"trawling" poems
Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark, as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fools' Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.
Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bud and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.
12.9k
it seems my entire life is defined by drinks.
mother's milk out the womb.
(and maybe those suckles were sweet - it's not like i remember - but her words, for the rest of my life, certainly weren't.)
an hour-long debate, with my best friend at twelve years old - apple or orange juice?
(orange, obviously, is the right answer. we rehash the argument sometimes to this day.)
the day i turn 19, a beer in my hands.
(i'm sat around a campfire with my closest friends, birthdays all older than me - the beer tastes disgusting, as cheap alcohol is, but i'm glad to be there.)
yesterday, i had 1 coffee and 2 mugs of lemon honey tea, 4 glasses of water.
today, no tea, but 2 cups of coffee, a glass of milk, and 3 glasses of water.
i bite at my nails when i'm nervous, swallow down the spit that comes with it, the bile that rises.
last summer, i visited pei, had a raspberry cordial - my favourite drink to date - then bought a case of 4 more to take home with me.
last summer, when i lived in new brunswick, my friends in the same building knew me as the one who would always have a drink in hand - a milk tea, or maybe a pink lemonade, maybe that obscure korean soda i liked.
when i left new brunswick, i took a photo of my 2 trash cans, of the way they were both filled to the brim with empty bottles and cans and jugs.
i still miss the apple cider they made there.
my life is defined by drinks, sips, swallows, taking five minutes to breathe by making myself a nice whipped coffee, trawling the internet for pretty coasters and glassware for an hour in lieu of doing actual work.
Eventually, i close the shopping tabs, take a sip of coffee, and resume with the rest of my life.
Nov 5, 2023
Nov 5, 2023 at 7:38 PM UTC
It is 4AM.
I am alone on the city
Illuminated pretty
By the glow of desolate streetlights.
Each building stood tall,
Proud
Crowded by its neighbours;
and I am scaring the landscape.
I prowl from street to street
Wondering who I'll meet
Trawling slowly from
one corner to the next.
And I'm alone, lost in this place
Left to search an empty basement
Full of junk I'd rather forget
That clings to me incessant.
This area a purgatory
And I am my own Jesus.
I burn at the stake,
faking proudness.
Not even Judas could appreciate this effort.
May 8, 2011
May 8, 2011 at 11:20 AM UTC
A blasphemous ******** as the dwelling beast salivates in its hollow. The glaring screen in the darkness is its only light. Years upon years it has followed the same sick fantasies. Self loathing and sickening it has reached the paramount of the low. Trawling the deep dark corners of the web to find his fix. Like a ****** addict it has delusions of needing his fraudulent fetish. A tiny drop of drewl collides with the derelict ground. It flows onto the pile of stale hardened tissues used to dispose of the beasts ****** off spray. A trundle to the local park to put a spring in its step. Watching the adolescents thinking corrupt thoughts. Child bearers stab the beast with scared stares of disgust. Attention is being drawn towards the hairy obese miscreant. Ripped shorts to expose the genitalia of the malevolent monster. A father approaches, intentions of confrontation are obvious. The monstrous **** runs to the road, unaware of the approaching speeding bus. It is drawn under the wheel crushed with the weight. Blood spurts in every direction, like a hot needle to a balloon full of acid. Slowly he dies in agony and suffering. The evil **** got his penance. ***** for eternity in the dark depths of hell.
The devil reserves the darkest places for the darkest men. His penance came, as will yours.
By Joseph Burns
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
Lone seabird in a late dawning,
Sickles the gray rays of the sun,
Here on a ridge I can see aways,
Skerries, blasted by seas parade.
The moon fades as sun is rising,
My hair is groped in wind on fire,
In the late morning suns' glowing,
My breath uncatched as the wave.
Lone seabird in old sky forlorning,
Searches for a proud fish breaking,
In the frosts of broke tides trawling,
My heart sails above gusts keening.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 4:12 AM UTC
driftwood skin
sea glass eyes
****** guile
raw and toothless
husks of promises
trawling for exoskeletons
you were mine
i was yours
but i am not one
to let wounds fester
even first cuts
are licked clean
with time
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 11:28 PM UTC
A hippy child by birth
Preordained as a psychic,
Gyspie of thieving church.
Dandelions art their thirst
Days groweth colder
Downtime gets worse
Smiling faces sicken them
When others smile back
Melatonin
Vitamin d
F
And c
Sickened by mailing
Babble trawling
Click lick chatter
Bit wit batter
Shocked to sloth
And madness of creepiness..
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
Our roaming ponies lead me to see
the fishing boats off Scalloway,
hustling, bustling activity,
trawling treasures from Norway.
Watching Shetland's secret heroes,
shipping out their weaponry. Mum says,
'small arrows against Germany.
Hush! Don't tell, may Norway's hopes fare well.'
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
At the kitchen sink,
raw hands scrubbed clean
of associations, the untraceable
scent of you overwhelmed me.
Its subtlety was disarming,
trawling nights of salty tongues
and toothpasted underbrush,
of bundled mornings
and the Führer’s glassy eye,
bright blue. Of wan starlight
gleaming on placid lake
and raucous beer-spiked nights
across the water. That light
presaged different things for both of us.
But that night you lingered close
on air, edging the doorjambs wedged
with year-old hesitations,
the driftwould crumbling
the threaden footfalls between
your house and mine.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 8:16 PM UTC
Yes. I wielded the knife.
Coated with my word poison, I plunged it into your soul and the dagger spread like cancer through you, I could see it metastasizing every time you tilted your head to let your hair cover your face.
If I could take that blade and plunge it into my own heart now, I would before my next beat.
I would take back the cancer and smile as the tumors fought for residency inside of me, if I knew that you would be in remission from my cruelty.
Sometimes it takes three months for the recoil of punches thrown to take its effect. When it does, laying on your basement couch, trawling through an online poetry forum, your knuckles will fracture and your finger bones will cleave in two like firewood.
I doused you with the lighter fluid I spit and set you ablaze with the words I wrote. I watched your tears turn to ash.
And then I lit another match.
I turned my back as you smoldered, now your anger fed the flames I sparked.
Now my bones are brittle and dry, my marrow now tinder for you to set aflame.
Burn me with the hellfire I put you through, I need this self-assigned penance, and you deserve to watch me burn.
Take the charcoal that remains and draw yourself in perfect mirrors, sketch out the picture of yourself that I should have showed for you.
I once promised you that I would, remember?
I am so sorry.
I stood there, the whole time, with a water bucket in my hand.
I had your reflection, and I spilled it on the floor.
Set me on fire, let the crackling of my bones beneath the weight of the flame be the lullaby as you sleep.
Ten thousand apologies are nowhere near enough.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
Laggard, the ships drive down
emancipated parts tapping the sea with reasons
to soar back up
like fresh whales and the pieces of meat
falling to floor from human mouths sick of holograms
and trawling and fixing for our debts
ghost rythms, shaving off grissel and time
passing over stuble
the intricate need of each
hair
all of us, using the same tools;
ungendered across our bodies , my hand rubbing the grooves where your **** sat in the grass
all of the words now, slumbersome after a work day, but still able to see
where you sat and I sat
the beuatiful knife that few have, but always will
(needing only one type from one place, to begin)
saying to it, like the mad do, and we do:
‘Good God
blunt again
*****
how many steaks have I used you on?
come on, where’s your guts – - , oyy… go onnn…’
But it’s alright about the silence
whilst you make a cheap dinner
the walls don’t know that you’re a little mad
they turn around like a house of mirrors made from cards
and say something back.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
There's a steady mist rising,
Down by the sea,
Glowing red in the lamplight,
I see fishermen unloading their catch,
The sea gulls trying to ******
It's growing cold, and my hearts colder still,
Life is growing on the harbour side,
The steady embrace of the tide.
The trawlers trawling heavy on the sea,
Fish by the hundred stand on the misty dock.
The trawler men unloading, unloading by the clock.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
a blossom
smoke to the ceiling
pieces of skull
everyone should just collapse
run their emptiness into the soil
choke on asphalt
they found a girl whilst trawling the seabed
plastic wrapped round her neck so tightly it tore off her head when they tried to remove it
sometimes oil flows out of our taps and we bathe in death
nobody questions it
nobody questions anything.
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
Lisas and Cheryls in halter tops walk the
Halls of Stoughton High full
Throttle, coiffed fleece fiercely feathered,
Tonys and Tims trawling in tow, toting
Texts.
Tims and Tonys slip
Slyly away, skip shop, talk
**** **** a doob behind
Bob’s Baitshop’s garbage dunes, tunes of
Geils and Seeger and Stones, applaud
Lisas and Cheryls, laud deserving
Donnas and Dianes (but dude, don’t
Let on!)
See,
A solitary Tony takes to one shapely
Cheryl’s sultry swagger, staggers, blathers
His rathers, turning her hair’s fair feathers
A-flair, she helping his hand higher up her hip, her
Cup, her concupiscent luscious lower lemon-lacquered lip, he agog, a *****
Dog with a bone. And a libidinous loner
Lisa prefers a particular turgid Tim, digs
His Doors tee tucked
In to tight tan cords, affords
Herself a longer linger as his fingers
Dangle, thick thumbs hooked in belt. Looked at,
Felt, ***** his hip, flips a nod, draws a
Sneer, paws her rear, she his
Haunch, he steady and
Staunch, Steady and
Staunch
Not gonna
Launch
Steady
gawdamnsunuvabitch!
Thaws the sneer
Right there.
High gears it outta here.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
I feel like taking a tab of acid
and disappearing
to town in my worn suit.
Buskers bathe in the eternal winter,
clamouring sounds at passers-by
until Jericho falls in on itself,
money spilling out of its sides
like a fast food waiter
on his cigarette break.
Trawling through the record shops,
I feel as if I've travelled through time;
each bootleg, a manuscript,
each seven-inch, a sonnet.
Pulling fingers through Venetian sounds,
I have found my place
in the library of New Alexandria.
The pigeons are swollen at the ankles.
Like humans, they are losing height
at the promise of another meal,
at another chance to rifle through the crumb.
School kids are waiting for the bus
as I go walking past.
They're unaware of the ease of tread
they have over land,
unaware of how quickly it can fall
and the scathing jealousy
I feel for each of them.
In eyes wet and wide, I turn to go home,
I walk in the rain, before settling for the bus
and returning to that familiar, lofted view
of the world passing by through a maniac's eyes.
It is only then that the world shifts in focus
and lotus flowers crop up through the carpet,
the world outside has grown far too unreal,
to the point hallucinating makes sense of it all.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
A hippy child by birth
Preordained as a psychic,
Gyspie of thieving church.
Dandelions art their thirst
Days groweth colder
Downtime gets worse
Smiling faces sicken them
When others smile back
Melatonin
Vitamin d
F
And c
Sickened by mailing
Babble trawling
Click lick chatter
Bit wit batter
Shocked to sloth
And madness of creepiness
©brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
Dad,
I am no longer your little girl
you can no longer protect me
not from the monsters within.
In a black hole you see me falling
In dark corners curling,
In the bottom of oceans sailing;
storms stonewalling.
Dad, you might think I am thralled -
But I tell you!
In my bed
I am appalling, trawling
reaching
for something to grasp
trying to calm myself down
Shoving the memories back.
Fighting the demons.
I see them
sprawling across
me
my dreams
my lungs
my THOUGHTS..
my thoughts
my thoughts...
DAD!!
I am betrayed
by my own mind...
my body
is REBELLING against me...
Despite the mountains
I trained
to carry
above my shoulders...
Some days -
Some days it feels
I am skinned alive...
One breeze of air
is enough to run sirens
alerting a world of
A BILLION neurons
Leaving me
stranded
agonised
looking for shelter,
wishing I can
crawl back
to my mother's womb
sit, curl, and hold my legs -
grasp the umbilical cord
hear her heartbeat
1... 2...
Breath... In... Out...
Dear Dad,
don't you worry.
You raised a strong girl.
patiently she learnt -
how to beautifully braid
her fears and tears.
Your little girl
learnt how to play-
with the monsters nested in the head....
and the monsters under the bed.... into poetic ink
and art on the wall
she transformed them all.
She is a survivor, who copes
That said...
Every now and then
in my own bubble
you'll see me
slipping
in my favourite corner
sitting
unconsciously
graves for my unborn children
digging
not seeing a point for
living.
Deep inside
I will be silently screaming
I am brave
I am brave
But I am
slightly cursed
scarred
wishing I was still
your little girl
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 1:59 PM UTC
Scraping life from off the sea bed
So curiosity’s kitchens can be feed
Dragged from the ocean left gasping on deck
Pleading for mercy as a knife meets its neck
Gutter and iced, packed ready to serve
Who has the power to stop this, who has the nerve?
Now oceans are empty no life can be found
We now set our sights on the food above ground.
Who will we eat next?
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
ive been to singles ville
arguing with myself
in the midst of emptiness
a dinghy in a storm
scattering me
while masquerading as stupid happy
i am a hurricane through a hollow
a penumbra of echoes
hot house of desire
needing a fast *** fix
all fools day
praying for the sin of skin
oh bilious cloud
solitudes toil
bodies dread winter
aching to be touched
maybe a cold slap against plush lips
where friends mean the world
and every slight
dries the heart brittle
gnashes teeth from a rattling jaw
on the verge of panic
a spire a desire
trawling ***** for loves balm
an empty horn
desolated
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
Falling, eyes
Peeled, bawling
Down, rain
After rain, mud
Falling, feet
Caked, trawling
Down, mile
After mile, stone
Falling, shoulders
Sheared, hauling
Down, blade
After blade, blood
Falling, arms
Piled, crawling
Down, pound
After pound, bone
Falling, guts
Jammed, galling
Down, turn
After turn, waste
Falling, digits
Hacked, stalling
Down, class
After class, cache
Falling, crowns
Cracked, calling
Down, hope
After hope, haste
Falling, trunks
Burned, palling
Down, mass
After mass, ash
Falling, frames
Coiled, sprawling
Down, sec
After sec, gravity
Rising
Jun 8, 2022
Jun 8, 2022 at 5:28 PM UTC
*she lived in a bathtub
with a rubber duck
fished out of the ocean
by seafaring men
trawling for sirens to love
and mackerel
a murmuring mermaid desolated
only able to speak neptunium
i would have you believe
that i took pity upon her
but in truth i fell in love with a fish
a beautiful fish girl
it was her scent that drew me to her
a vaporis substance
like bouillabaisse
i inhaled her breath
feet
***
****
mouth
saliva
i carried her back to the indigo sea
to swim with her
always wet
shriveled and shivering
glazed and fuddled
i drowned
seven leagues under
fish food*
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 8:15 AM UTC
Tomorrow you leave,
so soon!
too soon?
months of laying on couches ahead.
"Tell me about your childhood"
"How did that make you feel"
You're always quick to take blame,
when it should be at the feet
of the gameplayers,
the nay-sayers
the ones that trickle poison,
trawling their filthy twitching nets
in the hope of catching a morsel
to feed their burgeoning egos.
While they frig in hateful darkness
happily inflated by another ruined soul.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
They are trawling
the sea bed for
clues, as if we are
simply a plane
to fall out of
the sky. Our
last kiss, spread
on meat trays,
our clasped hands
in body bags.
the fire that started
at our wingless
shoulder blades
proved fatal
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
Ducking behind trees and dropping to my knees to avoid you
Scouring leafy fields and trawling whole cities to find you
So that I can help you rewrite and be the you that you want to be but
who were you before me? And
do you really need me?
How?
I want to awaken you to the you that you are Now
Because
you are only half of what I hope we could be.
Am I a muse to you?
Do I unuse you?
Can I amuse you enough to give up on this love?
Eat me up
dive inside of my heart
tear it apart and find me
I am yours to take apart and put back together, however
I love you!
But need you to love you too.
See you and me
As ones, or twos or even three.
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC