"vanes" poems
Dry land,
quiet land
of night's
immensity.
(Wind in the olive groves,
wind in the Sierra.)
Ancient
land
of oil lamps
and grief.
Land
of deep cisterns.
Land of death without eyes
and arrows.
(Wind on the roads.
Breeze in the poplar groves.)
Village
Upon a barren hill,
a Calvary.
Clear water
and century-old olive trees.
In the narrow streets,
men hidden under cloaks,
and on the towers
the spinning vanes.
Forever
spinning.
Oh, village lost
in the Andalucia of tears!
Dagger
The dagger
enters the haert
the way plowshares turn over
the wasteland.
No.
Do not cut into me.
No.
Like a ray of sun,
the dagger
ignites terrible
hollows.
No.
Do not cut into me.
No.
Crossroads
East wind,
a street lamp
and a dagger
in the heart.
The street
quivers like
tightly pulled
string,
like a huge, buzzing
horsefly.
Everywhere,
I see a dagger
in the heart.
Ay!
The cry leaves shadows of cypress
upon the wind.
(Leave me here, in this field,
weeping.)
The whole world's broken.
Only silence remains.
(Leave me here, in this field,
weeping).
The darkened horizon's
bitten by bonfires.
(I've told you already to leave me
here, in this field,
weeping.)
Surprise
He lay dead in the street
wit ha dagger in his chest.
Nobody knew who he was.
How the streep lamp flickered!
Mother of god,
how the street lamp
faintly flickered!
It was dawn. Nobody
could look up, wide-eyed,
into the glare.
And he lay dead in the street
with a dagger in his chest,
and nobody knew who he was.
Soleá
Wearing black mantillas,
she thinks the world is tiny
and the heart immense.
Wearing black mantillas.
She thinks that tender sighs
and cries disappear
into currents of wind.
Wearing black mantillas.
The door was left open,
and at dawn the entire sky
emptied onto her balcony.
Ay, yayayayay,
wearing black mantillas.
Cave
From the cave
come endless sobbings.
(Purple
over red.)
The gypsy
calls forth the distance.
(Tall towers
and mysterious men.)
In an unsteady voice
his eyes wander.
(Black
over red.)
And the white-washed cave
trembled in gold.
(White
over red.)
Encounter
For you and I
aren't ready
to find each other.
You... as you well know.
I loved her so much!
Follow the narrowest path.
I have
holes
in my hands
from the nails.
Can't you see how
I'm bleeding to death?
Don't look back,
go slowly,
and pray as I do
to San Cayetano
for you and I
aren't ready
to find each other.
Dawn
Bells of Cordoba
in the early morning.
Bells of Granada
at dawn.
You are felt by all the girls
who weep to the tender,
weeping Solea.
The girls
of upper Andalucia,
and of lower.
You girls of Spain,
with tiny feet
and trembling skirts,
who've filled the crossroads
with crosses.
Oh, bells of Cordoba
in the early morning,
and, oh, the bells of Granada
at dawn!
5.9k
High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam
Islanded in Severn stream;
The bridges from the steepled crest
Cross the water east and west.
The flag of morn in conqueror's state
Enters at the English gate:
The vanquished eve, as night prevails,
Bleeds upon the road to Wales.
Ages since the vanquished bled
Round my mother's marriage-bed;
There the ravens feasted far
About the open house of war:
When Severn down to Buildwas ran
Coloured with the death of man,
Couched upon her brother's grave
That Saxon got me on the slave.
The sound of fight is silent long
That began the ancient wrong;
Long the voice of tears is still
That wept of old the endless ill.
In my heart it has not died,
The war that sleeps on Severn side;
They cease not fighting, east and west,
On the marches of my breat.
Here the truceless armies yet
Trample, rolled in blood and sweat;
They **** and **** and never die;
And I think that each is I.
None will part us, none undo
The knot that makes one flesh of two,
Sick with hatred, sick with pain,
Strangling--When shall we be slain?
When shall I be dead and rid
Of the wrong my father did?
How long, how long, till ***** and hearse
Puts to sleep my mother's curse?
3.1k
The body
I want
exists
through the veil of blood that spiderwebs above my eyelids.
The soul
I so desire
screams out like nails on a chalkboard, across my vanes-
and alone, underneath the cupboard drawer.
The human
I loved
hides underneath my larynx
and rests so heavily upon my soul.
It is the monster under my bed
but, I am no longer five so-
I assume night lights are out of the question.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 2:48 AM UTC
All it takes is fake beautiful smile to hide the pain and broken soul you have. They will never notice how broken and far you have falling into the darkest loneliness . They just believe the fake you put on. He never looks inside to see you the real you.If he would just look into your eyes. He would see how much pain he puts you in, how much he is killing you and just how far you have fallen from you. You have gotten so good at the fake you. He don't see that you've been replaced with this fake The you that you use to know and love into this fake one you hate so much. But you play pretend to make him happy everything you do everything you are is all for him. Everything you are always for him. You believe when he says. The I love you with all my heart . The you are the ONE . The Always and FOREVER The Your so beautiful. The Always you. But then knowing he's not in love with you anymore that he is giving his love to someone else. You fake never to show that you know. You stay to never be alone. Never again well you be alone you can't not again. Is it not the same to be with him and be alone. Or to be without him and be alone. Why is your all not enough for him. He takes your life and soul and takes never giving anything back to you but fake himself. nothing but pain. Why dose she have to go through this why is she always alone and faking to be someone she's not. All she ever wanted was to be loved for the women she is just to be held to be kissed for the women she is but all she get this the fake why. Why does misery love her so much why is pain that runs through her vanes . Loneliness is her soul and the emptiness of a fake women is her life. Never to let go always to be alone and fake to make him happy you stay in pain with the beautiful fake smile he says he loves so much. Never knowing the person you used to be the one you loved. The one you could look in the mirror and say hi beautiful. She is lost no one can ever see her again. He has took her life consumed all of her spirit. All that remained Is the Hollow Monster Inside.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
Venomous retina
Attracted me like a trap
Brillo copper in the glass
Seventeen on the couch
Call my best friend
Share the minds thoughts
Curiosity got the best of me
And the trust
I put into my idles hands
Heart beat
Vanes thumping
Down down down
Mind is up
Thinking what the ****
This is my life now
Future you crying
Hanging his head low
Cooks up rocks in the *** death reborn
Resurrection of death
Being cloned over and over again
Yellow cake on the menu
As the flame kisses the pan
Ain't supposed to be done
But not for the father
Not not for a mother brother sister or son
*********** smoke
Heart dancin
Tunnel vision
Two steppin
Jaw gliched like a movie disc
Crack walk
Leg locked in this ****** house
Home is if this is where the cake is...
Home is if this is where the cake is...
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
Birds don't rain down from heart attacks,
Or aneurysms: we should be waist high
In hundreds of millions of feathered bodies.
Where are they?
Not like us, who fall in the strangest places:
Stop signs, ball games, synagogues, schools.
And we cover them, step around them,
Chalk mark floors and sidewalks,
And eventually pick up the pieces.
But we can't perch on live wires,
Or fly between wind vanes.
Where are the bodies.
Domestic or feral.
Look to the sociocat,
Though innocent,
It prowls by nature.
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 9:53 AM UTC
*A picture captures a moment, a moment captures an emotion, and an emotion captures a thought.
This thought is released below*
Listen to your heart and live to the beat, for its rifts can make paths through red oceans.
Feel your blood pump, as it fuels your brain, thus provoking your thoughts to recall the words of a poem written in the purest and most vulnerable state of mind
The mindset that lets your emotions surface from their sea bottom structures, because once upon a time you sank and could see bottom structures to hide away feelings in
So you did
Now your passion is in reeling them in to feel real
It feels ironic that you are now breaking those iron bars surrounding the things you once rounded up and surrendered to the depths
In fact, you still render them into the abyss so at times you can act, leaving your thoughts in the mist
It's beautiful, in its completely illogical sense that somehow after a full cycle you can see it's ingenious
Your muse is a renewable resource, and for every poisonous barrel that sinks, there is a little inspirational magic that floats back up and drives you to write tirelessly until your mind is again at peace
These words, like blood, are seen in all their power, at the surface
This art, like the vanes of a windmill going up and down, shall not die in vain, these arteries and veins run deep and drive me sane
Wherefore art thou, Axiomighty
I often ponder as I travel yonder
But I've grown fonder of the idea that I may never know
So long as for when it's complete
I have put on a show.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
Once in the wind of morning
I ranged the thymy wold;
The world-wide air was azure
And all the brooks ran gold.
There through the dews beside me
Behold a youth that trod,
With feathered cap on forehead,
And poised a golden rod.
With mien to match the morning
And gay delightful guise
And friendly brows and laughter
He looked me in the eyes.
Oh whence, I asked, and whither?
He smiled and would not say,
And looked at me and beckoned
And laughed and led the way.
And with kind looks and laughter
And nought to say beside
We two went on together,
I and my happy guide.
Across the glittering pastures
And empty upland still
And solitude of shepherds
High in the folded hill,
By hanging woods and hamlets
That gaze through orchards down
On many a windmill turning
And far-discovered town,
With gay regards of promise
And sure unslackened stride
And smiles and nothing spoken
Led on my merry guide.
By blowing realms of woodland
With sunstruck vanes afield
And cloud-led shadows sailing
About the windy weald,
By valley-guarded granges
And silver waters wide,
Content at heart I followed
With my delightful guide.
And like the cloudy shadows
Across the country blown
We two fare on for ever,
But not we two alone.
With the great gale we journey
That breathes from gardens thinned,
Borne in the drift of blossoms
Whose petals throng the wind;
Buoyed on the heaven-heard whisper
Of dancing leaflets whirled
>From all the woods that autumn
Bereaves in all the world.
And midst the fluttering legion
Of all that ever died
I follow, and before us
Goes the delightful guide,
With lips that brim with laughter
But never once respond,
And feet that fly on feathers,
And serpent-circled wand.
1.6k
I dwell on my last thought. What would it be about? Would it be about the sun rising out of the ocean to have started my final day? Or would be about the about that night? The night that the sleeping figments of my imagination came to together to show me the truth of you. That night that I awoke with that fear and those tears, feeling that strain, and all that pain. What would I think about? Could my mind race past all the nights that the party never ended, and the **** flowed freely, or would I ponder upon the fires that feed on my skin within my mind, when I saw you and him, maybe I'll just dwell on the hatred at burned within my heart that would rival that of any other. Would I remember the laughter shared amongst friends, the passion of that first love that fuel my heart or the many words I have place upon paper for others to enjoy. That final thought may even be of my heart nailed against the wall while still pumping the pain thought out my vanes to every nerve that I have. So on my last thought, would it be of you? Or Oh **** I bounced?
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 8:43 PM UTC
feeble minds
and such young souls
tortured by the growing holes
fate woven between the vanes
kids diminishing like ******* lanes
cuts, bruises, scrapes
nothing the simple bandaid will escape
eventually settling into a state of decay
frail bones breaking away
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 5:43 PM UTC
Words don't carry much weight
When they spring from hallow lips
Let alone
A hallow heart
Where not even your blood cells will enter
For fear of being trapped
In that black hole forever
Just like me
I have been pulled into your nothingness
And I cannot escape the grasp
Of your need to be alone
And my need to be needed
You made me feel that way
Until you made me feel like
The raindrops that made lines on my skin
Were useless and unimportant
Compared to the ink dripping from your vanes
Because you always were a poet
You had the perfect words
For the perfect times
To make perfect moments
But only when you spelled it out for me
Your voice never delivered the same grace
As your tire tracks fade
So will my need to keep them there
Just because you've been somewhere
Doesn't mean you'll return
And holding onto indents in the snow
Is an arbitrary action
That I will no longer take part in
The only things I will hold onto
Are the tree branches that carried me
Long before you came around
And tried to take their spot
But you're just not strong enough to beat my oak tree
And it's a shame
Because all this time
All I've wanted to do is trust you
But your breath speaks lowder than your words
And it tells me the past and future
Both of which scare me
And I'll watch the fog roll in
And wonder if the grass ever gets frightened in the dark
Because I know I do
Colored paper and tea leaves won't keep me safe
Only you can do that
So since safely isn't an option
I will have to fight
But do me a favor
Don't trust in the rose petals on your doorstep
Fear them
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 11:20 PM UTC
Across the blistered gibber plain where flies die in the sand
Through swamps of prickly sago where rotting death is planned,
To stride in windblown tussock hills where wind vanes carved their say
To saunter groves of green tree fern where moa giants did play.
In clearings cut with alkali, tusked elephant would loom
With crevassed hides, Methuselah, once aged in terms of doom.
Whilst high above the rocky crags of ancient mountain high,
The keening screech of kestral soaring up to deep blue sky.
Heavy boots in crusted sand where tiny lizards flee
Amidst the rust red rubble of volcanic rock and scree,
To clamber up the ignimbrite, great Vulcan's steps of stone,
Encrusted with thick epiphyte in lichen's mossy home.
Up into the altitude where dark cloud clusters here
And the threat of rolling thunder indicates that rain is near,
Torrential in it's downpour with sudden squall of gale
Surmounted, all quite suddenly, with a blinding blast of hail.
Staggering to shelter in a tiny alpine hut
To find hot coffee on the woodstove and a curvy, hot young ****
To find us frollicking together beneath a patterned patchwork quilt
Was quite beyond my imagination's comprehensions built?
And afterwards in slumber through the curtains of our room
I watched, in fascination, at a hanging, frozen moon
And wondered, in amazement, at the doings of the day
And speculated, sleepily, where tomorrow's prospects lay.
Blearily I stretch out from the covers, nicely warm
To nullify persistence of that alarm's intruding horn,
Yawning into morning I remove myself from bed
With panicked realisation....all dreams evacuate my head.
Vanished are the alpine hut, the dolly bird, the caves
The crash of rolling thunder and the plunge of mighty waves,
Gone are those phantoms which dwelt inside my mind
Devestatingly dismissed until re-dreamed another time.
M.
Pukehana Paradise
13 December 2014
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
Heart beating fast
Pushing adrenaline through my vanes
Pupils dilating
Breath quickening
The monster is clowning it's way out
I can not keep it locked away anymore
It feels so good to let the chains containing it break away
It's so easy, the monster that lives within me is so strong
Black wings break through skin
Fingers elongate, sharp black nails form
My head wiping back unleashing a piercing scream
Red takes over the blue of my eyes, the slits that are now my pupils
Snap into focus on something
The growl turns into a howl as it rips it's way out of my throat
I'm not afraid of you anymore
Who do you think will win...
This time?
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 2:41 AM UTC
the meteorologists predictions have been off key
their weather forecasts are proving to be faulty
yesterday they said rain would come in the eve
but none came to wet the back landing eaves
the direction of the wind they got wrong last week
it blew in from the south and was rather bleak
they need to check their wind vanes regularly
for a wind from that direction is so chilly
they've got modern technology at their finger tips
so you'd think with forward forecasts they'd make no slips
but alas meteorologists seem not to care
whether the weather is inclement or fair
instead of relying on their dodgy forecasts
one ducks outside to observe clouds and wind blasts
a more accurate picture can be seen
by one watching the unfolding weather scene
they've predicted sunny skies for this afternoon
with much anticipation we'll look for its boon
we'll be well astounded if that be the case
so often the meteorologists get the weather misplaced
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
planes
planes
planes
rows and rows
of planes
never again to fly
up in the sky's terrains
planes
planes
planes
rows and rows
of planes
sent to the Mojave Desert's
dry weather vanes
planes
planes
planes
rows and rows
of planes
parked forever out of
the corosive rains
planes
planes
planes
rows and rows
of planes
lie idle within their
grounded lanes
Jun 6, 2021
Jun 6, 2021 at 4:34 AM UTC
Tables scattered--
Round illuminated islands.
A snubbed cigarette whispers its last words to the room.
Vanes spinning--
Records circulating air.
Hypnosis settles like a dusting-- coating the mind's past troubles.
Her voice--
Softly traveling in waves.
Weaving a blanket-- alms soothing a once cold vacuum.
I now know bliss.
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 6:42 PM UTC
Storms!
The weather vanes twirl about
in mass hysteria
North!
South!
East!
West!
Lightning crowds the skies
with white gold
Instantaneous rods of crooked steel
pierce the horizon
Booming, clamorous crunching
clap throughout the hushed heavens
quaking the frames and foundations,
making cats and dogs
rush under the beds for protection
The young ones peek out of windows
and defy their nervousness
The adults slam the windows closed
to shut out the savage elements
Blustery winds work their way
through each crack and crevice
as looming, ominous clouds
hanging low in readiness
finally burst forth like a breaking dam
People run for cover
running for their very lives
from the rods of steel
that slice the sky
ducking drops so wild and wet
that they make the very soul
shake and shiver
drenching each victim to the bone
Flowers and grasses drown deliriously
in the quenching drink
Worms migrate for safer territory
to find little comfort at all
Until the deluge is done
and the skies have decided
they have bore enough
will they subside
yet only to blow their way through
to trespass another town
their violent wrath satisfied
for now
Because they provide us with
needed sustenance
we can be obliging to them
these storms that strike us
usually against our will
Because they amaze us
educate our thoughts
and entertain our imaginations
we can be forgiving of their tempers
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 6:27 PM UTC
I saw the good in you and that made me happy
I saw a light that ignites when I see you
I saw the excitement in your face when I talk to you
I saw that smile that hides all of your sorrow
And now that I'm closer
I feel your pain
Now that that I'm here
I feel it in my vanes
I hate seeing you sad
So please try to understand
I do this because I care
Not because I'm mad
You have opened up this door that I haven't seen before
is it normal that I wana know more
That side is attracting me to come
Hold me tight cuz I don't wana go there
I'm feeling scared that's it's pulling me there
I won't do that cuz I know who I am
And to me that side is just a passing spam
Hopefully that door will close soon
And I'll be free
So go to hell dark side I'm not coming today
Cuz I'm better then this so bye bye forever
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
pocket daisies stripped of sun
where do you go when autumn comes?
under strangers stitching forests
cott-on weather vanes lost in wind;
hide yourselves in golden tombs
let your drums beat out the dust
sleep until the days are done
when all that's left is cold and worn.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
If all our life was but a dream
Fantastic posing greed
Then we should feed our jewelry to the sea
For diamonds do appear to be
Just like broken glass to me
And she said she can't believe
How genius only comes along
In storms of fabled foreign tongues
Tripping eyes, and flooded lungs
Northern downpour sends its love
Hey moon, please forget to fall down
Hey moon don't you go down
Sugarcane in the easy mornin'
Weather-vanes my one and lonely...
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 8:03 AM UTC
I knew a boy, who became a man
Overnight it seemed, so unreal and surreal
The face became strong, actions honest and true
Words became wise, strength in his vanes
One of honor respect, integrity truth and charity
I knew a boy, who is now a man
Learned to love in purity, with God in his soul
Set sail on the harshest sea, knowing not the tide
To find a place in the world, is now his desire
Steps of surety towards a goal, a man of men
I knew a boy, who became a man
Helpful hand in times of need, a listening ear
Not taking for granted the wind, nor following its whim
Eye’s set on God, the eternal reward of His Own
Ay a man worth knowing, a man worth loving
I knew a boy, who is now a man
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 4:07 PM UTC
I write because the paper listens
to the tears and laughter of my soul
like blood pumping though my vanes
seeping ink drips down the damp pages
as I write across every straight line
the messy confused bottled up thoughts
turn into questions running through my head
high above my neck it sits holding it all in
just think of what my brain is going through
my pen may scribble to fill the page
with words written from my soul
yet it transforms all my thoughts
never before told
my pen takes hold of the paper
as I hold the flow of my thoughts
floating through the lines on each page
riding the waves of concept
that takes flight
thoughts are like birds
so many in groups
bunched together
one by one loose
feathers drop
here and there
falling out of line
yet finds its place
ether speaking in flight
or written in words
the paper listens
that's why I write
my words can hit instantly as you can see
I have to jot them down as they spark..
or they just might fly away from me
I write because the paper listens
for inspiration it can vanish so quickly
sometimes my thoughts may flow fast
if I stop in the middle I lose the imagery
causing my pen to trip over words
leaving behind a big mess of typos
then the bad grammar is exposed
my pen may scribble to fill the page
with words written from my soul
yet it transforms all my thoughts
never before told
just to let you know
my words can hit instantly
that's just how I be
most of my writings
are free style poetry
my mind possess the tempo
as each poem I write grows
I the poet hum silently as
my ink of harmony flows
from my quenching desire
my mind and fingers they
think much faster than me
unleashing unspoken thoughts
silent for too long I can not be
the paper listens and gets drenched
with thoughts of my hot to the touch
written emotions curved creatively
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 2:24 PM UTC
There is a leaf stuck in an eddy
and stagnant water draws
close to its edge and folds.
It is torn. Its spine
and vanes stick
through brown tissue skin.
Water rushes past;
drums and drain pipes.
But the leaf and its pool are still.
Mist and foam of rapids
and the rumble of earth
are far away.
Saturated in silence
the leaf dips below
the surface and drowns.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 11:47 AM UTC
I have an unknown happiness,
From the bottoms of lakes and roots of apple
Trees, fish swim by and inch worms
On Branches. My Happiness stretches and inches along.
My Happiness is afraid of turning corners, and eats limes
And lemons. My Happiness puckers and pouts.
I have an unknown happiness.
It favors beige trench coats that protect it
From the rain, and snow, and weather vanes.
My happiness runs marathons, collapses in ditches,
Covered with quilts it sewed and knitted.
I have an unknown happiness,
Would you like to become acquainted?
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 8:09 PM UTC