"tridents" poems
Above, above, the sky is a painting
A renaissance piece that calls out for sainting
The billows, the ripples the silver-lined rims
Are strokes of a genius; of mother earth's whims.
The cumulonimbus, the rippling ceiling
Rumbles and rolls with the cracks that are pealing
The flickering tridents, the wrath of the gods
Strike awe in the temporary, tainted and flawed
And I, insubstantial, un-lasting and fading
Stand beneath hanging eaves, hearing and waiting
Beside me, within me, a childish voice
Hums a soft tune beneath all the noise:
The sky, the sky, it's all coming down
The indigo shroud; it's falling around
In crystalline spheres and mother earth's mist-
The dust is erupting, the earth feels its kiss.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
The lines you roared
The people you urged
The crimes you saw
Crimson tridents on the road
So close to unleash the beast
Tempt me again, then regret
Or put complete blame on me
Ever felt wisdom with pride?
Difference between me and you
I reckon violence will boomerang
Naturally or artificially, you don't
Count the debts you'll face in hell
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 6:53 AM UTC
they built a big arena in the land of romewhere the gladiators lived this was to be there homethere they fought with lions that they had to killto please the roman emeperor and give the crowds a thrill.then they fought each other the strongest would surviveswords an tridents they would use to help them stay alivethe emperor gave the signal for battle to commence as the gladiators become more and more intense.the winner would go on to fight another dayand find another gladiator he hoped that he could slay.this is the way it was the way it had to be.till there came a day when the gladiator was free
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 1:37 PM UTC
Overdose of stimuli
Parade of light in the sky
Music falls, silence
The mer-men raise their tridents
-in the air
Selene wailed, in her cot
-the velvet bare
The diamonds flown and caught.
Drop your miniature bombs
On Marys and Toms.
Like school-boys, pulling your school-girls' hair.
Flirt with death, dance a desperate dare.
Douse Hell-fire in hemlock wine.
You're blind with opium's ditsy shine.
Wake and sadly find, the stars -still 'live.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
what would life hold for me if I were the Sea?
liquid oxygen, so vast; lighthouses blinding me
at dusk the shipyards' ghosts come alive-- they break free
from the fog and silhouettes and all the weathered oak trees
the storms have arrived! you've met Katrina and Ike, I see
planning destruction and chaos and broken unity
throwing whiplashing waves and ***** seaweed,
splashing homes on my shores and debris at your feet
below my rippling surface: a myriad of pure glee
schools of rainbow fish, all swimming in threes
never travel too low-- to a certain degree
you'll be 1,000 leagues under the sea
signs of icebergs and whales, o', "beware of the beast"
stung on the tips of your fingers by my vicious coral reef
mermaids and their fathers' tridents, if you believe
plankton floating away with his secret recipe
guardians of the waters- my coast guards- the naval police
swimmers and divers who devour shrimp over beef
please hop in your dinghy and come visit me
I'm beautiful and deadly, my name is the Sea
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
I woke up this morning,
absent of thought and feeling,
no dreams to reflect upon,
dreary walls closing in,
******* out the moisture from my skin.
I woke up this morning,
to realize that what we had has died,
it slipped from my fingers like sand,
now it's a memory, like the hour glass I hold in my hand.
You left with no possessions behind,
flooding my room with accusations,
and broken shards of glass,
from all the mirrors and windows I smashed,
while I begged you to stay.
Rain kept pouring since the day you left,
for days, and days I couldn't speak,
all the life had been ****** out of me.
So with two hands I built a ship,
that I would float on while I got lost in bottles of ***
and whiskey.
No sirens called, nor did an octopus come to greet me,
it was silent, and cold
in the end of september,
while I watched the world change around me.
I woke up this morning,
to find that my life has been made of nothing.
I made no accomplishments, no grand feats,
I've kept myself stuck in a time loop,
even though the faces are never the same,
in some way they are, and it exhausts me.
To know that what used to be beautiful is gone,
because the poison started dripping.
It came first in the arguments,
later through the IVs into your blood stream,
I felt nothing and everything at the same time,
to realize I meant nothing, it wasn't such a shock,
I never expected differently.
So on this ship I sail,
while knowing everyone to be shallow.
When the one composed of water ascended to the top,
I'm not quite sure what he thought,
but golden tridents, and poetic verses don't thrill me.
A year ago I lost myself,
I saw the world shift and drop out from underneath me,
plunging my body into oblivion,
where for all this time I've lingered,
trying to make sense of out of nothing,
bleak, emptiness.
Whatever innocence I had in me was destroyed,
I've become the evil queen, drifting on murky waters,
and this ship is still sinking.
Whatever it is they all seem to see,
yeah, well that's escaped me.
I'm vile, cruel, and promiscuous.
But this queen needs no company,
I'm the serpent in the garden,
The murderer in the street,
The shark in the water,
I mean everything to nothing.
So do yourself a favor,
while you still can.
Run.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
There is a part of us
that isn't quite alive
until hollow-starved lunacy is sated
while showing the bright side
her hidden darkness emerged
when i tricked her into hurting herself
she would say come on trick me, trick me, trick me
and i would tell her
Count Dragool with ****** tube fingers
would take her slow
if she hit her self hard across the mouth
and she would scream to Eden
bash mashley thrash me
i want the men with red tridents
and ding **** tails too
while she watched my eyes
like surveillance drones
as if a great confederation of *****
marched towards her
certainly not painless
but the pain of an addict
who knows all to well the pleasure of the needle
first the little sting and then the great oooow
she is butter on the stove
im the rare drug
a Do Do bird beaking flesh
a cold hard ***********
she a yielding intricacy of complications
a bald Rapunzel
feeling under abused till now
with black crow lips and bangled earings
like a long jangling math problem that ends
with a big O
O popping blood berries
like pink flower hysterical *******
shooting bullets from tattooed
hip belted pistols
on a singing red bed
her limbs a yawing stretch
a torn zipper
being yanked up and down
a frenzy of crying blasphemies and raw kisses
dancing the bend over
on knotted knees
incised a writhing dance cha cha
creel of blood
cha cha cha
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 2:57 PM UTC
· · · – – – · · ·
Stardust drips
in Southern Cross directions
lost at sea
floundering in the nothingness
counting seagulls
and island torches
branding the sky
with delirious connections
traveling beyond the speed,
22 knots to nowhere
and sinking fast
SOS carved
in summer clouds
threatening distractions
floating silently in our heads
as we bail out,
tossing salt water worries
overboard as
barnacle beliefs wait
beneath the surface
of our dreams
A lone timber,
nails protruding,
rotting slowly
is held for dear life
as tridents and trishulas
flail in withered hands
breaking seas,
angry waves bend
dissipating into
misted blankets as
foghorn signals
bellow in needled warnings
like a skipping album
drowning in its
own repetition
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
This Saltimost Gunk your Innocence bade
Hoping your Fresh Field would spare its Effect
Yet this, my Friend, must Tradition be made
For children's giggles their smiles circumspect
Such is Culture. As such your hands take part
To plead their foresights for Fantasy refresh
Shall you permit these Addles of the Heart
If for the Boob-Tube their Malice enmesh
Of course, not all. Yet their Tridents stay sharp
Somehow by flickered minds dry-out their Will
Though others, by ditto, pluck-out your Harp
Anything to sate their Loneliness, still.
Tasty, is it not? On your First Day's visit
As the Red Blimp lands on your palms explicit.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 11:25 AM UTC
Philosophy. Elegance. Yet Sense un-done
That Time-by-Time those Bantered ***** retweet
Which - by Fair - smoke these Elements become
Breathe Conscience into Sage; And thus we meet
If only should your Fresh Convention wear
Prune these Forceps to your Young Tridents fixed
At least a Wee - and a Wee bit of hear
Some Owl's Downey Feathers make to your Mix
And what I offer - if Offer be Creed
My Base Mortal Template bound to Annoy
Was simply to Watch; And respond to your Need
Though my Voice un-qualify to your Ploy.
At least I Tried. Though surpass Dimension
Usurper I be; Though Honest Intention.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
I'm different from the advertisements
I'm different from being able to check the diffident
I'm differently formed, coffered the affidavit
The defendant left me in a spell of the time that I had lost
Imbibing my guilt in the adequate alacrity, inevitable wasn't it
The loss of my sensible sagaciousness and I took it to curtsy for my childish grin
Smirks and lenience were standing upon at gaze, in the confused crowd
Only you, you were standing in the surface flowing with troughs of tridents of storms
Making choices beyond your gayness, and pristine condition was your choice of gentleness
Aug 7, 2019
Aug 7, 2019 at 11:11 AM UTC
Across the house,
There's something going on
Sounds louder than ordinary
A discussion maybe
Exchanging views
They are shielded by the hanging leaves
Of a row of banana plants
Heads are bowing...then rising
Suddenly....a loud mix of sounds ...
A light wind blows, banana leaves sway
And the heads of those present spew
Angry meows,
And arrrs,
And hrrrs
And growls,
And grrrrs
And the enraged yelling of a human's voice
Overpower the soft, scared purring
In one corner...
Soon,
Inch by inch...
Three, four, striped stray cats, with a few kittens in tow
Distance themselves
Away from a big, wide platter of food,
Being selfishly devoured
By two big mongrels, of brown and white...
The Feline Forum, supposed to be with free dinner,
Is over
Has just been disrupted
By unwanted visitors
Starving intruders that came by
This early evening.
It is dusk...I see fire...I see both dogs
They're black as coal...fiery red-eyed...and triple-horned
Holding on to each of their tridents
I wish they'd go to hell....where they belong.
Sally
Copyright October 8. 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
His finger locks my teeth together
And stitches the tip of my tongue
Into a warzone horizon of madness,
Homes are destroyed; families broken
And still we are lost in our own lives
He, who feeds on his mother’s carcass
Wrecks his caged gaze apart,
My minuscule arms set him free from the light
Guns
Ships
Tridents
Pierce my ear with a pint-sized shell
And swallows my religious sentiments
Smoke
Ashes
Flesh
Their sentiments haunt me in memories
Cushioned and stuffed like quilt in my pillows
Burning the effigies into the toxins I swallowed
Down by the valley of romantic deaths
It sipped my soul out of my bottle XXXXX
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 2:58 PM UTC
When will we
walk again
my Love
by the turquoise sea
under a blue rose sky
Starfish weep, dolphins sob
on the rotting dead sea shores
of Florida
All the sea Gods are angry
with bloodshot eyes
they throw their tridents down deep
The fathomless bitter tears
and red tide
bleeding....bleeding...bleeding
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 4:52 PM UTC
Could it be we've
all been trained
with bells?
Or is it the symbols.
The Thirty three's
and hand gestures.
The tridents and the
five pointed stars.
The eight
sided pentagons
and the eye
that's always
watching.
Is it that we've
all been fooled?
Could it be the Son
is nothing more
than the Sun of
the morning?
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC
A fire has never burned so beautifully
Its radiance so mesmerizing that,
Like a thief in the night,
It had captured and stolen
More than just my attention
But also the affection of my heart
As it brushed its golden hot flames
Into forked tridents,
Each invoking the image of poise and grace
As it danced around
Joyfully engulfing every ounce
Of positive energy to be found
With every twig and log added
The blaze raged brighter
Burning at such a pace
Not even a whole tree could withstand
Its reach
Yet no ember wishes to be confined
As the wind gusts in,
A shower of sparks fly at their embrace
Spreading the message in wonderful ashes
Across this mountain
And to the amazing woman
Who ignited my inferno
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
This world has been caught up,
a mess of bangs and knives,
and missing wives,
they're stuck on bombs,
and rocket blasts.
Destroying celestial palaces,
and family homes alike.
Wrecking familial courtyards,
before the setting sun
A mismatched assortment of wild men,
who have no spears,
nets or tridents,
They are not gladiators,
they passed away in ancient Rome,
Now fighters, troll the deserts, creating chaos as they go.
While the preaching politicians,
aiming their thumbs firmly downwards.
I really doubt,
that they would put them selves,
into the fields and desert wars,
Abhor the thought,
adore the power.
Most of them are cowards,
They're currently drowning in custard,
of the cowardly, cowardly kinds.
While coating their roast beef with mustard,
And going out of their minds
(C) Livvi .
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
Thou est speak
Separately and in speech
Your life shys from the light
Where is your violent life
In purple bruises or redness of your cheeks
Just like a child afraid of the dark
Turns into the bard of barren times
Laconic about his problems
And inclement about his cumulus
The turbulent seas finally shine on this sunset line
Burgeoning bright oars from the stygian life
The tridents push you into the frescoes of reconnaissance
As you lose control of your helm
Your poem comes to a pensive finish
Making someone's poetry better and brighter ad
Cantankerous about fuliginous lines and the velleity towards writing disappears
Some lines for your frostbitten ears
That feel like the heat of icy burn of some desolate polar boreal search
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 7:41 AM UTC