"terrorizing" poems
Mark A. Williams
SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018
___________________________________________________________
Wow Mark,
Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later!
Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker.
All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota.
(RIP Jimi Carlsen)
Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons!
Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories.
I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend.
I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah back together.
Jeff Gaines
July 28, 2018
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 7:00 AM UTC
My mind is a maze
Mirrored walls
Sloped floors
I can't find my way out of it
Like a circus freak show
My mind freaks me out
Terrorizing me in the night
Invading my resting dreams
But in these times I'm lost
Although I'm scared and alone
There is peace in these halls
Of my mazed mirrored mind
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC
Olives, figs, dates and mastic, wyrd or oracles, fates and magic, wars and loves and all that’s tragic.
A Father’s lust, an Uncle’s hate, a puzzling labyrinth, through the gate,
A Cretan born, another covered, a starry symbol, placed in the cupboard,
Special place, where heroes meet him, mindless creature, murderous ******
South in winter, man below with a bull above, placed in the heavens by two father's love,
A strangeness here, the seat of trade, in forbidden tryst, a beast was made,
Man of blood, tortured soul, stalks the maze, that stalks the pole,
"Stranger still, this wild pattern, revolving Seventh, Circle of Saturn?"
Unholy corridors made of granites, trace out the movements of the planets!
Life of horror, a soul of pain, terrorizing, with no refrain,
Smells their fear, scents of sin, raging actions, threshing men;
“They call me Moloch! They call me Baal! Tear your body, festoon my hall!”
In trepidation, to gatekeeper sent, a ****** start, for your punishment;
“I collect the hearts, I eat the eyes, I eat the liver, before he dies!”
Olives, figs, dates and mastic, wyrd or oracles, fates and magic, life and death and all that’s tragic.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 11:48 PM UTC
In the streets I am not wanted
In this nation I am not wanted
In the streets terror takes over
In the nation arguments are heard
Separating colored from white
Separating imperfects from perfects
Segregation is a way of life
Racism is a daily routine
Equal rights isn’t in our vocabulary
Freedom for colored isn’t thought of
Stereotyping, judging, terrorizing
Where is my freedom I’ve longed for?
Where is my holy land?
Where is my safe place?
The north is helping,
But is it enough?
I feel a change coming
The change in the nation
Speaks of freedom and
Ends segregation
It will make me
Feel wanted in the streets
Feel wanted in the nation
But for now I feel as if I’m
Not wanted here
My skin may be different,
But I have a heart and
I am still a human being
Created by our Holy Father
So where is my freedom?
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 4:12 AM UTC
Warning:
The seagull flying over the Appalachians
could not possibly be amused by the
puzzles of an illegitimate composer
and the skyscrapers climbed.
1.
The skyscrapers were played by tall
rocks a girl climbed when she couldn't
remember if the cape she wore was
made from steel or newspaper.
11.
The newspaper they all read together
that morning (girl, boy, king, etc)
promised nothing but a fifty percent
chance of dandelions terrorizing the bus stop.
2.
The bus stop had since become a
dealer corner and the sunset behind
the mountains was blocked by the
flipping hair of a lost boy.
7.
The boy bought a toy for cheap -- it had
a built-in laser, so she stole it to blast a
whole hole in that guilt-ridden quilt hung
over the four dollar love seat.
6.
The love seat, she bought the day he went
to maple -- the soap dispenser was broken,
but she couldn't find anything new (that she
knew) to wash her hands with.
5.
The hands that handed her a hammer were covered
in promotions, so she stole the motorcycle when
they were watching the scarecrow going
through electric-shock, disco therapy.
8.
The therapy that she received from the
parrot-king and his troupe of square roots
was enough to make her not forget not regret
the boy with feathers in his ears.
10.
The ears she woke up with one morning
were different in shape than before
and the black fur she knew
was growing before her eyes.
3.
The eyes of the boy were wider than
the nightly news station promised, and
there wasn't really a difference
between caves and boxes in a town that small.
4.
The town she arrived in didn't have
a carpool lane or derby, so
she had to take her pet goldfish
to the river for his depressive state.
9.
The river wasn't as flooded after a couple
weeks of changing the tune on the jukebox
she found way before the departure
of her white gold pearls.
12.
The pearls she wore for her
coming-of-age were buried beneath
a dirt mound when she promised herself
to always insist on herself.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 10:49 AM UTC
It’s not a surprise.
It’s terrible but
it’s not a surprise.
Shooting, screaming, scattering, shattering,
it’s not a surprise.
I imagine but don’t understand.
White person mental illness,
illness…
Illness,
it’s called.
He was a poor, lonely, old man whose dog just died,
so he decided
to shoot up a crowd,
and **** and hurt hundreds of people.
Because of his illness.
But just listen.
Listen.
Listen:
you’re calling him ill but he’s really just mad.
There is no kindness in him if he can go **** all those people
and not even blink.
He may have offered you a handkerchief
when you were crying,
but then he goes off and kills,
and kills,
and kills,
and the kindness in him is warped, destroyed -
lost
the second he decides to
shoot,
shoot,
shoot.
Terrorists we fear -
walking down the street with a burqa draped over.
Terrorists we fear -
flying as second class citizens because of our terror.
Terrorists we fear -
speaking in a language we don’t understand.
They’re not the terrorists we should fear.
If the white terrorist is ill, then the US is plagued.
One
after another,
after another
**** us, and we still do nothing.
Nothing.
NOTHING.
We go around the world “fixing” and “helping”,
ruining lives and terrorizing,
because that’s what we are: terrorists.
Terrorists.
Terrorists.
We want to fix the world? We can’t even help ourselves.
We the people are broken.
Who’s gonna fix us?
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 6:40 AM UTC
What's your name?
Abubakar salim bin jahedee
sorry sir you will have to step back,
****** hypocrites,
how does my religion connect to terrorism,
I'm just a tourist in your territory,
no doubt,
my fellow brothers who dress like me,
act upon their anger due to ignorance,
and the quest for freedom ,peace& justice,
Just see,
What a curious coincides that is,
-but does that make me a terrorist?
Islam's a religion of peace,
yet they propagate islam with bad image,
Which is a huge damage,
Who's involved in horrendous crimes,
Who oppresses mere harmless civilians?
When we retaliate the world begins to hate and
start generalizing,
without realizing what conspired,
-does that make me a terrorist?
Its we muslims who suffer from terrorism,
all around the globe,
Terrorizing and vandalising isn't islam heritage,
Impressed and obsessed you are with your TV,
believing the twisted storys as it gets to you with
no atom of truth,
Corrupted by silly illusions,
Apportioning blame on hopeless islamist
seeking for peace,
Do you still think i'm a terrorist?
Develop some form of reservation when you
call us terrorists,
I need not to speak through my nose,
before you know islam is against all kinds of
injustice,
-How can I be a terrorist then?
Innocent muslims die everyday,
In the hands of american soldiers
yet we are never part of the mainstream news.
No one cares,
Take a soul of an american citizen,
Then the whole world will point at muslims as
terrorist,
how tragic,
-does that make me a terrorist?
As a Reflection & manifestation,
Of an expression to the element of truth,
My Quran says,
you with your religion & me with my religion,
-does that sound like words of a terrorist?
I dress in the most noblest of form,
Yet you criticize me while you breed monsters
in your country,
Man to woman, woman to man all in the name
of civilization,
All these leaves me spellbound,speechless &
riveted
In loneliness and seclusion,
Reflect over the word terrorism,
And you will see it has no connection with
islam,
i'm a muslim not a terrorist.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
it must have been light
that invented my mind
the light terrorizing my eyes so
that I walk obsessed by beauty
I am trapped inside the circles of time
they grow and revolve in my tissues
it must have been love like a pocket of darkness
like the gravity that is so simple
that we can't understand
Oct 19, 2023
Oct 19, 2023 at 4:51 AM UTC
I get this feeling,
It sinks through my spine.
Sits in my bones.
Like an unwanted guest,
And I, the unwilling host.
The intruder finds its way to my feet.
Making my toes curl,
And tap.
Restlessly twitching,
As if ready to run.
But I'm not ready for anything.
My hands do the same.
Hard to hold anything,
With this earthquake
Terrorizing my body.
Cold and uneasy,
They cling to each other.
Is it just a chemical,
Artificial affliction?
Or a symptom,
Of all lost direction?
Where do I put
All this misplaced disruption?
Now find the pieces,
Paint the picture.
Find some reason
In this sloppy meter.
My understated explanation.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 8:39 PM UTC
Hurricanes as mine
Destroy without remorse
Terrorizing hearts
Making people run
But never once has someone
Held me
Told me I was safe
When my shelter crumbled
And clouds came rolling in
You were my safety
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
Playing with me is like, playing with ur life
Cut you down slice by slice, no knife
Make you a sacrifice, then slap you back to life
It’s a full on scrap when I rap,
You wasn’t ready for that,
I went straight to hell, after I made contact,
Battled in pitch black, now they won’t let me back,
how many MC you know, is rugged as that,
I’ve been to the unknown, and left an impact
I kept my pride, it’s all mine, fully intact,
I’m on my shrine, come from behind, ain’t no going back
If ur verses really nicer than mine, that’s fine – now rap.
My scripts, so wicked, they flip manuscripts with one rip,
I’ll tear you in half, my warpath is your bloodbath
You’re a joke so I just laugh, at this simple task
Terrorizing ur *** the terror rising in your eyes
You shouldn't have ventured down this path
I’m wearing a jason mask, sipping a flask
Anyone else jump in, Freddy slicing his ***
My writing is brash,
If your a titan than clash,
If not, your just trash,
So I, Hulk smash,
Then wipe ur blood off my mask, and relax
And get back to stretching cash like yoga class.
cause I could care a lot less, about flows that's so monotonous
It just shows you’re a hot mess, Your raps blow so much you success
You are too slow, to keep up with my progress
my style been buck wild since I was a child it sounds like you are much less.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
I am a Muslim, not a terrorist.
Don‘t judge me because of my religion. Don‘t judge us all the same. My religion teaches me peace. My religion teaches me love. It tells me to show compassion, not what you think of us.
I have only one request. That I‘d kindly wish you to look beyond the hate and hurt, and see Muslims are just like you. Peaceful. Loving. Caring. We have families too.
Terrorizing and vandalizing isn‘t Islam heritage.
Muslim, Catholic, Atheist, yellow, black, white, men, women and children. We are all born to this world for a purpose. We are in a world full of discrimination, based on our religion, color, nationality and gender.
Yet, they propagate Islam with a bad image, wich is a huge damage.
They call me terrorist, they call me danger. I‘m feeling like a stranger.
Remember, there is only one world and it is all for us.
We Muslims are the holders of peace, we spread love. Why am I being represented by their false actions?
They say that they are Muslims and they say, they stand for Islam. If they are Muslims, their actions would show it.
Muslims stand in prayer. Shoulder to shoulder, to stop the devil winning.
A terrorist kills someone and Muslims are blamed, a Christian kills someone and he‘s just a ******
Violence is not Islam.
Terrorists are not Muslims.
Alhamdullilah I am Muslim.
-Nura
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 8:24 AM UTC
My shoelaces flap side to side like one of those car-dealership inflatables arms-
My veiny stompers pump puddles of pure procrastination from perceptive sprinting-
Underneath the tune-buds, I cannot hear my sneakers scraping the scrap rocks of gravel-
To my left- a hooting owl habitats itself in a hushed game of charades-
To my right- a slick tree frog flies freely from a lofty leaf and lands in the lagoon-
Elapsed images of elastic languages fill my mind with everlasting wisdom-
Entertained by the watercolors, my canvas curdles and secedes the state of mind-
Pressing harder- the curtain continues to close as I chase the condescending daylight-
Pressing softer- the tuner in my temple turns into a terrorizing shriek from my tibia-
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 3:41 PM UTC
E G Am
Farmer Giles of Ham
E G Am
Was just an ordinary man.
E G Am
But when a giant came to destroy the village
E G Am
Giles ran outside and shot that giant in the nose
Am
and don't you know, that giant never came back to Ham
Am E
Ever again
E Am
He's farmer Giles of Ham
E G
farmer Giles of Ha am am
G
he's just an ordinary man.
E G Am
The evil dragon Chrysophylax
E G Am
was terrorizing the countryside
E G Am
king Augustus sent a messenger to Ham, he said
E G Am
"Giles he's our man, and if he cant do it
Am
no one can. Fetch me the farmer,
Am E
farmer Giles of Ham
E Am
He's farmer Giles of Ham
E G
farmer Giles of Ha am am
G
he's just an ordinary man.
E G Am
With his coat made of iron rings
E G Am
and the sword given to him by the king
E G Am
Giles went to the dragons lair that day
E G Am
Poor dragon had to give its whole hoard away
Am
and as you can imagine that made the dragon
Am E
very very mad
E Am
At farmer Giles of Ham
E G
farmer Giles of Ha am am
G
he's just an ordinary man.
E G Am
Giles later went on to be the king
E G Am
but he didn't forget his friends i Ham
E G Am
when he moved into castle he brought them all along
E G Am
he even brought his talking dog, and if you recall the dog,
Am E
the dogs name is Gram
E Am
At farmer Giles of Ham
E G
farmer Giles of Ha am am
G
he's just an ordinary man
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 11:17 AM UTC
Softly, she ventured into the violent night of May,
Where pitch-black winter soaked her bones.
The sea, full of teeth, bit and insisted as she stood there, unmoving.
It was full of music and empty promises; she let the vastness of the agonizing waves drown her rotting body.
The sharp smell of air reeked of bitter billet-doux.
It had been her three hundred sixty-five attempts to be silent; barefoot, she waited and waited and waited.
Under the moonlight, she appeared as a ghastly ghost.
For a moment, she wondered, “Only the wicked remember the sea’s harshness and stay”—a woman personified as storm, mirroring her rage.
She is a twisted soul; death sighs at the sight of her.
The moon exhausted its entire being. “She is full of herself,” he whispered into the dark, corrupted sea.
She imprinted the sands with her unnerving gravity—she walked, and walked, and walked,
Haunted by her visions and dreams, terrorizing the melancholic earth.
Months passed—it was now September.
She’s restless; all she could do was remember.
She kept bathing in the black sea, passionately driving herself to madness.
She kept being pulled and pulled and pulled,
Until survival was no longer an option—her hair slowly being grappled into the lake of fire.
Her last remaining thoughts were of long-forgotten, enchanting, sweet eyes of his.
She dreamed of him—those big, witchery eyes of his.
She remembered, and so the sea deciphered her yearning and pulled her in.
Sep 8, 2024
Sep 8, 2024 at 5:10 PM UTC
If I could draw it -
but I was never an artist.
What a picture that would be -
my family.
And maybe if I could trace the lines
I could better understand
how I came to be--me.
But I can't separate the smells
and sounds
and touch of it,
pencils can only go so far.
And there are the scenes
that I can only imagine.
The ones that happened
decades before me.
I see my grandpa's smiling face.
I don't remember him
as a brawling drunk
terrorizing his family
after world war II.
Granny smelled like powder
and liked men
though she would never admit it.
She talked a lot
but I don't remember ever
hearing any thing worthwhile.
The one I can't name.
He hurt me in the dark.
Mom Glass, the bootlegger,
who took her grandaughters
on Sunday trips up the mountain
to buy moonshine.
She wore red underdrawers
and she didn't care who knew.
Mammaw, who gave me words.
Who didn't know I was a refugee
but always welcomed me warmly.
She taught me the beauty
of being earthy.
No prim or proper uppity
girls fishin in the creek.
That one brought tears.
I miss her smile.
There are so many faces.
Voices.
Memories.
All contributed something
to the poem
I haven't written yet.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 9:14 PM UTC
whispering rain tapping on the window
flooding my ears with sound, fluorescent
light screaming inside my brain, lift
your hands towards me again, you
won’t see me de nuevo. Wilt
beneath the demanding life you’ve beaten,
and maybe your fear will agitate
you, into a comatose state you
had put me in.,and hidden
me away from the world, mauling
innocence out of me with incremental,
unwanted touches that cannot be undone.
from handcuffs on wooden poles, foaming
mouths pouncing on my skin, melting
within myself as you drowned wearisome
unhinged fantasies onto me, and use
children for your pleasure to continue
terrorizing freely while we all trickle.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
words hurt.
have you ever been stabbed by an adjective
or ripped up inside by a verb?
how about those adverbs that modify
the emptiness we all feel inside?
words are a living creature.
lurking over the enjambment of the letters,
terrorizing those who hear them.
and yet;
we still use them.
pushing us over the edge
as they're muttered by those who
are not worthy of their power.
of their
grace.
but nouns hurt the worst.
razor blades and lemon juice
are like an ant to a human
compared to nouns.
and the only way we can combat
these fierce enemies
is to not listen.
but how can i cover my ears from
something i adore?
and how can i cover my ears
to protect myself from words when
i need them?
i need them more than Tina needed Ike
more than Lindsay Lohan needs coke
more than Beyonce needs Jay
more than Lucifer needs God to stay alive.
And how can I shield myself from words
when all I want to do
is hear the phrase
"everything is going to be okay."
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC
Less Than Perfect
It's amazing how well things work out
How we all go through life without a doubt
That things will happen the way we want them to--
Too bad it didn't end up that way for you.
Always complaining about things you couldn't control
A growth, a height, some ill placed mole,
A deformity, a disease, a defect
Terrorizing anyone who was less than perfect
Looking around at your flawed family,
Your children were heavy, your sister-in-law had epilepsy.
You had to do something to get away--something direct
To strive to find what you wanted: perfect.
You finally found her, a woman so fantastic
Only to find out now she's become epileptic.
I wonder if you feel bad now, in retrospect
For judging people who're less than perfect?
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
Golden all around me,
rough grass bleeding through the dry ground,
this place seems so dead,
something I can appreciate,
something I can relate,
Looking at the sky,
azure with but a hint of yellow from the descending sun,
I see that this place is just another suffering beauty neglected by whatever God has descended upon our Earth.
From what I see we are not the only forsaken beings out here,
silver lynx run free,
flitting from end to end of this undead space,
terrorizing every little grey and white creature in their path,
their eyes darting back and forth,
I notice this from the subtle glint of what was once a soul.
But these creatures,
so driven by blind hate that their movements now echo ungodly bloodlust,
were once a servant of heaven,
progeny of a good God,
feeding only upon the sick and broken,
to give them quick passage from undying pain,
playing with each other like brothers,
like friends,
like lovers.
All is gone, however,
in the kingdom of golden death,
high peaks casting shadows from a once blissful sun,
and only me to watch as hell takes its hold.
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 6:59 AM UTC
I found myself and lost you.
I let go of your hurt, found my strength anew. Picking my pieces up off the floor, realizing you mean nothing anymore. You were an addiction, a haunting, an affliction. A monster terrorizing me, and my pride that had given up helping me, depriving me and calling it love. And there are sometimes I'm completely ashamed, my strength in vain. Because I'll look for you...the monster under my bed that hasn't yet truly left my head.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
.*oh i've seen the face of horror, on the face of strangers i've encountered in the middle of the night, governing the scenario with a puritanical good will... no... the look on their faces is hardly bemused... people face the mask they're about to wear, that of παρηγοριά (Parigoria - **** along with Skia... that's two demigods in one afternoon's worth of sitting), unorthodox parrot demigods, **** no, i've seen their faces, when i volunteered to steer a van through a speed barrier, just up the road... whoever jumped out of the car to counter my initial claim: to help... photographic memory... he looked like he was about to **** himself... i've seen the face of fear, but not an indicative fear, of per se... more... a confused, fear... the huh? approach... i never thought in a million years that goodness, selflessness could be so terrorizing; guess there's always a place and time, to be proven wrong.*
and when the ape became
man, where did it look?
it domesticated tigers,
shrunk them into cats...
and figured:
**** it... let's have a mentality
of a lion...
after all...
the females of the species
do all the hunting,
the males are nothing more
than a ***** bank...
whenever useful...
although:
i'm pretty sure...
that the construction
industry will not be infiltrated,
quiet as much,
or not at all,
as the army has been...
**** what a sexist
environment... no women
carrying bricks,
or buckets of hot roofing tar...
WE SHOULD DO
SOMETHING ABOUT IT!
sense the ridicule?
i hope you do...
because i'm far from,
giving into the giggles.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 7:55 AM UTC
Screaming Spades Scare Spastic Diamonds,
Clumsy Clubs Carefuly Cut the Deck,
Horrible Hearts Hum Hymns from Hell
With the Jokers and Jacks, where the Demons Dwell.
Twos and Threes Tear Through the Trees
While Fours and Fives Flail Franticly,
Free Falling From Far-Fetched Facilities.
Six and Seven Slowly Sufficate
As Evil Eights Eradicate Everything on Earth.
Nasty Nines Need Narcotics and ****** for
Terrorizing Tens Tendorizing Tremendous Tributaries
Feeding the Fifty Five Forrests of Fargoth
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 5:26 AM UTC
At the heart of all monsters are emotions
If so influential, if so terrorizing,
how can it be that the human fault is
arguably the sole aspect of power?
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC