"sucklings" poems
Pyres of cityscapes burn contingently in the distance
ever drunk with blood of a mother, a nurturer who asks
nothing of the morose, self-consumed existence
she cares for. Her brow cocked,
wrinkles descend like
rain that tears down
a window.
Pain.
You're bleeding out! But she'll never put herself
forefront. How could she? Sitting, reflecting.
Tormented by incompetence, her soft
voice silently flutters the leaves.
Drearily an extension of her lips, the words
escape the cusps like a cautious prairie-dog.
Smog obscures
the senses, a haze
darkening the pupils of your celestial eyes.
I still see You
drooping in the rocker under a hard light. Retaining know-
ledge of past and present, through spectacles.
Her deflating **** secreting
concrete into the sucklings, cementing fate,
as the clock that hangs above her falters. I shutter to think of the
future that's afore. When the one who's raised me is not.
No more.
Your timber limbs look awfully thin. Restless and alone,
she's tired. "Abandoned"
we're all alone,
but your company means more to me than a sustainable
stone.
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:31 AM UTC
The sun sought thy dim bed and brought forth light,
The sciences were sucklings at thy breast;
When all the world was young in pregnant night
Thy slaves toiled at thy monumental best.
Thou ancient treasure-land, thou modern prize,
New peoples marvel at thy pyramids!
The years roll on, thy sphinx of riddle eyes
Watches the mad world with immobile lids.
The Hebrews humbled them at Pharaoh's name.
Cradle of Power! Yet all things were in vain!
Honor and Glory, Arrogance and Fame!
They went. The darkness swallowed thee again.
Thou art the harlot, now thy time is done,
Of all the mighty nations of the sun.
2.6k
"Don't drink that coffee," my friend shouted at me,
"That caffeine will **** you!"
he said impatiently!
Drinking water is bad for your health,
the feds put fluorine in it
to **** you by stealth."
Paternally he whispered,
"Whatever you do, don't drink cows' milk.
the sucklings its made for
aren't close to our ilk.
The consumption of pigs and animals that ****
most certainly will keep you
from obtaining sweet bliss.
And stay away from creatures that swim in the sea,
their svelte tasty bodies are filled
with deadly mercury."
And then he looked aghast at my plate,
"Tell me you're not eating that excrement," he sighed,
"Do you really want to die...
from eating french fries?
Don't you know that fried things are the scourge of the planet,
cooked in hydrogenated fats by
some woman named Janet?
Avoid eggs, if you can, and by no means eat the yolks,
your cholesterol will rise,
that's no funny joke."
Then, with a scowl in his voice he said,
"Avoid plants grown in this country,
sprayed with pesticides and poisons
by corporate monkeys.
And stay away from foods grown in the East,
they're probably fertilized by
humans, dragons and beasts.
Potatoes, tomatoes have starch and acid,
that eats up your guts and
make you grow flaccid.
Lemons and limes will ruin your pretty white teeth,
making you go snaggle
right in your sleep."
With a superior air he ended his harangue,
"Beer, wine, and all forms of liquor,
Can you think of anything that
will **** you quicker?
Don't eat rich chocolate--it'll make you a ****
humping everything in sight
like a mad deer in rut.
Cakes, breads and cookies too,
contain sugars and flours that's
sooooo baaaaad for you.
~~~
I'm hungry and starving and don't know what to do,
I want to eat something
but afraid to give it a chew.
Though all of this leaves me feeling quite uneasy and queasy,
I'm closing the door and
doing as I pleasey!
Jul 19, 2010
Jul 19, 2010 at 7:58 AM UTC
Aug. 14. 1653.
O Jehovah our Lord how wondrous great
And glorious is thy name through all the earth?
So as above the Heavens thy praise to set
Out of the tender mouths of latest bearth,
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou
Hast founded strength because of all thy foes
To stint th’enemy, and slack th’avengers brow
That bends his rage thy providence to oppose.
When I behold thy Heavens, thy Fingers art,
The Moon and Starrs which thou so bright hast set,
In the pure firmament, then saith my heart,
O What is man that thou remembrest yet,
And think’st upon him; or of man begot
That him thou visit’st and of him art found;
Scarce to be less then Gods, thou mad’st his lot,
With honour and with state thou hast him crown’d.
O’re the works of thy hand thou mad’st him Lord,
Thou hast put all under his lordly feet,
All Flocks, and Herds, by thy commanding word,
All beasts that in the field or forrest meet.
Fowl of the Heavens, and Fish that through the wet
Sea-paths in shoals do slide. And know no dearth.
O Jehovah our Lord how wondrous great
And glorious is thy name through all the earth.
1.6k
This is a subcultural song
Free energy efficient enthusiasts
Replaced the iroquois punk style
Alternatives, noisy hard core; ear
Damaging drum bass boxes in da
Clubs. Ravishing rave parties in
Mini skirts, glam glossy brass on
Ecstatic strobe-light synthesis - a
Synthetic mainstream paradise
Submerged to hypnotic sucklings
On the colourful plastic pacifiers
A gummy retreat before waterless
Collaps. A dehidrated dream that
Tried to shut the world off by the
Tendrils of regression resemblance.
Adult babies aboard going back to
The false long forgotten innocence.
There is no subculture in being above
The depth. Superficiality seems a posh
Pose and a good hiding reason for socially
Awkward childish rebels without material
Issues. The sore tissue of contemporary art
Is people don't believe in subjective objective
Selves anymore. What authorities put on the
Shelves there - it has to be good-when on the
Real deal discount. You think im not of such
Kind. Sheepishly blindfolded herd lives some-
where else. I pity them. Mock the socially meek,
Unajust, fat, poor or a greek profile. It has to be
A button hot child candy nose to **** her or to
Call a beauty per se. Per american dream team.
***** are hot untill they have pneumatics, man
Are man if they whirl the banknotes under bank
Accounts. ******* act like man in disguise greedy
For more. I inhabitated all this inherently ugly
Preachy words instead of puking into a labdab
Lavatory and cleanse myself from repulsively
****** cultural intermittent artifacts. And how
Can i not subdue to its overwhelming pressure.
I'm just an indigo child of flower children. Don't
Throw me the bones fueled with the black golden
Marrow. I'm a new alternative peasant, growing
Carrots and celery at bio degradable villages. . .
Its not a contra cultural venture if your socks
Are made out of industrial cannabis, and yet
There's no need to. Think. Love. Play music.
Listen. Breathe. Live life as if yours favourite
subcultural song is repetedly on...going along
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 6:13 AM UTC
#1.....His Bearer's Plea.
What would it cost to send a million dogs to war,
Than turn my babes into raging Beasts?
Leave the Boys to grow and revel in age.
Leave them strapped to their mothers *****
until nature run's its course and calls them MEN.
Without guns,rage and War pivoting that stage.
Too many broken Boys parole as Men,
building bridges without appeasing the gods below.
Too many hold life at its helm,
boasting of nothing to risk or gain,
Inflicting Pain to ease their pains.
Too many were sucklings before Wars came,
cruelly snatching them from their mothers breast....
handing them guns when milk was what they needed.
#2...His Lover's Plea
What price COULD I have paid to save my lover's head from being Twisted with tales of war?
the man I once knew now resides in a realm of obscurity
dodging reality, dreading emotions, refusing one ness.
A man with hands now Cold,
my skin forgets the prowess they possessed in the past,
a gloomy present looms.
the man whose weaning I continued, now bites hard till my ******* bleed, the taste of blood he now savours.
Cries of war creased the tenderness off my lovers tongue.
What did i owe the earth to be robbed this way?
What kind of man will my children call father?
Well....What will it cost to send a million dogs to war,than deny our babes the privilege to wean until nature calls them MEN?
©Comfort Amiso Pius
2018-08-29
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 11:22 AM UTC
O Lord our Lord, how excellent
is thy name in all the earth!
who hast set thy glory above the
heavens.
2 Out of the mouth of babes and
sucklings thou hast ordained strength
because of thine enemies, that thou
mightest still the enemy and the
avenger.
3 When I consider thy heavens,
the work of thy fingers, the moon and
the stars, which thou hast ordained;
4 What is man, that thou art
mindful of him? and the son of man,
that thou visited him?
5 For thou hast made him a little
lower than the angels, and hast
crowned him with glory and honour.
6 Thou madest him to have
dominion over the works of thy hands;
thou hast put all things under his
feet:
7 All sheep and oxen, yea, and
the beasts of the field;
8 The fowl of the air, and the fish
lf the sea, and whatsoever passeth
through the paths of the seas.
9 O Lord our Lord, how excellent
is thy name in all the earth!
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
to fabricate a progeny
even as result of love
is a crime in the
labyrinth of my mind
for affection doesn't spiral
like fractals on branches
it blooms, to radiate
words and feeling
it wants you to help it burst
through the world
until it
dims
and
declines
i know my eyes find gentle
fawn fondled by stroke
of its kindred
violets of golden light
brought to the sweet center
sucklings encapsulating my tiny soul
an embryo is
clement, humane
but its spawn
will never be the flower to its
once benevolent
stem
if i were to breed a flower
would it possess arcane secrets of the world?
if i were to
slip away
would she perceive that life
is cruel
and replicate my
innocent belief
how the absence of someone
to hold your bones
convinces you you are unworthy?
for if someone i adorned
so much
would induce me otherwise
i
would
evermore
dissipate
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
From the first, the fluid-filled sacs of stars,
The yolk of yellow lightning and oily rain,
Then the placental storm, birth-giver of roads and oxen loads,
Witch towers made from silk hair and the peasant sucklings of plague,
Whelped there by the milk of the river Arno, by turns pacified or stern.
The Dark Ages is a storm nesting in the sky, built by posthumous stares,
Piece by piece, a raven’s birth from eyes and saliva of roads and rivers.
Of the woman who gave birth, the sway of leaves where once fell hair,
Only her lips hover in the air of warm sun,
Like a fountain in the bare palace courtyard
Suspiring, flowing, extolling…
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 7:16 PM UTC
Plight
she sat down waiting tenderly
the elders hopping hopelessly like an hapless jackal.
tears in her eyes and years in her appearance
shows what had been and what should have been if the grim reaper had not called earlier.
gently, gently onlookers look the look of shame waiting to hear good news on a bad day.
Gently gently onlookers look the look of shame hoping to get ridicule on this bad day.
yet
her innocence denied
a fair trial out the window
and bravo for them.
Her sucklings neglected
Possessions repossessed
LO, she cried and asked for justice
but who would stop the process
if all are in the process
who will end the shame if all were once shamed.
Oct 9, 2023
Oct 9, 2023 at 4:01 AM UTC
Terra trembles in terror
As she looks upon her form:
Burnt and bruised by greedy children,
Who drink her lifeblood raw.
Even as she spins in despair,
She hopes they will someday care.
But they return with needles
To take more than their share.
Even as her sucklings greedily
draw blood from her depleted *******
Terra still gives in.
She gives in to their unwanted caress.
Deeper and deeper they go,
Imposing upon her great sorrow.
She looks on as they carve her bones
And extract her golden marrow.
"Terra will soon be gone," I hear them say.
But what of the price?
What of the price
Her children will someday have to pay?
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 7:23 PM UTC