"stirrer" poems
Snitch-catcher.
Cauldron-stirrer.
Wand-waver.
Quidditch-player.
Stone-retriever.
Riddle-killer.
Buckbeak-rider.
Triwizard-enterer.
Phoenix-member.
Snape-hater.
Voldemort-fighter.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 4:20 PM UTC
LOQUITUR: En Bertans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer up of strife.
Eccovi!
Judge ye!
Have I dug him up again?
The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. “Papiols” is his jongleur.
“The Leopard,” the device of Richard Coeur de Lion.
I
**** it all! all this our South stinks peace.
You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let’s to music!
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
II
In hot summer I have great rejoicing
When the tempests **** the earth’s foul peace,
And the lightning from black heav’n flash crimson,
And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing,
And through all the riven skies God’s swords clash.
III
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,
Spiked breast to spiked breat opposing!
Better one hour’s stour than a year’s peace
With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!
Bah! there’s no wine like the blood’s crimson!
IV
And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears through the dark clash
And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music
When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His long might ‘gainst all darkness opposing.
V
The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth’s won and the swords clash
For the death of such ***** I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
VI
Papiols, Papiols, to the music!
There’s no sound like to swords swords opposing,
No cry like the battle’s rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges ‘gainst “The Leopard’s” rush clash.
May God **** for ever all who cry “Peace!”
VII
And let the music of the swords make them crimson!
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
Hell blot black for always the thought “Peace!”
2.6k
if you step in the ****
then you are bound to spread it
doing the ***** work
for the ******* who shed it
who is holding the spoon
here's your chance to stir it
let's forget the truth
spread the **** to blur it
if you play in the ****
then you are bound to regret it
when it covers you
then you'll finally get it
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 4:02 PM UTC
Tænk dig
at stå der og se det smukkeste i verden, når du stirrer tomt i kolde vandpytter.
Fordi du ikke kender til andet.
Tænk dig
at efteråret sidder i dine krageben. Dit betonsind.
Dit vinylhjerte føles palperet af kulde,
at du har skadedyr i maven.
Tænk dig
at være anopsi-(tist) og alt du ønsker er at være en aerobe
der lever af kaffekunst; men dit sind søber i inkurabel mercury
Du inficeres af revolutionære misbrugere af forandring.
Tænk at du ikke kan andet
end at lade fremmedlegemerne borer i dit sind
Tænk at være et segment af dig selv
at dit deoxyribonucleic er forkert.
At gå staccato rundt.
Tænk dig at forsvinde.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
I knivskarpe stiletter galoperer jeg tværs gennem København. Broerne rejser sig som bjerge, og jeg bestiger dem med glasskår under mine gribende negle. Med isklumpede propiller stirrer jeg mig blind i mørket. Jeg skråler af ubehag og mine øjenlåg sitrer i takt med bumpene i min halshvirvel. Vanviddet er larmende, og rødvinen forstærker den skrattende bas. Min mund er tør som en ørken, men den har heller ikke noget fornuftigt at sige. I knivskarpe stiletter galoperer jeg tværs gennem København.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
*My locum outer self is identified as a conferer,
A deep **** stirrer; I frod miserably when trouble occurs
Out in the open I am hidden from sight of Earthly cures
Sparsely telluric on my own
Adroitly celestial in my dome
Scape goat from head to toe;
I'd drown in and out too many populating
Coruscating as you'd spy
Balky the opposite: Illuminating inside
My barbaric inner self un identified as unseen;
Real keen are my advances
I'm a tone deft prancing like I can carry tune
An elitist with the perfect groove
That's what you;d say if given impression hand first
Of course, I'd finish the enitire plate without the quench for thirst
And I'm hard to capture by pithy eyes too
And I'm hard to real inside outside
And neither never am I ever; on cue*
Nov 28, 2010
Nov 28, 2010 at 2:37 PM UTC
******* in the life surrounding me through a coffee stirrer
Gulp
Gulp
Gulping up what I can whilst I drift away
i am drowning in my own lungs
Pay attention to my heart beat
Cadum
Cadum
Conundrum- no sleep
I panic
i must be having a heart attack
Close eyes open eyes close eyes
Blink
Blink
Blink I can't sleep
Heavy bags
Heavy mind
****** nose
Headache
Get out of bed
All awake
Lights on
Bzzzz
Bzzz flicker flicker
Lights off
Dog scratch
No time to relax
Awake open gate
Wait
Wait
Wait
Curl up in corner doze off
Dog bark
Sister coughed
Wide eyed
Anxious cries
Door opened
Worry for my life
Grab my mace
Dog runs inside
Lock the door
Crawl on the floor
Lights on
Remain awake
Skim finger tips
Ponder life
Freak out
Pass out
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC
jeg sidder og stirrer
ud i mørket
en kold september
nat
karl william synger
om at "vi ku' ha' gjort så meget"
og jeg ved ikke om det er vinden
eller tanken om de sørgerlige
rester af
dig og mig
der får tårer til at falde
som glas på mine elfenbenskinder
kaffen er blevet bitter og kold
ligesom det jeg føler indeni
men mine hænder klamrer
sig til koppen som om
den indeholder det
sidste af dig
jeg har aldrig fundet ud af hvorfor
jeg sidder der
nat efter nat
og stirrer ud i mørket
måske håber jeg bare at se dig
få bare et eneste glimt af dig
som et stjerneskud på himlen
i et milisekund
men der kommer aldrig nogen
eller noget
og endnu en lille del af mig dør
så jeg tænder en cigaret og lader
den brænde mellem mine læber
for godt nok vil du altid
være en del af mig
men du får ikke lov til at være
den der tager livet af mig
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
we were never introduced.
