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zebra Jun 2016
she came to me one day
the *****
beautiful like a girls choir
singing Latina L'Amour
moving her bottom
like a metronome

her ******* a cascade of kindness
that break the hearts of men
they die
for those
blouse muffins
her smooth legs and feet
made for *** art
lickity splits and ****** contortions
while her wiggly *** and ****
tell you
what heaven would be like
hips that sway  traffic
causing pile ups
and fender benders
and make good boys
hopeful about being chosen
perhaps anointed
and judged worthy
but alas  
turn good boys into
chronic *******-rs
in dim midnight closets
or trawling *** criminals

at the very sight of her
my soul buckled
i wanted her
like darkness
needs a lantern
like blood
needs cells

she looked at me
with ****** in her eyes
it would make my **** wet to hurt you
she said with a soft tremor
ill **** yours for hours
tongue toy
losange
gullets prey
girl food

will you earn your suffering
adore my goddess ***
and lick it **** and span
kiss my beautiful feet
with tender devotion
pray for cruel ***** abuse
be consumed
by ******* jaws
thrill me
love me
flood me
with blood
and ****
die for me
my love

as i looked into
her hollowed
desperate soul
so eager
and felt deeply her need
and loved her to tears
to broken hearts mend

to struggle with
the dark angle
unrequited love
to expunge
years of vacant stares
of nameless women
and empty beds
to forget foreboding
bath cabinets bereft
of girly things
like
lolly pop pink lipstick
cherry sherbet nail polish
lacquered hardened coats  
aerated perfumed clouds
of vanilla candies
and fashionable
demonic party masks
over black brooding mascara
on almond eyes
hiding hot embers
cool and staring hungry

while wrenched obsessive
for the feminine
that drag my soul
through long coffin
hollow gullies
that drive me
to invocations
of Hecate
sacrificial blood rituals
voodoo trances
god forms
and black art astrologers
who have the power
to move planets
through space
and change fates

oh so wrong
yet i must
for loves sake
say yes to her
yes to her for pleasures sake
even if in the end
i am left to moan
to howl at a blood moon
with in the confines
of her dark edged
appetite
ascending in sin
as she ***** me
like she hates me

yes my beloved
to vanquish numbness

she consoles
my willingness  
excites
i felt her adoration

be brave for me
she murmured
sadists are cowards
teach me surrender
you are glorious
in my clutches

i made my self ready
positioned my self
as per her instructions
face down
legs apart
on a bed of nails
happy in my pit
as she played
a whole lotta love
by led zeppelin
blood swollen ****
oozy
for her tender kisses
and brutal schemes

the masochists tao

to denigrate oneself
to kiss your goddess feet
to lick your perfect ****
to adore your prim rose ****
to taste your lips of fire
to tangle in your silky locks
to see your eyes a blaze
to drink your saliva nectar
to eat your crumbs
to lick your *** clean
to be beaten
to your satisfaction
to drown in your *******
to hold you close
to take pleasure
in your cruelty
to suffer for your delight
to be
the sacrificial lamb
to be a victim
in an ****** dream
with jaws and teeth

she took me inside
smiled  like a feral
lust twisted child
took out a
scalped handled knife
brushed it across
my tummy and *****
terror brewed
excitement struck
my **** got so hard
she grinned
and salivated
like a Satanic Cheshire
in bloom

she devoured ***** warm butter
as it poured in waves
into her black lipsticked
pink wet mouth temple

oh she said
i like it a lot
do you mind a small incision
my darling

mommy needs
a little taste of hell

her face shape shifted
into a warbled shadow
as she licked her lips
and tickled
her *******
with gooed fingers

cut me i implore
im in the mood
you sweet savage

she opened me slow
o o o o ooow
ooh the sting
don't stop i begged
loving her
voluptuous greed
as she covered me
with heavens kisses
eyes desperate
devouring
drenched through ******
and bestowed
upon me
eager  licks
that swoon
and savage wounds

she took charge
with curvilinear cutlery
she gave it to me hard
oooofff
then good again
aaahhh
then deep and threw
like a spoon through Crisco
a surgeon from hell house
oh so fun she said
she licked my ****
fingered my ***
****** my *****
frenetic
then stuck me with a fork
giggling
not done yet she mused
and then
required of me
that my tongue
obediently pay homage
to her naked mouth ****

i was the pig for slaughter
needles and knives
burned *******
bruised ****
a bleeding torn
pin cushion
eyes teared
back arched
torso writhing
cherry cheeks
blood gusher
her *******
and belly ****
soaked in my blood
commanded me to lick
my own pools
of red plush
for her amusement

a couple at play
in Satan's temple of lust
her face turned to mischief
in a demons trance
her soul
like hyenas
and clawed weasels
all trapped villeins

im done ****** around
with you she quipped
her **** on fire
like a burning house
she plunged a blade deep in my gut
her eyes wide and glaring
like blazing head lights
possessed by hell bats

oh my goddess
for you
over the summit
as i shuddered
arching in torment
curling into a ball
squirming
like a severed worm

her face contorted
with horrors fun
her **** pored forth
tremulous quivers
and hells
brimstone gasms
ecstatic

oh she drank my blood
****** my ****
with kaleidoscopic tongue
like a devils bride banshee
licked my *** clean
filthy *****
defaced me with a drooling ****
and brooding ****
strangled me with nylons
until my lips ran numb
until my tongue dragged
like a corpse in a car wreck
she  whimpered and cooed
suffocated me with her **** ***

stepped on my face
with feet i adore
chewed off my *****
a black mambas kisses
filled my mouth
with hot rocks
that melted my skull
oh cry to heaven
wheres Jesus
as i scummed
up-leaping

the  last words
i ever heard
*** you sure to kick a lot
im cu cu cu cu cu cu *******
for you blood boy
dead dead dead
floppy floppy head
**** like cherry pie
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.
RCraig David Apr 2013
Whining dog...we just went outside.
Wading through internet DATs and cogs and bandwidth hogs, outside still raining cats and dogs.
double-click trawling pics and blogs searching for remedies and laws that inhibit logs to saw.
Wide-eyed, face down I sprawl still awake, redefining  my character flaws,
fearing my falling into the trappings of urban sprawl or
investing your mind then hitting the wall.
Lose or draw,
a new artistic affair or creative outlet dares you daily to fall.
"Late" is now "Early"
Dawn's illuminating looming, night to be soon consumed.
Insomnia vacuums,
drama typhoons,
crooning tunes....
It'll be June soon.
Feeling marooned waiting for the opportune...well, I'm still waiting,
Whining dog...we just went outside...Fine!
Rain drains backlogged in the AM black...****** dog. Decide! He takes his time.
Three nights of showers,
cowering under this street corner lighted power tower,
unrequited efforts to stay dry.
Moon still high, clouded bright behind the wetness...
Wait, what if I see "her"?
Should I dare bare my soul, take control, or say simply "Hello?" just to know?
Do I want to know "yes" or "no"?
Grandmother always said "The truth is the most powerful force you'll ever face, trace, disgrace or embrace"
I remember my last pursuance of the truth.
You remember college...
The ubiquitous responsibility of apologies for the skewed knowledge sleuth colleges preclude.
A four, no five year matterless smattering reviewing the hows, whys and whos who of Impressionist imbued hues;
the politics of subdued Katmandu coups,
Homer's muses; many a Siren sank the boats I crewed;
news crews that flew the bird flu news coop and recouped,
skewed suing over Golden Arch morning brew,
tragedies, sonnets, and nothing adieus,
spewed formulas and equations notecard ques,
standing in long line registration cues every time we change Major views,
all fueled by a boozing, smokey ballyhoo of Tullamore Dew, hopped brews, tattoos, crude food, music muses and quoted virtues.
What’s even true and what would you do if you knew, ****** logic class…
And alas, you're through! “Here’s your paper, now choose.”
The ****** inequity of iniquity dams me so I can't break free.
Such an abrupt disruption could erupt great corruption,
the self-destruction is tempting, but doesn't pay rent.
Not today, but maybe soon.
June's coming...dryer and higher noon.

R.Craig David- copyright 2008
Redux Edition April 1st, 2013
Inspired by rain, blame shame, the game and a cute girl just 3 doors down that still remains a stranger in my old college town.
Mokomboso Sep 2014
What came first, the fetishist or the web?
Hidden in plain view in the disconnected age
Or just invented by the collective minds of cyberspace?
Eccentrics with their last ditch attempt
Of being one of the widely accepted

Rule 34, the most enforced law
If it exists there is **** of it!
Trawling through the deviantart pages
A wild goose chase, finding the hidden artistic gem
Instead as the pages reach the end, I get lost in the crevices
Of the perverted human mind

Anthropomorphic wolves in the **** with muscles rippling
An artist self portait wearing a frilly terry *****
Cherished tv characters destroying their innocence
Tickled feet. Gigantic balloon men. Feline chicks with *****.
I feel nothing but frustration
Why is this **** often the most well drawn!?

I'm in that weird part of the internet
Like a carcrash you can't look away, it's fascinating
The victims brains all over the road
If you can crawl under the blockades, you get a show
Always the most skilled painters find themselves crushed and trapped
Their pervy hands craft detailed, brilliant master pieces
Of their own image as a ***** snake, being ravaged by rackoons and meerkats??
Just being a bit silly with this one!
How May 2011
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.
Originally had 'crowded' as 'crowdead'. Removed because I don't know how many people it would be lost upon.
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
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?
finn Nov 2023
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.
i haven't had juice for so long i really need to go out and buy some
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.
TC Jun 2013
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
brandon nagley Jun 2015
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..
Tony Luxton May 2016
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.'
Lauren C Oct 2012
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.
James Amick Aug 2013
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.
René Mutumé Jul 2013
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.
Akemi Jun 2016
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.
11:44am, June 19th 2016

Three men ***** a twelve year old girl in Canada and the judge blamed her for it.

This world is ******* disgusting.

Everyone stands around talking about global warming, inequality, systemic racism, ****** violence, imperialism, then we go on with our stupid lives, imbibing media that perpetuates these discourses because hah ******* hah oppression is such a joke, let's all laugh at **** and race-based ******. We purchase goods produced in countries crippled through both military and economic impositions, where the workers commit suicide daily because of how ******* **** their lives are. We pour detergent down the drains because clean dishes are more important than the entire ocean's ecosystem. We place our lives in the hands of authority figures, trusting them to sort things out, when across historical time, it's been those in power who've been the most resistant towards change. Oh, because we don't have time to get involved, because politics is boring, because life is hard enough as it is.

We are privileged as ****, and we are all complicit in the suffering of others.
Laura Williams Jul 2015
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.
zebra Aug 2016
sauntered down
to the
very private
hurt me hurt you club
the waft of perfume
fragrant in the air
***** music
in the distance

the club
a place for hard players
lovers of
voluptuous ****** cruelties

as i approach
the dark glitter lights
of hidden casbah's
dark blood dens
i apprehend
laughing shrieks and tender coos

i hear an old refrain

let me entertain you
let me make you mine
and if your real good
ill make you feel good
and we will have a real good time

trawling hungry masochists
soft furniture girls and boys
holding impossible posses
down side up
embraced by moon skulled sadists
bending bending
oh snap,
blood plumes
again and again and again

popped by
big cocked poppers
arms and legs piled high
soaked in drool
and **** *** yum
silky flesh
habanero hot blood kisses
scurred like a fat lizard
slow cooked
fall off the bone
melt in your mouth
tastes just like chicken

stamina unimaginable
oh the blade sir
as her sweet ****
convulsed in endless waves
of crimson plush shimmers

she faked death sweetly
made believe she couldn't breath
eyes mute
mouth gapping careless
hungry for silky flesh
goes down like a
butter scotch float fizz

posed on the slab
legs wide
like a bridge exposing
tender flanks inner thighs
                  and
pinkish slave feet scorched
tremulous from adorations flames
catharsis
all rocky horror picture show
wrapped in each other like spools

she writhed and cried
another one across
the mouth please
hard harder harder
i need it sir
her yins edge a yang
bottoming the top
almost homicide
her hearts desire
she groans
like a wind through a canyon

blood mouth saliva
gives way to grateful release
and dreadful tears
that vanquish
like rocks through a window
as she bled and ******
a creel of *****
butter butter butter
her mouth a tongue of heaven
hot house girl in a blaze
dancing hell *****
gorgeous !

have you been
To the hurt me hurt you club
a twisted snarl of desire
a trundle of lust
in Satan's back room party
while a tarnished
dark glitter sign glows forth
in bold grotesque
welcome
if you hunger
for kisses that drown
oh so wrong
the sign it self
a neon headless ******* fire
swaying her hips gently
at the arched entrance

a golden voice sings

let me entertain you
let me make you mine
and if your real good
ill make you feel good
and we will have a real good time
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, not judge me, although i admit to my paraphilias  
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
It is 4 AM and the indigo of dawn
has crept up behind the dark
mass of clouds, tendrils
of wispy sky shadow
can be made out
as its glow indicates
the path Apollo's chariot
will cut through the night in four hours.

Near two millennia ago a human once wrote:
“Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars,
And see yourself running with them.”
Near two millennia from now a human might read
what words I've written and find me
whilst trawling through the hopes and dreams
of someone so far away.
Somebody saw something of beauty, they reach out
through the ages to pass it on;
Their feeling encapsulated,
Their reason  preserved,
Their spirit remembered
as for a moment they are disclosed.

Even if all I have to say is a word
for the light of the horizon
as it creeps unto dawn,
I am in your mind
briefly. I forget there's so much
I want to live for sometimes
so I write something
to remind me.
Quote:
Lines Ten and Eleven from Meditations by Marcus Aurelius
Aaron Rosenberg Jan 2015
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.
Edward Coles Feb 2014
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.
When you spend far too much time looking out the window.
©
brandon nagley Jul 2015
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
island poet May 2020
~for Honey~

upon arrival in May, 2020, at the sheltering island:

sparser, leaner, the overage of summer fullness lacking,
some of the presumptuous early blooms silly attempting
with no success, the deceiving of new arrivals, while the many
naked branches, leaf-less, trees, struggling be fully realized, needy
to join, volunteer, with the troops of advancing green recruits

this no poem, just descriptive, a viewpoint, my eyes awaken
to calm waterways, white boat dots trawling, looking
for new births, bounties of raw refreshment, sailing to an audience
of landed, gentrified emerald grasses, their chorale singing ‘thirsty!’

of me they ask, who be you, we’ve not seen nary a human trod
our land and seascape for months many, we have no recollection,
no issuing, of an invitation to any two legged slightly-familiar interlopers, reply simple, essence of essential, I’m being, being here!

your shores shore me in ways undefinable, that my
travels and travails don’t dare accompany or defy,
looking for old friends, natural ones, some likely passed,  all
whilst I sing Over the Rainbow, wishing wishes wonderful

already becoming truth, eyes daren’t deceive, my somewhere
here, where a winter’s rainbow made its landing, dreams truthful revealed, richly greeted, our presence yet welcomed, by sea salted
odiferous air, lapidaries of sapphiric waves, animals of the Kingdom

the poetry nook members, askance asking, why, what so long took,
we, your audience, waiting patiently for a coming, to pen our
woods and tales, long, short and tall, prophecies of storms,
lighting crashes, of a stilling peacefulness, heaven-bequeathed

the Adirondack thrones, four kings, wearied worn, beyond gray,
show their weathering rings pride of ‘another year, we’ve survived,’
saying now, we’ll speak to the world, through you-man-poet,
our minions too, deer, wolves, rabbits, starfish, osprey, sea trout, piping plover, all winter survivors, will enjoin your verses

much to tell, newly created, new spells, to trance your eyes,
you seeing only our surfaces, guessing at our depths, our inherency,
looking for recovered keys to unlock your own hardy boyish mysteries, but ours, are perpetual unsolvable which is why,
you humans, ne’er fail to return

your soft footfalls, children’s shrieks, jewels to adorn us,
our nature, needs adoration and adulation, our tree limbs
for swinging on lumber-cut swings, flying towards our blued skies, requires humans to summer-slum, breaching the winters remaining slumbering yet few ends to join you when you at last first chant,

                               that, that’s where
                               you will find me, 
                               thinking,
                               think to myself,
                                                         ­ oh, what a wonderful world!

— The End —