"sunders" poems
A constancy of **** lies
Is their ****** disguise
Adamant their shadows to shun
Are blinded by a perfidious sun
Till these tranced beguiled abide
To His self-righteous "suicide"
Though the charges are absurd
Ne'er a word of inquiry heard
Before seditious truths emerge
They corral to sound His dirge
A puppet procession in a stream
Do they of electric sheep dream?
The invisible chains in silence stay
Until ascension sunders them some day
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 7:39 AM UTC
'The process of extracting maple syrup is generally called maple sugaring or simply sugaring. This process involves tapping the trees to collect the sap, and then evaporating the water from the sap in a process called boiling until it thickens into syrup."
kinda like writing it,
it,
poetry
and been up for hours and every notion
bidden and unbidden
become a maddening drip
of syrup,
a challenge to catch and release
every stray dog thought
becomes me
and the internal query of
anybody with just half a brain,
is, course,
will I ever get tapped out?
can't see it,
can't feel it,
the sap I am^
is the sap in me,
colored by
5786 years of
genetic mystery
and every time that haunting notion that occurs
oft near, around and on my date of birth^^
what if the poetry ceases?
sunders me,
&whip the yellow legal pad out,
list and listen to a recital of
my pros and cons,
and despite my very bad selfish judgement
I,
start
all over again
will I ever be tapped out?
Sure!
when all the water in my body,
evaporates
nml>
5:17am Mon Oct 6 20-25
Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 4:19 PM UTC
Dark are the times where we lose our embers.
A signal for feast to night dwellers.
Their eyes glow in the darkest of corners.
We live in fear as the shadows turn into hunters.
Seek help of the holy ghost.
That it will help us through the obsidian night.
Times where we are abandoned by light.
Hide until its bright.
Sheets turned into fortress.
Hoping it will hide us from its grasp.
Wet are the pillows and mattress.
Praying that it will **** us last.
It ***** the life out of you
Sunders your soul from thy body.
It is the image we create when we are lonely.
Vampire that feeds on esteem, and it is deadly.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 10:15 PM UTC
I’m sprawled alone on the floor
Uncomfortably
And I’m a navy object down down below the veneer of the sea
Thinking of all the things I have seen..
And wish I hadn’t
Behind the curtains; In the dark
As the spectators see nothing
because they cannot see beyond the play
because it keeps them from looking farther
But I have, unfortunately
The day we handed you over to God
All alone, in silence
and I’m tormented
There is a song whispering on the stereo
full of so much love and joy
I wish I could rip the benevolent sound from the air
and consume it, and let it fill up every void
that is left in my soul, because I feel it
less and less
day by day
as fate sunders me slowly
like the song is lulling me now to darkness
And although I try to inhale the spirit of the song, Nothing changes
I’m still the color of this empty night
A time that might as well not have happened
I am the deepest ocean as the song plays indifferently
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 3:17 AM UTC
What is this selection of love so natural
To drive men insane and women to purgatory
Can Mr Darwin explain?
I doubt not , but is the meaning clear
Why love one to one remains so dear.
Karl denied it, Lenin too
And Uncle Joe dismissed it
As a plot to subvert what was good for the proletariat.
But in that recent time when Hitler’s darkness shadowed
The Earth
Love glowed in the gloom of the despair of nations’ Terezins
Which to-day helps to repair our broken dreams
Of why we love one to one.
Keats loved one ***** Brawne
And Coleridge his Asra
But what is ecstasy’s advantage?
When comes the pain of separation
Mr Darwin, please explain.
Is it lust, is it reproduction?
But then when love is thwarted
We cannot function,
Where is the advantage
Mr D --- what is the aim, can you explain?
How the coiled spiral passing from time to time
Its immortal message which condemns each generation
To the pain of separation
When the reaper calls, or the rival sunders
The coils of love’s message we’ve inherited
Since the beginning of time.
Why? What is the advantage?
Mr D, please tell me your answer.
The whales they sing one to one
Like Eliot’s mermaids singing
Not to Prufrock but perhaps to you and me
The message of communication.
Is this love as one to one
Each supports another wounded
By the enormity of the harpoon?
The dictator’s message in another form
Devoid of love, sundered, never whole
Coming from that Terezin we never solve.
Dysfunctional Mr D, where’s the advantage
For such conflicting feelings to evolve?
David Applin (Copyright 2015)
March 2012
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 5:08 AM UTC
Not when clouds turn grey
Nor when the wind ceases to howl
Not when the ground shakes
Nor the earth rumbles
Not even when mountains erupt
Or when the forest sunders
Only when
Souls tear apart
With a sound that makes even the mightiest ones shudder
When your mind breaks
And you give in to despair
Like pillars of cement
Coming down to the abyss
Only When
You seek solace in cigarettes
Or see a better life by the bottle
Does the world end
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 7:34 AM UTC
He exhaled again, trying to regain stable breathing. They gazed into each other’s eyes, staring with desire and need to get to know each other more. Tension building, sparks flying, and the rising heat within the outside corridor. Eyes wander, looking to see the little movements caused by each other's nervousness. Fingers twitch, eyes blink, and smiles emerge. They are both plagued with each of these significant actions. Imaginations flare as the thought what would happen if just a single touch was to be made? Would all self control break down in an instant? Stalled on the edge and the thought of giving away seemed so appetizing. Risking the consequences would never feel as good as it would now. A small touch would be explosive. It would ignite the passion and spiral out into a raging inferno. It would take countless efforts to put out such a flame. But he knew it was too soon.
m.g.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
Uncomfortably, in the room of my best friend
while he nuzzles with his lover in bed
while I wait in my thoughts like,
a cold glacier below the veneer of the sea.
My back hurts.
I try counting down from one hundred and clearing it out.
But old projectors play from behind my eyelids
playing mirror images of horror films I wish I hadn't seen
I lost someone that I loved to sickness and I couldn't accept it.
It didn't feel like I thought it would.
I feel this numbness crawling me, and it's getting colder
Freezing over
There is a song whispering on the stereo,
that’s on the blank tile a few feet from me
Full of so much joy and life,
that seems to elude me
I wish I could rip the benevolent sound from the air
And consume it, and let it fill up every void
That is left in this soul in which I believe in,
Less and less
Day by day
As fate sunders me slowly
Like the song is lulling me now into darkness
Second by second
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
O Wisdom! What are you? And how can I
Name you? Even the philosopher, who
Calls himself your lover, and who would sigh
To possess you, can he weave a wreath to
Crown you worthily? Will anything do
To offer fitting homage? My poor song
Shall, truly - if you should help it along.
O Wisdom! I shall praise you! You, like light
Which scythes through crowding darkness, are a blade
Which sunders the veil, driving into sight
What ignorance hides; and, having been made
Manifest, your glory shall never fade.
You slip past the warden’s dark, foolish walls
And cause dawn to break in black prison halls.
O Wisdom! Hear me, as I thee invoke,
With haste fly to me from thy golden throne,
For I would take upon myself thy yoke,
I would thy precepts, all sweet, gladly own,
For without thee I should be quite alone,
E’en with friends abounding (and golden must
Her throne be, I know, for gold does not rust).
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 11:00 PM UTC
To dream of you, my nose bleeds
I smell metal as I wake
another feather pillow wrecked
another day to ache.
I should sleep on only earth
give my essence to the ground
another link uncouples
as you the couple found.
She doesn’t seem so much to me
as a photo can but tell
gritty-featured, highlighted -
send me straight to hell.
How comely of you, darling,
to pick an Essex girl
it’s where I left my guts for you
mixed in with cockle shells.
I see you don’t yet trust enough
to picture your accord
trust that I shan’t murmur
the bile I can’t afford.
I shan’t waste time to wonder
at the steel of your affair
curse my spiteful stomach!
I cannot help to care.
It twists me to oblivion
and sunders me to tears
my lower lip is bloodied
as my pillow, so I fear.
Cast the feathers upwards
into the fatal blue
caught on gentle thermals
perhaps they’ll find their way to you.
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 6:14 PM UTC
Birds sing "I love you, love" the whole day through,
And not another song can they sing right;
But, singing done with, loving's done with quite,
The autumn sunders every twittering two.
And I'd not have love make too much ado
With sweet parades of fondness and delight,
Lest iterant wont should make caresses trite,
Love-names mere cuckoo ousters of the true.
Oh heart can hear heart's sense in senseless nought,
And heart that's sure of heart has little speech.
What shall it tell? The other knows its thought.
What shall one doubt or question or beseech
Who is assured and knows and, unbesought,
Possesses the dear trust that each gives each.
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 10:50 AM UTC