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My hand became yours in marriage
My mind and soul remained mine

Your family should have become mine
My family became yours

Was it that you were the first born?
First born son

I was also a first born
First born daughter

Your mother's talons had dug in deep
Not in you but me

Every look she gave
Every snide remark

I tried nice, I tried too hard
I showed my talons, and my talons were sharper

I cut deep, like a bird of prey
After all mother in law, remember

Only the bride wears white
And a man is a son until he meets his wife.
© JLB
mjk plumage Sep 2014
I know of a world with magic in the air
Flights of fantasy and the most enchanted sea
I'll take you there
Show you the forests of the fair
All you have to do is follow me

The oceans will take your breath away
Mer scales glimmer as they shed in currents
Dive down in the bay
And mind the seaspray
And you can catch one if you make sure to hurry

Deep in caves, dragons meet our eye
Guarding hoards of gold and jewels
But they leave to fly
Throughout their own wide open sky
And that's when you disrupt their accrual

Higher in mountains, gryphons make their lives
Wingspans like whirlwinds: mighty and wide
But diets on which they thrive
Can't keep them forever alive
So take a talon which'll never again glide

Mer scale, talon and stolen gem
I like these souvenirs so far
And when I look at them
Checking over again and again
We can make a potion of stars

But there are a few more ingredients
We need to brew our magic
I'm a potion genius
And also a bit of a deviant
Who cares if this gets a bit tragic?
witches and wizards. no expectancy date on when i write future parts.
Aira G Manalo Sep 2015
Nakatingala sa kisame, ala-ala ko'y ligaw
Sa dilim ng gabi'y ano pa bang tinatanaw
Patalon-talon lamang ang sipat sa guhit ng mga ilaw
Isip wari'y walang pagod, lagi na lamang bang ikaw

Paikot-ikot ang higa, tila samyo'y naririto
Binabalik sa diwa ang lumbay ng paglisan mo
Gayunpama'y baon ang tamis ng mga halik
Sana'y di na lamang panaginip ang iyong pagbabalik

Unti-unti pa'y namumungay, ang mga mata'y nalumbay din
Tutungo sa pangarap, susulong na sa lalim
Impit na panalangin sa umaga paggising
Kaabay na muli, magbabalik sa aking piling
Louise Oct 2016
Ang gabi ay hindi dapat maging kaibigan ng delubyo. Nangangambang baka sa isang sulok ay may nag-aabang na demonyo. O baka sa likod pa natin mismo.
Saksi ang dagat at bundok sa pananaghoy ng bagong umaga.
At sino ang hindi makakaamoy sa pagsabog ng mga tala?
At nasaan ang gabi, ang inaakalang tanging katuwang?
Kasiping ba ng mga pangarap para sa bayan na siya nang nilamon ng digmaan?
Lumuluha ang bawat lawa at nagtatanong ang mga talon; makakaahon pa ba ang nalunod na tuwa't pag-asa ng kahapon?
O baka ang tuwa ay siya na'ng hinigop ng langit. Pinagtatawanan na tayo ng langit!
Sa mga dugong dumanak at ang naglalakasang pagtatangis na tila ba isang bulong sa bingi, tama nga't hindi ko kaibigan ang gabi.
Ganid ang gabi, palaging uhaw at nasisidhi sa kasawian.
Ang ngalan ng may akda ng munting tula na ito ay "delubyo".
Paminsan minsan maaari nyo ring tawaging demonyo.
Hindi na ako magpapaligoy-ligoy pa, sa sulok ay hindi na magtatago. Haharap ako para tingnan ang bawat isa sa inyo sa mata. Sa dangal. Sa diwa. Sa puso. Sa dasal. At kakalabanin nyo dapat ako gamit ang mga ito... hanggang sa pag-usbong ng bagong umaga.

Pula, bughaw at dilaw laban sa kadiliman.
Nationalista
Ang luhang pilit na kinukubli, bumuhos, parang talon
Sa mga pisngi kinikimkim, hanggang sa pusong humihinahon
Mga kamay halukipkip, ang bibig ay takip-takip
Sariling Hikbi, ayaw marinig ang nais, habang buhay na maidlip

Ngiti nga'y naglaho, maskara'y nawala
Masasayang halakhak, bulaklak na nalanta
Pusong pinilit mabuo, maging bato
Nadurong sa isang pagkakataon... Sa ala-ala mo

Ang malayang paglalakbay ay sinubok kong mag-isa
Inilayo ang puso ko, sa iyo ng aking mga paa...
Pinilit na wag lingunin ang nakaraan
Mga mata ay tinakpan, sarili'y piniringan

Tainga'y pinilit takpan, madiin, madiin
Na kahit bulong ng puso, di ko na kaya dinggin
Ngunit ang damdamin, sumisigaw, humihiyaw
Maliwanag, malinaw, malakas na bulong ay ikaw

Ngayon gabi, sa pagtulog, halika sa panaginip ko
Sa panagip baka doon, tayo magkatotoo
Halika, mahal, halik sa tabi
Tulungan mo akong palayain ko ako...
Sarah Spang Sep 2015
The dragon looms before him
With waiting wanting jaws
And with its talon-ed fingertips
It grasps him in its claws.

Together forever, blissfully
They soar up and away
He doesn't know he's falling
As the dragon flies away

And every time he hits the ground
And gasps in disbelief
The pain drags on until the dragon
Offers him relief

One day, wings will carry you
Beyond what you can take
Those soothing claws will let you fall
And crush you when you break.
Alysha L Scott Aug 2012
Static whimpered then, now
was a moment, is and will be.

But in my deeper blue, waits a
Sapphire cesspool; waste and ivory
the Isle of Man, wades and drowns
silk swollen in the silence of still water,
through Hesperian greed and the tide
of golden apples.

In wandering, the cicada and cypress
grew in a moment's swan song,
Paradise was a pyre, and it was Winter
and the modern world.

And in what days of one day
would the enchantment bring-- of
the red faces and quivering tongues?

And what would the harpie bring--
icy tendrils of Spring to cool the flame?  
A wretched smile, of the witness
blackened, knelt cradling his
head in his hands.

and in that moment, I was a lost man,
a lost man,
And then the happiest on the face of the Earth:


Now, the night is shallow.
****** is a breath, Eros is breathing, I am still.

Still

caught in the net of waking dreams,
when a binary sunset births the piercing tone,
of frequency high and ears hollow:
I was on my back, floating
and Death stood waiting
at the end.

Chariot yoked, pinion on pinion,
I gritted my teeth, unfurled my wings
and wept-- the mind is vengeance
As cruelty is the Mother of love.

and Now
stands waiting,
in the memory of himself.
A war is waged each moment,
with the echo of forever:

soul for soul,
talon for talon.
Kurt De Castro Apr 2016
sa tabi ng dagat, sa may dalampasigan
kung saan kinikiliti ng buhangin ang ating mga talampakan
at ang mga alon ng tubig ay mapayapang naghahabulan

sa lugar ng berde, iyong may kaparangan
tahimik tayong nakalatag sa damuhan
katabi ang mga bulaklak at halaman
habang ang mga itim ng iyong mata’y aking tinititigan
at ang paggapang ng mga ulap sa itaas ay ating pinagmamasdan

sa ibang bansa, sa ibang pook
hawak ang iyong kamay, lilibutin ang bawat sulok
lalakbayin ang mundo habang bumubulusok
itong damdamin at pusong ikaw lang ang nagpapatibok

sa malalim na yungib, sa mapanganib na kuweba
pinapakinggan ang iyong boses, haplos mo’y kinakapa
sa kadlimang ito, hinahanap ka
naniniwala sa sarilng nariyan lang siya

sa tabi ng ilog, iyong rumaragasa
kung saan ang ating paglalakabay ay nagsimula
ang linaw ng tubig ay siyang nakamamangha
at ating mga sarili ay kitang-kita

sa ilalim ng talon, kung saan unang nagtagpo
ang mga labi nating nanlalamig at hapo
tinatahak ang mga salitang hindi pa nahihipo
at ibinubuklod ang mga damdaming sa mga anino nagtatago

ako’y lulusot, gagapang, lulubog, at lalangoy nang walang alintana
sa tuktok ng bundok, sa dulo ng tulay, at sa kahit anong lungga
kahit saan ay susundan ka
dahil kahit saan papunta
ay sa iyo ako tatahan at mapupunta
Jordan Chacon Apr 2014
The Norwegian Rune Poem

Here you have both alliterative Fornyrðislag meter, and end rhyme.

Fé vældr frænda róge;
fðesk ulfr í skóge.

Úr er af illu jarne;
opt lypr ræinn á hjarne.

Þurs vældr kvinna kvillu;
kátr værðr fár af illu.

Óss er flæstra færða för;
en skalpr er sværða.

Ræið kveða rossom væsta;
Reginn sló sværðet bæzta.

Kaun er barna bölvan;
böl görver nán fölvan.

Hagall er kaldastr korna;
Kristr skóp hæimenn forna.

Nauðr gerer næppa koste;
nöktan kælr í froste.

Ís köllum brú bræiða;
blindan þarf at læiða.

Ár er gumna góðe;
get ek at örr var Fróðe.

Sól er landa ljóme;
lúti ek helgum dóme.

Týr er æinendr ása;
opt værðr smiðr blása.

Bjarkan er laufgroenstr líma;
Loki bar flærða tíma.

Maðr er moldar auki;
mikil er græip á hauki.

Lögr er, fællr ór fjalle foss;
en gull ero nosser.

Ýr er vetrgroenstr viða;
vænt er, er brennr, at sviða.

Translation:

Wealth is a source of discord among kinsmen;
the wolf lives in the forest.

Dross comes from bad iron;
the reindeer often races over the frozen snow.

Giant causes anguish to women;
misfortune makes few men cheerful.

Estuary is the way of most journeys;
but a scabbard is of swords.

Riding is said to be the hardest for horses;
Reginn forged the finest sword.

Ulcer is fatal to children;
death makes a corpse pale.

Hail is the coldest of grain;
Christ created the world of old.

Need gives scant choice;
a naked man is chilled by the frost.

Ice we call the broad bridge;
the blind man must be led.

Harvest is a boon to men;
I say that Froði was generous.

Sun is the light of the world;
I bow to the divine decree.

Týr is a one-handed God;
often has the smith to blow.

Birch has the greenest leaves of any shrub;
Loki was fortunate in his deceit.

Man is an augmentation of the dust;
great is the talon-span of the hawk.

Waterfall is a River falling from a mountain;
but ornaments are of gold.

Yew is the greenest of trees in winter;
it is wont to crackle when it burns.
kingjay Dec 2018
Ang awit ay sa mahal na **** inialay
Ang pagbubuwis ng buhay
Dahil sa Kanya natubos sa pagkakasala
Kaya di na lilihis sa Kanyang pamamaraan, magpakailanman

Tinuya ang talunan sa pagbitiw sa laban
Tinabas ng kahihiyan
Wala ng kaibigan
Ibinitin ng nakatadhana sa kamayhan
Habang nakadipa nagsalita,
tanggapin ang kabiguan

Kunin ang salik para kung mapukaw man ay mananatiling nulo
Maraming aglahi humabi ng lampin
Higaan ng peto angkin
ang samut saring pintas

Ang huni ay haluyhoy
ng ibon na nagsusumamo sa sanga
Yumuko dahil sa nahinuha
tungkol sa kaligiran na ginagalawan
Ipinarinig ang kanta

Palawigin ang pag-inog
Di malimitahan ng oras ang pagtamasa o ng dagsin sa pagtalon-talon
Tila balahibong dinuyan ng hangin
na umiilanglang hanggang sa magsawa
I’ll not take your time, beyond what the need,
To relate to you a story and deed
As there’s no one else to plea this decree …
For just I survived, don’t you see.

I’m an old man, with a mind full of mist
But details of that night in my mind still exist
As vivid and clear, both sharp and exact
No, no mist there – all of it’s fact!

When I was young, and adventure routine,
With excitement and newness still unforeseen
I was eager to spread my wings to the world
And seek more adventures as those wings unfurled

Within my long travels I happened to meet
Two other men, with friendships replete
One was named Beckett, the other one Flynn
And better friends there never have been.

Beckett was tall – an athletic type
While Flynn, the scholar, more of pinstripe
Pinstripe or athlete – it mattered not
It was our essence together and that which it wrought.

Engaged were we in all daring do
High on the mountains, and under seas, too,
We crossed dry deserts, and jungles of green
And other adventures there in between.

We’d been together, t’was our sixth year,
And still our adventures made us cohere
To every madness – to every rave …
Until we decided to enter The Cave.

We discussed the encounter and planning for weeks
And assembled equipment – some new, some antiques
Until at last the day it arrived …
And our excitement?  It still there survived.

The map we used, was bought from a guide
Who told my friend, Flynn: “Don’t go inside”
When he had learned of our journey’s intent:
To enter The Cave, and begin our descent.

The guides’ words, had given us pause
We had thought: What was his reason or cause?
But … dismissed were his words of advice
We had each other … and that would suffice.

With ropes and lantern-hats and other such gear
It was into The Cave we then disappeared.
The light from our lanterns speared into the dark
We spoke very little - made no remark.

Onward, downward, in blackness we went
Placing out markers for our later ascent
The sounds of our footsteps, and scraping of walls
Reverberated ‘round us – as echoed recalls

In about six hours, or maybe ‘twas more
We encountered water upon The Cave floor
And there all around were beautiful shapes
Never were seen such gorgeous landscapes

Stalactites, stalagmites and mineral mounds
And dripping water with its’ “plopping” sounds
Pinks, violets and shades of green hues
And small salamanders made their debuts

We found a small dry spot and then we assessed
This was a place we could stop now to rest.
I turned up my lantern, and took off my hat,
When Beckett said: “Hey.  Did you just hear that?”

I moved not a muscle, and my ears went to strain.
All I could hear were the droplets, like rain.
Then from The Cave’s bowels came a loud din
I continued to listen – then heard it again.

We looked at each other, but said not a word
Confused and startled by what we’d just heard
It wasn’t a moan, it wasn’t a gasp
But more rather like a guttural rasp

One thing was certain, it wasn’t of stone
That could create sounds while standing alone
T’was our discussion, from which to derive:
The source of the sound was something … alive.

Then from The Cave’s deepened black hole
Came again sounds from a source with no soul
The sound was menacing, and one I despise,
I watched the fear grow within my friends’ eyes.

Instinctively, we three then moved as one
In that instant – our re-ascent had begun
I had been last in the line coming down
Now I’d be the first to reach the “above-ground”.

Quickly my feet in the lead, lead the way
Flynn, right behind had nothing to say
My friend Beckett, brought up the rear
And in that position had the greatest to fear

The lamp on my hat pierced through the black
And I looked for our markers to lead us back
To save our strength, nothing was said
Again - the loud sound that filled me with dread.

The sound became louder and closer it be
And I moved faster through the black before me
I could hear Flynn’s breathing, so close behind
I tried to concentrate on the markers to find

Somewhere behind me, then snarls I heard
Loud and vicious, run together and blurred
Close … so close … the beast was so near
Adrenalin rushed through me to react to my fear

T’was then I was hit with an overpowering stench
The smell caused my stomach to turn and to wrench
The odor blew past me, and I knew t’was the breath
Of the Beast of The Cave – its’ oder of death.

I was near running, but down on all fours
Sweat was streaming from all of my pores.
Then I heard those terrible screams
The ones I keep hearing in all of my dreams

It was Beckett I knew in his shocked agony
Midst the snarled snapping of jaws I can’t see
I heard bones cracking and squishing of flesh
And the fear within me gave new strength afresh

My fingers were raw from grabbing the rock
But on moving forward my mind had its’ lock
My stomach still queasy from the stench of the beast
I knew it was finishing its’ beastly feast

I knew, too, t’was only a matter of time
When the beast would return - I had to climb!
I heard Flynn say: “IT’S COMING AGAIN!”
Again was a surge of my fear deep within.

I heard once more the beast from behind
And fought the panic taking over my mind
Something heavy struck against The Cave’s walls
The kind of sounds that ghastly appalls:

A scraping of talons of heavy clawed feet
Caused my heart to double its’ beat
I had the feeling that Flynn lagged behind
I screamed my urgings loud and maligned:

“Flynn!  Flynn!  Catch up to me!”
But took not the time to look back and see
For the beasts’ crashing against The Cave’s face
Told me it neared – and was re-gaining the race

My knee hit a rock, and my balance was lost!
I fell to the ground, and then feared the cost
In losing the time in scrambling free
Again sheer panic stabbed into me.

In less than an instant, Flynn was there too,
His face in my light was of a strange hue
And as he helped me get back to my feet …
Flynn turned around – t’was The Beast there to meet.

The stench overwhelming, but the sight was much worse
There standing before us: The beastly curse
Of overlapping scales in shades of dark gray
The rest of its’ body concealed in umbrae

But its’ eyes … its’ eyes … I’ll never forget
Rheumatoid yellow, and deeply inset
Its’ reptilian lids blinked just one time
‘Fore its’ lips peeled back - revealing the slime

Glistening yellow over dagger-like teeth
Then oozed from its’ mouth to fall there beneath.
The beast reared up, then we saw its’ claws
Sharp and deadly within its’ forepaws

Towering above us, no sound the beast made
On beams of our light had his gaze stayed.
Unexpectedly Flynn then turned and faced me
… With less blinding light, the beast could again see

Why Flynn had turned I never will know
For the beast bit him in two, at his torso
And I was looking at Flynn – direct in his face
When the beasts’ bite his life did erase.

I screamed, and instantly away did I run
Away from the beast, and dead companion
Through the price of Flynn’s life, more time had been bought
To reach The Cave’s entrance – the goal that I sought

Running wildly, several times did I fall
Toppling did not my mission forestall
The beast I knew still somewhere behind
Drove me on forward with my frantic mind

I heard its’ clawed talons scraping the wall
And prayed I’d not again stumble and fall
Then, up ahead, a small opening I viewed
And I saw my chance, with hope there exude

Twelve feet … six feet … then it was three
But the beast and its’ stench was there behind me
I dove through the rock opening, scraping my head
But better that injury than ending up dead

I was elated, and about to rejoice
I then heard a scream – it was my own voice!
In my leg erupted intense blinding pain
Looking down I saw the bloodstain

My leg, through the opening, still was stuck out
There was but split-seconds, before I’d lose it no doubt
I pulled my leg back, and in but a flash
My shoe was removed by a clawed talon slash

I crawled back from the opening, then I could see
My wound was deep, from ankle to knee
Then suddenly through the opening came
A clawed talon whose aim was to maim

I quickly withdrew out of its’ reach
As claws shot through the openings’ breech
The opening too small, for continued rampage
And the beast began then to voice its’ outrage

It’s deafening roars assaulted my ears
Echoed Cave chambers and in my mind did adhere
I began attending unto my grave wound
Knowing I now was no longer marooned.

T’was another hour ‘fore I crawled out The Cave
But many days ‘fore I’d shed the shockwave
Of what had transpired, and what I had seen
And my damaged leg was lost to gangrene.

Now sleep evades me, for my horrible dreams
Show beams of light, and unearthly screams
Of Beckett and Flynn and The Cave we were in
I know tonight, I’ll re-live it again.

So, now you’ve the story, you’ve heard the deed
I swear is the truth I’ve herein decreed
And Beckett and Flynn are enslaved in their grave
And I lost my leg to the Beast of The Cave.
Iris Rebry Oct 2014
Long and thin,
Claw like,
Like spider's legs
Frail
They run
Faster and faster,
The talon-like nails tapping
The table,
Mimicking Beethoven's fifth symphony
We grasp
We clench
With white knuckles
a cold white
A hard white
An icy white
Holding onto the last life we have.
Without fingers,
We cannot hold each other's hands,
We cannot play music,
We cannot write our thoughts.
We are not human,
Without our
Fingers
Rip Lazybones Oct 2014
The wind always ****** me off. Tossing my hair from side to side, and usually on the opposite side the ship is swaying. Always so nauseating. Leaned against the railing I watch my ship mates joke, rough house, and drink. I would describe them as quaint, but Neptune forbid they hear me and I have to explain what another word means. Illiterate ******* . I gave one of them a dictionary one time in hopes they would be inspired. They returned it to me two days later with all the words about *** and female organs underlined and circled. Why do I have to be stuck with these people? Brain cells keep committing suicide every time one of these chumps rabble something to me.

**** it all, here comes one. Just go away, ****. ****, what could he possibly want. Maybe if I lean back now I can just fall into the water and drown. The wind gives me another fist up my nostril by blowing his stench my way. "We be landin' soon! Ye comin' wit us dis time or are ye gunna stay behind and work on your fancy doctor voodoo or trace your ***** in one of your books to **** it to lata?" They all start laughing and whoopin. "Well I need some things, and I can't trust you idiots to bring me anything back besides rotted meat and disgusting women! So I guess I have to get off the boat this time." He made some typical fairy joke toward me and went back to drinking with the others.

The spotter cried his typical thing about seeing land, as if we didn't have eyes to see that massive hunk of blot that isn't water coming toward us. Maybe this time I can get "lost" and never board this ship again. I don't care where I go or do. After she left, it doesn't matter. If I could find some decently witted science wiser, I'd give them my journals and let my soul free from this cursed rock. Until then, my studies are far too important to be lost to these mongrels.

On a brighter note, the island looked to be a dense tropical stage type of island. Perfect! My greatest chance to find some herbs in quite some time. Maybe they will even have a wild large cat these guys can fight. With any luck, it would eat them all then die choking one of their pieces of jewelry or **** it from their various ****** diseases. That would just be heaven. Rid me of these animals and I could get some ingredients from the majestic beast's corpse. Their eyes and blood are good for various mixes. My thought is disrupted by the sweet smell of the isle on the breeze. Sweet sweet hibiscus, we came just at the right time of year. My leg ticks on the ground with excitement. Moments like these make me forget all my misery, the rush of progress. The high of walking back with sacks full of goodies. Rushing to my mortar and pestle. Thank you, Neptune for surfacing such a wonderful place.

The captain's door kicks open as we pull up to shore. "Alright me hearties! Time to do what we do best. Let's go find some meat to eat and some meat to poke!" A cheer from crew erupted. I caught the last boat going to shore. I brought every empty sack and a few various journals to record. Each stroke of the paddle fills me with a little more glee. We all land on shore, but there is a bit of wildness in the air. None of the crew seems to notice. No birds in the area flying by or perched. A pathway of large trees are knocked down. I point out to the captain what I have observed. He gets the wild look in his eye and points over to the path. "This way, boys! We got something big to ****!"

Walking behind the group as I scribble doodles and notes in my journal. A lot of the trees that are downed have large slashes in them. Every now and then we come across and splat of blood or some feathers. The feathers are quite large and colourful. Ahead we can see a clearing to what looks like a cliff range. The lush green ground is now leading into red clay. Large talon prints are starting to appear. The captain leads us in the direction of the prints. As we go further, decomposing carcasses and skeletons litter the path.

Never in a hundred life times would I be prepared for what we were about to see. At the edge of the cliff lies a giant nest, and in it was a pure terror. It's back had more colours then I even fathomed were in existence. It's tail feather alone was larger than our ship. The crew seemed genuinely disturbed. "What the ******* is that?!" yelled one of the crew members. The behemoth was instantly awoken. It stretched it wings and stood up in its nest. The bird turned around and faced us. Holy ******* ****, this thing was some sort of massive giant macaw. Being the size it is, I doubt it eats the kind of pleasant things its cousins consume.

To compensate for being woke up, it looked as if it was going to make a quick meal out of us. This is perfect! Maybe all these idiots will get butchered and I can just slide away. I looked over to the captain, and his eyes were over flowing with wildness. With a saber and flintlock ready, he ordered the charge. With mighty yells they all rush the bird. The giant ***** its wings and uses the gust to blow down the crew. It hops into the air and comes down crushing several members under its blood stained talons. Even with dried, caked clay I could feel the vibrations from his force. The captain takes aim with his flintlock and nails the bird in the left eye. The bird let out a large screech before pecking down and reducing more crew members to a pile of protein and bone.

At this point in the battle, there are only thirteen of us left. ****, that is an unlucky number. Are they going to fluke this and **** that thing? ******* it, I don't want to eat bird for the next few months. I continue to doodle the beast as the battle rages. A quick swipe from his talons eviscerates a few more members. The crew has done nothing more than leave a few cuts on the beast's legs and a few bullets lodged in his plumage. The bird surges into the air in a rage. He quickly snatches up 3 members in each talon and tosses them off the cliffs. Five of us remain including the captain. Swooping down and gobbling up two more members, the captain doesn't even begin to bat an eye. There are only two fighters left. The captain is climbing up the leg of the bird as the last crew member gets pulled apart by the bird. The bird not noticing the captain scaling his back hops toward me. It turns its head so its unwounded eye can see me. The head snaps back to forward face and hops toward me.

The captain is now on top of the beast's head, perfect. I reach my satchel and pull out two full glass bottles. A loud squawk comes from the bird as it prepares to eat to me. I quickly pitch one of the bottles at the head of the bird. The glass cracks on its head and liquid goes all over the bird and the captain. Smoke begins to roll off of them as their flesh drips off their bone. Realizing I won't need the second bottle, I put it away and sit down as the bird's nerves twitch out its last moments of life. What is left of the captain is dripping down the bird. The corpse of my saviour collapses to the side.

Finally, as I deserve to be, I am alone. Alone on a giant island of who knows what else, but for the first time since she left me; I'm smiling. I can work and research in peace, and with any luck someone of worth will discover my remains years later and find my journals. I am left with what I was born with. Nothing, but what lies between ears. I both thank and apologize to you mighty fowl. My all the souls scattered on this island be comforted by my joy.
kingjay Jan 2019
Paghinga'y humihina at
ang pagngiti ay may kasama ng luha
Ang pagsinta'y kinaiinggitan ng langit
bagaman hindi mapalad

Pagdurugo'y ayaw na tumigil
Ang kapanglawan sa loob ay naghari
Nanirahan sa anino ng bukid - sa dilim
Nag-alala sa di humuhugpong tulay

Sinlamig ng nyebe sa taglamig
Sa kaginawan nagiging yelo ang tubig
At ang temperatura'y bumababa pa sa sero
Gaya ng pagpanaog ng bahaghari sa magkabilang dulo

Tulad ng malinaw na batis
at ng talon na masiyahin
nag-uugnay sa damdamin - pag-ibig na hindi kailanman naangkin at
naalagaan para bumalong

Nang ito'y hindi na maitiklop
upang maisilid sa mumunting lalagyan,
humihibik sa tuwing gabi
Ang inuusal ay mahal na lakambini
limang sintido'y binihag
Sy Lilang Apr 2016
042816

Puputok ang bulkan
Poot, pangamba at pag-aalinlangan.

Bubuhos ang tubig sa talon
Saya, sabik at takot.

Guguho ang lupa
Paniniguro, pagkapit at pananampalataya.

Iihip ang hangin
Bagsik, pagsubok at paghihingalo.

Sisikat ang araw
Pag-usbong, paniniwala at katanungan.

Hahawi ang ulap
Kinabukasan, katarungan at katiwasayan.

Iba't ibang anyo
Pabagu-bago, pero yun sila
*Hindi na natin mababago pa.
Kurt De Castro Dec 2015
mahuhulog ka
at dadanak ng walang pahintulot
gaya ng tubig mula sa tuktok ng talon

babagsak ako
gaya ng tubig na humahampas sa ilog
na bubuo ng languyan ng luhang inipon

maliligo ako
sa ginaw ng iyong ngiti
at sa lamig ng iyong pisngi

aagos ka
at lilipas nang madali
maglalakbay at mahuhulog na namang muli
Sy Lilang May 2017
Kagaya ng tubig, aagos ang pag-ibig.
Ang tubig na inihasik mo sa dagat
Ay aanurin din papalayo sayo --
Papalayo ngunit sana'y papalapit ang takbo.

Ilang beses ka mang magtaya
Ay hindi mo matatantiya ang panahon
At ang pagkakataong nasa kamay mo na,
Ayan, biglang maglalaho at bubusina
Ng "paalam, pagsinta."

Ilang beses ka mang magtapon ng barya
Aagos pa rin ang tubig
At hahampas ng paulit-ulit sa sagradong buhangin.
Mananatili sa ilalim ang bawat **** hiling
Ang hiling na sana'y hindi ang alat ng dagat
Ang dumampi sa nilihang lalamunan.

Kumanlong ako sa mga butil ng buhangin
Nang muli kong mapagmasdan
Ang ilog, ang sapa, ang talon at ang dagat
Na nasa iisang garapon.
Uminom ako, at doon naglaho ang istorya
Ako'y napukaw ng buhanging pambara.
Beth Decisions Feb 2016
I'm sitting here in the same spot I have sat hundreds of times before with memories taking over my mind. Thinking back to a happier time.
A time with you sitting next to me with a talon in your hand.
Jordan LC Murphy Apr 2016
I envy the Eagles that sore In the blue sky,
Arial combatants, the vertically inclined,
The shriek of the eagle with fire in its eyes,
Blood on its talons, wings held so wide,
I awe at these angles with a lust in my mind,
Inspired by the talents, true lords of the sky,
Swift by nature, born for flight, torn in fights,
Broken feathers, scars of time, over the edge,
With the wind as a guide or up in the clouds like birds of a feather,
Long live the clever proud eagle forever and ever!!
kingjay Mar 2019
Pupungas-pungas pa
Nasisilawan sa munting sinag
Di-makagulapay ang mga binti
Daig pa ang nakaratay na may sakit

Sa bawat umaga ay di pagkagaling
Tumighaw sana kahit na ang lumbay
Kung sa huni ng mga ibon ay naaaliw
makakagising nang may sigla at panibagong ginhawa

Ngunit nang minsan ang kaginhawaan ay nalasap
nanguluntoy ang pangarap
Sa tanghali na matindi ang bugso ng init
naranasan ang pagkapagod sa bukid

Hahayaan para sa kapakanan niya
na ang higad makisama sa mga paruparo na magiging siya
Huwag na dumapo sa dahon
na nagpakain noon
datapwat tumungo sa bulaklak ng palasyo

Pigilan ang tibok
Kahit parang buhos ng tubig sa talon
Ang ikamamatay ay siyang ikalulugod
Sapagkat sa kasaysayan ay napapako,
pinaparusahan ng panghihinayang
An Archangel dazzled as lightening! Swapped, clasped the wings as an eagle’s talon beneath:
Climbing the thrones of Heaven swapped Lo! “An Archangel” Lo!
an Archangel? Hypnotized a soul with a lance in a trance? The crown
Of
The
Arch type
To
Her
Fingers, flowers in the moor in the hands. The ancient manor
Of Archangels in the palaces of time and space, it takes two to tangle that “Iam…that...iam”; Germania the Archangel!
David Nelson Mar 2010
Wee Wee Missure

excusez-moi pendant que je prends un pipi
gardez votre imagination les chaussures haut refaites un talon de la voie
les cris si désolés j'ai un pauvre but
projetait de le fixer plus **** aujourd'hui

si triste que je ne garde pas de contrôle
le monsieur partez s'il vous plaît
envoyez-moi la facture faisante le ménage
Je mendie humblement votre clémence

Translater translation2.paralink

excuse me while I take a ***
keep your fancy high heeled shoes out of the way
whoops so sorry I have a poor aim
was planning to fix that later today

so sad that I do not keep control
mister please will you move away
send the cleaning bill over to me
I humbly beg your mercy

Gomer LePoet...
Jon Thenes Sep 2019
no picnic when panic
no streets unborn here

germinal ;
creature undresses
from his cool rubbery dead skin
steps
scent free
into the sodium light
and works on its pallor

fleshed out from the plumbing
a manic talent
it sports the label , Mr. Talon
and favours a facade of mercurial cosmetics

now,
a character most vividly colourful and male-ish
a voice
a maddened song
he breaks his face
and makes it a smile

armed with this sickle
bringing his comedic heavings to the public
he goes gory across the fresh laundry
a violence upon the canvas
a spree upon welcoming sadness
an open mockery
breaking ease
and seizing upon an audience

no more chiding
from within the shade
(egging on villains
and dropping muse-meal)
the folk hero
the prankster
this fierce performer of mischief
takes the stage
in a full suit of teeth-skin
and he’s really quite ravenous
for your abiding applause
‘popular in the mutterings
  founded in the gutterings
  bring out the chalk lines
  and biohazard baggies
  for this fierce performer of mischief !’
Werdna Jan 2019
A circle speaks volumes.
Revolutionize and tidy up.
Instruction manuals are read automatically.
Privacy parts the talon and now,
how the sky blinks a feather ever so unusually.

Ever wake up in your sleep to your head fully stuck in the sixth sense
stomach of a pillow, and thought to yourself in bed about how much of
a dream it must be to be stuffed turkey?

I haven't.

Or thought to your self made bed how making the bed as an edible
symbol of thanksgiving
is like taking a stand
on a landmine,
for eternity?

I haven't.
I also lie and lay awake to myself.

Although a traveler tends to do all of the above,
below the radar.
A farmer tends too.
Eats an earthquake,
aftershock, rattled rim, pacific clarity, clear the oceans, tremors, tremors,
Noah's ark is a humpback funeral home.
Noah riding a hearse by the hubcap, clean teeth grip.
Noah in my mouth, reciting odd numbers on my taste buds.

Noah licking a polished nail, course matte for me,
three by three, the poor
poor bones of a humpback whale singing sad on a mountain.

You have to wonder about coffins when it's death out.
And water among amidst when your lungs are thirsty.
And since it seems the tried and tested walk has all but run away,
some metal wood rubber leather latex silk wool boxes spit out tickets.

A materialistic downer on uppers levels off at acceptance.
And yeah, smoking will **** you, but this is about me and I need to inhale.
This is not about me, but about you, or was that nature?
The nature of nurturing seems as good a point to start this conversation.
But it's dead end talk to talk in line segments, and well, ****,
it's time for an advertisement:

This cylinder tin is full of everything your life is empty of!
Forget the cost; be content with the contents,
rehearse the ingredients, unload the all and do it again.
Infatuation is hot-air gas inflated in the belly of outer space.
I love the way those stars look and those stars love looking at me.

The cut and paste of our human race is unfairly lopsided.
The northern blade has a tumor the size of misdirection,
the scales are tipped, the whips are tipped, and the weapons are gripped.
Sudan doesn't own scissors; Angola is the axis of axe-less
but their ******* skyline is incestuously bright,
their constellations all make sense,
and their astronauts haven't lifted off, to jump and jive in the very
same sky we share with them.
No, not yet, there are animals to be slaughtered sedimentary still.
Ones with tribal names that come off the tongue like mouth sound effects,
they are almost people, without horns hammered in their heads.

Eating on all fours from a license plate.
Dig in, Donesia.
How is life in amnesia, brain pulp square?
Psychologically disturbed map and memory loss, southwest Asia?
Your address is a long walk, but the **** citizen on the roadside exhibit
is a refreshing remix to our boring, bragging billboards.
And your suffering is art to the skull and cross-bone pale cube galleries
that we call home sweet, home sweet merchandise.
And rest assured, your lack of rest will insure western survival,
North America will steal your toddler corpses
and sell them at the front gates of your orphanage ghettos.
It's the least we can do after gouging out your eyeballs.

I didn't even write this, it was drawn by a blind boy in India.

The black market pencil case people are going to a blow-out sale.
The sales on them and the jokes a bomb.
The jokes on them and the sales a bomb.
The bombs on them and the jokes a sale.
The female holds her breath and suffocates a male.
And the genders collapse in heaps and heaves, recycled and broke
like natural leaves caught in a mythological fighter
jet's propeller.
Like aeroplanes, several even, oddly amount conclusive crash-like.
Like, like, like, if the globe of green and blue were to still be alive
I would colour co-ordinate accordingly, and wear whatever hue
the big bang theory wasn't.
Dust particles getting it on and such.
Finger painting *** with a rag and pan pencil case.

The black market Darwin drawin' is on fire in the pockets of our youth,
elderly lint in same corduroy bent knuckle nameless, places
an introduction to i.v. and a never un-shook from his hinges
living room magazine holder.
So the flinching milli-metricks betwixt our beloved booklets brings
gratification, satisfaction, and eternal life.
And gravity with a runny nose.
Oh, oh!  My first ever and last edit: Make that ******.

So I'm infinite pass-time, tedious rusty grime
and dead llama on the zoo-way.
"Look Ma, a dead llama!"
"No dear, she is just sleeping with her blood out
and cage on".

No more rides for the unknown, let it be known.
Call your superiors, mega-impose their posteriors, an emphasis on
brittle lives.
And chew the fat, chew the fat, **** the marrow, narrow
weight-scale bound in chain-mail, accidental prediction protection,
magnify, mortify, modern sill overdosing on wake pills, horticultural hi.

I am coherent when the setting is all tens, when
the plot is all tens, when the characters are all reaping tens.
The catch is in the ******, looking scared cloth-less elevens.

Judges, what verdict gives you
the right to wig wear an oak arm chair
with an all too obvious worn-mallet-beating-desktop syndrome
bashing your would be innocent until proven rich-boy lashes, err, guilty?

Was that even a question,
or merely a stir-fried rant?

The master chefs are coming after us all in our under garments,
over bridges and mountains and tiger stance wisdom and
we need a Messiah like we need horseshoes on our foreheads.

Mule yoke split on the frying pan of till death do us cook.
Separation nation; a river plain, a barren abstract.
And the artists are painting droplets on their toes,
kissing themselves after a game of Chinese checkers,
determined to squirm sweet nothings while riding
question mark shaped seats from Sweden.

And under a hail of Mary's, Jason's, William's, Susan's, and missiles,
they touch their ankles where they know
nails should be,
extinct.

A circle sounds off,
a sky sounds awful,
a bomb sounds right,
a body sounds circles,
and a circle speaks volumes.
Onoma Nov 2013
Where the church bell gapes
at its golden discs gain the airy steep.
Where the eagle deposits its
majestic soar, a mass of feather and
talon--Empyrean's doormat.
Where Icarus stroked wax wing
through the sepia ambiance of his
mind.
Where the hermit broke 'neath after
decade of reclusion.
Where star discloseth foci to
dime the dead of space.
Where striven peace's tangled root
whistles extolling.
Where an aerodynamic corpus
unsheathed horizon, parting palpebras....
surging the seen, unseen.
All's apparent aqua blue, transparent
*****, outspread portent pregnant of
blessing.
O sky--every soul's once-over,
immaculate conceptions...ex nihilo.
Senor Negativo Sep 2012
At no time in my deranged youth
Did I ever grasp the full breadth of the truth.
A living death is sown by us alone,
In a paradox of pestilence
We are our own entropy.
From a rancid repellent abyss
I have climbed forth,
Cloaked in your memory
I storm forward, knowing that I shall not falter
There upon the alter of life's trials
I found a token of acceptance, a funerary charm.
From the dust of a bygone age I will mark my place.
Your hand grips like the talon of an eagle,
I found salvation in your touch and cellular synthesis in your stare.
Now months past the playful begginings, now,
I find your skin particles still cling to me,
Magnetized, electric connections, remind me of our bonds.
Though ******* so perfect, would make slaves of nations
Swayed beneath the legions of laughter marching forth from your mouth.
I cannot crucify your image, though I martyr myself in your name,
In the depths of my shame, your gentle presence remained,
A mirror to the pain, a white blouse stitched, lightly parted lips,
Bring back that ethereal face for one day,
It helped me to battle, and brave the night,
The fight I fought, was for your touch alone.
Now you touch me with different hands,
You choose how you touch, I take what I can get.
It is the meaning behind the caress that abolishes my regrets.
A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;
The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;
Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known as Lou.

When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and the glare,
There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-*****, and loaded for bear.
He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse,
Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house.
There was none could place the stranger's face, though we searched ourselves for a clue;
But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan McGrew.

There's men that somehow just grip your eyes, and hold them hard like a spell;
And such was he, and he looked to me like a man who had lived in hell;
With a face most hair, and the dreary stare of a dog whose day is done,
As he watered the green stuff in his glass, and the drops fell one by one.
Then I got to figgering who he was, and wondering what he'd do,
And I turned my head -- and there watching him was the lady that's known as Lou.

His eyes went rubbering round the room, and he seemed in a kind of daze,
Till at last that old piano fell in the way of his wandering gaze.
The rag-time kid was having a drink; there was no one else on the stool,
So the stranger stumbles across the room, and flops down there like a fool.
In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him sway;
Then he clutched the keys with his talon hands -- my God! but that man could play.

Were you ever out in the Great Alone, when the moon was awful clear,
And the icy mountains hemmed you in with a silence you most could HEAR;
With only the howl of a timber wolf, and you camped there in the cold,
A half-dead thing in a stark, dead world, clean mad for the muck called gold;
While high overhead, green, yellow and red, the North Lights swept in bars? --
Then you've a haunch what the music meant . . . hunger and night and the stars.

And hunger not of the belly kind, that's banished with bacon and beans,
But the gnawing hunger of lonely men for a home and all that it means;
For a fireside far from the cares that are, four walls and a roof above;
But oh! so cramful of cosy joy, and crowned with a woman's love --
A woman dearer than all the world, and true as Heaven is true --
(God! how ghastly she looks through her rouge, -- the lady that's known as Lou.)

Then on a sudden the music changed, so soft that you scarce could hear;
But you felt that your life had been looted clean of all that it once held dear;
That someone had stolen the woman you loved; that her love was a devil's lie;
That your guts were gone, and the best for you was to crawl away and die.
'Twas the crowning cry of a heart's despair, and it thrilled you through and through --
"I guess I'll make it a spread misere," said Dangerous Dan McGrew.

The music almost died away . . . then it burst like a pent-up flood;
And it seemed to say, "Repay, repay," and my eyes were blind with blood.
The thought came back of an ancient wrong, and it stung like a frozen lash,
And the lust awoke to ****, to **** . . . then the music stopped with a crash,
And the stranger turned, and his eyes they burned in a most peculiar way;

In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him sway;
Then his lips went in in a kind of grin, and he spoke, and his voice was calm,
And "Boys," says he, "you don't know me, and none of you care a ****;
But I want to state, and my words are straight, and I'll bet my poke they're true,
That one of you is a hound of hell . . . and that one is Dan McGrew."

Then I ducked my head, and the lights went out, and two guns blazed in the dark,
And a woman screamed, and the lights went up, and two men lay stiff and stark.
Pitched on his head, and pumped full of lead, was Dangerous Dan McGrew,
While the man from the creeks lay clutched to the breast of the lady that's known as Lou.

These are the simple facts of the case, and I guess I ought to know.
They say that the stranger was crazed with "*****", and I'm not denying it's so.
I'm not so wise as the lawyer guys, but strictly between us two --
The woman that kissed him and -- pinched his poke -- was the lady that's known as Lou.
Carolina P Jun 2015
Moonrise
when the sun should sink
and the dry desert cry would ring
through the night
and you will soar

You will soar,
as if the wind must ask
of more
And a cracked tulip may shrivel
from the rasped breath
of your flight

Yet, it's you alone in your might.
And none would know of  
your plight,
none other than the moon.
That laughing moon....
If only to pluck it out with talon-ed finger...

But you, with clever eye,
will see that so long as your sole arch
carves the sky
perhaps could quake even the shadowed backs of devils below and
still
always
you will soar

Night glider, sing
Sink, or take wing
Dry wind on feather
Earth and bird, together
I'm new.  First poem.  Hello.
Ben Jones Jun 2013
There's a tale that's spoken
When dawn has broken
By gateman and watchmen and guards
And it's echoed by thieves
As the night time leaves
As they shuffle their crooked cards

Of a demon disguised
And a doctor despised
So be weary of coaches at night
There's a roaming physician
Of the devils tuition
A curse and a bringer of plight

Oh, Doctor Sinestre
The butcher of Leicester
A man with a hunger for pain
With top hat and tails
And talon-like nails
There are many he's happily slain
He travels by night
And is fast out of sight
And away by the first light of day
He takes eyes and ears
As grim souvenirs
And your body is left on display

It's said he was born
With a singular horn
Which he uses to gouge his prey
And my grandmother swears
He was brought up by bears
Which he killed in a grizzly display

He's a magical voice
A remover of choice
To beguile the strongest of wills
He can tear you apart
And pull out your heart
So quickly the blood never spills

Oh, Doctor Sinestre
The gory molester
An animal dressed as a man
If you hear him approach
In his ebony coach
Then away just as fast as you can
He feeds on the weak
On souls of the bleak
And seekers of fortune and strife
He removes your afflictions
Diseases, addictions
As swiftly he cures you of life

He has eyes in his ears
So he sees what he hears
His teeth once belonged to a snake
The soles of his feet
Don't meet with the street
Not a print or a sound does he make

There are maps of strange lands
On the palms of his hands
And thick purple hair on the back
There's a bat in his hat
All sluggish and fat
For if ever he fancies a snack

Oh, Doctor Sinestre
The mayor of Chester
And prince of the circles of hell
He giggles and gloats
As he fiddles with goats
He dabbles in chickens as well
A spaceship he flies
Through Lancashire skies
He can turn you to gold with a kiss
He's a ghost driven mad
By his alien dad
And.... Are you TOTALLY sure about this?
Paul M Chafer Feb 2014
By the shores of the Dry-sea.
Beyond salt-crusted sands,
In deep, deep, caves,
You will find dragons.
Long ago, in ages past,
Men and women were selected,
An honour to ride these great beasts.
Winged creatures of giant stature,
Sharp of tooth and talon.
Then foolishly, the dragon-riders fought.
The battles, ****** and deadly,
Swooped across scorched skies.
Then the dragons took their leave,
And burrowed deep into the earth,
Where they slept away the centuries.
Occasionally one would surface,
In a lake, a fjord or a loch,
Emerging by secret ways,
To see if mankind still made war.
Until at last, mankind has long gone.
The Earth is dry: blisteringly hot.
Perfect for dragons to bask,
Upon the salt-crusted sands,
By the shores of the Dry-sea.

© Paul Chafer 2014
I just enjoy the notion of dragons, in our vast unfathomable Universe, they are sure to exist: somewhere.
Venusoul7 Sep 2014
I am not apt to dance with fleeting judgement
Gone awry, left of right
A pain stained glance through her window
Strikes a splintered gaze in spite~
loyalties sworn in the moment,
shifted by the hands of time
reaching out with subtle movement
crashed onto the seaweed shore.
Coral kiss may not recover, unresolved and underscored.
A talon's reach amidst the plunder grabbing bodies off the floor
diving swiftly out and under
shifting upwards, on the run.
Phasing inwards contemplation
in between the Earth and Sun.
Moonlight walkers jubilation~
infiltrating everyone.
Cast a spell of Celebrations,
right of left, to keep the balance
turns the page
for brand new season~
blows the Horn of Clarion.
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
DECEMBER DREAMS**

December dreams spiral
thru the whiffs of smoke,
emanating from forest hidden Cherokee homes.
They pirouette the way notes
imagine Lester Young’s
tenor music to be;
the way Blue Jays flap
while protecting their territory.
~~~
The Eastern mountains,
snow covered and brown,
rise gently as I walk
yet provide glimmers of ancient valleys
carved out by receding ice.
There is the feel of human destiny
washing me as a breeze
sings thru wild peach trees;
And a breeze lifting sharp talon hawks
with its hunting melodies
carrying the owl's secrets
thru even more exotic landscapes.
~~~
Over looking the Talamaque River,
I rest on the brown
frozen earth becoming
lost in ancestor dreams.
I can see the blood flowing west.
I feel the tears soaking the ground
where Dogwood now grows.
And Grandfather speaks to me
with a warm sun in the ‘long ago tongue’:
“Redzone, it is good to
have these memories.
To remember the trees
the bear and the chic-a-dee.
One day, May will arrive with the morning crows
and Turtle will once again discuss
constellations with the Moon.
Our people, will no longer be forgetful
of who we are and how far we have to go."
~~~
December dreams spiral
thru whiffs of smoke
and Lester Young plays
with the flapping Blue Jays.

~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 12.15.01~~
(written after finishing a collection of poems
by Ron Welburn called “Coming Through Smoke
and the Dreaming”)
This is an older poem written when I was using redzone as my pen name..  it is also influenced by some of my Native American heritage..
SassyJ Feb 2016
(B)
Cacophony vocal cords turned inside out
Folding back upon themselves in cruel creases
Vibrations resonating in strained harmonies
Against the dire fabric of my delirious oblivion

(J)
I stomp your echoes as they travel through light
Unleashing my fangs to sting your roaring mess
Frequencies lowered from baseline to internal signal
To form a wave at the quilted patch you weaved

(B)
Disregard all visualized fear firmly penetrating realms
Of thickening white-hot spirit a roiling boiling crucible
Inflamed fiery fleshly folds of terminated temptations
Drawing your musky draught drinking your toxic brew

(J)
Your sight announces epiphanies of me sinking deeper
A manhood you portray is my repatriation, prepare the shovel  
Ruin me I plead! Packet and send me down to my casket
You can't stitch me, I am twitching, itching, iced in sorrows

(B)
Clawing at the world, hissing, spitting my deep disdain
My every defense mumbling, crumbling into its derelict dust
Welcoming my inevitable defeat, my tattered, blood spattered
White flag flies, surrendering all to hail the conquering pain.

(J)
The flag waves in bloodied winds, you wing wading wounds
Trying to reach snowy mountainous top, the ascending sledge
We fall inverted bumping, exposing our cranium, posing in disgust
Hold this hawk talon scratch the earth, its the only hope you hold
I am open for One a week collaboration till March 2016. Interested? Leave a comment or message me. The pens are really running low... 5  more people are needed!Ladies where are you????

No 4. One a week series collaboration with Bill Hughes
Bill's word is an asylum and his expressions his sanctuary. Bill has got a huge heart and he has been superb to me and my muse. My muse greatly appreciates his support and kindness. When I nearly deleted my account Bill demanded for me to sit on the thought and not make rush decisions. He ended up deleting his old account.
Bill and Mydystopia have  remained a great support here at HP .... when I felt my voice was so faded and irrelevant they gave me strength and motivation to experiment with different sounds. I cannot thank you guys enough... always in awe.
This piece was very transmuting, when we decided to explore "melancholy" at it's best we didn't know where to begin. But we had a base eventually and words and emotions coiled. This piece took nearly 3 weeks as often I find it hard to express melancholy. But we got there eventually!!!!

To view Bill Hughes melodies please visit his site at: homepage: http://hellopoetry.com/bron-hicks/

Bye Melancholy.... I am playing my happy song (Land Down Under by Men at Work) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XfR9iY5y94s

— The End —