"thorned" poems
her happiness is everything
her pathos; be kind with cruelty
blood and tears, a royal jelly
merciless kisses like blazing pyres
she cries through a night prayer
my push pin princess;
a crimson petal
nerves edge;
jutting ******* seeking cleavers kiss
to serve
to serve
to serve
smiling for a relish of wasps
she knows she is loved
a loved red faced surprise
**** mouth, red chirping sparrow
wax teeth melting
succubus, **** flower
gratefully crushed under foot
toes like musical notes
little pearl ruins
grave stones
whipped cream butter cookie in chains
stipule corridor
**** plume
serrations gush, a singing Dahlia
ripped rose, thorned and curt
plush flames
her skull a throat
her liturgy
weeping, licking gods bulging colossus
wakes her inside
giving her religion
sacrificed on a crucifix of *****
**** of heaven
a burning church possessed
drooling supplications
lustrous saliva web drapes trembling downward thighs
a glutinous chandelier
melts like silk around ankles
crystal silt on scorched heels
to serve
to serve
to serve
her happiness is everything
her pathos; be kind with cruelty
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 11:47 AM UTC
these thoughts...
they are my own,
walled within the deepest recesses
of my
cerebral labyrinth.
sprouting out of vine covered walls,
are multicoloured blooms
brandishing thorned stems
and
thirsty stigmas,
dripping with
absinthe.
mind full of poison in
permissible amounts...
i am caught in a
web of restless stupor,
anguish...
and regression...
these thoughts...
rationed out sparingly,
for they're not for unready ears
blooms of thought meticulously
triaged before
necessary expulsion.
hairline cracks between
insanity
and peace...
i tread precariously
the fine,
meandering line.
still clutching my flowers
in a tight obstinate grasp...
not letting go
for these tainted blossoms
are
undoubtedly
mine.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 6:42 AM UTC
Our bodies are not temples,
I will not be invaded as such.
We are ecosystems.
Made of grit, blood, and change.
Packed with multitudes of intricacy,
We love like gushing streams.
Wound like thorned bush.
Hurt by humanity like hunted prey.
As we burn, as we are cut down,
As we are wounded, crippled, abused,
We still grow.
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 5:49 PM UTC
A sunny day's complete Poussiniana
Divide it from itself. It is this or that
And it is not.
By metaphor you paint
A thing. Thus, the pineapple was a leather fruit,
A fruit for pewter, thorned and palmed and blue,
To be served by men of ice.
The senses paint
By metaphor. The juice was fragranter
Than wettest cinnamon. It was cribled pears
Dripping a morning sap.
The truth must be
That you do not see, you experience, you feel,
That the buxom eye brings merely its element
To the total thing, a shapeless giant forced
Upward.
Green were the curls upon that head.
4.4k
Above my home where the dark clouds
curl into the sky clinging for a home to
rest their sleepy depiction, shadowed
trees hum sweet lullabies, lonely leaves
breathe in the sad song of fallen dimensions,
letting its lifeless view roll upon their frame,
the chilled breeze sailing in the skyline,
as I scramble my way out of a filthy dumpster,
a mountain of disintegrating mess covering
my broken body, hovering flies surrounding
sticky strips of spaghetti, moldy mashed potatoes,
and moldy chicken *** pies, while my mind sunk
into traveled thoughts, bruised hands pressed against
the creases in my forehead, allowing my existence
to feel the stranded scars streaming in various mazes,
dull eyes flushed with a burning disorder, aching cheeks
and chests nestled in darkening chamber corners, buried
hips and thighs uprooting in somber blades of grass,
thorned, torn, and destroyed in different worlds. As I stood
on the slippery pavement staring at the ruffled scenery
in my sight, spinning streetlights thickening into slouched
positions, screaming sidewalks spilling sadness and madness
in the drenched air, razor-edged buildings inching into crushed
centimeters, jumbled meters, ****** yards. I replayed the sober
images in my head, the way my young brown-skinned mom said
I would never amount to anything, how I could hear the raged
noun ****** sift into the distance, its flaming mechanics
accelerating into screeching sounds, the way she hurled
her fists at my smashed face, every vibrant language
breaking apart, slamming shut into closed infinites,
snagged contractions and gerunds diverging into
shuddering double spaced negatives, the way she threw
my lingering body inside the trash dumpster, her sharp
scarlet words, You are no son of mine, ricocheting off
savage surfaces, sparking my soul in a calamity
of choking diction.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
It was a chance meeting, I knew not what was ahead,
random walks, conversations, coffees and smokes,
days into nights and then early mornings...
chances random and make believe,
hints, assumptions, misconceptions and conditions.
I wanted to but couldn't see behind the blur.
It was too eerie when i came out all alone,
but I could see you across the road.
You held my hand till I was safe.
You let go when I wanted to not...
Days diluting into painful night times,
actions tormenting, waves of coldness.
Through months, often shivering,
crying, running back to you.
Dejected, lonely, you'd hold me,
take away all my pain.
Sometimes, you would cause it,
the rain would howl and cry...
There was a sudden change of heart,
you wanted more sunshine than rain,
no tears, coming close again,
tongue-tied, lip-locked joys...
In a blink of an eye, you vanished.
Punishing me for sins undone.
Thorned and unloved i hold on...
the void takes up all the space...
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
You walk to the woods from the mountains too fast;
trip over your feet when blades of grass nip at your heels
and take up life amongst the low.
Flotsam swirls in your wake;
silt rises to meet you.
The sun sets in deference to your arrival.
You walk among a sea of azaleas and fire:
bloody-thorned crown:
smoke laying low over the ground protecting your footfalls,
come to convince me of my damnation,
spill mulch in my bed,
and track lake water through my rooms.
You walk with broken glass in your heels
and blood on your cheeks,
spilt milk smile and sickly sweet lips,
cradling a dead bird and a lead heart in your hands
with a gallows leash hanging off your neck, onto the ground.
You walk into the house of my elders,
the sacred burial ground,
the meeting place,
the palace,
and the bar.
You order a scotch on the rocks, a lapis circlet, a book full of secrets, dead man’s blood, and my heart.
You walk backwards
around the cherry blossom orchard and its overwrought signatures,
harrumphing at arrogant petals and snickering birds:
politic in reverse and rough lines in slow motion.
There is something you forgot: it wears white linen and
sits on a rose throne.
You loved it, once.
You walk to the mountains from the woods,
barefoot and starving,
caked in mud and licking the shine off your teeth.
Your knees are bleeding.
Your heart is bleeding
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
Humility is a thorned crown.
If you allow it to it'll break you down.
Confound your ego
And spur it into the ground.
Its a mindset shift through and through.
When it hits you genuinely humility will help bring about a new you.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC
Dapple-throned Aphrodite,
eternal daughterf God,
snare-knitter! Don't, I beg you,
cow my heart with grief! Come,
as once when you heard my far-
off cry and, listening, stepped
from your father's house to your
gold car, to yoke the pair whose
beautiful thick-feathered wings
oaring down mid-air from heaven
carried you to light swiftly
on dark earth; then, blissful one,
smiling your immortal smile
you asked, What ailed me now that
me me call you again? What
was it that my distracted
heart most wanted? "Whom has
Persuasion to bring round now
"to your love? Who, Sappho, is
unfair to you? For, let her
run, she will soon run after;
"if she won't accept gifts, she
will one day give them; and if
she won't love you -- she soon will
"love, although unwillingly..."
If ever -- come now! Relieve
this intolerable pain!
What my heart most hopes will
happen, make happen; you your-
self join forces on my side!
3.2k
I smelt the rose of death and Its aroma
Was sweet decay, I took it in each breath.
Its thorns were beautifully onyx shining
Decomposition in shaded light.
Its pollen was like cyanide on my senses,
I took a last breath, oblivion greeted me.
I was silent but in my muteness it blossomed,
Feed on the remnant of flesh and flourished.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
THORNED CROSS OF SCARLET TEARS,
OH HOW THY HAVE KNEELED TO THOU THROUGHOUT THE YEARS.
THOU SMOOTH BEADS THAT SWIRL AROUND THOU NECK OF THE HOLY SON,
OH HOW THY HAVE REPEATED “OUR FATHERS” AND “HAIL MARYS” FOR THOU PATRIARCHAL CREATOR ABOVE.
LOVING HANDS THAT SHALL SHOW THOU THE LADDER TO HEAVEN,
OH HOW THY BELIEVES WINGS WILL PREVAIL OVER THOU TAIL OF SATAN.
CIRCLES OF GOLD AND ASCENDED WINGS,
OH HOW THY AWAITS FOR THOU REDEMPTION THOU SHALL BRING.
FEMININE CANDLES TO AWAIT THOU FEMININE ACT OF BIRTH,
OH HOW THY LIFTS THE FOUR CANDLES FOR ALL THOU IS WORTH.
THE WINE THAT CAME FROM THOU WATER,
OH HOW THY SHALT TELL THOU MIRACLE TALE TO THOU DAUGHTER.
WHITE AND BLUE ROSES OUR LADY OF HELP REQUESTS AT HER FEET FOR HER BIRTHDAY,
OH HOW THY BUYS FLOWERS FOR THOU NEXT TIME THY AND THOU MEET.
HEART PROTECTED BY THE SHIELD OF THE HOLY SPIRIT’S GUIDANCE,
OH HOW THY NEVER BECOMES A VICTIM TO SUBSIDENCE.
WATER THAT SWIRLS INTO THE BLOOD OF CHRIST,
OH HOW THY REMEMBERS HOW THE SON SAVED US IN SIGHT.
BREAD THAT ENTERS THE BODY AND THUS THE SON HIMSELF,
OH HOW THY REMEMBERS TO REFLECT IN THYSELF.
EYES TOWARDS THE SKY IN HOPE OF MIRACLES,
HOW THE LIGHT IN THY VISION RETURNS SYMMETRICAL.
PAIN THAT DISAPPEARS LIKE THE AIR FROM THY LUNGS,
OH HOW THY REJOICES WITH THE WORDS THAT ROLL OF THY TONGUE.
PRAYING FOR THE HOPE THAT THOU SAVIOR PUSHES UNTO THY SOUL,
OH HOW THY GETS CLOSER TO THY GOAL.
REMEMBERING THE GRIM THAT THE CRUCIFIXION CAUSED THE SON WITH GRACE,
OH HOW THY IS STRUCKEN WITH TEARS DOWN THY FACE.
INVISIBLE MORTAL WINGS THAT SHALL ONE DAY BE SEEN AND RISE ABOVE,
OH HOW THY BELIEVES IN THE REDEMPTION BY THE DOVE.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
*There’s a little wooden house on the corner with a beautiful garden in the front.
It always ropes in the attention of the whole town when spring comes along.
The main attraction is a garden in the front with a small batch of roses.
These roses are beautiful with different shades of red coloring the vivid green bush it’s sprouting from.
But there’s one small purple rose amongst a bed of red, just a bit off to the right.
No one pays attention to this purple rose because of all the other red ones.
The purple rose is fragile and beautiful looking with frail looking petals making it unnoticed.
The lady that owns the little wooden house allows you to pick the roses just as long as you don’t hurt yourselves from the thorns.
No one dares pick the purple rose cause of the rigid and thorned spine it has.
I have a go at the chance to pick the purple rose. I reach out my arm as I grabbed the thorny spine of the rose.
Holding the spine with the fullness of palm, my hand sprouting out with the blood of countless mistakes and regrets.
But this, this was never a mistake that has ever been. It was an accomplishment that no one has ever dwelled upon.
My hand hurts with the blood coursing from the center of my palm running all the way down to my elbow.
Tears start to arise on the horizon of my eyes and a small crooked smile starts to wry on the side of my face.
I am happy, and filled with joyous emotions, emotions that I can never ever fathom of experiencing.
The magnificent purple looking rose resting in the palm of my blood encrusted hand.
“Her favorite color is purple…”*
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
Ishq Jab ** Khushboo Se Pur,
To Zarra Ban Jaaye Ayeenah-e-Noor.
Na Jaam Chahiye, Na Mai Ka Sabab,
Gul Hi Hai Raaz — Aur Nasha Hai Adab.
For love, when laced in scent so pure,
Turns even dust to light’s allure.
No wine, no glass, no tavern wall—
The rose alone can make one fall.
So let the lovers understand:
The wasp that kissed her thorned hand,
Did not return the way he came—
He left his name, and bore her flame.
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 1:13 AM UTC
I can feel her love the way I feel the desert winds
of a tangerine evening hurling off the mountains
as they reach for the end of the summer solstice.
She sings beneath the bridge of god.
Oh, how spirits that make the nature of whispers
known to my fleshly ears dance to her innocent voice.
I can see her crown among the thorned rose vista,
****** by her favoring tobacco musk,
and it cascades about the once savage lands
of the wanning moon.
Her crown is redolent
with the astral fragerence of eden.
I have walked past the dawn
and gazed upon the serpent of the sea,
it has been raised only to bow before her loving words.
Oh, what peace she brings,
and how effortlessly I see the maiden,
for I must hear her
sing beneath the bridge of god.
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 11:48 PM UTC
Oh dove how are you so bright,
when I the Crow so dark?
We both are,
but bird's lost in flight.
But I fear the Strawman's bark.
You, a target of gluttony, lust, and greed,
Pure of heart but long for that addictive seed.
And I, the blackened crow am shot by scorn
You are the rose by which my heart is thorned.
And you my blackened crow,
Your lie so simple
Why can't you be?
We are the same, but different.
Your ignorance and blindness set you free.
I too fear, but spiritual pestilence.
You are bound by the hands of ghosts,
shaded in death, you show bliss
In your sorrow day by and tomorrow,
you'll wait: a bird on a post.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 2:01 PM UTC
Sneering at the flicker of fear in my eyes,
You made your way to my side,
You kissed me, your lips stained with lies.
Your blade you raised,
Glinting in the moonlight’s daze,
Slowly swooping down to me,
The air now a crumbling maze.
A mysterious, quiet, cool danger rained down,
But he made a sound,
And into darkness you had grown.
I laid and watched for shadows on the wall,
He laid, scratched my skin,
O’er my neck his tongue crawled,
So tired,
My hope to fall.
‘Ere at the break of dawn,
Uhtceare,
Recalling the cool, iron feel of his fangs,
Mountain stream,
Blue-black, heartbeat,
Fell thirst,
Unexpected my lust, his cold desire.
Wishing for thorned skin,
Torn,
Desire-hate,
Distraction serves evil.
Vengeance I beg hither,
Clasp my heart,
Chase away desire.
-Firefly
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
Say hello to a world of ***** shots
Coloured pills replace jelly tots
Her hair is a mess when she comes downstairs
No second guesses at what they did up there
The room pulsates to an electric band
Welcome to Teenage Wonderland
Get caught up in a fast-ticking clock
Play with imagination's building blocks
Darling, you've no need to fear
They're just trips so get over here
Drop that bomb and taste that tang
Welcome to Teenage Wonderland
Come to dance with Satan's girl
Faster and faster the room will twirl
A glint is wicked in her too-big eyes
Calm your nerves, drain the bottle dry
Someone else puts a joint in your hand
Welcome to Teenage Wonderland
Your senses have fully woken up
Just one more sip from the golden cup
Then they have you smash another line
This feeling has got you in a bright-thorned vine
But it's too heavy, you can't withstand...
Goodnight to Teenage Wonderland
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 3:46 AM UTC
...blame the dreamer, the make-believer, the great play-pretender. blame the girl that picks up every drop of hope off the floor with tweezers. we all want to believe. even if its obvious how dangerous it could be, even when it has dagger-like thorns, and they stab your fingers. we want want want something still even though you will bleed. blame the ambitious one. blame that ******* time that always haunts us. blame the one that tries to defy it. blame loneliness, blame that empty space, that shadow that lingered for so long. blame the encouragement of self-sacrifice. blame basic human instinct, to see, to chase, to conquer. blame the amygdala. but what would it be like, without emotion, memory..it wouldn't hurt to forget to remember. blame energy. blame everything you've ever tried to believe in, wanted with every ounce of passion you had left. blame money, we're all just slaves. blame the unknown course of human life. blame the unpredictability of the circumstances in which you take your last breaths. wherever you would be, would the last scene in your play be a happy one or a tragic ending..or somewhere in between? blame analyzation and rationalized thinking, the fact that things could make perfect sense but your gut tells you differently. blame fear and anxiety, blame what scares you the most in this world. heights, change, being alone. blame the girl that always sees light but is ready for the dark, she is waiting by her windows. shes prepared for the part in the end where the actors bow and you realize, oh, yeah, fuck...this was all just imagined.
blame me. the director. the optimist. blame me, because i picked the thorned rose.
but it was just so, tempting, so extremely beautiful...
......i just take life as it comes.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 2:22 AM UTC
The moon cracks and blooms.
Its grey nowhere to be seen,
It shawls itself with a bleak cloud.
The floating pearl biscuit
Busily dictates orions and dippers.
One travels, and people start wishing.
They are hopeless: the people and their pretentious wishes.
The jackfruit tree bears only death: dead leaves, thorned fruits.
Under the nocturnal skies,
It is the great witch.
Silent and black. It is voiceless.
Shalini Nayar
© 2002
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 9:25 AM UTC
And what of the thick-thighed woman
who held a dying god in her lap?
History has silenced her grief to stone.
But what of endurance as sharp as love?
Do Zeus’s tears still stain her dress?
Her atlas hands guide thorned crowns
To rest, as the weight of heaven
forsaken, collapses.
Womb made machine;
Reach out your hand and feel the crimson––
Hips that birthed the civilizations of the world,
I worship the god called woman.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:22 PM UTC
we are two anarchists beckoning each other
with alluring eyes full of longing, so sticky-sweet.
caught in the trance of each other’s honeyed promises,
we embrace with the elegance of clashing armies.
come closer, let my wandering fingertips find
a home in stretches of taut skin, valleys
and crevices,
coy smiles, igneous eyes; can i entice
you to dance?
but where there was skin she finds only armor plates,
where there was vulnerability, only hardened resolve.
where our thorned bodies join crimson blossoms bloom:
flowers of anarchy flourishing in the eye of the hurricane,
the peculiar beauty of us.
we make the portrait of orderly discord.
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
~
Jagged formations
Barefoot on this narrow ledge
Thorned barriers rip flesh
Tattered jeans and ***** tee
Staring out over it all
Cold breezes prevail
Clouded visions cry
in cryptic raindrops (falling)
Pain settles thoughts
Enlightening as it is
Seeping slowly into gasping pores
Shattered dreams
Stone faced and worn
Upon bleeding knees
I hear the voices in echoes
chanting in metronome directions
One step forward
Draining that last ounce
Wrenching muscles
Past tense, present tense decisions
Chipped in granite pieces
Scattered along this last call
Pleading to fly, arms outstretched
as what was small quickly becomes larger
Roaring winds pass
Deafening cries of fractured wishes
Spinning out of control
Final moments bring light
Dark as any place
Where I shall end
In that flash leading in I see you
and ask silently if this is what you wanted
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 9:11 AM UTC
.. Awake oh world..awake 2015.. This is not a dream, a public announcement!!An endorsement of fiery destruction will reign upon earthly cities. A crossing of no pity. For twas predicted long ago...
Thy lands will be cleansed as snow. Howl and moan/ for trees will be scorched a twist! Thy eye sockets wilt be ripped and headache wilt be a molehill for thou!!!
Banks wilst crumble, babies shalt mumble as in Noah's day!!!what's wrong? No loving songs, to the devil you'll make a parade!!!!
Thou clown of display, skies will grey and stars shalt be fiercesome and almighty as thy green greedied dollar!!!
Here's thy collar, oh don't forget thy new world chip, for all younger days and innocence you'll wish thou couldst return!!!! Return to thy own dust oh man!!!for its lives thou took, now thy life to be given!!! No feast of thanksgiving! Can't thou read the scribes writing?
Blind thou hath been for over 2000 years, stack thy gold corrupted by moss in thy underground cellar!!!fighter, yeller!
Cop brutality shalt get much worse! Violence will between thou sister and brother! Canst thou not changeth thine own way? Mummified curse indeed! Pigfeed you've become to ones who blow the horns! Watch out/move.....don't get burned!!!!volcanic destruction will match quakes to rattle thy mortars, for climatic borders will be bound by new order charisma!!!!hope!!hope!!the crowd yells to their thorned crown king!!!2015 the year of the blood moon! The year of thine own final sting!!!!
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC