"spook" poems
fuel desperation,
and so are valuable
assets in the game
of spinning chambers.
one ***** is all it takes.
you might not believe
a person still wading
through adolescence
could harbor such
malevolent intent.
one slight is all it takes.
age is barely even
a consideration when
haunted by the desire
for revenge or need
of self-preservation.
one fragile moment is all it takes.
fewer years simply
equate to shallower
perspective, exacerbating
youthful impulsivity.
one bullet is all it takes.
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 12:40 PM UTC
you
modified magic lantern
incarnadine
soul
puppet show
short dresses
free
cocktails
little swords
and
big drama
where we
make love
in the
dressing
room
I watch you
don
the sheets
and cut
eye holes
while I grab
the light
and radiate
your
behind
the audience
better not
see
that
***
I’m
protective of
my baking
flour
*****
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
Is it really this hard
to find people I can go back and forth in discussion with
about Buddhist and Hindu theology compared and contrasted against Christian and Yoruba
I want to scream and shout and dance with somebody over Janet Jackson's new album
and at the same time
feel the heat and talk with somebody about how extremely sad and depressing
but oh so good Giovanni's Room was
I want to be able to speak with somebody whom can quote Malcolm X and Kafka in the same breath
Somebody who could see the logic of Pac and Immortal Technique on the same piece
with the Budos Band or Mulatu on the back track
I want to know people whom know
just exactly who
Suki Lee and Bayard Rustin are
can we talk about Jacob Kinohoor's ***
at least for a moment
then get into some B.B. King or Johnny Cash
have you seen Dune
the one from the eighties
James McAvoy shirtless
as well as John Goodman’s acting
were only good things about the other
if you read it
even better
what about the ***** that sat by the door
Or
killer clowns from outer space
let's be shady and point out all the inaccuracies on the history and discovery and channels
praying for that day
that's not in February
They show Shaka Zulu in full
without commercial interruption
Or maybe a documentary about native American people
with actual native actors
that do not depict them all as either
plains people
Or Inuit
Cause you already know
not everybody is Eskimo
then let's put on our own private production of legally blonde
followed by encore presentations of the classic scene
Of Miss Celie and miss Ofelia going in over Harpo
can I discuss with you
how the Patriot act nullifies everything in constitution
And the bill of rights
even though they never were intended to be permanent any way
It would be nice to not have to explain a Corporatocracy
all my life Ive been into Egyptology
You do know that Imhotep was the actual founder of medicine
by a good 2000 years
not that Hippocrat
the thing is
I'm still learning
when attempt to delve that deeply into people
which I don't even consider that deep
They often misunderstand
They often concluded without thinking
maybe
just maybe
©Christopher F. Brown 2015
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
the world is full of missing parts,
then so am i
the malfunction of my image can bloom
the good deeds may glitch and die
no broken hearts could open gates for others
only throbbing fissures are to be seen
secret doors and damaged keys
rotten sadistic teen
yet you came
and i've never seen a demon so sweet to me, how?
smooth puffs ****** into my head
making me crazy and sane,
trust ain't easy to gain,
but i'm coaxed by your vows
i liked myself before
then i like my halo better now
the idea of angel wings and a fiend's ***** is not a good blend
but a compatible path was created
with an adequate commitment to try
he said he wants to love the opposite
if that's the deal,
then so am i
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
En soms in die vroee oggend ure **** ek steeds jou stem...
wanneer ek sukkel om te slaap,
maar my lyf deuretrek is van moegheid
, voel ek nog jou sagte aanraking.
Dan ***** jy by my soos die neurie van 'n lang vergete wiegelied in die agterkop,
of
die weergalming van ons gegillende stemme deur die lang gange van die lewe...
dis dan wanneer die hartseer my tref.
Dit vul die l e e m t e s wat gelaat is deur die s p a s i e s waar jou vingers altyd so
perfek
In myne gepas het,
in die dooie gevoel,
oor al die plekke waar net jou aanraking
soms
genoeg was om elektrisiteit op te wek
wat my nog vir weke speelvol geprikkel het.
Dan vorm dit saam in die [kamers] van my hart,
waar jou n.a.a.m,
jou < liefde 3
en jou ~legende*
vir altyd sal bly
... en stroom deur die vensters van my siel...
sodat ek weer 'n gesonde uitkyk op die lewe kan he.
Soos 'n magtige rivier
loop dit by al die voue af,
maar altyd met grasie...
en ek huil
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
you are the Pres
Oh Donald Trump
it seems like America
has hit a bump
your pitiful braggart
mean as a cuss
a bludgeon for a mouth
with a mind full a ****
its understood
you hate the press
you like the shadows
to relieve your stress
well big boy
you are the man
some people say
your loved by the clan
thanks for telling us
about the size of your *****
while conservatives smile
and give it a lick
your a star studded pageant
of confusion and lies
do you work for Putin
are you one of his spies
show us your taxes
are you a ***** for a foe
are you owned by a devil
we need to know
your purging the swamp
is that what you say
Exxon and Goldman-sax
so thats how you play
you talk so big
why not give it a rest
lets see what you can do
besides be a pest
it doesn't bode well
that you don't pay your bills
let subcontractors go under
so what if it kills
break up some families
of Latin decent
with a heart like a razor
are you really that bent
are you big blabber mouth
but don't a have clue
about our constitution
that keeps us true
we trust you completely
let your kids to the job
no problem at all
are you still friends with the mob
are ethics for others
ah to hard for Trump
will America wither
are you cancerous lump
we need some one
who can help us out
not a reckless fool
that fills us with doubt
you are the Pres
Oh Donald Trump
it seems like America
has hit a bump
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 9:07 PM UTC
they're the worst, and i mean that literally
imagine this, imagine that
everything that terrifies you, from any age that you've been
from the things that barely ***** you to the things that you are deathly afraid of
under one tent, an old worn down halloween coloured carny tent, filled with broken down rides and fallen apart structures and lit only by the moon
all with one intent, all of them working together to reach one goal
to get you, and have their way with you
and you can't fight back, every time you try to, they just get stronger
so you do the one thing you can do at this point
you run
you run faster then you ever have before, and none of this weird *** dream running where you move slowly when you're trying to run
i mean full out sprinting
you run and try to escape
but there's no way out, the holed purple and orange walls of the tent flap in the wind but when you go to touch them, they fill and turn solid
solid concrete below three inches of dirt, and you can't see anything to climb
you run and try to hide
the lesser terrors might try to help you.
trying to convince you that this place is safe, or to let them lead the others off of your trail
but they never tell the truth, they only do one thing
they help the greater terrors find you
so you refuse their help, shooing them away, and you survive for a bit longer
but its always the same, in the end, no matter what you try, every time it ends the same way
they find you, hiding on top of one of the structures, in a little cave, somewhere in one of the rides
and you're tortured
you're tortured worse than you ever thought that a being would do
sometimes your tongue is split into thirds from side to side, and is then cut from front to back
sometimes your limbs and body are twisted and contorted into strange shapes, making you into human art
you foolishly believed that these things might have a heart and not make it as slow and painful as they could
well you're right for the first bit, they do have a heart of sorts
after they're done playing with you
after they're done toying with your body
they don't just let you be, leave you where you are to stay there in agony
no, they **** you
nothing extra, nothing complex
just a stab through the heart, a ripping off of the head, and you're gone
unless they're being crueler
at which point, you have the option of fighting back
or letting them **** you in a gruesome way, hanging you from a rope over an open tank of water with lots of hungry creatures eagerly awaiting your fall
at least, that's what you think they do, you're never asleep long enough to find out
and that's why youre glad that they've only now begun to come and get you while you're awake
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
En wanneer hou ons piekniek op die maan
- daar waar die son nie meer skyn nie,
kan ek jou donker toevlug wees
as die dag se hitte steek?
en sal jy 'n skadu gooi
oor my en my lieflike hart
ons kan saam met strome swem
as die branders oor ons breek.
Voor vrees jy weer oortrek
en my noodloos in die noodlot agter laat
in 'n eensame straat, van drome
en ander herrennerings wat by my *****
van liefde en so ook my verlede
wat jy veronderstel was om te tem.
En in die gaap van stilte tyding
waar die wysers ons vermy, sing
ek my eensaam lied en vra vir jou...
**** jy die golwe huil vir die koeelronde maan?
Sien jy die spore op die strand?
Waar vat die pad van verdwaaltenis my,
anders as na Jonker se hand.
Vanaand is ek verslae.
Die maan se kind trek pêrels en rol hulle oor die hartseer berge. Vanaand le ek en dryf, terwyl ek kyk na die maan, en die sterre...
sal jy my wolkombers wees
, my glimlag pille vir kersfees,
want ek is dalk te arm
, maar ryklik met jou geseen.
Sal jy my korrel sand , my rooikruis , my boei
want my hart is reeds verweer
, keur my voor ek ook
in die see uitbloei.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
In the depths of the night, where shadows creep,
Lie tales of darkness, so hauntingly deep.
A moon cloaked in mist, a chilling wind's wail,
Where spirits awaken, and courage may fail.
Beneath gnarled trees, a graveyard awakes,
Where restless souls wander, their rest at stake.
With hollowed eyes and whispers of despair,
They yearn for release from their eternal snare.
Amongst the tombstones, a figure does tread,
A specter in black, with a cloak like the dead.
Her name is Lilith, the mistress of fright,
With a wicked grin, she conjures the night.
"Oh! Hear my call," she whispers in the dark,
As she weaves her spells, leaving her mark.
Bats take to the sky, their wings spread wide,
Guiding lost souls, to the other side.
In the haunted manor, spirits do dwell,
Where echoes of laughter turn into a knell.
Ghostly footsteps echo down the hall,
As the present and past collide and enthrall.
The clock strikes midnight, the hour of dread,
When the veil between worlds grows thin, it is said.
Ghosts emerge from their slumber, seeking release,
Their ethereal presence, a haunting caprice.
In the flickering candlelight, shadows dance,
As witches gather, their potions enhance.
With cauldrons bubbling and spells on their lips,
They conjure enchantments, with mystical quips.
Oh! Beware the night, when the jack-o'-lanterns glow,
And spirits arise from the depths below.
For Halloween's magic, a captivating lure,
Where darkness and mystery forever endure.
So, as the moon rises, casting an eerie glow,
Embrace the enchantment, let your fears go.
For on this haunted eve, when the spirits unite,
We celebrate Halloween, in the shadows of night.
But tread carefully, for darkness is near,
And the spirits are watching, with ghoulish cheer.
Enjoy the thrill, the ***** and the fright,
On this chilling Halloween night.
Oct 27, 2023
Oct 27, 2023 at 9:12 AM UTC
there's a crazzzy devil
in
the white house
twisting our nation
into a denizens den
a tub of **** in a suit
ascending ***** matter
in
a clogged toilet
a black plague
we have a president with the attention span
of sea clams
an emotional ******* drip of impetuosity
a spiraling fit of rage
a snarling delusional dog
narcissist in a warping mirror
a pathetic complainer
a cyst on the body politic
clot
open sore
seething pustule
piggish **** lover
gangsters dupe
fascist wana be
heil heil
god your a pile
making Russia great again
licking Vlad's *****
protecting your assets no doubt
and hissing tweets
at war with with only everything
and figments of a disturbed imagination
a real windmill killer
his mouth
the devils mark
a yapping compulsive lier
forked tongued fury
possessed to a fault
by the vainglories
of money and ego out of bounds
the biggest and the best
at being
the very worst and a pest
grand royalty of ridicule
*****
a ham ****** cartoon nightmare
and clumsy stumbling bore
a seething volcano of perpetual excrement
reading from the book of chaos
aberrations of enemies
a war room president
at war with his own citizens
huddled in a panic chamber
burns and cuts himself
with his own hot sharp words
as there thrown back at him
a bully getting bullied
a ripper getting ripped
the brains of a lizards eyelid
in a shadeless socket
pulp hearted orangutan
menace to society
his mottled soul
like a black sun
on the verge
of a black hole
a hell mill of decrepitude
a dark creep creeping
tarnishing our beautiful country
lights dim
America
there's a devil
in the white house
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
I am writing yet another poem
in my attempt to,
not lure,
but to request for your loving attention.
When I woke up this morning,
I woke up a failure
and I felt dead with every breath I take.
I recognized and realized that
I have so many undeserving help
from people who deserves
so much more from me.
I should not lay here with comfort
but rather with remorse.
With regret.
With hatred.
I feel like I failed in masterminding
most of my relationships,
be it a social one, a formal one,
a normal one, a unique one.
Our one.
I drove around town,
my head spinning much quicker
than my 5-spook rims
and my 16-inch tires.
My thoughts spoke words my tongue could not pronounce.
My tongue locked itself up as though my lips were sealed.
Night seems like days with flashes of lights and images
cutting every cells in my cornea, in my brain.
Images of you.
So bright were your light.
I miss you, let that be known.
I am courageous enough for a stanza or two,
but a coward I am truly, madly, deeply.
But I have a passion for us
for we share one common trait that is rather rare.
But it is rather unfair
that the stairs to your room of hearts
stops halfway.
Because if I were to bare you and expose the nakedness of your soul
you will see yourself transforming into someone you want to be
in the glisten of my tear drop,
because I see you right through like an arrow leaving the bow.
And I know you see me right through like the bow-tie I wear can
never hide from you the nervousness I have behind my sleek tuxedo.
We share this common love for words, our view of life.
We share this unique taste in music, and our unique waste of talent
by only having our poems sit on paper and allow it to rot as the paper
expel from it's expiration date.
We share this weird relationship that we had
that I hope I can have back,
that I hope you want to have it back too.
Nothing is as good a pleasure as having our eyes meet
in a slender of a minute;
or even a second.
But it was enough.
It was more than perfection.
We were perfect. Weren't we?
A mixed *** filled with strange mysterious fervor,
Filled with confused but exciting flavors.
We were a jumbled jar of unconditional affection for each other.
Jumbled and crumbled like a hot *** of chutney.
So shall we try again?
Let's have a taste of what I've wasted,
Let's have our hands stretched out wide,
and just hug it out.
Just you and me,
finally
with nothing to hide.
Let's stop the cold fight.
It's never meant to be.
We are always meant to be.
Have I already said that I miss you?
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 4:25 AM UTC
Silence is still...
A Rose thorn ****** into the darkness of the night.
Ghosts and ghouls wander a yard of thee,
ones who sheltered by the tree, 6ft yonder.
A veil blows as the river flows,
lost bride who can't find her ride.
Chills of the midnight light ***** down
unto your spine and you begin to run,
but their following you, chasing you-
and they won't give up until you're out of luck.
Angels fall and lose their wings to grow again and recover
their ancient beings of heaven's dream.
Silence is still,
Morning comes to greet you,
and all the spirits of the night find a place to rest,
until the next time, they may deplete you.
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 1:47 AM UTC
ek staar dae lank na n lee wit muur
binne my brand als soos vuur
in eensaamheid word ek toegevou
buite kou die druppels dou
die laaste uur voel ek so koud
voel so amper amper oud
al die dinge wat my pla
dra ek diep, dit volg my na
ek kou en herkou
my tong so amper flou
steeds ***** jy naby my
en ek kan jou net nie kry
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
you wear your ulterior motives around your neck like a no
ose or a beaded choker you know you have weird style yo
u don't need reminding its not supposed to hurt when ****
boys with high libidos take and break but you've got eyes
that remind them who's in control they think you're *****
y and whatever you totally are it's okay to howl at the mo
on every once in awhile they'll make you want to slide into
a sinkhole or be swallowed in the soft wet soil but you've
got a hidden agenda for when you smile the sun shines bri
ght no one can deny a witch like you when you sing for ma
ma earth your soft skin makes plants grow what's a minor
heartbreak when a tsunami could wash away an entire vill
age at least you have patience
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Look at her now.
The mattress, speckled Marborro-black
seized Grandma up again.
the paper sheet
rolled tight
like her Virginia Slim:
ultra thin
Her hand pokes out the sheet
clawed nails ***** the air and release.
"Grandma?" "Anne?"
When Grandma comes to--
out of that liminal space
between chocolate talk shows
and scotch on Fox News,
she labors to plant a rouge tattoo
on each of thirteen grand-kiddie cheeks.
We, her progeny afraid
to find an empty bed
or worse, the growl of life
mummified in paisley pink--
wonder who is this ***** who fell through sleep
tucking life away for sweeter dreams?
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 2:50 AM UTC
you say it's not about the ***
but the declaration does nothing
to ***** the boiling terror
to shoo away that yawning hole
digging deeper and deeper
into the root system of my ribs
tilling the lush soil that is
my traitorous stomach
and ever shrinking lungs
it uproots me
grinds the stump where I once stood
a towering oak
or was I only ever a sapling
that was snapped in half
severed the exact moment
that the floodgates opened
and the raging storms remnants
poured forth unshackled by the walls
I carefully constructed around my trembling heart
how I screamed when they fell
the resounding crash
of my fingers digging into your back
pulling you closer
and closer
I can't stop wanting you closer
to inhabit that feeling
the safety of a harbor in a storm
you somehow can protect me
from the radioactive wasteland
that I am still traversing
dodging gamma rays of manic frenzy
and alpha particles heavy with the
black hole that swears it will consume all of me
its final sacrifice demanded my life
how can I trust this?
when the reality of the matter is
you are no lead apron
absorbing the radiation for me
some kevlar vest that can ever protect me
from the bullets of vitriolic bile I hurl inward
not to mention grenades thrown my way
by wayward neural firings
which find me craving my blood
a box of razors is
a box of friends
and reality diverges into an orthogonal plane.
you could be snatched from me
you are a small worm on
the biggest hook to make the juiciest
most succulent amuse bouche
for a big world of sharks
how ******* stupid am I
to be a fisherwoman who has
fallen in love with her bait?
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
Mediating throughout my body is a shivering cold, the winter is here and snowfall is now of old, yet I continue shaking in a blindfold.
Wandering aimlessly in these woods of life,
trying to fixate and aim and not ***** the competing wildlife.
My one chance to make it in this forest,
I must listen as though I am this woods leading aurist.
All of this preparation for one shot at a "happy life",
a cookie-cutter form of "what to do" with your knife.
As a twig snaps beneath me and all is spooked I suddenly realize,
I now hypothesize that I must revolutionize my own "happy life"
I sprint through from and away the woods without a second of regret or care of the startling noise I paraded through these sacred woods, the bright moon leading me to all that I wanted...happiness.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
Kom ons wees oppervlakkig
Kom ons verbeel ons dit was niks
, 'n nag vol stampe en stote
dis al , - dis al
Kom ons wees naief
en jonk en dom
, en ... ag ek weet nie
ons leef mos net eenkeer?
Kom ons wees koud en
hard, soos die plaiveisel
en die mure waarteen jy my
vasgedruk het as ons soen!
Kom ons bou vir maande
aan iets en verloor dit
in jou hortende stem
wat soms die sprong
oor die berge kon maak,
maar nou wegkwyn in
kuberstiltes -stiltes -stiltes
waar jou ***** se echo
in die verlede verdwyn.
Waar is jy nou?
Nou dat my are al
lintend- swerwend in
die wind agter jou wapper
en my hart knus in jou
glas bottel le...
nog 'n glas bottel,
was al wat jy werklik wou he.
Kom ons wees verlief
Depressief
Agressief
Neem inisiatief en
vergeet van my...
,want diep binne
het ek jou
nog eintlik lief...
Hello Genisis
Kom ons wees oppervlakkig...
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
the mirror is a ghost
that reflects black eyes
brought by your own hands.
tiny pupils in an iris of badly mixed paint.
you are a ghost
without the desire to haunt.
no desire to *****
or creep up to the boy in the dark hallway
and yell 'boo!'.
every breath, he takes as your own.
his every move could be your demise.
he gives you your flesh back when
he holds you and kisses you,
even when you know he doesn't like to kiss.
he is your pale skin,
your fat thighs and freckles.
he is everything about you,
from your strange secret habits,
to your most embarrassing
**** beach runs, that can
only be remembered
through the tales of others.
he is all of you now
and you know it's a terrible
terrible
terrible thing.
but the mirror never lies and now you are dust.
ashes to ashes.
your tongue covered in residue from the 70mg
of ****** taken.
but through the calm you wish you had his hand
to brighten your eyes and flesh once more
with just that crooked smile and deep blue eyes
that will never, never, never cease to intoxicate you.
but every night as his soul leaves,
to adventure planes in dreams you could never imagine,
that even by his side, without him there,
forever will you remain but the dust form of an empty human.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 6:59 AM UTC
the tips of my fingers have grown mouths
yes
and now all they do is complain about
not being able to see
you see
i'd give them eyes but
i swapped them all for the tiles
better suited for the triple letter
there's a rabbi rappelling down the
face of a mountain that looks like him
but still lets him down
he'll ***** you i swear
just hanging on the cliff
by the noose of suspense
you just have to give him a minute
feeling's overrated so
cue the parting lovers
i gave my fingers eyes
but took away their mouths
i showed them you and
now they seem like they wish
they'd never seen at all
a fair trade to have their lips again
and say what they want to say
Jan 21, 2022
Jan 21, 2022 at 11:32 AM UTC
Fat Lady
every time I see you
it makes me puke
you're so ugly
it gives me a *****
you're fat and you're hairy
and so very very scary
can't even look
at your face
even bigfoot
thinks you're a disgrace
you smell like ****
and you got one ***
men see you
then they run
not my fault
you weigh a ton
two thousand pounds
I mean come on
the house shakes
when you yawn
been in bed
over twenty years
you're much bigger
than the local Sears
people watch movies
on your back
rivers flow
down your *** crack
if she sat on you
couldn't hear a thing
this fat lady
just started to sing
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 2:33 AM UTC
*They say it is highly paying to keep calm
That she's gracefully walking my way
That someday love will surely come
To shed light of joy upon my desolate soul and to stay
They tell me to keep my eyes on the look out
They tell me it might come like a bird from the blue sky
And steal loneliness and hurt something I highly doubt
That someday drunken in romance I'll sigh
They say the walk of love is that of a hunting lion
Treading softly not to ***** its absorbed prey
That It's worth the wait as love renders a shoulder to cry on
**** hopeless but a thing for which I still pray
It isn't what they say but what I know that keeps me strong
I know I'll slap love when she's finally here for taking so long*
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC
I have a secret, you see
And it is all about me
Though not like it’s very hidden.
I’m an imp, if you wish it,
I do tend to fidget
But I do so rather quietly.
Silent footsteps behind you,
Now sneaking isn’t meant to
Scare when my approach comes nearer.
I might give you a *****
And you’ll jump like a kook,
But try not to be so surprised.
There will be a next time
Do not make it a crime
When I appear out of nowhere.
It’s the ideas that I plant
Inside heads when I can’t
Act on such good tricks to be played.
Tie his laces to chairs
Not a classmate will care,
And Teacher blames only the boy.
This, but one example,
Of things that I’m ample
To come up with everyday.
Now if you’re real careful
And seem quite delightful,
I’ll just have to let you be,
Although Tricksy Grandma did name me.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 11:14 PM UTC