dinner
sans saliva
then there would be no such morning-walk
in the body of the trees
from which such a bore could be found out
through which an elderly saral may fly
into the blue translation of a squirrel
the magnetic field of the orange-pulp
and the productivity of the open window
reside in the same locality
if their frequency be touched
then the the antenna of the mermaids
speared with sleeping-oil
may be injured
by burnings their eyes
the crow-birds knocks at
in the soap-foams
produced by the afternoon
the pond with a jumping deer
wants to make bite
it is not known by this way
when a white hyphen
sticks to the palate of the shirt
now put off all the whispers
and let it be talked on the will-paper of the bees
why the pages from the honourable ash-trays
be excluded
those bunch of waters
that come out from the churning of the anises
and the jumps born of their *****
also make friends with the group-photos
now let this other night sends its best wishes
to the future candles
through a cell-phone
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 5:25 PM UTC
They say that lightning strikes are one in a million.
Then how is it that every time
you hold my hand
or stare into my blushing face,
that a jolt,
of pure electricity
runs through our shared connection,
bound in tiny intricacies in our veins,
restless in our hearts,
our minds?
I would love to believe that,
that lightning only strikes at impossible odds-
but I can't,
not while I am touching you;
my own heart is a live wire and jumping into my throat
with the raw voltage
coursing through me-
terrifying,
exhilarating,
breathtaking-
and belies the science I know
will disagree with me.
It can never know
the passion of traveling at love's breakneck speed
believing in someone else,
trusting them to catch you when you burn up
or to push you up when you can't remember the light.
It could never know the terrible loss of energy
when the one you love hurts,
speared by insensitive sparks.
It could never know
life in all its tiny fractured facets,
believing that one answer is all that is needed-
that lightning is impossible to contain.
I laugh at the sheer ludicrousness though-
Me?
A human lightning strike?
ABSURD.
But you take my hand again,
promising so many good moments ahead,
so many beautiful ideas
and dreams together,
and my heart leaps-
flying and flipping in ecstasy-
and I know-
Lightning strikes are one in a million,
and I was lucky enough to be struck by yours.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 6:54 PM UTC
selfishness in misery
my ribs are breaking
and I can't breathe
my arms are beginning to freeze
my tongue, too numb to speak
my arteries and intestines speared with anxiety
I will keep saying I'll never stop this
Twenty years
I've tried
accounting for all the broken notches of my spine
twenty years
I've cried, or tried to
twenty years
the most important part is the part where you give up
give up
give up
do your work
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
Beneath the water lived a nymph, beautiful as
A flower, if you like woman with petals
Growing from out of their face
And lips adorned with myriad metals
Moving silently with infinite grace.
Fishermen who caught her, in alarm
Tossed her back with dismayed cries
Fearful that she would do them harm
When she exposed her fangs, darting from her eyes,
Forked tongues from each palm.
But apart from all that, she was a delightful creature
As proud as a catwalk model
Sexuality impressed into each feature
Death in each cuddle,
Poison injected from each freshly opening suture.
At the sea’s dark bottom lived the nymph
Devouring fish raw, terrifying sharks and barracuda,
Dining on shellfish and prawns for lunch;
Darting amongst Angel Fish and eels, a hungry aficionada,
Tearing into shreds what she could not crunch.
Gentle with her own kind until coition
Was complete, when if hungry she devoured
Her temporary mate without undue consideration,
No please or thank you. Feeling duly empowered
By her actions, as confirmed by her explosive, acrid indigestion.
No longer young, her children dead,
She glides through the water from China to France
A preposterous seaweed hat upon her head
And in several places, impaling her scaly flesh a serrated coral branch.
Her sartorial taste filling even the sharks with fin-quaking dread.
The last of the kind. The others are (literally) toast.
Protected by animal charities here and abroad
She gladly subsists on ambitious swimmers who venture far from the coast
All she can now catch or afford.
A capricious tyrant until the last, when, victim of a fisherman’s boast
She was hoist up like iniquitous cod
Out of the sea, paraded on the deck while she struggled for breath.
Shot at. Abused. Poked and speared with a steel tipped rod,
Dragged into the harbour, pummelled close to death.
Screaming out, as she in unexpected agony died: “I thought, I truly thought, I was god!”
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
[Intro: Quavo]
**** man. Brrrrtttttt
Hello?
What the hell you mean Ma? I ain't did ****
****
[Hook: Quavo]
Feds hit the spot man I ain't saying nothin
They came around about 5 o' clock this morning (12!)
They telling me I'm copping contraband from informants
Channel 2, Fox 5, I'm America's most wanted! (Ooh!)
Hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy
Hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy, hot boy
Feds hit the spot say I'm copping from informants
Channel 2, Fox 5, I'm America's most wanted! (Ooh!)
[Verse 1: Quavo]
Yeah, yeah, Quavo
I pick up my **** and then hit the door (Oh **** **** 12!)
Surrounding my house and they kick the door (Boom! Boom!)
"Don't move, get on the floor!" I hit the window and fell on the curb
I'm trying to get up and take off, the officer speared me, like Goldberg
Say "Where were you 3 o clock on the dot?" "My Momma's house" "You a ******* liar"
Have you heard about your new worker? (Nah) Know I put him in your circle
I witnessed you purchase the pound (nuh uh)
I witnessed you purchase the brown (no you didn't)
I witnessed you purchase the white (no!)
Say goodnight down the road for a long flight
[Hook]
[Verse 2: Takeoff]
Hot Boy like Silkk the Shocker, pull up on your blocka with the Waka Flocka
Momma hit me on my cellular told me that Quavo got caught by the coppers ****
They say they've been investigating and Migo gang we connected with the mobsters (Huh?)
Can't talk to you ****** my lawyer talk. **** the prosecutor Mr. Marcus
**** Lookin out of my window, I see a black truck and it's empty
Walk to the door check the peephole (what that is man?)
Then I start hearing a noise and it makes me paranoid ****
Thinking what the **** is going on? (What the ****
All of these tools like it's Autozone
If I get caught I ain't coming home (No!)
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Offset]
Offset!
They said that I sold to informants
I told them I just got off touring
They circle my house like an orbit ****
He telling me he gon extort me (huh?)
50% of my income, unfortunately he not gon get none
Life sentence or freedom so pick one
**** ***** you trying the wrong one **** *****
Quavo call my phone, his spot got raided it just got kicked in
We all met up in the Westin
Who know what the **** going on it ain't making sense (who know?)
The police talking they got evidence
I told you ****** bout serving them Mexicans (I told you ******
**** There go 12 ****
I picked up my **** and I moved out the residence
[Hook]
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
For the Dragon hissed as the Dragon died,
Apollo’s kiss as the night subsides,
Python’s bliss as naiad’s cried,
And the wailing woe’s on a weathering tide,
Water-wall from Kētos scream, tsunami crash, swallow everything,
Rolling clouds and the pouring rain and the serpent dying writhing in pain,
And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died,
Apollo kissed away the night time sky,
And the Python’s bliss as his naiad’s cry,
The Sun awoke at the wheel-house berth, armor gold, chest-plate of Earth,
And valiance choked, squeezed by Ladon’s girth,
As the serpent swelled with the stormy seas,
To collapse great hero upon his knees,
Apollo, Cadmus and Hercules.
Reborn by fire, Father-Lion’s roar, returned each night to even-up the score,
And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died,
Apollo’s kiss ward off night time skies,
Oh the wailing woe of ominous tides,
The scythe or club, boulder at night, rocks from heaven and the perilous fight,
Black-oil venom, heart of a beast, starry night’s runner split from the east,
Noxious breathe, flame-seared teeth, smell of death from a ****** feast,
Speared at the neck, pinning head to earth, then celebrated as a day of birth,
The serpent on his shoulder, or dangling from the tree,
Arising from the waters, from the depths beneath,
Cast out under a mountain, yes underneath, then wear his skin and sow his teeth!
And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died,
Apollo’s kiss as the fight subsides,
And Python’s bliss as his muses wailed, between the horns where Argo sailed,
Call it a man or Charybdis, Scylla, rock, a multi-headed beast,
Or just two horns with a middle disk and Apollo’s fire, Sun’s dawning kiss,
And the Dragon hissed as the Dragon dies,
And Apollo’s kiss create the day time skies,
And the Python’s bliss at his naiad’s cries,
And the Dragon hissed and the Dragon died!
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
They were broken children
Their scissored minds ran them
In spirals
Until they sat with crossed legs
And crossed lips
To press themselves flatter
They were cut-strings marionettes
Who danced
In an attempt to wring calories
From their balsa-wood bones
Which refused to give
And who pinned their painted smiles
A little tighter each morning
They were snapped-spines picture books
Who’d been warped too far by society
And had had their pages torn from the crease
So that words hung like razor blades
And spliced from each vertebrae
They took them to the circus
Where they were the **** of every joke
But when the clowns speared them with dripping eyes
And artificial mouths that were stretched over grimaces
Like the dust-jackets from different stories
They stared back glassily
Because how can you be afraid
Of the broken clockwork of your reflection?
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
The light, so bright.
Hovering over me tonight,
I look away as I float away.
My feet lose touch to the solid ground,
I am in air now. Humming entering my
ears, hoping I won't be speared.
Entering as I close my eyes,
knowing that I was the chosen one
tonight.
Laying down on a steel table,
hearing buzzing and drilling.
Fear and confusion swirled in my head.
As two big black eyes appeared in front of I,
the feeling of calm and safe calm me down, as I felt a slight pain
on my left arm.
Not scared nor confused I knew what is going on as I learn.
Slightly I fall asleep, knowing that it isn't a dream.
Waking up as I lay, softly in my bed.
My body is all so sore including my head as I bore.
Slowly sitting up, trying to remember what I saw.
Mind blink as I awake, sighing and feeling pain.
If only I could remember the dream I had and the sores on my body.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 5:14 AM UTC
Within my mind are heavy thoughts,
They do not let me feel at ease.
Everything i'd failed to do
Is coming back to haunt me.
Body withered and my mind
Is trapped awaiting for relief -
Heavy duty machines above
Will serve as bridge to a new life for me.
Heavy brain is in the skull,
Drinking blood that flows in veins,
The blood is pumped by a heavy heart -
A heavy heart is all that's left of me.
LONG WAITED ΣXTRACTION OF BRAIN IS COMMENCING,
Heavy heart has been put to rest.
As narcotics put me to sleep i imagine
What future holds for me.
What was it that made me who i had thought i was?
Which parts of self will be put to rest?
After-bodily life may just show me the secrets of who I am.
Is life within a machine equivalent to death?
Vivid images i had not seen
Yet imagined like they're real -
The brain is fed through metal tubes
With tar-like liquid that flows within,
The brain is speared by electric spikes -
They cut their way through every part of it.
THE DREAM STATE DISRUPTED BY A HEAVY DESTRUCTIVE SHOCK,
What are these sings i'm receiving? I can't make sense at all.
The feeling of dread is suppressed by machinery, i don't even feel any pain.
Yet heavy thoughts haven't gone away.
More than ever before i am wondering if a choice i had made was correct -
Eternal existence without a future or hopes and no right to be welcomed by death.
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 10:39 AM UTC
People would tell me I looked skeletal
Not necessarily in an overly skinny sort of being
But in an organic, carbon matter fashion
Bone colored
Grooved
Plated
My ribs shone through my abdomen, still
My stomach protruded tightly
Translucent skin like a lampshade revealing
Three beams of muscle tissue
I should have been observed in a science class
I thought this while walking down the hall, away from the shower I left behind
Into my cave colored bedroom
Head first, body soon to follow
An archaic method-
My stack of literature playing the role of mammoth
About to be speared and eaten by my fingertips
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 12:57 AM UTC
“Why talk? If you do not listen to me?", he asked. He spoke to her in Kurdish, the language of her misty childhood memories. Simon had guessed, but did not know, could not know, how deeply she was speared by this simple statement, spoken flawlessly by a man she thought she knew. She ceased her melody, and as the chords faded away, so her warmth disappeared. Her eyes watered...cleared, darkened. Memories long buried, embalmed with religious care, rose again out of the shadows she had banished them to. "How dare you speak to me like that. Who do you think you are? How do you know my language, my childhood?"
"You talk in your sleep..."
She leaned forward and slapped her friend across the face. She knew there was something wrong with him, knew that there could be no such thing as unconditional companionship, as real altruism.
How stupid she was, how naïve to believe that she might have found someone who didn't want something from her, who didn't have a price.
Simon, who knew the alleyways and alcoves of the past like a lover knew his partner's body, should have been more concise. But it wasn't in his nature to approach personal history with spotlights and pragmatics. Ta'ra was accusing now, calling him hideous, a betrayer, one who steals sweet things in the dark from lack of courage. "It's not like that Ta'ra, not an ugly thing like you make it," he tried to explain. But she did not want to hear, did not want to listen as he tried to tell her how she cried in her sleep on the long drive from Cadiz, how Clara told him a little of their history together in Morocco. "So Clara told you so much did she? I should've known she'd pout to somebody as soon as she could, as soon as I wasn't listening! So what else does she tell you? What else does she say about me when I'm not around? Or do you do more than talk hmm?"
She was standing over him now, guitar abandoned like an orphan, her green sweater all askew. So close to him he could smell her. "It's not like that Ta'ra, she cares for you, wants the best for you, and I...I..." he trailed off. "You what? You fantasize about me, you put my face on those ****** you find in the bars and cafes?" She slapped him again, crying in earnest, and he knew that the choice now was his.
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
saw his mother
while they buried him. her hair
--with sorrow as flint--
smoked and caught fire. the world began to
cave in up and around the swollen fist of regret that punched
through my stomach --the fire spread--
speared my gut with blame.
all the while
a cacophony
of strings and trumpets
cried parting and
a soul flew
on golden banners
towards heaven
those stone white graffitied gates.
--the fire grew too much to handle--
in agony I flailed and screamed.
rolled down tall mountains clawing at bone and dirt
and flesh. gilded chariots breaking free. shepherding the beautiful
from the leperous, riddled atrophy that controls the living.
the dying and the burning. how everything burns
dies. fire smoke guilt regret. oh sweet death.
death in the summertime. death in the
morning, the evening, death of
everything. always.
eyes open
--a crisp, cluttered autumn hillside--
fall back upon his mother
reality stricken and grave.
blink twice. refocus.
a tear falls from her face
followed by
one from
mine.
the fire is out.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
Dotta swung and he missed
Time for him to cease and desist
After Ren went ballistic
Because he couldn’t resist
The allure of a battle
Using words like their fists
Landing blow after blow
Without a beat to assist
We witnessed a burial
An end to a reign
But all that king Dotta was..
Was a true royal pain
A husky, sad, clout chaser
Vanilla, quite plain
Who failed in his attempt
To perform; entertain
Ren showed his ferocity, his ability, his skills
He speared his first whale
Despite Dotta not having gills
But Ren gave him a lifeline
Without showing any ill will
Offering all he can eat
On a buffet filled with krill
One million subscribers
Sent to consume and digest
King Dotta’s music
Of which I’ve been unimpressed
But the message from Ren
Was really quite clear
As the words spilled from his lips
“A rising tide, lifts all ships”
Aug 6, 2023
Aug 6, 2023 at 5:21 AM UTC
*****
Twirling like the devil's baton
a cyclic cul de sac
'round the positronic menagerie,
speared from stem to stern, floor to ceiling,
arched bowed bent backs saddled ridden tools
adolescent ne'er-do-wells and prepubescent fools
all desiring to sit nowhere but by me,
by me, by me-
My friend of cosmic dawn, take my hand and
traipse like a runner in a blind alley.
Lead me to my quiet stead, walk and stamp about,
my cloven-hoofed associate, sarcastically devout,
and show me that everything in this whole world
is presented via legerdemain, deceitful cleverness,
but it cannot cure my lightheadedness, felt by me,
by me, by me...
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 1:02 PM UTC
He came as an orphan
June 26th, 1865
Having seen
the death of his mother
Chased and speared by a hunter
First African elephant
in Europe
At the London Zoo
All alone
in all of Europe
How he broke and wore his tusks
In the iron of his enclosure
In night pain from toothaches
From many rotten teeth
Caused by his only grass hay diet
Given whiskey and beer to calm
Shared with his keeper
Matthew Scott, a difficult man
With no close friends
But with a deep empathy for animals
Who drank whiskey
with Jumbo
Into the late, lonely night
Jumbo liked whiskey, beer
and lots of sticky buns
A problematic elephant
With a Jekyll and Hyde character
Sold for 2,000 pounds
To PT Barnum
as a star attraction
Jumbo tearing his chains away
Then sitting like a mule
Until he knew his keeper
Would also ride the boat
Across the big pond
Barnum’s Scott
Made a deal
Queen Victoria wasn’t happy
Her children had sat
And rode upon his back
Jumbomania in America
Accompanied his arrival
20 million saw him alive
Brooklyn bridge opened in 1882
A year before Jumbo arrived
Then 17 May, 1884
Twenty elephants
marched across
All the way to Brooklyn
led by Jumbo
The bridge vibrated and rebounded
In St Thomas, Ontario, Canada
was his suffering demise
The day the circus train came to town
Tom Thumb and Jumbo
Were waiting to get loaded
Perhaps bumped in the ****
By the speeding freight locomotive
Internal bleeding
and a slow death
Tom Thumb only a broken leg
Jumbo in a slow death
Scott in a slow death afterwards
Having witnessed
the last breath
Of his best friend
Photographed (a recent novelty)
just after his death in B&W
Poor dead Jumbo
Scott at his head
Weeping inconsolably
Although PT Barnum
In pure PT Barnum invention
Says Jumbo ran headfirst
Into the freight locomotive
To save his keeper and Tom Thumb
Jumbo died
at twenty-four
still young
and growing
in size and girth
His stuffed mounted skin
burned at Tufts University
except the unbroken bones
plus the end of his tail
“And this is what remains of Jumbo”
Yesterday, I saw wild elephants on the banks of the Zambezi river
near Victoria Falls
Tomorrow I’m hoping to touch Jumbo’s bones in New York City
And walk the Brooklyn Bridge
© 2017 Jim Davis
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC
An unsound disorder takes host
In a body for years I’ve loved
Memories becoming all but ghosts
Cell by cell with blackness she rusts
In each vessel of her sclera
In each fold of her fine vocals
In each tear of her mascara
The feat of a smile totaled
From a world all but brightening
Living in walls crafted by fear
Each breath, a scream of lightning
New evenings; old muscles speared
The feat of a smile totaled
Amidst an eerie, white speech
In each fold of her fine vocals
A desire for love beseeched
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
Breathless,
Wondrous,
My soul is gripped in awe.
She twists and writhes
Beneath the sheet,
And dreams a little more.
I'm sure she dreams of me, you see,
I feel my soul aflame.
When she sleeps
And sees me there,
She smiles and feels the same.
My spirit
Was consumed,
In death I found my bane;
Twisted deep,
And borne from sleep
My soul was lost in pain.
For in my sin, I died, you see,
While she did cast her spell.
My soul was
Tore asunder;
Cast feet first into hell.
Bound by
Chains of love,
Made from another's mold;
She speared
Me through the side,
And locked me in her fold.
The love she cast
She didn't know
Had caught my soul
In death.
But now I haunt her dreams
Life unending, without breath.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
Have I lost my way
been tossed astray
depraved and often caught in shame
I am Phi Kenzie
suspend all your envy
I’m plenty unfriendly and tense up when sensing
The touch of another
to shutters and covers
and run for the river, ride rough with the rudder
Flown under the radar
I hoped it would stay dark
but no, it’s the day and it breaks the equator
I could go on about my fears
they won’t disappear
peerless endearment from people jeering for years
Eerie queries in tears
near and dear to mine own ears
rearing iridescent essence empirically in spirit
Hear it speared into the ether
reverberating meter
ceaselessly tinker on the readers need to reach eureka neater
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC