"spiderwebbed" poems
a halo of expanding hopes, dreams, and life
a crimson teardrop, tribute to the fallen one's strife
encircles the head of an angel without wings
a splash of color to these dark streets it brings
porcelain skin, cold as the night's bitter kiss
spiderwebbed with cracks, seeping cool mist
this angel was once a most beautiful thing
bright cut emerald eyes, hair black like raven's wing
the angel in past had lived, loved, and laughed
how tragic this scene, that it could not last
for the angel dreamed flying, to touch the moon
but these dreams awoke jealousy, plotting, and doom
you see, in the city where this angel did live
i
t was mechanical, heartless, and did not forgive
run by the hateful human machine who could not fly
confined to the earth in a rage it would cry
"who is this angel to be different from us?!"
hate did consume it like mechanical rust
it sought a way to grind her into the gears of the machine
"since she is not like us, we'll **** her will to dream"
with that they commenced to wicked dark things
captured the angel and cut off her wings
broken and torn, they left the angel to the dust
content to proclaim "she is now just like us"
but the angel could never assume human form
unable to fly, she could not weather this storm
the moon in the night sky, silver and fair
taunted her mind, dreams turned to nightmare
confined to the ground, humanity rotted her mind
great beauty now gone, with decay left behind
lost to the madness, driven to the edge
the angel, a mere shadow, stepped to the ledge
porcelain skin, cold as the night's bitter kiss
spiderwebbed with cracks, seeping cool mist
the angel looked to the moon, once loved, in the sky
stepped forth, and though wingless, for a moment could fly
for though the hateful human machine
had taken her will to live, love, and dream
it could never break her call to be free
the angel found an escape from this cruel place to be
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 2:46 AM UTC
i used to get this feeling
that the world was really great
i remember playing hopscotch in
the driveway with the
sun shining
like the most
beautiful
thing
a beacon of
light
from god himself
i remember dancing
in the backyard with
the sprinkler on
water
flying
skirt
jumping
neighbors
smiling
i was
happy
i used to climb that one
tree at the
park
i called it
mine
one day they chopped off the branch i
always
sat on
not mine
i wanted to be a
dancer
ballerina
enchantress
mom said
no
not
good enough
not enough
money
do something
practical
i just wanted to create
magic
and touch the
stars
that was when
the sky got
blacker
and
the world got
bleaker
then i looked
at other girls
long
legs
thin
arms
soft
hair
pretty
face
me.
thicklegsfatarmstangedhairuglyface
better
off
dead.
pale skin spiderwebbed
with red
red words
red lines
pink scars
dead eyes
all of a sudden the
world
wasn’t that great
then came
the pills
the
tears
the bed
dead
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
i have an ongoing
love affair
with words
that roll around your
mouth
luscious, langourous
lilliputitian letters
sensual syllables
slick- sliding off
the tongue
ecstatic explosions,
erupting, erogenously
exciting, eager exclaimations,
of enraptured exualtations
organic, original orientations
of teeth and tongue
producing oodles,
of apogeic anomolies
my affair
accomplishes much
for little
it is you see
just a not so secret love
of letter, line, jot and tittle.
a casting eye upon a word
and i am set rushing
down a path
reserved for those
with terms, descriptive,
and names.
that in themselves,
decry
wordlove.
lexicographers and bibliophiles
phoneologists, linguists, polygots,
jonguluers, wordsmiths scribes
poets.
all possess this
heartstringed
tangled knot,
spiderwebbed
feeling,
for words.
which, we then,
endevour to spin,
into inkstained beauty,
to ensare
ourselves ...and others.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
a halo of expanding hopes, dreams, and life
a crimson teardrop, tribute to the fallen one's strife
encircles the head of an angel without wings
a splash of color to these dark streets it brings
porcelain skin, cold as the night's bitter kiss
spiderwebbed with cracks, seeping cool mist
this angel was once a most beautiful thing
bright cut emerald eyes, hair black like raven's wing
the angel in past had lived, loved, and laughed
how tragic this scene, that it could not last
for the angel dreamed flying, to touch the moon
but these dreams awoke jealousy, plotting, and doom
you see, in the city where this angel did live
i
t was mechanical, heartless, and did not forgive
run by the hateful human machine who could not fly
confined to the earth in a rage it would cry
"who is this angel to be different from us?!"
hate did consume it like mechanical rust
it sought a way to grind her into the gears of the machine
"since she is not like us, we'll **** her will to dream"
with that they commenced to wicked dark things
captured the angel and cut off her wings
broken and torn, they left the angel to the dust
content to proclaim "she is now just like us"
but the angel could never assume human form
unable to fly, she could not weather this storm
the moon in the night sky, silver and fair
taunted her mind, dreams turned to nightmare
confined to the ground, humanity rotted her mind
great beauty now gone, with decay left behind
lost to the madness, driven to the edge
the angel, a mere shadow, stepped to the ledge
porcelain skin, cold as the night's bitter kiss
spiderwebbed with cracks, seeping cool mist
the angel looked to the moon, once loved, in the sky
stepped forth, and though wingless, for a moment could fly
for though the hateful human machine
had taken her will to live, love, and dream
it could never break her call to be free
the angel found an escape from this cruel place to be
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 1:11 PM UTC
Broken bells that chime like thunder
Sing to invisible birds
Like magical trees of lullaby
Under your magenta skies
Can hopeful cries undo a dreamer's heart?
While tangerine clouds kiss
My candy dreams go by
So laugh with me over dilapidated angels
With spiderwebbed notes of belligerence
Can't you see them love?
While my ecstatic tears yell to the heavens
My candy dreams, so sweet
Are they mine?
I fear I am nought.....
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 4:51 PM UTC
it's almost like when Vincent van Gogh ate yellow paint because he believed it would make him happy
i want to engulf your passionate fury and turn it into something we can both share
trying to spin the wheels on your spiderwebbed heart and watch the cogs rotate around a new start
swallow your inhibitions whole like a hunter and his prey
stare into the hearth behind your eyes and wait until my desire reaches the logs resting in your chest, igniting them with a flame so rich you lose all consciousness
wake up and find your hands searching for mine
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
I got a tingling sensation in the soles of my shoes
it has spiderwebbed up through my toes.
Flowing right through the depression and news
it's taken control of my nose.
A feeling so sweet and euphoric almost
but I cannot accept it's control,
so I fight it, I'll fight it until it lets go,
lets me back to my feeling of droll.
It feels so great, but I won't let it win
cause I know that I'm better than that
this feeling of "happy" will not win me over
I'll stop it before it's too far.
So I turn on the TV, flip back to the news
settle in to watch stories of ****** and ****
I let it wash over and then go right through
till my soul will submit and sedate.
Then that feeling called "happy" will go, pass me by
It will fly with the birds to the south
I'll enjoy corporate life so cold, cut, and clear
let society take both my ear and my mouth.
But that happiness still in the sky to the south
looks out for new people to hold
it seeks out simplicity, individual thought
and someone to let it take hold.
Someone not caught in material things
someone to let it take hold.
Someone who loves to keep those little joys
someone to let it take hold.
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
Why is everything disintegrating beneath our feet?
This paradise we built up in our minds
stands like a destitute skyline of skyscrapers
and all of the windows are cracked.
No more perfect reflections in unmarred glass
enter in my reflections,
and they're replaced
with spiderwebbed shards that entangle me.
Trapped.
We wanted this metal and rock declaration of our stability.
The infrastructure was mapped out in advance,
and its precision is admired even now,
with all the disappointment and shame.
This monument to us
Mocks me by not being completely torn down
And I see no poetry in its ragged existence,
but the stark reality of failure.
I cannot picture our wondrous city
without the smog
and it's a fog,
and a burden on my mind now.
Straight as city streets
my thoughts follow each other
but I can only seem to find the alleys and slums.
It was going to be so beautiful!
You and I upon the tallest rooftop
of a utopian place greater than ourselves
and yet our plaything,
crying out with the joy of being.
But the tallest building has crumbled,
and concrete proven a fickle friend.
Walls designed for beauty
turned out cold and inhospitable,
and the best of our plans never reached fruition.
Perhaps we should have built an orchard instead.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 10:30 PM UTC
It's a terrible thing,
I know a beautiful young woman who harms herself with a razor.
Butter and toast.
It's a terrible thing.
We kiss a lot as she bleeds.
And yes, oh yes,
It's a terrible thing.
Blood flows down her breast onto the soft curves of her ivory torso
To mix with my sweat and raw kisses.
It's a terrible thing.
The white marble goddess arches towards my mouth
Stone wheels sharpen the blade.
Her lips - red stains.
It's a terrible thing.
Blood in spiderwebbed rivulets fall.
She burns a smile like talons into my skull.
I'm bought and sold in the house of a tortured Venus.
Alley of torment and ecstasy.
Dracula licks her jewel box glitter and drinks her till whiskey blind.
A ************ mad hatter.
It's a terrible thing.
Please stop, I say heavy with longing.
Which drives her on as one wound begets another.
In this laboratory of sanguine obsession.
My voice - musical bones like xylophone tones.
And oh My God.
This filler that cleaves to emptiness.
This finger of the void - black angels.
Her grin upon me like the Ta in ******
A merchant of desire whom I love darkly.
This ponderous monk black night of red children falling from mother.
To be savored.
I dive into her red.
My mouth wild cherries and rushing fire.
I am dragon's teeth and tongue lapping.
All cleavers and kisses.
She smiles spreading in a bed of red gauze.
We are good people.
And oh yes, my sweet.
It's a terrible thing.
Feb 24, 2024
Feb 24, 2024 at 4:32 AM UTC
The spiderwebbed shadows reach
Out like friendly hands
From the feet of trees known only to me
On both this way and in this moment
They grasp at feet belonging to us
And thoughts owned more by me
Yup
Nov 19, 2022
Nov 19, 2022 at 4:30 PM UTC
If I die tonight, make up something creative.
She was a girl who never let her fears get the best of her.
She was a girl who took chances, who took action, who kissed me on the lips until I forgot that lips are even a thing.
She was a girl who shined so brightly that everyone around her couldn’t look.
They didn’t look.
She died saving the planet.
She died in a freak accident during a circus performance.
She died because that little piece of her was the small crack that spiderwebbed
Until it all overflowed and not even the foundations exist in its wake.
She was a girl who conquered suns.
A girl who captured my heart.
A girl who sang like a violin and plucked strings like wildflowers.
She was a girl who chased the moon and the setting sun and let the stars bathe her in their finite glow.
If I die tonight, make it memorable.
Think of something creative;
But please don’t tell them the truth.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 6:35 PM UTC
It is amazing
How real reality feels
Until something shatters it
I was looking through the stained glass window
When I bumped it with my hand
Fractures spiderwebbed across its surface
Yet I continued to gaze into the great beyond
I’d seal the cracks another day
It is amazing how real reality feels
Until something shatters it
I leaned up against the stained glass window
I hoped it would support my weight
It did, but the splinters grew
Yet I continued to lean inches from the great beyond
I’d fix the what was broken another day
It is amazing how real reality feels until
Something shatters it
I gazed out, far past the stained glass window
I was yearning for the great beyond
But then a glimmer caught my eye
The window
It was so intricate, so colorful, so close
I reached out to touch it
It is amazing how real reality feels until something
Shatters it
I reached out to touch the stained glass window
And the lacework I’d get around to fixing someday
Grew into fractures, valleys, impasses
Snaking across the face of the great beyond
I finally touched the stained glass window
It shattered.
And the great beyond was no longer so bright as I had hoped.
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 10:43 PM UTC