"trenched" poems
Old man, you surface seldom.
Then you come in with the tide's coming
When seas wash cold, foam-
Capped: white hair, white beard, far-flung,
A dragnet, rising, falling, as waves
Crest and trough. Miles long
Extend the radial sheaves
Of your spread hair, in which wrinkling skeins
Knotted, caught, survives
The old myth of orgins
Unimaginable. You float near
As kneeled ice-mountains
Of the north, to be steered clear
Of, not fathomed. All obscurity
Starts with a danger:
Your dangers are many. I
Cannot look much but your form suffers
Some strange injury
And seems to die: so vapors
Ravel to clearness on the dawn sea.
The muddy rumors
Of your burial move me
To half-believe: your reappearance
Proves rumors shallow,
For the archaic trenched lines
Of your grained face shed time in runnels:
Ages beat like rains
On the unbeaten channels
Of the ocean. Such sage humor and
Durance are whirlpools
To make away with the ground-
Work of the earth and the sky's ridgepole.
Waist down, you may wind
One labyrinthine tangle
To root deep among knuckles, shinbones,
Skulls. Inscrutable,
Below shoulders not once
Seen by any man who kept his head,
You defy questions;
You defy godhood.
I walk dry on your kingdom's border
Exiled to no good.
Your shelled bed I remember.
Father, this thick air is murderous.
I would breathe water.
15.1k
Some voted for freedom from that rusty EU shackle.
Discussed immigration issues they were unable to tackle.
An establishmentarian North, South divide. When poverty strikes there's nowhere to hide.
Deep trenched anger rising from the disenfranchised vote. The pound devalued as the right wing gloat.
Uncertain times causes a global ripple. Bank of England acts to avoid economic *******
But what of our neighbours? Our brothers in arms? Democratic victors, do they know who this harms?
Young against old, divisions laid bare. Political wrangling, do they really care?
The Prime Minister resigns and a new chapter to be written.
Democracy wins in a diverse, Great Britain.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 4:00 AM UTC
Mama it happened again
He did those things to me
made me feel ashamed
shh, it’s our little secret
Mama, don’t leave me with him
What if he comes close
If I can feel his breath on my skin
Shh, It’s our little secret
Mama trenched gashes caress me
but I can’t feel it anymore
Come a little closer, can’t you see?
Shh, it’s our little secret
Mama, I cut a little too deep,
took too many pills
Please let me fall asleep
Shh, it’s our little secret
Mama, I see you crying
"Beloved daughter and friend"
I’m not sorry,
I was so tired of trying.
Shh, it’s our little secret, our little secret, our little secret.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
I hoed and trenched and weeded,
And took the flowers to fair:
I brought them home unheeded;
The hue was not the wear.
So up and down I sow them
For lads like me to find,
When I shall lie below them,
A dead man out of mind.
Some seed the birds devour,
And some the season mars,
But here and there will flower,
The solitary stars,
And fields will yearly bear them
As light-leaved spring comes on,
And luckless lads will wear them
When I am dead and gone.
2.3k
I
She gave up beauty in her tender youth,
Gave all her hope and joy and pleasant ways;
She covered up her eyes lest they should gaze
On vanity, and chose the bitter truth.
Harsh towards herself, towards others full of ruth,
Servant of servants, little known to praise,
Long prayers and fasts trenched on her nights and days
She schooled herself to sights and sounds uncouth
That with the poor and stricken she might make
A home, until the least of all sufficed
Her wants; her own self learned she to forsake,
Counting all earthly gain but hurt and loss.
So with calm will she chose and bore the cross
And hated all for love of Jesus Christ.
II
They knelt in silent anguish by her bed,
And could not weep; but calmly there she lay;
All pain had left her; and the sun's last ray
Shone through upon her, warming into red
The shady curtains. In her heart she said:
"Heaven opens; I leave these and go away;
The Bridegroom calls,--shall the Bride seek to stay?"
Then low upon her breast she bowed her head.
O lily flower, O gem of priceless worth,
O dove with patient voice and patient eyes,
O fruitful vine amid a land of dearth,
O maid replete with loving purities,
Thou bowedst down thy head with friends on earth
To raise it with the saints in Paradise.
1.7k
It was the running Roman Legionary,
Who hid from troops his own,
And spoke of evil men did do,
For it was why he ran alone.
It was the serf, an ex-soldier,
Who spoke against the sword;
Yet for these words which he did speak,
He earned the sword as his reward.
It was the humbled noble Lord,
Who wrote from tower's tall;
Against all endless border wars,
As it caused good men to fall.
It was the musketman in red,
Who stepped-on out of line;
Opting not to die so still,
As he said, "This life is mine."
It was the trenched machine-gunner,
Who chose his targets quick,
And wished for more than anything,
To cease this endless click.
It was the Spaniard,
Who fought Spain,
And knew the truth was dark;
Yet fought-back fists of fascist pride,
His mission now, to leave a mark.
It was the Frenchman,
Chased by fright,
Who scrambled for the shore;
Escaping from his bled homeland,
He died of bombs in Britain's war.
It was the prisoner of Korea's gore,
Who sat down with the Reds;
Speaking in appeasing awe,
He saved his severed head.
It was the man in Vietnam,
Who was forced the cross the sea;
To fight a war he wasn't for,
Against his will, he stood as free.
It was the Roman,
And the serf;
It was the noble Lord.
It was the musketman in red,
And the dead Spaniard,
Who fought for freedom,
Spoke for peace,
And dreamed to see with their own eyes,
The human mind, taught to be wise,
And cease these endless lies;
To end the "me's" and "mores" and "my's,"
And to remove mans dark disguise.
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 7:43 PM UTC
all my blackbirds sing for me
and all my friends arrived
roses bloom above my head
a fine place to reside
lacrimal gush under vails will remedy
promises always lie
pain will tell the journey
trenched the soil to reach the sky
all my blackbirds stopped to sing
for they are no more
all my friends left the same
and all the roses wilt in dirt
I've been reckoned as a coward
they will never see what I saw
and all my songs will stay unsung
and all my songs will stay unsung
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 8:03 PM UTC
no rest
for the wicked
or for
me,
no my
dreams keep me
tired,
no fire
has burnt my
bed yet,
no i’m
watching
laundry line
silhouettes
from:
the shadow box
of my head,
no this
isn’t pain
as much
as its
disorienting,
no i
need medicine
something to
keep me
awake
because
i forgot
to blink,
no it
makes no difference
whether my eyes
are closed or
open,
no dust
left
suspended in light
over the ocean
trenched
darkness.
Jan 15, 2011
Jan 15, 2011 at 9:53 PM UTC
A whisper of delight
Petals of softness
The cloth of beginning
The ribbon that ties the knot
Will become a beauty
A mother's touch heals the wound
And her mouth circles their hearts
A smile is a delicate stream that warmths the soul
A bud that is bursting
Will become kind
Their breathe touches the sky
Lights the stars and sparkles the water
A thorn will become if the soul is trenched with hatred
But he will learn that the soil is the most beautiful place to grow beauty and there it will be, the petals will fall
Hit the ground and leave behind what once was
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 11:49 PM UTC
The long truth hanged from your neck
The marks were colors of grape
Your back screamed happiness
Deep trenched marks revealed things
Things I wanted
Your face made my chest pound
I want to break free from this
I need to taste your lips on mine
Your skin in my teeth
Your hands on my hip
I want blood on my mind
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
lamp, in the corner, of the floor
does the on and off
maybe kind of a *****
my stonesthrow
dead and friends
down and out
side broken homes
and store with their unique
hip soon again bores
throw a knot over the closet door
sling slip loose around my neck
swing for the fences
far and away and dig men trenched
and lamp stands flat foot
against the corner, on the floor
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
licking orange juice off fingers
like lizards
like primeval and primal beast
who hunt the roaring raw oily rind
and slaves to the lonely sweet elixir.
the slaves sit ready
trenched in greenish mossy muck
and ****** doorway-banging repetition
among the peachy stupors and the ill-humors
sat the two.
a swing and a time
for circles of hands held and secrets sold
and I have none
and you are mute
but tell me everything
among the biscuits and the stale cookies of the young
among the blood and the bleach and the smoke.
we are fertile and ripe for the picking
we are irresponcible, irresponsible
there is no authority in the world that we would emulate.
they are the young the banged and bruised and trial-tested
they are the heirs to her secrets, they are we, and we are idiots of the first order.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 10:15 PM UTC
Another round to see who’s
got the crown now
drank from the wisdom
of the bottomless sink
empty route to now
Smoke routine crisp
cold air of the mountain
fire filled rings with the
the civil war owl
rising up from the ashes
Mud clogged stump
gets thrown to fire
burns so old a face
in the moon’s
horizon
Catching flame to ancient
places
sitting trenched
in alchemy’s graces
oh oh, dome of trees
emerald moon
with the howl
from
trickster
Ccoyote
howls at the owls
like they’re
flying right
through me
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
The old house stands still.
Rot has set in.
A flying termite caught in the webs of a dead spider, sway to the shrill of a ceiling fan.
All things sway.
Dreams rise and suffocate in the mouldering mortars
Falling on the adjacent tiled roof.
They scream, laugh, make love, declare the infiniteness
Of their finite existence through diatribes of reality and unreality.
They are passionate bunch,
Bound by their common desire to be. And blood.
And the house just is. It still is.
Once there were sparrows in the ventilators.
And envious bayas on the palm trees.
The ripples in the pond sing their dark, merry tunes
Licking away its edges,
And they shove and trample for the whiff of north wind.
Life persists in slow, lonely decadence.
The cactus on the roof thrives in monsoon and in summer.
Basil live and die, live and die trenched in the never ending circle
Of micro-civilisation.
The house harvests its own sustenance in the whispers among its bricks
That become a collective
And a roar is heard.
They pray to Earth.
The old house is defiant,
The old house is tired.
Its melting skin sizzles and stinks of industry of old,
A glorious past always in the distant like the horizon,
The promise of bright future exposed to the misery
That is naturalness of time.
The hammer rusted, **** has grown over,
They clinch onto the sickle like oxygen.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 10:31 AM UTC
The mother and a kitten:
He was in a deep slumber when she sentient him,
left abandoned by his mother in the perilous world,
She couldn't resist herself but to hold him in her palms and to get him out of this vulnerable plight,
She touched with her bare fingers,
Her fingers which caused the convulsions in his body and he was astir from the sleep,
He ungainly postures his body from the ground,
With her gentle hand and nimble fingers she clasps him to her *****
His starving triggered by then,
His craving cry from the parched throat was in resonance with the throbbing of her heart,
She couldn't bear the mewling and he was just delivered from the cocoon of the nature,
The immediate slake with the milk is most essential to his survival now,
Every moment she waits could bring only the harm to his existence,
She unveils her motherhood and unclothe her breast,
The deepest feeling trenched his soul which pushed her hands to snuggle his neck to her *****
He dipped his silhouetted lips unconcerned about gasps to satiate his flesh,
He suckles the **** of her and sips the essence of the motherhood,
The tears tilted across her chin and then traversed to her breast and then to his face,
She then realized that the tears are shed from her eyes and drenched her body,
She couldn't even weep as she was holding him and she doesn't care a hoot about tears,
and with the satiated appetite his eyes slowly sinks into the darkness,
the mother mirth induces the rainbow in her eyes by seeing the kitten sleeping tranquilly in her hands......
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
Shun thyself
Taketh the needle out
Stick thyself
Politicians of doubt
Lay down thy stone
Bury thine head
Let the bird flyeth free
And remember thine dead!!!!
Crying shame of pain and doom
Walk the line,
Play thy tunes!!!!
Heavy hearted
Soul of man
Tidy up thy mansion
Do the best thou can
Pull the trigger
Drop thy bombs
Smoke out the ashes
The clay turned dung
Tiger eyes
Diamond blood
Tombstones to plant
Names to shrug
Grow thy beards
Where thy plad
Wear glasses of fashion
And clothes of drag
Maketh thy pupils
Large and small
Taketh thine pills
Behind the wall
Tip thy bottles
Back to false success
Go to school
No rules to thine own stress
Get to work
Five minutes til
Wear thy mask a while
Don't pay thy bills!!!
Smile as thou runneth
And runneth as thou kills
Take the stab from thy own knife
At thine own will
Mask thyself
In blackened grey
Gravedigger
Bury mine grave
Help thyself
Help noone else
Crawling out a hole
That thy parent's hast built
Mommy and daddy
Don't poison me
This stomach's full
Of sinful seed
Hypocrite's judge
Critics ashamed
Bring me sunlight
Of ****** rain
Teareth me down
Build the wall
Case me like benches
In trenched bathroom stalls
Proud and dumb
Dumb and proud
Thy heart still aches
To the fate of the crowd
Innocent murmers
Poems a must
Cops still raging
To a hippy bus
Prosecutors take thy stance
Shackle me
Taketh mine romance
Waketh me at 9:23
It's time
Maby its thou I shalt see
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
Tears trenched paper
Wind thrilled through the ear
Raindrops permeated sand
The road led to the end
Darkness crushed the trail
Shadow reflected the pain
Baby boys
Baby girls
Standstill
Standstill
We are on the way
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
I have walked through cities like a cat slinking through streets
quaking bones of ice and blood: bitter wine spilling over the pavement.
Streets that reimagine paradise with the twist of a singing blade.
Paws to upturned earth, searching prices to be paid.
I have walked through cities towing along a golden thread
linking city to city and idea to truth. Love to love.
Thread, like a promise. Thread, bright and unbound.
But bound to bound and bear what may
A fracture in my heart to say
I have walked through cities by this line
Through memorials thick and music undefined
And by and by I have learned to speak so soft
A child’s collar where our words all fly aloft
I have walked through cities along a golden thread.
I have walked through cities where there was refuge
In bums that lined the streets
Trash that gleamed and glimmered like a crown on a king’s head
whose promises, worth more than a those men’s, who left the dead
I have walked through cities.
Two that warned and waned.
A war of times and a burden’s whisper
A tale of mountainous discrepancies
those morals, thrown and lost and gained.
I have walked through cities that once seemed far away.
But closer than I ever knew and nearer than my eyes could see.
A tale of time and triumph, yet of pain and prudence all the same.
The fish still swim the alleyways
The wolves still feast in light
There is a wonder to the kindnesses
And a question of what is right.
Those cities’ stars are still unclear
Their shining beams– less bright.
Sometimes, my treading feet slow, my eyes lock on the stars
Those dusty, white, and distant things that keep me up at night,
I have walked through warring cities
Those that kept me at a stall
Forever trenched in agony, still devoted to what cause.
My cities have been people whose pasts all intertwined
my soul has held the notion that their wrongs must be my rights.
Sometimes that golden thread has pulled me back to home,
a faction in the center of the worlds I cease to roam.
I have walked through cities that held tight to my hands,
But today, I will let go of passion in those lands.
I have walked through cities, but I have made it home again.
I have walked through cities and taught my lips to say amen.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
"why mustn’t it fail?"
Why mustn’t -- He fails.
Trenched in the sand, from whence It hails?
From the mirages treacherous, Thenceforth It prevails, yet,
Implore He must, Its ignorance prevails.
It fights Its fights; Its inquiries It derails:
It is a because, not a why not a may(be).
He; shallow his origin as the queries He concocts
why must He question, why mustn’t... He fails.
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC
a capsule, narrowing tombstones
engraved upon fine misty grass blades
yawning sun, mellow yolk yellow
gleaming across the hurt inflicted on
see the scars, the rugged trenched dug into dirt
sheared guardrails where the car
missed the next right turn,
logged trees weeping silently
invisible to the tuning in the pearls of our ears
a brisk morning with melodies singing
sweet blossoming lilies sticking to the breeze
like saturation sung harmony
visually like honey woven on cream cloth threads,
these tombstones behold pasts of great tragedy
yet what once welted deep hurt
in the hearts of young minds
and delinquent lovers
remain far into the enriches of worth,
no matter the pain struck lightening and cursed
finer mornings will spread its succulent kisses
of mildew honeydew and crisp morning sunny breaths
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
i wonder
if those we call selfish now
are those people
unable to fill
themselves again
their souls
stretched and torn
****** out of their body
their hearts empty
by giving beyond
what it can beat
now, decaying
soulless, lifeless
empty and pleading
left with nothing
maybe trying
to restart, rebuild
refill what is now trenched
and hollowed heart
they tend
to leave more
for their own
yet receive a lash
for as it seems
trying to love
themselves
for the first time
is selfish.
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 9:07 AM UTC
Were you to look beneath the beard
Into relation ships I've steered
Straight to a last horizon grave
Of passiongers I couldn't save
Perhaps you'd sea this dark blue face
Reflects my grotesque happy place
Where I do my deepest sinking
Trenched in Marianas thinking
Ever tied to lament blocks
From crashing on existence rocks
The anchors of my ego's gold
That monstrous me creatures hath sold
Charybdis maelstrom consciousness
Leviathans of meaningless
Release the kraken to reveal
The siren songs she made me feel
My sails surrendered to her kiss
But plundered too much black abyss
A pirate's life of *** and coke
Not worth its weight in cannon smoke
Left me adriftwood wandering
The lonely shorelines pondering
Why does the faithful sun still rise
Aware that it just sets and dies
Surely there must be some dry lands
With castles of the whitest sands
Such constructs will essentially
Just wash away eventually
Remembered not by some divine
Forgotten in the wake of time
No marks I've made can drown out death
No words I write return the breath
That Aphrodite set in foam
And then shipwrecking me to roam
My cargo hold of loveless cells
To piece back broken-hearted shells
Consider this next time you ask
What lies submerged beneath this mask
A dead man's chest that finds its peace
In nothing but when all things cease
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC
Draw the line,
now make it bigger,
bigger than that, now draw it with rigor!
Draw the line on which you stand,
know your rights,
make your demands.
Line it up, nice and straight
shoulder to shoulder you stand,
line it up, and stand your ground, now is not the time to hesitate.
The line you drew is yet only so big,
the giants you face are huge, and will try to beat you down,
but don't let them intimidate you, as for the trenched line you still dig.
The line, the line,
hold, I say! Hold the line!
It's going to get hairy,
before it becomes fine.
The line, the line,
do not falter, be brave!
Give it all and then some, just as the others before had gave!
The line you stand on,
will be with you always,
the line that you stand for, will soon be gone.
Who will cross it?
Them? The enemy, the one's who seek to destroy the ones you hold dear
behind that precious line?
Or will you stand, cross and fight to protect what you call, "Mine!"
The line is drawn, the war defined,
'tis upon your honor, blood, and tears,
so fought and bled, by you and comrades alike, sharing victories, defeats, and fear.
So here away, your soul to sign,
all and more you hold dear, just behind the line.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
Allow me to warm up your soul
So you may tread earth with your sole
In my wake I will see you quenched
And tend to the embers you have forgotten
Because my breath endures the holes you trenched
And such is my lode; to see you through mortem.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
Some days I am hideously alive
Decomposing memories
Deeply trenched in manipulation
****** noses and broken hearted…
dark circles and scabbed over
clotting and bruised
Festered wound pushing out poison.
Some days I am defective, calloused and weak
Some days I am gnawing and farel
Less human and more lizard
Puckered scars and blistered skin
Healing isn't always pretty
Some wounds get infected
Bones have to be reset…
Abscesses drained
I survived…
But I don't have the same skin
You wouldn't recognize me
I'm breathing
Some days that hurts
Nov 6, 2022
Nov 6, 2022 at 9:17 PM UTC