"trusty" poems
What would You do when you can't have someone you want?
Would you
lift a finger and whisk it like a wand
wishing everything would fall in place
the way you'd want it to
in a tick of the clock ,
or,
would you struggle with your brain
between finding a solution
and living inside your head, dreaming of
perfection?
ME
I would get up,
trek to a forest with my trusty machete
and hack away at the thickest bushes I could find.
I'd hack away, hack away,
and ignore the sag from my arms, the stress on my back,
the sweat pouring down my face like water off a cliff,
the unsteady footing caused by wet mud and unsteady, unsure legs.
I would keep hacking until I reach the end of my arduous quest,
where I would come upon a clearing--
A clearing with an aisle made of rose petals
that lead into the center,
surrounded by white chairs and sunflowers.
And Someone would be there,
in a white dress and veil, waiting for me.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
the cool wind in my hair
as you and I glide across
the cement jungle.
You make my life tolerable
in this crazy urban landscape,
my trusty metal steed that
helps me duck and weave in
stand still traffic of the Nation's capital.
nothing like flying through the city on you, my bicycle,
on this beautiful spring day. I know you can't speak,
but if you could, you would also say "wheeeeee" with glee.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
Ye who enter here, beware
Of wolves and mine shaft pits, take care
Or ye shall taste the bitter death
That comes upon the creeper's breath
Thy survival, on the good
Of other players rests
Upon thy house a naming sign
Each person must *****
And when night falls, take care that ye
Who stalk the halls at dark
Set up a light for ev'ry turn
A stick lit with a spark
A bone to catch a wolfie with
Some cookies fresh to eat
And in a furnace, toasty warm,
We have to roast our meat
To mine the caves and tunnels deep
To delve into the mountains
And when the water gushes forth
We then create the fountains
Sell your wares, o Cobbler man
I've melons many to spare;
An axe, a sword, a shovel stone
Oh? You like my hair?
Here we go, see yon moon rise
The world in the starry twilight
I have not seen the whole world yet
Would you take me there by starlight?
Unspoken fear; the creeper hiss
Blew up my trusty door
And now all manner of verminous things
Have crawled across the floor
If only I had a wolf to my name
Three bones to win his love;
Then he could save me from--I shudder--
The Enderman above.
No armor have I, nor sword of iron
Stone and wood are mine
The wooden stairs that lead up high
Tell me, who had all this time?
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
I'm creating a Lego alter-ego
Called Scarlet.
Her skin is flawless
Her face a fixed fierce determined smile
Her drawn on ******* will never sag
And she never has a hair out of place.
She has a pet monkey by her side
Poached from my brothers 1989 pirate set
After she duelled with Pegleg Pete
And made him walk the plastic plank.
She has lego lovers in high places
Batman has given her the code to his 6860 set batcave
And the white Knight from castle set 70404
Has lent her his trusty steed
And he drank from her cup.
She is fearless and has an interchangeable
Wipe clean wardrobe
She can be whatever she wants
She is **** yet robust
When placed on a high shelf
She may gather dust
But she is always ready
For fun and adventure
And she will never age or rust.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
I have yet to find the exact
size, length, width, weight, height,
of my rusted trusty nail, which I lost.
Painted golden brown
and rough on the edges,
that old man pinned my door to the wall.
Now it's left hanging in the open
dangling in the wind
swaying with the broken rain,
my home
vulnerable,
a feasty treat,
like the first time Hansel and Gretel saw the witch's house.
I'm not afraid of the
teeth baring wolves
bloodcurdling hounds with red eyes
massive 10 foot hungry bears
that tower over you with outstretched paws
holding a steak knife and fork
its brown fur a bib.
No
I'm afraid of my house
zipping up its backpack
filled with all the canned goods
fresh water canteens from the well
and all the matches and firewood in the cellar
taking off during the night
when the moon is at its darkest,
leaving I,
to do the only thing left:
To pay the bright orange flames
to entertain me as
my wads of money lit up the
darkest night of the century
all because I couldn't replace my
*most dear, loved, precious
nail.*
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
The new day still saw the man
Whose livelihood was rubber.
He had worked really hard; earning his darkened tan,
He was the plantation's tapper.
The evening sun had long set
Leaving the plantation in a shroud of darkness.
Relying on what little light the moon would let.
He treaded carefully; sidestepping potholes and jutting buttress.
His sack slung over one shoulder,
He found his way to his trusty ride.
Nightly routine he would execute over and over
Mounted his bicycle and rode off with the moon as guide.
All day long, he had been thinking of the night before.
He had then learnt that he was the target of a ghostly trick.
As he cycled, he got worked up, more and more...
He cursed the spirit who had made him the fool so quick!
As he looked ahead, straining his eyes to discern the sandy track.
His eyes caught something that came within sight.
Standing by the side against a background of black.
There she was again...all garbed in white...
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
If I die, don't cry for me.
If you live, I smile.
Take the pride, the honesty,
Walk the royal mile.
Gently push the boundaries
Set in place by fools.
Let the love and harmony
Be your trusty tools.
Spread the word of unity
Everywhere you go.
Let your inner purity
Never lose its glow.
Be the peace you seek on earth,
Chase your wildest dreams...
If I die, don't cry for me.
Nothing's what it seems.
Nov'16 - Apr'17
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
perpetual expeditions amidst this hazy twilight,
periwinkled vistas ensnaring me in
buzzzzzzzzzzzz
the sound penetrates my ear drum
black and yellow rabble-rouser
this rambunctious little menace
a pomegranate
eternally ripe, giving me life
gilled, scaled, underwater creature
emerging from the deep, boundless rift
two tantalizing tigers
troublesome, treacherous
and she laid there—
undisturbed, unaware
jabbed in her side by a M1903 Springfield
soothed state rattled, shattered
wincing from the poke of the blunt end of the gun
the sleeping lady slept no more
poor fellows,
how were they supposed to hold on to it without opposable thumbs?
the distressed damsel appeared grotesque,
flailing and fidgeting at the sight of her surroundings
surface rocking beneath my feat,
my trusty elephant’s weak ankles shattering my already shattered stability
i had no more time for such nonsenses
buzzing sounds burned deep into my psyche
the soft-spoken horizon called out to me
calling for me to continue on into the enigmatic expanse
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
The sounds of gunfire penetrate our ears,
Ive been training for this day for years,
My trusty steed below me never leaves my mind,
For he knows id never leave him behind,
A clap of thunder bellows the skies,
The glare of fear never leaving our eyes,
My horse is my shield,
The pain that we yield,
Sticking together through fiery fields,
My master is light so its easy to run,
But this journey is far from done,
Bullets have penetrated my side,
Im down on my knees,
Lost all of my pride,
Then he screams out in pain,
My master is dead alone in the rain,
I scramble too my hooves and try to get away,
But its too hard,
All this hurt
All this pain,
The last thing i heard on that dark winters night
Was the flare of a machine gun,
and im out like a light
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wandered mony a weary fit
Sin’ auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidled i’ the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin’ auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right guid-willie waught
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
4k
1347
Escape is such a thankful Word
I often in the Night
Consider it unto myself
No spectacle in sight
Escape—it is the Basket
In which the Heart is caught
When down some awful Battlement
The rest of Life is dropt—
’Tis not to sight the savior—
It is to be the saved—
And that is why I lay my Head
Upon this trusty word—
3.5k
A battered VW Beetle named Dusty
Whose bodywork was decidedly rusty
Still was able to travel
On tarmac and gravel
In a manner observably trusty.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 10:01 AM UTC
Hidden away
within the forest walls
protect me my trees
and the tall Grandfather,
staring down at me.
Was this meant to be?
Some great lesson within
the confines
of the spaces between leaves.
The family of deer,
greeting me at the first Entrance.
Beauty behold,
these magnificent pillars,
who ungrudging hold up the heavens.
Was that the true treasure?
The forest was witness to the bond.
My best friend,
thank you.
Thank you Grandfather tree,
for guarding and protecting,
as the goddesses and gods,
play among the forest floor.
Thank you to the gnomes and faeries,
for taking care,
of the love sealed withing a wooden box.
Thank you Ganesh,
for being the trusty and honorable
guard at the gates,
at the ceremony of love
and adventure.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 5:02 PM UTC
It's time to fight for your freedom.
Do you see yourself,
Silhouette against the setting sun -
Reds as deep as the monster's eyes,
Draped in cold silver?
A breast plate hides the heart,
Shin guards perverse agility,
Chain-mail protects strength,
A helmet retains sanity,
A trusty steed will hurry the process,
This cloth to ease the pain of battle,
A torch to ensure you won't get lost;
A sword to vanquish the creature that controls your heart.
Silhouette, with arm raised high,
Begins to charge just as stars dot the sky.
You have all you need,
now fight
until the only thing left you have to give
is a single breath
in which the dying words
I love you
are carried far away to the next champion
to fall at this beast's hands.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet,
Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street.
Them that ask no questions isn’t told a lie.
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark—
Brandy for the Parson,
‘Baccy for the Clerk;
Laces for a lady, letters for a spy,
And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
Running round the woodlump if you chance to find
Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine,
Don’t you shout to come and look, nor use ’em for your play.
Put the brishwood back again—and they’ll be gone next day!
If you see the stable-door setting open wide;
If you see a tired horse lying down inside;
If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore;
If the lining’s wet and warm—don’t you ask no more!
If you meet King George’s men, dressed in blue and red,
You be carefull what you say, and mindful what is said.
If they call you “pretty maid,” and chuck you ’neath the chin,
Don’t you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one’s been!
Knocks and footsteps round the house—whistles after dark—
You’ve no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.
Trusty’s here, and Pincher’s here, and see how dumb they lie—
They don’t fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by!
If you do as you’ve been told, ‘likely there’s a chance,
You’ll be given a dainty doll, all the way from France,
With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood—
A present from the Gentlemen, along o’ being good!
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark—
Brandy for the Parson,
‘Baccy for the Clerk;
Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie—
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen bo by!
3.3k
my face shaped hearty
I only see you partly
as you join my nocturnal party
I heard you miles away
your sounds as clear as day
birds of a feather
I cannot figure whether
humans are trusty
when they ruin my forestry
swoop towards your arm
in dead silent charm
my evolutionary armory
are truly my 'viving beauty
I claw down my goal
in aerodynamic prowl
feasting on successive bowl
my ornithologic growl
is my greet to you any howl.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 4:05 PM UTC
Tensions high,
like broken kite strings,
reaching further away,
escaping the empty earth
in your arms.
Creeping chatter,
pouring inky letters,
in runny messes
all over my hands,
feeling bruised by you;
the sting, the slap
as leaking words
drip drip drip
from your mouth,
the broken tap.
I’m tired.
I’m so tired of hearing
soft
whispered yearnings
scratching the back of your throat.
Desperation, loneliness?
You beg with the croon in your tone,
you play along like the gentle little
sweetling,
a songful, humming love,
all warm in cupped hands.
In all this time,
this achingly long time
I’ve played as your neat little trick;
the showman’s trusty pet,
small dove flying
as soon and only when you release me.
String caught up around my waist,
I’ll never fly too far.
As I walked away,
that night with the moon trailing my form,
and pooling in pillows cradled in my soft footsteps,
you watched my back
stretch lean and tall and
stand
away from you.
You looked back,
it was the moon shifting through my hair,
when I turned to notice
a head shake,
a blink in the empty settling air you left behind.
….Drip….drip….drip,
you leak all those notions I wished you
would one day say,
those heart-melting flatteries,
desirable admissions,
I’m the only one you want,
to keep you satisfied,
keep you going and touching and loving
and exploring and breaking,
until your other girl comes home.
You ask and plead and return,
lapping and licking in my arms,
wanting my form so bad again;
you cry for all the fun in the world,
but this time, it just can’t.
You’re just my broken tap.
You’d need to stop dripping ***** water one day.
You’d need to stop echoing around me at night,
cradling myself to keep my strength enough
to say no to what I wanted and got for so long.
But you’re just my delicate and lovely broken tap.
I’ll always love you somehow, and feel so dangerous,
intoxicating and breathtaking
as you made me so.
You showed me so.
But I can’t wait for you to cease on your own.
Pull me round with you, wait for you,
tossed like an empty drink because of you.
Maybe
I just need to let you
let me go.
Like I cried to let you go first.
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
all these jagged imperfections of mine,
why can't you just disappear into thin air,
like my ol' trusty friends,
like my appreciation for life,
like my motivations for myself.
all these jagged imperfections of mine,
why must you stick with me,
through thick and thin,
through rain and snow,
through hail and sleet,
through summer and winter.
all these jagged imperfections of mine,
why must you love me,
more than my friends,
more than my family,
more than my love.
all these jagged imperfections of mine,
why must you show me how cruel life is,
with the sunshine blinding me day and day,
with the rain pounding on my window,
with the endless heartache in my chest.
oh, all these jagged imperfections of mine,
can't you just give me a break,
to breathe the sun's rays,
to stroll through the forest,
to admire nature.
is it a lot to ask for you to go away,
jagged imperfections of mine?
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
*I still remember the day we first met.
It was so magical, I will never forget.
I was invited to see and try something new.
But never would I have imagined I would meet you.
One by one, we got to hold you and learn.
I remember I couldn’t wait for it to be my turn.
And when she finally placed you in my tiny hands.
I didn’t expect you would change my future plans.
I placed my lips on your cold silver mouthpiece.
I took a deep breath and your notes broke the peace.
I looked at her with impressed eyes and lips painted with glee.
She praised the others, but the one she was most impressed with, was me.
11 years we have been together, where did time go?
We already have so many memories, performing at every show.
And the time we played for the queen, do you remember as well?
I will hold you until my hands can no longer move themselves.
I can’t picture a life, a childhood without you by my side.
They said we were partners in crime, just like Bonnie and Clyde.
And whenever I was falling, you were my never failing parachute.
I love you to pieces, my old trusty flute.*
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
Don't **** the Genie
Peg-leg Pete, the pirate, in the good old days of old;
found a sealed amphora, whilst searching for some gold.
The label bore a warning & a faded, scary skull
but Peg-leg Pete was curious & gave the **** a pull.
The bottle appeared empty, so he gave it quite a shake.
A rumbling, grumbling let him know – a genie was awake!
“You didn't ought to do that, you one-legged, one-eyed beast;
to someone who's been fast asleep, a hundred years, at least!”
The genie was so angry, like a bear, with a sore head.
“You'll only get one wish for that, so make it count.” he said.
“Only one!” poor Pete complained. “but I've just set you free.
I've got the very task though, that you can do for me.”
“Me owd peg-leg has woodworm & me glass-eye's on the blink;
me 'ooks gone rusty & me trusty ship's about to sink.
If you can make me whole again, one wish will be enough.
So, come on grumpy genie, shake a leg & do your stuff!”
“Make sure you word your wish exact, for there's no going back.”
The genie smirked, then got to work & everything went black.
When Pete came round, he quickly found his hook & peg-leg there
& underneath it's tatty patch, his glass-eye's icy stare.
“What trick is this, you scurvy dog, you've gone back on your word?”
“I think not Pete, just look around & see what has occurred.
Your ship is now a merchant & that warehouse on the dock.
It's yours, for import/export work – for honest trade old ****
Pete
“I don't get this, I'm still stood here,
like Ahab, off the whaler.”
Genie, smirking
“You asked me, quite specifically
to make you a whole-saler!”
Briz 5/11/13
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
Well there is 'shine' coming down from the Carolines,
Brothers I haven't seen in quite some time.
Each year we gather here , rain or shine,
it's the gathering, the Meeting time.
We all will stare into the flames,
pass that jug, time and again.
Talk , spit , joke and smoke,
just alot of catching up.
Then the business will be discussed at hand.
What needs to be doing and help where we can.
Dues will be paid and treasure report.
Pass the jug for another snort.
Food will be prepared on that old trusty grill.
Fire will be a blazing to bust down the chill.
Know old Shu is going to bring that guitar out.
Sitting with my Brothers is what it's all about.
Come morning we will all fire up our sleds,
remembering the plans and what had been said.
By noon all that will be left of what happened at all,
is the burning embers and empty jars.
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 11:50 AM UTC
Most people grow gardens with flowers and peas.
But I am not most people.
My garden is rather unique.
Come quickly outside if you dare take a peek.
Follow me out the door
but don't be too hasty
I will return you here looking awfully pasty.
Into the woods we go
with a feeling of unease
remind yourself you may turn 'round if you please.
You wear an expression of bravery
plastered to your face
I'll warn you that is entirely out of place.
My garden lies far, far away
The entrance: this long narrow path
Upon return I suggest a nice lukewarm bath.
We march on silently
Straight to my clearing
Where all that dwells is hardly endearing.
We arrive at gates
I push them wide open
and glance at your face, the expression most potent.
You stare out at my garden
Your weary eyes cautious
Searching for normality with obvious malice.
There is nothing of that sort to be found here.
So sorry to disappoint you, my dear.
From the unicorn pasture
to the golden archer
near the tentacle bed
and the swooping vulture
Round the corner lives my large pet dino
being lead by a petite albino
by the pond grows my crop of egg head
while nearby lies a heard of enormous sized rhino
Your gaze falls on my pink sparkly pegasus
being rode by a tiara topped princess
on a field of grass that is blood-red
bordering a lake worthy of the great greek god Isis.
As I watch your face change with shock and a pinch of delight
I see you won't put up a fight
You'll help me grow and raise my unparalleled garden
You might even defend it and be my trusty warden.
All that matters is that my garden is safe.
And to be honest, I couldn't be happier.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
Too much alone
Too much afraid
Too much unknown
Too much paid
To let us go
By the way
For no show
So they say
Could I tell you a story
Ole storyteller
Like bees buzzing flowers
With some honey on hive's mind
It's a modern tale
That has sat sail
All sewn up
At a rate of knots
That black book
Bought with blood money
Dares to say it holds a name
Spar - with these throat barnacles
(Alternately feeding and fighting With their feet)
bowsprit [bee block]
know your ropes, carried away deep six
It's a thieves cat o nine tales
Captain of chewing the fat
Or combing the cat
I've never seen (one) better
Dunnage topping a tonnage
From that trusty barrage
I'm everything on top and nothing handy
An eye splice on a short rope
Given and giving leeway
Haven't got a clew for true whence such hails from
...
So... She measures faces with her heart and hands
And a camera lens for a few
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
lately //
i’ve been making a noose of my own heartstrings //
but my father is a fisherman who taught me that the best knots don’t slip //
so i carry a bowline in my pocket for security and a tangled mess of forevers on my sleeve.
But I’ve also been tying anchor bends since i realized my grip was not equal to atlas’ shoulders.
And what a cruel paradox that is //
to think that a god can carry the earth beneath our feet but our hands // molded from clay and mud in the same image //could never be enough of a last resort to anchor our hearts in our chests.
so the loophole here,
so to speak,
is the anchor bend knot //
but! //
you know what’s funny about loopholes actually?? // you see, they were made to allow arrows to be shot from an opening // but the structure of that opening prevents counter arrows from being shot back in.
such an invention is why it’s always been nearly impossible to storm a castle’s wall and my, // have many a noble men fallen at the feet of such entrances.
so nowadays, i carry my trusty bowline //alongside the endless loopholes of those old-fashioned anchor bends.
however, I’m sure you know that the bowline is regarded as “the knot of all knots” right? it’s good for tying just about anything without give.
but the first time i ever went sailing // i learned about the round turn and two half hitches. this knot is pretty cool because the more tension you apply to the rope, the tighter the knot will get //
highly reliable for most things.
i guess the irony here is that // i am personally, most identifiable with this knot.
i don’t really ever use it. i am not a sailor or a fishermen. but i do have a really bad tendency of fastening myself to things that have a lot of pull.
the tightening tension of it
is similar to the mythical 13 knots in a hangman’s noose and what an incredibly genius stroke of engineering.
to think that the masterful art of knot-tying comes down to the basic idea that a knot will hold under tension is simply and utterly graceful without fault.
but here’s the thing;
as soon as i learned to tie a knot that won’t slip,
i taught myself the hangman’s knot:
a knot that essentially slips, but still holds merciless tension around its victim.
i’ve been tying nooses with what causes me the most pain.
with what bleeds the most love //
but as the one and only descendant of my father, the great fisher king,
i am starting to learn that if the knot slips,
you cut the line and start again.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC