"trespassers" poems
Violating a placid spirit
Memories transgress
desecrating the sacred.
Memories are
the dark side
of a full moon.
Memories are unsatiated desires
couched on sorrow
entangled in time
a perennial wrinkle on the soul.
Memories are trespassers
possessing neural atrium
wading saline sockets
slithering in to throbbing veins
tiptoeing to hollow spaces
burying all under their eerie weight,
Memories are an inescapable affliction.
In fragmented mindscape
Memories are violent winds
littering the past.
Lurking behind aches
in ethereal garbs,
Memories are assassins.
Or sema
of a swirling dervish.
Hurtling within, Memories
is an avalanche
pounding the abyss
choking the void
one gasp at a time.
Memories are
nameless apparitions
fused as shadows
to the very being.
Memories are an assault
on identity and belonging.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC
Whistling through your teeth
What a nice body I have? What a beautiful face I have?
Wolves are always hunting but
I'm not 11, 16, 17 anymore
I'm not little red riding hood and
I will draw blood before you
Don't call me anything you wouldn't want to hear your mother called
Private playground
Trespassers shot on sight
Animals like you are hunted by girls - no
by women like me
My conviction rate is 100 percent these days
Wolf, one day you'll prey on the wrong princess
You can't huff and puff
Blow down a castle
Animals like you rot in cages
(B.N)
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
"shop closed"
**the sign never sat
perfectly on any hook
or nook
or cranny
you are an echo bounced
perfectly in every hook
and nook
and crook**
"considered sold once broken"
**consider it done
once dealt with the devil
his ornamental fairies
consider them whole before
they were bought**
"trespassers will be prosecuted"
**bedsheets spun out of cobwebs
sandcastles spun in of air
floorboards swallow you in
you dreamt of
anchoring yourself
to the ground**
"wine house"
**lustre of turbulent pirouttes
trapped within the walls
of wine glasses and
wine-stained dresses
in cadavers' masquerade**
"emergency only"
**they pushed you in the operating theatre
and cleaned their hands with soap
opera
amputate these phantom limbs
pain has been the only anaesthesia**
"in loving memory of"
he is the protagonist
he is the antagonist
and all stories end
(with)
the former
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC
There’s a dark grotto
Under the sea
With shelves and shelves
Of bottles
Clear, glass bottles
All of my secrets
A carefully watched castle
The middle of a concentric series of impassable walls
Surrounded by a forest of kelp
With razor-sharp teeth
And then the narwhals
The narwhal guards
Armed to the teeth with halibut-slicing knives
Their three-meter horns
Gleaming in the moonlight
Guarding
All of my secrets
Skeletons, trespassers of yore,
Strewn about the seafloor
Bones picked clean
By the scavenging *****
No one can enter
No one can leave
The grotto with the shelves
Shelves and shelves of clear, glass bottles
All of my secrets
But as for the *****
For the first time in centuries
The sunlight warms the waters
Melts the kelp
Kisses the narwhals
Buries the bones and torments the scavengers
Clearing away the darkness
A nonstop route through the castle
Protecting
All of my secrets
The tendrils of photons creep along
Wary
Ready for a fight
The grotto growls menacingly
Unguarded
For the first time in centuries
But upon the first touch -
Light meets stone -
The sea shudders
Ecstasy
And in repayment for salvation
Out come the bottles
Floating to the surface
Bathing in the light
All of my secrets
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 3:20 PM UTC
He touched her with his big hands,
Kissed away the flow of tears
He offered his strength
She let the pain go.
He was the only one she could do this with
Rocking her gently
Pretending not to notice,
The quiet whimpering.
The muffled cries
Guarding her heart from all trespassers
While he stared into the night
He would never again allow sadness to befall her,
An oath he took to himself.
To the gods he prayed,
To protect her from harm
Pledging his soul
Any who dare try he would slay.
He is now and forever her protector,
She loved him,
Though some fear remained.
He was solid and hard as granite,
She was very dear to him,
His love.
His life.
Knowing of her sadness
He saw lines of violence
Written upon the small face
After a while the shadows disappeared,
From his beloved’s world
As he held her close, stroked her hair and sighed.
She was oh so very dear to him this damaged soul
His love,
His life.
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC
solo piano and contemplation
songs in D minor to distract desolation
and turn it into poetry
bittersweet, solemn, raw emotion
encapsulated through rhetoric
into the sound waves, into the billows
a letter read aloud, a message in a bottle
with melancholy rigor,
and the finest of pledges to sentiment,
a vow to exhibition and art,
and commitment to fighting trespassers
but please, dear, don’t escape,
the woods of stability is for the wild
and those who are lifetime trained
so toast to passion, stay for the verse
delay the sojourn for the song and show
often rest is the answer to unsettling dreams
sip the grape vine, if you please,
but not forget the pen and paper by your bedside,
never neglect the manuscript,
not ever cease the creation
write away the man that left you,
destroy the character in your prose,
demolish the utopia he once yearned,
a poet’s fists are stronger than the fighter’s
for the writer’s battle continues beyond the ring
step out of the sorrow,
relay the violin’s lingering echo,
and one day the call outside will pause
for a tranquil summer day when you are not alone
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 12:40 AM UTC
What's so illegal about wanting to marry?
What's so illegal about not wanting that weight to carry?
What's so illegal about inhaling the pain away?
What's so illegal about not living another day?
Our choice, our freedoms, once all in the same.
Now apposed by laws and wars and the Government's games.
War on drugs, anti-gay marriage,
No more abortions might as well lead to "accidental" miscarriage.
Suicides and trespassers both shot in the head,
Hacking games and fake identities, you might as well be dead.
Everything we fear the pessimists then "amend"
Pretending to be gods as if their hands are to be a lend.
What happened to the world when freedom was a lifetime?
Not where fat bellowing rich men made ruling us their pastime.
A rebellion is out of the question,
For people are afraid of more oppression.
Somehow comfortable in homes where brains lie with matrix,
Merely made up of fools who are not creative.
Sick of living in these countries of lies,
Freedom is all I ask but it is what others despise.
What's so illegal about being free?
What's so illegal about being me?
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
This plot of ground
facing the waters of this inlet
is dedicated to the living presence of
Emily Dickinson Wellcome
who was born in England; married;
lost her husband and with
her five year old son
sailed for New York in a two-master;
was driven to the Azores;
ran adrift on Fire Island shoal,
met her second husband
in a Brooklyn boarding house,
went with him to Puerto Rico
bore three more children, lost
her second husband, lived hard
for eight years in St. Thomas,
Puerto Rico, San Domingo, followed
the oldest son to New York,
lost her daughter, lost her “baby,”
seized the two boys of
the oldest son by the second marriage
mothered them—they being
motherless—fought for them
against the other grandmother
and the aunts, brought them here
summer after summer, defended
herself here against thieves,
storms, sun, fire,
against flies, against girls
that came smelling about, against
drought, against weeds, storm-tides,
neighbors, weasels that stole her chickens,
against the weakness of her own hands,
against the growing strength of
the boys, against wind, against
the stones, against trespassers,
against rents, against her own mind.
She grubbed this earth with her own hands,
domineered over this grass plot,
blackguarded her oldest son
into buying it, lived here fifteen years,
attained a final loneliness and—
If you can bring nothing to this place
but your carcass, keep out.
2.4k
Upon the gate
Words inscribed
"TRESPASSERS BEWARE"
Behind me mist recedes
Steep cliff revealed
At the brink I tense
My footsteps echo as
The gate looms larger
Damp black rocks under
Hits me the tortured's howls
As I step across the threshold
Legs steady, eyes set
Dense fog obscuring
Flame and body
The torch flickers
A winding path I follow
Patient and unwavering
With sword unsheathed
Cold wind announces my destination
Before me the chasm yawns
From my hands the flickering torch
Fell boucing down jagged rocks
I grasp the hilt of my sword
Light refracting off the blade
I hold it outward through the fog
Its light dimming by the minute
And await the terrors to come
Rumbling from the distance
The gate crashes down
Darkness falls upon this realm
The chilly wind picking up
All sounds coming to a halt
I close my eyes
Steps unsteady as I pick my way
Not knowing how many
Gasping I pull my feet back
As it touched empty space
Then tentatively I inch
Forward with a heavy breath
Until I stop at the very brink
For a minute staying still yet
With a lurch I slip into the chasm
Cloak billowing above me I
Flail around in a frenzy
I feel the cool hilt still and
Point the sword downwards
Taking a deep breath and
Bracing for the impact
Jul 25, 2024
Jul 25, 2024 at 7:37 PM UTC
The stars they soar
As your smile it shoots through my veins
Demolishing the remains
Of previous trespassers
And the imprints they left.
You brush away soiled footprints
With one swift kiss
Placed delicately on my lips
And in an instance,
I am cherry cola bottles,
Cotton candy, funfair rides
Without a care in the world
I am racing down slides
With you i am ebbing with the tides,
Not against.
I am nights on the town,
A princess with a crown,
A smile, not a frown,
I don't drown today
All because you say
You love me.
I am floating
Floating high, high as a kite
I am amongst the stars and beyond
There is no need for a magic wand
To make my dreams come true
They are all embedded in you.
Chemistry pulsates between us
Two women from Venus.
The looks we exchange put to shame
Any love sonnet or story
You call my name
And angels sing
The joy you bring
Unexplainable.
With you I am strong
There is no matter of right or wrong
With you I belong
I am the most beautifully
Constructed piece of literature, song.
With you I am alive,
And living
This love your giving
Oh this love your giving
Could feed thousands.
With you I am complete
And there is no need to compete
For satisfaction
Because with you I am always satisfied
With you I am ebbing with the tide
Not against it.
You are the fight I swore I had ran out of
Months ago
You are the sheer beauty, purity and excitement
Of glistening snow
And I know wherever I go
You will follow.
You are the gentle breeze
The moments I seize
With both hands
And tie tightly to my heart
Every day is a fresh start.
You don't weigh me down,
You lift me up,
With you I stand on mountains
I drink from fountains
I laugh and smile
And for awhile
I am me,
The me I always sought to be.
And though the sands of time
Sift peacefully between us
Your grasp it tightens
There is no need to be frightened.
There is a reason for everything
You are,
My reason for existing,
A ring, a promise.
Safe and sound,
Til the ground parts us.
We shall be partners.
In crime, worlds at a time
We dance, our romance
Something that could never be crammed into words
Or wrapped up in poetry
For we,
You and me.
Are infinite, eternal.
And what we share
Indescribable.
You will always be my first and final
Love.
Love, love, love
I love you.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC
I like people who don't
trust people
Like a locked bathroom door
Protected from their own
Self exposure
But I just want to develop them
in black & white
Sell their silhouettes on the black market
Seeing what they're really worth
These are the people
with lures hanging from their teeth
like wind chimes or dreamcatchers
Bodies of abandoned carnivals
And people become like trespassers
On their unholy grounds
Here to document
the decay
Caress the chipping paint
Hoping for tetanus
They wonder when they became
Archeology
Like the lost part of found
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
I have a sign on my chest
that says "trespassers
welcome."
It's written in red ink,
the cheap kind that never really dries
and with each new boy
that invites himself into my home,
the letters become smudged.
I try to remove the sign
but it remains there
etched into my skin
and the more I pull at my skin
the stronger the pain
in my chest grows.
Trespassers are only temporary
and I pray that one day
they will stop reading my body
as an open invitation but
until that day.
My chest
will be painted
red.
Dec 20, 2017
Dec 20, 2017 at 8:56 AM UTC
to the lush old fields,
i walk back,
filled with young yields.
from where i shall take back
the never ending memories
of my childhood days, i thought
i used to sit by the window sill
all alone and still
to watch the autumn sunshine
that peeps into the pane
the big old oak
and the greedy rook
the cherry blossoms on that lonely lane
the blushing lilies and white poppies
that bloom around the shire
i came from a racing world
where love vanished and is filled with dare
where the sea churns blood
and from where humanity fled
we took everything from her lap
and left it bare of warmth and sprout
none have time now
to look back at the fallen oak
nor the rook on the shabby scarecrow
who guards the barren fields
so scarce the cherry blossoms bloom
as the world began to race
trials narrowed to that little falls
where the running streams
told their weary tales
walls began to build up
huge and strong
nor a drop now came
through that restricted site
climbing further
to the peek up north
my ears caught a dirge
which the nightingale sang
to the dying earth
coz now we have opened the pandora's box
and infected the earth
i wonder where the squirrels went
'fore it was their place
now we encroached it
and to rebuild the woods
of fawn , the trespassers forgot
now all that is left of the brook
is a concrete wall
nailed to it a new plastic board
with bold letters printed
read: TRESPASSERS NOT ALLOWED"
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
In the secret alley of Culver City, i saw a painting of my Mexican American culture being celebrated.
The lights in the secret city sparkled like champagne bubbles.
Flowing with the city's energy our legs carried us around "No Trespassers Allowed" private properties.
I imagined a life were we could walk the streets and not feel paranoid by each car that passed.
The ideal fast food American City where there's bars and restaurants on every corner.
The alley took me into hyperreality, for what is real for me might be false for others and vice versa.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
love me in my petty sleep, for i'll be with you soon
Love me in my coma creep, love me like the moon.
Glorify my name as i would have done for you
Petrify the trespassers, I would have done that too.
Now forgive me as i pass on to my next life
For i could not have forgiven you, had you turned out my wife
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
I’ve got a signboard pinned to my chest.
It reads:
**“Beware of the door. Trespassers will be
versed and put in rhymes.”**
Ten-thousand volts of electricity for the man
who dare enter; an auction of body parts
is the central theme to my story.
I gave away my heart to the one with the easiest ways
and my mind for whom I could not find
my tongue. Every time my heart skips a beat
sirens wail into madness and lights start
rolling into the night. I wear barbed
wires as a wristwatch: telling me to
wake up whenever I have a sleepless night.
Put your ear to my chest and you’ll hear
clanking of bolts out of place and the death rustle
of a mechanical beast settling
into his bed for the long, long
night.
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 2:13 AM UTC
i am an assemblage of broken promises and abandoned dreams, of bruised tissues and faulty organs, of poisoned blood. i am part sky and two parts ocean, the moon clings to me and i to it.
i am concealed by a sheath of milky skin, a sad and slow smile and fading eyes. i wear my clothes like a suit of armor, hiding behind cotton and polyester as if they make me invisible. i am not strong, nor am i wise. the years have taught me this time and time again.
i fall for cheap escapes and bright lights even though i know i will soon hold them accountable for my impenetrable sadness. i have built walls, brick by brick, until my body became an enchanted fortress. there is a moat around the circumference of my heart and be warned the alligators are trained to ward off trespassers.
i am the past that i cling to and the future that i fear with every ounce of my being. i am fleeing every place i ever step foot upon. see me now.
now i am gone.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 10:43 AM UTC
Lord,
you tell me to serve you,
but I haven't heard even a whisper
about this path and purpose
you intend me to pursue.
God said
“love your enemies”
but he didn't tell us
what to do when it hurts,
when a piece of your heart it attached to every kind word and gesture
that then gets picked apart
and shredded into shards that shoot
right back at me.
Our Father affirms
how we must forgive our trespassers,
but he didn't tell us how to repair the damage,
how to stop being taken advantage of,
or how to stand up for ourselves.
He didn't tell us how to end the the cycles,
just how to continue them
by turning over your other cheek
and not withhold even your tunic.
Jesus preached
about how we should love our neighbors as ourselves,
but he didn't say what to do when you’re full of self-hate
or when nobody cares that you care about them
because they're too busy trying to get someone else's approval.
He also said
"Don't let your hearts be troubled”
but he didn't say what to do
when they don't listen to you,
when there's so much at stake,
when your world caves in,
when you're cast aside like dust
but the world still wants to much,
or when you're just not happy and you don't know why everything is so hard,
or when you're wide awake at night,
knowing
the ones you care about the most
could be on the verge of breaking
their skin.
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 11:44 AM UTC
I feel the comfortable writhing
deep in my ***** again
I'm not sorry
This is your fault
You touched me first
Somewhere in the back of my mind
You're feeling me out
Little Miss,
Telepathic
Trespassers
will be prosecuted.
...I'll put my hands
around your neck
so softly
And choke out
the words caught
in your throat
To the tip of my tongue
all the right things flow
To the flesh of your lips
and all in between
resonating your body
with stories
stranger
than
fiction
little deaths end
where they begin
can
you
feel
friction
feeling
you
up?
Just how you like
To be
shaken
and
stirred
tossed
and
over-turned
This is me unleashing
some twisted fantasy
to my little therapist
enabling me
To self-medicate with star-stuff
To "Show me what you're made of"
To "Baby, bend over and take it."
Show me the fourth wall
Let's break it.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
I wrote a beautiful poem today,
and then I frowned when I saw it again.
Someone had stopped by in the comments to say
their own sonnet; they put their own poetry in my margins.
I'll be brief, and I'll be nice, and I'll attempt patience at least.
Clear and concise: I want your poetry, but not on my lawn.
I don't want it in graffiti in the margins of my piece.
Leave your words in your "New Poem" section where they belong.
I promise I'll look at them if you ask, and if I have the time.
If you want to reach more people, don't use me as a conduit.
I realize I said I'd try to be nice, but it would be a crime
if I didn't put it as blunt as possible, and honestly?
If you need to plug your work that badly,
it's probably sh*t.
If I inspire you with my words, then respect that inspiration;
Please cease. Hawking your wares on my turf reeks of desperation.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
Cease the red dragon im stabbin'
deep in ya heart
mount zion is where my destiny started
but now im parted
deep in the land of the lost loss souls
still tryna find themselves
through religions instituted by man
i don't take no for an answer infectin' like breast cancer
epidemic flows thermogenic
causin' instant sweat terrorist threats so they keep on the radar
like navy ships take short dips
bang on beats like bloods to crips
i go on and on like Gladys KNight and the pips
skip skip over critics wicked sadistic mystique
with the style i send comprehend
tryna find my way
back to Mount Zion but im blurred brain fryin'
from all the heat im catchin' to my intellect
break through the sweat it's war
we at the verge of a battle so girls stop movin' ya rattle
rode worlds saddle too long im stuck in the killin' fields
fightin' my way back to promise land with much contraband
haters trespassers will be hung
frontin' like friends but ain't down with Black Na-tion
it's the return of Mount Zion
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
You'd have to know what you're looking for
if you try to figure him out.
You have to look past the shackles weighing down his ankles.
Past the staples holding his smile in place.
I try every day,
bleeding from my nails breaking off
while scraping the concrete,
trying to tear through.
You'd have to swat away the vile that the demons release,
attempting to scare away the trespassers of his mind.
The sorrow of his eyes will pull you in,
but with all your might you will have to swim.
I hold my breath until I turn blue and dive in.
No way will I let this darkness intimidate me,
No, I shall shoo them away
and coo while I stain his name on my lips with a smile that says...
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
The Value of life is measured by the price of fossil fuels.
Trespassers enter the periphery. They seek no mentor; they do as they please.
Looking for a seat in the dark; They crave fresh meat They roast Joan of Arc.
Sing all those whom wish to wash away the strife Those with the deepest dark shine.
Become one of the idols when you stare into the shadow of denial.
Inhaling the anesthesia, the French horn player develops amnesia.
The singer in a suit and tie wished for his forgiveness only to be denied.
He was the one who forgot while I was the one completely distraught.
Crowded in back stage, the joys of the night doesn’t ease my aching feet.
Poetry accompanied by music, when girls are becoming bulimic.
And boys are receiving lobotomies all in the name of notoriety.
So once more sing of love and stars. See the sky glow red from Mars.
For this is the last of us, the means are now just.
Let’s adore each other, when we stand in the rain we are restored.
The romance of language carries with it a history of pain. You couldn’t tell from a mere glance.
TJW 2013
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
Climbing through barbed wire
Fence and into the
Trees and through the
Bogs and across the
Ice and over the
Swamp on my hands and
Knees in the frozen mud
With my nose near the
Paw prints of squirrels and the
Sound of the river rushing in my
Ears and then over my body -
Freezing and sharp to wake me
Up - then onto the
Rocks and past the sign which
Read "no trespassers" a little
Too late, then on up the
Road and over the
Guardrail
Onto the trail
Past the fields
Over the wheel ruts
And under the chain
Back home again,
Soaking wet
And very much
Happier
To be alive.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC