"trespass" poems
I want to dip my tongue,
inside your flavor.
With no waver,
I savor your taste.
With a desires pace,
your liquids turned to paste,
a love potion laced with our grace.
Delicious lips glistening with ours juices.
A cocktail saturated with your nectar.
Our fountain we await,
satisfaction at a hieghted state.
I greet you with my pleasures
at an amazing pace, our lips embrace
lacerated by my tongue --
I trespass your pearly gates,
where your pleasure awaits,
I await - at the mercy of our warm embrace.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
A howl is heard
in the dead of night
a shadow seen
on the hill
between the trees
a pair of golden eyes
strikes fear into the hearts
of those who trespass
in his territory.
this beast is
the beautiful wolf
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
Our father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name,
hollow be thy promises
and shallow be thy shame.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
On a scale of one to ten,
our Lord is totally eleven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
toasted close to dawn,
and forgive us our trespasses
as we shoot those who trespass on our lawn,
and lead us not into temptation,
such as *** or *****
but deliver us from evil
(if not delivery, then DiGiorno).
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
You said you would **** it this morning.
Do not **** it. It startles me still,
The jut of that odd, dark head, pacing
Through the uncut grass on the elm's hill.
It is something to own a pheasant,
Or just to be visited at all.
I am not mystical: it isn't
As if I thought it had a spirit.
It is simply in its element.
That gives it a kingliness, a right.
The print of its big foot last winter,
The trail-track, on the snow in our court
The wonder of it, in that pallor,
Through crosshatch of sparrow and starling.
Is it its rareness, then? It is rare.
But a dozen would be worth having,
A hundred, on that hill-green and red,
Crossing and recrossing: a fine thing!
It is such a good shape, so vivid.
It's a little cornucopia.
It unclaps, brown as a leaf, and loud,
Settles in the elm, and is easy.
It was sunning in the narcissi.
I trespass stupidly. Let be, let be.
11.5k
The whole concept
of adulthood
is one that seems to
trespass
from the ever-anticipated world
of the theoretical,
just to barge into your life
one night
like an uninvited drunken friend.
It will never really “hit you,”
but it’ll come **** close
the first time your aunt
offers you a glass of wine
as she and your mother
gossip frankly about
your father’s mistress—
you sip on cheap Chardonnay
and pretend to be used to the taste,
as they talk with
a middle-aged bitterness
of the man you were raised
to believe was too virtuous
to be in debt for some glitzy
engagement ring that he
bought to restart his life
with a woman he left your mother for
shortly after the pandemonium
of a guiltless affair.
The man
whose brutishness
you were told to overlook, cradling
the sparse memories
of when he’d tuck you
too tightly into bed, or
when he’d tell you that he loved you
even though half the time
you really didn’t believe him—
The man whose love confused you,
whose clumsy attempts
of fatherhood
kept the heart of a young girl
perpetually guarded
by a cautious skepticism—
The man who brought you into
a world he found absurd
as carelessly
as he raised you to face it,
torn apart
like every illusion that makes a child,
the ashes of which
that slip through your fingers
inevitably declare you
another bitter adult.
More wine will reveal
that your beloved father
is a controlling ******
and his relationship
with that *****
the whole family hates
only appears to be functioning
because she lets him have
all the control
he couldn’t exert on your mother,
even though you’ve had dinner
with the two of them a couple of times
and if you had met her
under any other circumstance (though
you’d feel like a traitor
if you said it aloud)
you wouldn’t think
she was all that bad.
In red, declarative letters
I want to write to any children I may ever bear
into this bittersweet game of ********
we play that we’ve since called ‘life,’
that when they first gaze with awe
at the unattainable grace
with which every grown-up seems to navigate
the world they created,
with all the pain of tax-paying and womanhood,
I want to scream
that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing either
and if at any point I try to convince you otherwise
you should tell your mother
that she’s full of ****
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
Some people just can't handle driving
Everybody goes mad on this road at one point or another
The consideration is to keep the hatred within your own car
There are tools to be utilized
The escapism of music for one's health
The catharsis of muttering to oneself
Nobody should hold it against you
If you scream inside your car
They should understand
If you wanted to express yourself outwardly
You'd just flip them off
The abbreviated visual version
Of attempting to insert negativity into someone's life
It's healthy to be hurt
Your heart telling your mind that their hatred isn't normal
It is now on you to let sleeping dogs lie
And forgive those that trespass against us
Humor is my exit off the frigid freeway
Children in grown bodies
Their clothes are too big on them
Clearly confused about how to act
Taking every side road that catches their attention
That's funny enough for me
I've never flipped anybody off on the road
I learned from my father's story
She gave him every excuse to be angry
And he expressed that to her
The intended effect was reached
Her susceptible emotions were breached
Leaving a wise man to question his own actions
What was the point of that again?
That's why I try to keep an even keel
While sailing down the highway
There will always be people
Who honk at you for driving down the middle of the road
Remember to let those sleeping dogs lie
Or they'll be roadkill
And it's not nice to laugh at little people
But no one will know if it's from inside your car
And you can cozy up to the comfort created
By the signs on the road
Warning those people
They're driving in the wrong direction
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC
i cant call this love
i know its... sort of complicated.
i can tell that it is for you.
one second you say im young
then the next you call me beautiful?
maybe i just take things in the wrong context.
but those blue eyes of yours really get me
and that silly smile you have on your face... god...
i just... i dont know. id never trespass your comfort zone
but i just keep thinking of the embraces we shared
and that kiss on the top of my head
i want you to remember me and love me
and maybe just turning that kiss from the top of my head
to down to my lips, and to love every second of it.
just once, please, one day let me lean in and
taste a real mans lips.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
The voyage is set to begin
Behind the battle line
Lingering with aspiration
Billions of others
Just like me
The desire to achieve this feat
Trespass the Zona
Break it free
An amorous key
Essential to transcribe
Me to thee
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 1:45 AM UTC
On rising heat, killdeer flush
to decoy enemy--
threat to its young that roams too close
They rush to skim on hayish blur
wailing over wildflowers drying
Fretful twitter in perpetual flight
swifts-- twirl and hurl their bits of bodies--
debris
from a cumulonimbus of a late-day sky
toward a ridge of stag horn sumac
presuming horizon primordial
behind which time and city-- drift and wobble
on rising heat-- after rush hour
Rising Heat
Rising--
to meet my mind
on its way down
from my post behind
the laundromat
where I view it all--
rising--
where I usually go in search of quiet
to almost hear the ocean
two hundred miles away
to strain words from wind
in careless conversation
to wonder over
missed whispers....
But not today
In rising heat, I went down
in search of something better--
your eyes again
solvent for my presence of mind
dissolvers of hours and the order of things
But I need an excuse!
To turn, to trespass, to disturb the peace!
For your eyes again!
And still I need more-- being feverish, weak
Or?
Or... should I take the cure?
To deny ...To deny
To deny what?
Overtones from a sea of years?
I don't know! Whatever it was!
Nothing explain it...
I melt... I'm gone....
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
There is meaning within a meaning
Heart always wants to decipher
After unwrapping the myriad layers
With dexterous thinking and imagination
Every meaning is unraveled with time
It’s a labyrinth through which life goes
For the true meaning is hidden always
One who wants to seek passionately
Will trespass all the arduous challenges
Lay hands on the hidden key
To open the cherished door of the heart
True meanings are intricate ciphers
Only the brave heart can decipher them all
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
The whole concept
of adulthood
is one that seems to
trespass
from the ever-anticipated world
of the theoretical,
just to barge into your life
one night
like an uninvited drunken friend.
It will never really “hit you,”
but it’ll come **** close
the first time your aunt
offers you a glass of wine
as she and your mother
gossip frankly about
your father’s mistress—
you sip on cheap Chardonnay
and pretend to be used to the taste,
as they talk
of the man you were raised
to believe
was too virtuous to be
in debt for some glitzy
engagement ring that he
bought to restart his life
with a woman he left your mother for
shortly after the pandemonium
of a guiltless affair.
The man
whose brutishness
you were told to overlook, cradling
the sparse memories
of when he’d tuck you
too tightly into bed, or
when he’d tell you that he loved you
even though half the time
you really didn’t believe him.
The man who brought you into
the world as carelessly
as he raised you to face it,
torn apart
like every illusion that makes a child,
the ashes of which
that slip through your fingers
inevitably declare you
another bitter adult.
More wine will reveal
that your beloved father
is a controlling ******
and his relationship
with that *****
the whole family hates
only appears to be functioning
because she lets him have
all the control
he couldn’t exert on your mother,
even though you’ve had dinner with them
a couple of times
and if you had met her
under any other circumstance (even though
you’d feel like a traitor if you said it aloud)
you wouldn’t think
she was all that bad.
In red, declarative letters
I want to write to any children
I may ever bring
into this ******** little game that
goes by the name of “life,”
that when they first gaze with awe
at the unattainable grace
with which every grown-up seems
to be navigating the world they created,
with all the pain of tax-paying and womanhood,
I want to scream
that we don’t know what the hell we’re doing either
and if at any point I try to convince you otherwise
you should tell your mother
that she’s full of ****
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
forgive me
for committing the sin of looking for you
here, there, and everywhere.
forgetting the cardinal truth
that you’re the omnipresent one!
to think i could think of you,
the one who’s beyond all thoughts
my trespass too.
forgive me.....
© 2022
Jun 26, 2022
Jun 26, 2022 at 1:23 PM UTC
the day i was cast out into the world
through spread legs
they looked between mine
and declared, simply:
“it’s a girl”.
we’re taught to be ashamed
of who we are
that people like me, like us,
are freaks of nature.
told me the body i was given
this body, is sacred.
that i should never tamper with it.
that it’s blasphemous to trespass
on divine territory.
(who knew i could be a trespasser in my own home?)
you point to the sky,
tell me
god doesn’t make mistakes.
turn that finger back on me, on us,
spew ridicule for the ones we’re supposedly making
for merely having the courage to be.
what is it that makes doctors and parents alike
so reluctant to believe that
there are other colors out there
besides pink and blue?
the lines are blurring ––
**** robin thicke]
this is not a phase.
this choice was not mine to make
(unlike the one you made for me).
don’t tell me who or what i am.
i didn’t climb out of one box
just to be shoved into another.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 8:20 AM UTC
What a beauty to seek!
The Nightingales have returned
To serve thee!
Nightingale sing your songs...
Haunt the night of the trespass,
Nocturnal is your guide..Tonight
Seek your jewels,
Salvage thy treasure.
Offer it to Nocturnal,
To please her.
Nightingales,
Fact or Fiction?
They are quite real.
To see their armor,
To know their symbol.
They are shadows of the night.
Pursuing your every move...
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
Beware all ye who enter here,
This is my heart.
And it is just as bad,
Nay worse,
Than any of hell's trespass,
It beats slow like the mockingbird doth crow,
Once in a blue moon,
And only at midnight,
The chill's it release would make the Morningstar,
Shiver in pain,
My gates are protected by demons greater,
Than the darkest Horror novel,
My own.
The Pits are more black than the darkest tar,
It is the color of my love and of my hate.
For dontcha know,
Its all one thing down here,
Bleeding freely,
Come on in and take a dive,
Just beware,
Not a one,
No God, Demon, Man wo or not,
Has of yet made it out of here,
Is there a treasure inside,
Maybe, perhaps... probably,
Its just the the pride of the thing,
Like climbing Mount Everest,
Or making it to dinner on time.
But I don't care.
Live or die,
The gates remain so very high
Climb them if you will.
One time I fell,
And I awoke in hell,
At first they fought,
For such a soul as me,
Until one such as Beelzebub,
Lord of the hosts he came along,
And he among the first he bowed,
Whispering in a yell loud enough to hear,
'We WILL be waiting for your return,
Lord of lords, king of kings,
Lion among lambs, hero among man,"
Awakening from such a dream,
In a sweat that made me hot,
I smiled for the first time in a long time,
As the blackness in my heart boiled,
And the gates grew,
I had a home in hell,
And Earth would be my THRONE.
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 12:14 PM UTC
Tell me not here, it needs not saying,
What tune the enchantress plays
In aftermaths of soft September
Or under blanching mays,
For she and I were long acquainted
And I knew all her ways.
On russet floors, by waters idle,
The pine lets fall its cone;
The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing
In leafy dells alone;
And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn
Hearts that have lost their own.
On acres of the seeded grasses
The changing burnish heaves;
Or marshalled under moons of harvest
Stand still all night the sheaves;
Or beeches strip in storms for winter
And stain the wind with leaves.
Posses, as I possessed a season,
The countries I resign,
Where over elmy plains the highway
Would mount the hills and shine,
And full of shade the pillared forest
Would murmur and be mine.
For nature, heartless, witless nature,
Will neither care nor know
What stranger's feet may find the meadow
And trespass there and go,
Nor ask amid the dews of morning
If they are mine or no.
2.9k
BEHIND THE BIG SMILE..
There is this place in me,
Whose door is tightly shut
But strangers still trespass
Without a key nor a polite knock
Some stay, others bang the door dashing out.
There is this place in me,
Where you can touch
Without stretching your hand
Where you can draw your face
With no pen or ink..
There is this place in my heart
Where footsteps don’t fade
And memories stick like glue...
Where whispers feel like echoes.
There is this place in me,
Where pain and pleasure mix
Where walls seem concrete
Only from a distance...
But can tremble and crash
At a finger's touch!
There is such a place
Inside most of us
Have you been there?
It’s warm and safe
But those who we let inside
Tear and scatter it to pieces
Leaving it cold, scared and scarred!
Yet we cover it
With a smile or a laugh
Oh yes! there is such a place
Behind my smile.
(October 11, 2012 at 7:27am)
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
Alone with this desk,
And a notebook chock-fulled with paper;
Endless.. he chomp everything away.
Things truly aren’t easy,
The silence makes it harder.
Hey music, fill the air;
For not all truths,
But laughs of frauds may break out.
Just like the old days.
Just like the lady boss,
Just..maybe.
There should be dancing all around,
Where crowds should chip in
And take things in stern.
Errands were not decors –
Trespass! Like mini ciphers,
Digits, letters, they knock the drill out.
Only a couple more days left,
But in ignominy,
This generation may fall;
How pitiable..
With such marks and inkblots,
The source remains unrecognized.
They’re used to seize papers like that,
Although such are committing theft already.
Left were words,
Can’t spell it unerringly;
Yet the hearsays divulged its address,
So now, it’s time to slam this tome;
End the toil that has always been the crook!
Go outside,
For the sun’s rays are there!
Goodbye to this aged chair,
And to this notebook full of nicks,
With new freedom,
We shall embrace..
Everything.. “Ciao” to what’s new,
‘Coz this is the real world!
Oh college days!
(7/25/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Her eyes are the stained glass broken from confession.
Her withered hair buried beneath dirt gravel.
Her forbidden mind fosters slobs of crazy.
Her mind is a battlefield of Trojan takeover.
Her bare feet remember sacred ground of tainted memories.
Her ears embrace the screech of still weather.
Her grapefruit mouth juiced with venom is tasteless.
her sharp egg shelled fingertips woven from braids of straw.
Her body is the Earthquake ruptured by the vibrations of collision.
Her thoughts trespass gated abandonment
Her firework pen exploding with gunpowder secrets.
Her gunpowder secrets deterring the sanity.
Her cracked lips cobweb from silenced words.
Her puppet stringed smile puts on a show to the audienced world.
Her soul has been toyed with by the cynical Fates.
Her echo without direction is a heartbroken drum line.
Her armor has been dowsed with sharp, penetrating words.
Her skin has painted stories interior to her porcelain frame.
Her soulless story can be dry swallowed by rocks.
Her tears bleed of whispered screams.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 2:02 PM UTC
(Hebrews, iv.2)
Israel in ancient days
Not only had a view
Of Sinai in a blaze,
But learn'd the Gospel too;
The types and figures were a glass,
In which thy saw a Saviour's face.
The paschal sacrifice
And blood-besprinkled door,
Seen with enlighten'd eyes,
And once applied with power,
Would teach the need of other blood,
To reconcile an angry God.
The Lamb, the Dove, set forth
His perfect innocence,
Whose blood of matchless worth
Whould be the soul's defence;
For he who can for sin atone,
Must have no failings of His own.
The scape-goat on his head
The people's trespass bore,
And to the desert led,
Was to be seen no more:
In him our surety seem'd to say,
"Behold, I bear your sins away."
Dipt in his fellow's blood,
The living bird went free;
The type, well understood,
Express'd the sinner's plea;
Described a guilty soul enlarged,
And by a Saviour's death discharged.
Jesus, I love to trace,
Throughout the sacred page,
The footsteps of Thy grace,
The same in every age!
Oh, grant that I may faithful be
To clearer light vouchsafed to me!
2.2k
Living in a world of grey
Though only black and white
Are the colors that I see
Whether day or night
I just really can't believe
That what You see is true
And how can you tell me
That i should feel like you
Seeing flowers trees and birds
And plays, and sad, sad movies
Does not invoke such thoughts you see
And you can't show them to me
My world is perfect, pristine and white
You nought but trespass here
What audacity you have
To say my world is weird
My heart is great and deep and wide
More empty than the night
I rather think you cluttered
Sure you have your feelings right?
Through depths of sorrow can I waltz
Like floating on the breeze
Your happines is much too loud
And unplesant for me
I still can't figure how you get
So angry and upset
Over things that others do
When still you've never met
Please instruct me, teach me
Oh great, wise, philosopher
Just how it is I need
Your feelings that occur
You say I'm broken, strange, messed up
You say you can help
I say if you are that good at it
Then you should help yourself
Your social customs, curticies
You do them without purpose
You cling so tightly hold them close
I gladly call them worthless
I'm not so cold and callused
As though it prolly seems
I'm really still working on
Which response you need
I may not cry when someone falls
Whether you or I
But I can promise I'll be the first
To help your tears to dry
Friend and family and acquaintance
All mean the same to me
I'll gladly help you when you need
With no return or fee
Eating breathing sometimes bleeding
Still less man than machine
Dont be so surprised when I
Respond mechanically
Living in a world of grey
Though only black and white
Are the colors that I see
There's only wrong or right
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
If you take my gun
You may as well take my rights
I have the right to bear arms
To protect my fortress
To defend my family
I will use everything
Machine guns
Shotguns
High-power rifles
Anything
So I can feel secure
Around bullets of death
3 people lie motionless
Blood seeping from shell wounds
In the middle of a crowded mall
12 people lay lifeless
Two years since their last death
In the middle of a movie theater
28 innocent souls lay empty
Most of whom couldn't understand
In the middle of a elementary school
What other people do with their weapons
Doesn't concern me
I will protect myself with my shotgun
My machine gun
My high-powered rifle
Maybe I'll teach my child how to shoot
So one day he can protect his family
With assault weapons
The victims of the crazed people
Those insignificant others
Are not dead by the shooters gun
But by the shooter's insanity
Those insignificant others
Were just poor, unlucky souls
Insignificant souls
When I get older
And not fit to live
I'm going to give my machine gun
My shotgun
To my son
So he can hold the fortress
And protect his family
From those insignificant others
Those poor, innocent souls
That will awake from the grave
That will trespass his property
That will look him in the eye
With the wounds from Sandy Hook
Aurora Movie Theater
Columbia Mall
Still viciously bleeding
And dare him to shoot again
To protect his cold-blooded ignorance
RIP Brianna Benlolo and Tyler Johnson
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
And so resounds the echo...
Sewn against your shadow,
handstitched destiny edges,
unraveled in the fire,
pulses rage
in heart-paced whispers,
collision of midnight panther
pelts, bleed into powder silk,
ravage the gentle merge,
your touch upon my awakening
sway me softly in your gaze
taste me with eyes that pierce
my soul from wingtips of butterflies
cast from the fire of your existence.
Unfold the unspoken words
dripping in the creases of this
throbbing...needing...wanting
heartbeat-slip-stitch,
suture seal the ache
of gossamer flesh
pressed against raven,
twin glances,
the bookmark,
fingertips
tracing the eyeprints
of your words upon me.
...so resounds the echo...
As echo wrecks the body
in a fever of words, purged
from the ****** night,
that devours_and devours_your lips,
my hands' gentle cradle, spread
its roots dark these russet
threads the gold, swept
wetly over hands, like nerves,
quickening and so laden
with tremors, these words echo echo
Slip knot tongues intertwine,
tangled tasting breathes, exhaled
in slow moans surging, purging
that drink_and crave_and need
m o r e
beneath hands that unleash
the fervor, lips pressed through
the flames, as gossamer falls
upon panther silk,
an exigent trespass,
beyond the touch
beyond the kiss,
educe the quake and the quiver
within this rapture.
...so resounds the echo echo...
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
On rising heat, killdeer flush
to decoy the enemy--
threat to its young that roams too close
They rush to skim on hayish blur
wailing over wildflowers drying
Fretful twitter in perpetual flight
swifts-- twirl and hurl their bits of bodies--
debris
from a cumulonimbus of a late-day sky
toward a ridge of stag horn sumac
presuming horizon primordial
behind which time and city-- drift and wobble
on rising heat-- after rush hour
*Rising Heat
Rising--
to meet my mind
on its way down
from my post behind
the laundromat
where I view it all--
rising--
where I usually go in search of quiet
to almost hear the ocean
two hundred miles away
to strain words from wind
in careless conversation
to wonder over
missed whispers....
But not today
In rising heat, I went down
in search of something better--
your eyes again
solvent for my presence of mind
dissolvers of hours and the order of things
But I need an excuse!
To turn, to trespass, to disturb the peace!
For your eyes again!
And still I need more-- being feverish, weak
Or?
Or... should I take the cure?
To deny ...To deny
To deny what?
Overtones from a sea of years?
I don't know! Whatever it was!
Nothing explain it...
I melt... I'm gone....*
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
RIPPLES
Ripples of you touch make me wonder
Ripples of your essence trespass my slumber
Ripples of your words now echo in my mind
Ripples of your past now invade present time
Ripples of joy wrinkles of memories
Ripples of dread of what could no more be
Ripples of feelings I try to submerge
Ripples of nostalgia set free in me to surge
Ripples of broken pieces of love deep within
Ripples of tears and passion deeper than skin
Ripples of hurt pride envy and shame
Ripples of etchings deep inside of your name
Ripples of trust broken and kept
Ripples of promises which forever slept
Ripples of what has been or may be
Ripples of life please set me free
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 6:47 PM UTC