but i watched you.
beautifully.
adoringly.
in my dreams vividly.
ah.
i observed you.
like the way you drink your
coffee.
the way you sipped.
i noticed every bit of it.
how you enjoyed it.
how you stirred clockwise
with a spoon.
and like crazy, going zigzag,
with a stirrer.
its like an addiction.
my addiction?
still you.
you see i am no stalker.
im an observer.
maybe an admirer.
a lover? im not sure.
but this distance,
this rather short gap of
affection you own
but is unnoticed.
if only i can spit it out
and let it crawl towards you.
but i find it gross.
hahaha.
plain stupid.
you own me.
with every stare,
unintentional i know,
with luscious smiles,
i melt.
i get unmolded.
i morphed into something
really unknown.
oh you my trickster.
how you do that i do not know.
i hope i get the chance to
let you know.
to hold your hand,
even if it's just from a
friendly shake.
oh the joy it would bring.
days of uninterrupted daydreams and
nights of being wishful.
how you make me write
from poetry, to stories.
how you wanna make me
carve your name on
a tree.
cliche.
but still i wish you know.
how i dreamed of flying kites together.
my way of trying to reach heaven
with you. :)
but you are just a dream.
and i am still a dreamer.
i am still dreaming.
of you.
and me.
but not of you and me.
oh mournful reality.
-end-
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 6:39 AM UTC
Adding honey to my tea and grabbing a stirrer, I see you out of the corner of my eye, baseball cap on, nose buried deep in a book.
Walking on these downtown streets today I thought to myself “I’m happy, and I’m happy without him”
See, the pain of our love crashing and burning doesn’t matter until I see you.
My stomach drops, my veins seize up, I’m stopped dead in my tracks.
I wish I could’ve said hello, I wish I could’ve asked “reading something interesting?”
But this is our reality, pretending we’re strangers and forcing the nights we spent under the moon out, out, out of our heads.
I don’t think I could look you in the eyes, I think it would immediately tug my heart down to my feet
The idea of us being friends is bittersweet like lemon drops, but no one talks about the bitter aftertaste.
I wish you well, I wish you happiness, and I hope you enjoy your cup of coffee with your read.
Aug 26, 2019
Aug 26, 2019 at 6:01 PM UTC
as I walked in white
in the gilded summer night
foot steps following
one heel, one heel
down the street
downtrodden
floating
detached
lost
a call came from
a wind maker on the street
a stirrer of emotions
a sorcerer whose only game
was that of creation
I watched the draw and pull
of the strangers into his
gravitational field
tendrils of invisible allure
wrapping around shoulders
ankles of passersby
as they froze
captivated by his moth-and-spider web
of alien, archaic sound.
in the aftermath
of my escape
from his forcefield
I sat on a bench
carefully attempting
to tuck the edges of my
being back
inside my body
so to join
the rest of the anonymous
collective fleeing
from the ancient
difficult feelings
he had stirred
from the greater
universal melting ***
no longer recognized
in this
Cold Age of Chrome and LCD screens.
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 7:19 AM UTC
4/23/2016
"Speaking of batteries,
what's the positive in this? Negative?"
she threw out there, lithe little
extensions of her hand palely wrapped about a martini glass stem. It held seltzer and ginger.
Long Island City, Queens
twinkled cobaltly, covertly, in the
harbour
incognito, morphing into the sky
in the gloaming.
"All those people," I said, ignoring
the question. I always ignore the question. "So many. But this city
so cruel and brutalist and impersonal."
She shook her head,
stirred her cocktail stirrer
the mint sprig moved to the bottom
of the glass.
"As opposed
to what?"
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
jeg stirrer på uret
mens tonerne hvirvler rundt i mit hovede
tempoet er hurtigt
stemmen er forførende og hvisker til mig
at jeg spilder mit liv
på at side og kigge fortabt ind i en rød væg
for intet er godt her
jeg er ikke glad for alle de bøger og regler
jeg ville hellere male og tegne
til lyden af glasdråber der spiller på trommer
som når regn rammer husets blanke tag
vandrer fortabt rundt
på sorte gader oplyst af stjerner der står oprejst
langs breden af de kolde sten
lukker mine øjne og åbner mit sind
tænder en cigaret
flammen fra lighteren giver den liv
og røgen danser i mund
mine blå konger
med tomme hjerter
hvor er min hvide prins?
jeg er alene
min blå konge forlader mig
ligesom de mange før ham skoder jeg ham
han dør tavst på den kolde sorte vej
hvor jeg før dansede rundt til høj musik
men jeg nåede at blive afhængig
så jeg finder min magiske flamme frem
og giver en ny blå konge liv
lader ham kysse mig
gøre mig glad og tilfreds
indtil han ikke er der mere
og jeg må starte helt forfra
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC
My broken heart is in pieces
Got a missing piece too
It’s beyond repair,
It turned black
Had so much love which felt green
Now the glass is shattering
Everything turning blue and black
Reminiscing the good times that felt fatal
Remembering the memories of him
Oh so unstable
Had a niggling feeling
Couldn’t catch the onset becoming
Possessed with demon blood
I hate that I’m ugly beyond repair
My heart sings the songs of the fallen
I hate that it’s breaking up
Whatever was befallen
I can’t run or hide away from this feeling,
It’s the last of humanity dealing
I can’t finish the crossed line
I’m becoming the demon that which I am dealing.
Rescue me no man coming
I’m unbecoming the version that cried to god
But no one came nor they stayed
It was a one man job.
Help me there is no resolution
I have been and un-been
Feeling gratuitous from the moment the flesh erased to the glass skin.
I will go down and under
Lost in the sea of monster
If this is the end, let me be
An uncaring **** stirrer.
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 8:54 AM UTC
(ASHLEY KOCHER)
DREAM CATCHERS ARE THE MAGIC TRICK
TO CAPTURE YOUR NIGHTMARES OR SO THEY SAY.
(Star)
The nightmares that hide in shadows
ready to strike
when lids close.
Dreamcatchers a gift
that keeps giving on nights
when storms brew.
(Ashly Kocher)
Like a witches potion
some good some bad
bubbling up
overflowing
wishes to be had
Only formulated for night
giving some freight
Overloaded files
ready for the attack.
(Star)
And attack they will
but I have my trusty
catcher shield on wall field.
Defending my sleep
and letting me
be at peace
so shadow bugs can’t creep.
DREAM CATCHERS ARE THE MAGIC TRICK
TO CAPTURE YOUR NIGHTMARES.
(damperez)
Some mornings i take
what the catcher has caught
and make make soup or mosaic or poem out of them
(Star)
They swirl drifting
in my soup of words
as I strain them through suns rays.
My pen stirrer turns
in moment fine and divine.
expanding in rhyme.
No more nightmares you’ll find.
DREAM CATCHERS ARE TH MAGIC TRICK
TO CAPTURE YOUR NIGHTMARES.
(Gods1son)
Hope its gone for good
not to return in the coming nights
inside stars bright
(Star)
Hope its gone
not to knock on sleeps door
then I’ll be peaceful
inside dreamscape shore.
DREAM CATCHERS ARE TH MAGIC TRICK
TO CAPTURE YOUR NIGHTMARES.
(Fecundeity)
When sweet morning dawns
giving dreamcatcher sight
the bad dreams flee
unable to survive light.
(Star)
Cause light is so bright
and the nightmares dark
they can’t survive
inside ones loves spark.
DREAM CATCHERS ARE TH MAGIC TRICK
TO CAPTURE YOUR NIGHTMARES.
(Mysidian Bard)
Caught like flies in a spindly web
guiding you to the morning when
you’ve lost your way
But hay I do say
your safe anyway
cause nightmare flies die
in day hooray.
mikecccc)
They never say how to empty them.
(Star)
Shake with love intention
to set them to the light
so no longer they will be
a nightmare sight at night
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 5:19 PM UTC
I’m the glue that binds us;
when I fall silent, you fall off.
I’m a conversation stirrer.
I’m the conversation ender.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 3:43 AM UTC
A boxer with an undercut goes for an uppercut against his opponent
Who doesn't know the correct pronunciation of the word "sterile"
Don't you get it?
Cut the cable
And stay inviolate
Perform the synthesis
Wait for the nuisance to abate
Ride on the magic carpet
Be nimble
Pass on
Against the grain
The shrill laughs
Just make your way in the world
Through the Savannah
Going job hunting
Downplay it
A well deserved day off
Coke bottle glasses
Sleepless
Countering verbal assaults
Chopping wood and ******* blood
Oh brother, oh bother
Upstairs, down stairs
Pushed away by bad music
The barista sneezed in my coffee
I wonder what she does after hours
Mercy mild
Made from concentrate
You don't want any part of this
You poor anemic *******
You *** stirrer
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC
I saw this young lady
She stepped into Starbucks
Holding a thick novel by Murakami
And a wrapped sandwich from Subway
In front of the counter
She smiled to the Barista
Ordered her coffee
Grande hot caramel latte, i guess
She chose to seat at the corner
Tasted her coffee using the stirrer
Unwrapped her sandwish, began to eat
I kept my eyes on this young lady
While she was eating, she was scrolling
Wasnt sure what was she looking at
But I saw she smiled, and giggled to herself
She was all alone
Accompanied by her handbag, handphone, coffee, and subway
But her face didn't show that she was lonely
She ate halfway, i knew she enjoyed her sandwich a little while ago,
She seemed to made a phone call out
Her pleasant face changed expression
While she was talking on the phone
She took the Starbucks serviette
Started tearing, began to cry
What a long conversation she had.
I watched her for a moment
What made this young lady cried?
I wonder.
She didn't finish her sandwich,
I wasnt sure bout her coffee, but she threw it away as she stepped out from Starbucks.
I whispered to my self,
"What drama I just watched?"
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
you ****** me up through a bendy straw
while i sipped on you through a coffee stirrer
granulates of sugar i was
granulates of salt you were
granulates of sugar you was
granulates of salt i were
stirred into a tub mug
bathed within–a girl
pruned and shriveled by creamed cold whips
lashed from a devil’s tail
pale and stale her fingers became
fingers curled and coiled around a bendy straw
face clenched at hinges
dental spikes meet at coffee stirrer, chewed soft
one sip sufficient
Dec 17, 2016
Dec 17, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
*** græder og græder, og jeg tror *** tænker på en, jeg kan se det, at det gør ondt, jeg kigger på hende, ja stirrer næsten når saltvandet klamrer sig til hendes kindben og holder fast med alt, hvad de kan, men falder længere ned og holder fast for livet om hendes kæbe, inden de skubbes ned af hinanden, en efter en, og ligger sig sammen som en bunke af lig på den kirkegård der nu er ved siden af hendes ødelagte gummisko, ja *** dræber de fine dråber, og jeg tror, at det er fordi, at *** selv er blevet dræbt i hjertet.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
I sit, I wish
for the glistening moon pools
to sprinkle down my way.
Dreamy starry sky,
and the soft combing breeze
sings sweet lullabies
to the indigo trees.
Sing the same to me,
and I'll go where you go;
river so wide,
wider's my window!
Now dance as you've done
so many times before;
embrace the morning sun's
broad rays on your shore.
Far banks shall appear
with the coming of April,
and strike out I will
through the dusty rock passes
through mountains of yellow
and bridges of gold -- until
I gain the city of friends,
lamplights and streetlights
and buslights and doors
will be closed.
Gone, then, are the wishes
and wonders and wants,
the things that I hoped for
a long time ago.
The trill of the strings
(my only respite
from keen madness
or a tantō
to wish me goodnight)
rises on palm-tops,
floats in cool grasses,
gives purpose my soul.
So much peace I find
in warm charming moonlight....
Tomorrow, concern may put your course
on a laxed and lumberous way,
great river of the dying day,
but as long as my will goes on,
and the wonderful will of the Maker,
those fleet-footed brigands
won't catch me, for I am
faster than they are.
...Calming storm,
you stirrer and squeezer,
present most of the time that I need you:
Set my mind,
for all its vain attempts;
make me relent,
and I won't deceive you.
Till then, I'll be leaving you soon,
but know my April blush
is the same color as in June,
and the fabric of all that I hope for
is the cloth of the comforting moon.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 11:01 PM UTC