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Skaidrum Jun 2015
.
He had ascending eyes
                   of sapphire,
the kind in which angels sloshed in their
royal chalices,
the kind of blue Poseidon gnashed
                       his teeth for.


                                   Born in the 25th dying date,
Septembers’ autumn bleached scent flows along
his bloodstream.


A smile that belonged in the crooks of these sapphire seas,
a soul unholy as Adam
                          & Eve’s.

His love was not fierce enough
             to contain this poet's heart
my pitiful phoenix can be ripped asunder
by the wrath of
a dandelion.


He couldn't swallow the sun
                 so silver fire rained
                                     anytime it pleased.

We are the skylines
             not gallows
and yet we hang ourselves upon the night skin


                       and collect
the stars as if they were
                            our alibis.

If you love me,
                        let me go?

                         My silver eyes don't see you in color anymore.
.
Phoenix Boy can only live so long before he falls to ashes, right Wolf Girl?

© Copywrited..
Keep chanting your submerged voices.
Lonely in the back of the room.
Too loud now
To hear the folklore.
Let them paint you poisen.
Label you the enemy.
Let them get high off the scent of rebellion.
They think we had our day.
That it's time for an uproot, a change.
When we're done letting them speak.
Let's hold a wedding in their honnor.
May no man leave unbled.
Marshal Gebbie Oct 2020
The demon fly hath landed now intent upon it's task
**** Demon in its valedictory explorations grasp.
Embedded deep in kidneys, to cause me some concern.
A painful path to endgame and a Hellish lesson learned.

I pause a moment, think it out, it's one way or the other
I lost a mate the other day and last month, lost another.
Seems it is the season for the cataclysmic time
I'd rather it be elsewhere but I fear this one... is mine.

I've run a rough and winding track these rugged years of yore
Pulled the Dragons tail in jest and sought, yet, for more.
Rafted mighty rivers and flew the heavens high
And lifted my perception winging vaulting, clear blue sky.

I've known the velvet touch of love, the softness of her lips
The crash of waves on sandy shore caressing fingertips.
The swelling joy of childbirth, the pledge of mothers milk
And rock like bonds of marriage binding all within its ilk.

With thoughts a million miles away I've trudged this country lane
Pondered why, with voids approach, it engenders me no pain?
Wondering why it matters that the children shed a tear
When saddened, glancing passing eyes, are never really near.

Regret I'll never get to see my grove of rhodos bloom
Or sip the soothing whisky as I tap my toe in tune.
Or launch into the crazy surf and splash out to the rock
Nor lie in sun on baking sand admiring talent flock.

Meat pies with sauce at football with a cold beer in the hand
And the repartee with kindred minds in poetry unplanned,
That flash of inspirations' alliteration sprung
Brings the joy to mind of comradeship in Shakespeare's realm, unsung.

.....And then there's all that's left undone, the words, now, left unsaid
The notes of tragic violin hang in the air...unbled
And you there with the swimming eyes, what do I say to you?
It's all been grand, I kiss your hand....Adieu , my friend.... Adieu!

M.
Foxglove, Taranaki
New Zealand
20 October 2020
Graff1980 Sep 2015
It is the soldier born of blood
That finds his bath irrevocably red
Crimson stains cloud his head
Not a part of him comes home unbled
But the bloodiest of wounds
The bleedings that never stops
Does not come from cut, or contusion
Not from the legions leaking lesions  
But from the dreams that wake him screaming
Turning a once wise and strong warrior
Into a broken ****** baby doll
Slaves, slaves subscribe to misery
Hordes, hoard what can't be stockpiled
Stock-pilers scale back and bone up on bonuses
Lords, they lord skyward to deflect the immersing night
Cults, that retain cult-status, hail ****, the **** of our Earth
   the perimeters lengthwise and likewise permeate    
   and grill without toasting
   additionally write without ghosting
   haphazardly glide sans skid-free coasting
   irreverently guide us with preachments boasting of
Serbs & Croats who speak Belarusian
And who'll raise not a hand when a foot'll do
Call Debby, the podiatric surgeon, once your toes go webby, yeah!
Hold down unroped things when your rope runs out
Bleed white unbled things when your blood runs out
Sneeze red when your nose breaks open
Corn, corn makes for corny gasoline
   tomatoes start off green as do green peas
Call, call the ships by phone
Phone, phone the ships on call
Gore a fruit called Albert
Mail in your terms of surrender
Become the itinerant, high-yield lender
Pull down your pool like a big-time pretender
Sing like that dead Mexican: Freddy F. Fender
Sell it as new when you know ****** well it's not
Bony women in closets emerge!
Resurrect Love Gods in Leisure Suits and Gaye Bykers on Acid
Spare me the histrionics from the goodest book on ebonics
   on groovy chicks of the Tropics
   on praxic strictures less exotic
Spare me the smell of dog-**** as with dog-**** I can't smell it
Let's groove with Typee chicks close to the ocean on the beach
   or play grab-*** with them from the tops of cocoanut trees
   or direct them into clinics for pre-emptive mastectomies
   or tap them as tappers tap maple trees tapped for tapping
Maniacal Escape Nov 2020
Cry hands unbled.
Hate thy neighbour.
Neck unsnapped.
Wood construct nightmare.
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2021
…when there’s no one left to protest
…when there’s no one left to blame
…when there’s no one left to target
…when there’s no one left to name

…when there’s no one left to barter
…when there’s no one left to pay
…when there’s no one left to reason
…when there’s no one left to pray

…when there’s no one left to matter
…when there’s no one left to care
…when there’s no one left believing
…when there’s no one left to share

…when no one’s left to pass it on
…when no one’s left unbled
…when no one’s left to sing the songs
—forgotten are the dead

(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2018
That left undone while living,
  a bedside chat won’t cure

Death coming fast, the first now last,
  the closing of the door

With wounds unbled, in unmade beds,
  lay prisoners of time

Good wishes die, no last goodbye
—intentions left behind

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)
Signatures forced; names pulled out of hats–
‘marching for freedom!’ They’ll lie like a bat.
Justice claimed in propaganda’s song,
rifles loaded and cocked for causes feeling wrong.

Unbled suits, children passing notes;
shrapnel still hits–truth gutted in quotes.
Let’s salute the flag, like we’re stuck in the past,
while allies become the enemies at last.

Defensive claims shading truth for more land,
treaties get forged with the loss of a hand.
Stitched uniforms covering fear and doubt–
once you’re drafted, there’s no getting out.

Next war’s a’coming–they’ll force with a smile;
algorithmic orders, new patriots’ style.
So focus your rage, don’t fall into the lore–
reasons disappearing; they’ll send you offshore.
I actually had a schedule of poems lined up for the next week but I cant stay out the news :(

— The End —