"vat" poems
I was packing some snus
when I got up from a snooze
to put a ****
In a boiling vat of hotdog juice.
She was screaming and yelling
as I poured in the salt
and the cops busted my door
as my meal came to a halt.
I said "whats the rush?"
He said ***** hush"
As he sipped very angrily
at his watermelon slush.
I am black
yes very black
so they put me in the back
of their ****** cop van.
I went to jail again
For trying to cook a ****
in a boiling vat of hotdog juice
as I watched espn.
I got out of jail
Cause my drug money was bail
went back home
to see a fresh cooked **** in my garbage pail.
I was so happy
that I took a break to fappy
on my nice leather couch
while my girlfriend was napping.
Today was a good day.
Ice cube agreed.
I smoked all of my ****
and gave into my greed.
***** don't **** my vibe.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
How are you?
I'm alright I guess...
Where do we begin?
Maybe at the start of this mess.
Are you uncomfortable?
I can't say that I'm not.
Is it your past?
Well it's all I've got.
Do you still get nightmares?
Well I used to...
Will you let them show?
Depends on you...
What do you hope to accomplish?
I don't know... Peace of mind?
Would you have done things differently?
Everyone wants the chance to push "rewind".
Care to elaborate?
Let's just say I would've liked to be braver.
What do you mean?
I should've stood up to my father...
Did he abuse your trust?
He did more than just that...
Rob you of your freedom?
Let's see... His belt, cigarettes and also boiling water out of a vat.
Do you wish him ill?
I wished him dead.
"Wished"?
Yeah...in his bed.
Why "wished"?
Because I wanted that then...
For how long?
Since I was ten.
What about now?
(Maniacal smile) I am now... At peace.
"At peace"?
I have found release.
You have?
Yes... I couldn't resist the urge.
Urge to do what?
To comply with the voice... "Freedom...lies in the purge..."
You left your father?
Yes but not before...
Go on...
Not before I slit his throat with a smile on my face as I shut the door...
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 7:51 AM UTC
V.B. Wigglesworth wakes at noon,
Washes, shaves and very soon
Is at the lab; he reads his mail,
Swings a tadpole by the tail,
Undoes his coat, removes his hat,
Dips a spider in a vat
Of alkaline, phones the press,
Tells them he is F.R.S.,
Subdivides six protocells,
Kills a rat by ringing bells,
Writes a treatise, edits two
Symposia on "Will man do?,"
Gives a lecture, audits three,
Has the ***** club in for tea,
Pensions off an ageing spore,
Cracks a test tube, takes some pure
Science and applies it, finds,
His hat, adjusts it, pulls the blinds,
Instructs the jellyfish to spawn,
And, by one o'clock, is gone.
8.5k
So tired yet so awake
I sit at the edge of an ellipsis
crimping the charred innards of my tattered soul
to make a masterpiece of gore
and internal war.
over the years of self loathing
I finally love myself
but getting ****** up feels ****** perfect
and watching this world unfold anew with each hit
or shot
rocks my mind
unkind but exemplary in it's own fortitude
to prevail my own veils
aside they're cast and fumbled with
as thick smiles seed
and the pace is set for the evening
I can't help but think that leaving
could do me good
but who backs out before the last shot?
who leaves before the deafening toll of midnight?
Cinderella's umbrella of security
and purity
is at jeopardy
and with great haste she wastes away the good looks
for late night *****
and nicotine
forgetting to clean
her closet of supreme validity on
the functioning teen
trying not to be mean,
but completely obscene in gestures
with the barbie's manufacturers groping for caspers
in the utopian disasters of the girl they forged
many decades back, but lost track
of the track that played that summer night
in the moonlight of immaculate humor and love
above all the oozing essence that manifested
now tested, for virtual ******
your cerebellum will tellem the positive
credo
that we all know is hooked on the days drift wood with
byzantine benzodiazapines to guide her haunted spirit
till
the cracks turn to crevasses and prehistoric protons mate with electrons
in the vat that is abrewing to plot the lies
watch the skies fade to grey as it may
be about time for the ecliptic rhymes to find
reconciliation
in the bladed grains of mortality and sigh
for being high in this lowered juncture
of subsisting future
buys you time to mull over such a daydream
as your last breath
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
Jou boodskappe die sonstrale
wat elke nou en dan my dag wil maak
en ook soms 8 minute vat om by my uit te kom
maar gee lig en lewe in my donker wereld
al is jy miljoene bietjies weg van my af
is jou liefde n warm drukkie wat ek
moeiteloos in elke donker nag
om my bang lyf kan vou
jy wat agter die horison jou eie horison sien
en dalk self die maan met my deel
,van n ander kant af,
dra ek na aan my hart...
soos n tietie sonder nippels
of n bangmaak boek sonder sy stippels....
is my lewe net plein
en puntloos sonder jou.
Jy is my duisend-myle-weg
, maar altyd daar,
chill-jou-guava maaitjie
wat my weghol hart bedaar.
Familie buite stam en bas
bloedloos dalk , maar hegte vas
grenslose vriende oor die wereld heen...
God se grootste seen.
- aan al my vriende wat ver weg bly , maar meer beteken as my eie asem en wat ek dierbaarder ag as my virginity ;) ek is so ongelooflik baie lief vir julle.
Carinda du Toit. Aldridt Koltzow. Marli Roux. Tarryn Forster. Frederik Rudolph van Dyk. en al die ander...
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 11:51 AM UTC
Quaking Earth shattering Revolting
And I'm in the middle of it
My heart is at least
I didn't realize or notice that it got so big able to lumber out of my chest
I guess that's ok because I can't do anything about it
Just like I couldn't do anything about the fire rising up behind "me"
You aren't with me I don't get to hear your laugh anymore
Sprinkling down through ivy covered walls
You aren't with me
I've realized that a lot
But I also realize that when I get up in the morning
Or in most cases never going to sleep to begin with
The moon a lovely
Complicit pale lover
Never questioning me
Never worrying me
Listening when I need to talk
And instead of telling me what to do
Or telling me what I'm doing wrong
it just listens
I knew it wasn't a mistake when I fell for your pale face
It was a mistake when I started liking someone
Who's face didn't stay impressively passive when looking at me
It was a mistake to fall out of orbit
For someone who never wanted to be free
From the confines of gravity
To come into my sky
You know sometimes
I can still see your shadow
Just out of the corner of my eye
The way your hair would fall
How your eyes would even enrapture the sun
You aren't mine anymore
But the sun still deigns to rise
And the moon still loves me
I can't get back the love and adoration
I gave you over the past five years
And as I said I still see your shadow sometimes
But you aren't mine
And that's ok
Because even though you never cared
About being the meteor that knocked me out of orbit
I still cared about you being happy
Even when it wasn't with me
Even when it isn't with me
And each day since
I've gotten off of the ground
More and more
So thanks
For the broken insecurities
For the things that I never wanted
Thanks for submerging me into a vat
Made out of stress and emotional pain
Thanks
For the new sense of orbit
And the new outlook
And that sometimes
Dreams shatter
Possibilities shatter
But that's ok
Because when they shatter
The fractures
Lead to new doors
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
En wanneer hou ons piekniek op die maan
- daar waar die son nie meer skyn nie,
kan ek jou donker toevlug wees
as die dag se hitte steek?
en sal jy 'n skadu gooi
oor my en my lieflike hart
ons kan saam met strome swem
as die branders oor ons breek.
Voor vrees jy weer oortrek
en my noodloos in die noodlot agter laat
in 'n eensame straat, van drome
en ander herrennerings wat by my *****
van liefde en so ook my verlede
wat jy veronderstel was om te tem.
En in die gaap van stilte tyding
waar die wysers ons vermy, sing
ek my eensaam lied en vra vir jou...
**** jy die golwe huil vir die koeelronde maan?
Sien jy die spore op die strand?
Waar vat die pad van verdwaaltenis my,
anders as na Jonker se hand.
Vanaand is ek verslae.
Die maan se kind trek pêrels en rol hulle oor die hartseer berge. Vanaand le ek en dryf, terwyl ek kyk na die maan, en die sterre...
sal jy my wolkombers wees
, my glimlag pille vir kersfees,
want ek is dalk te arm
, maar ryklik met jou geseen.
Sal jy my korrel sand , my rooikruis , my boei
want my hart is reeds verweer
, keur my voor ek ook
in die see uitbloei.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
a man gave me that phrase as a gift today.
quiver of constant smiles
for well he could,
yet little did he ken
the nature of the present
because
I read the smiles as the
tween the spaces,
in between the words of
anguish that never goes away
how can this be,
how to make sense of this
well I am a father too,
of words and sobs
and ownership of sins
between sons and fathers,
who inhabit
the unfilled spaces within,
the drawers with their name
on masking tape attached
Your fathers's hell will slowly go by
Show me a man-father
whose lips
have not quiet quivered
when hearing those words sung
we ease the grip of
carrying them on our shoulders
when they are five at the
Macy's day parade,
running alongside their first
solo bicycle ride
we ease the grip of
the vise of
not seeing them for years,
or never again,
cause they hold you guilty,
responsible for their confusion
have too, ease the grip,
cause we got more than one
singular responsibility
so we dad draw,
a smile from the quiver,
that like those of the elves,
replenished magically,
strap it on wide,
mile high and move on
oh you teenage children, you babies,
with your endless angst and bravado
of drunken scar talk,
first love lost
and the hard course
of being sixteen
put down your tiresome blunt pens
that revel only in Self-intensity glorious-galore,
read of the self destruction
of love pains thirty years in the making
and fifty in the undoing
write of ancient inescapable feelings
decades in the vat, aging, but drunk in the
moment quick searing of
every life breath you take
and it's Sunday nite
and the work week hell begins
but it is no compare to the other,
but **** you can't understand
so chant these words,
reflect on them well,
for soon while you dream sleep,
in clean, dry sheets and safe bed
a man will come for a peep,
to make the checkmark
on the all's well list
so chant these words,
a sad violin melody,
the single sole he ever hears,
*Your fathers's hell will slowly go by
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
ek is deurskykend, transparant, deurmekaar
opsoek na my vrede, my mensweesm my wees
ek voel so secondhand, so op gebruik, so klaar
bid vir verlossing, a trade in vir n nuwe vlees, nuwe gees, beter wees
my oe hoop op vol trane on gehuil
ek slaan lelike kolle uit in my sogenoemde persoonlikheid
maar dis alles ek, ek wat my vervuil
ek wat my eenkant hou, ek wat my uit smyt
ek wat ja se al wil als binne my nee skree
ek wat bly staan terwyl ek moes weg hardloop
ek wat myself wou uitvee
ek wat myself vir cheap thrills verkoop
maar hirdie ek is te oud om te kniel
hierdie ek word te oud om te glo
so ek staan waar ek staan en verniel
en ek bly staan sonder n tree en verloor
kyk dis ek wat hier staan, te sad om te bid
te seer om te huil, versteen deur my toedoen
daar is geen hande vat en aansit
maar ek dra dit met n smile want dis my skoen
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
Snow plows beeping
Reverse whine and scrape
Swirling blizzard of waking—Strange
in this place where
boredom banks both snow and cold
Are my eyes running?
After all
there's a stiff wind, and it’s 18 below....
Pictures and phone calls make up my family
Stray cats eat suet I leave for the birds
who make names for themselves in sunlit bushes
Love these more than...
my hearse of a job
where that ice cream vat—slipped
smashed
my sodden dish-doin’
fingers against sink
Pain mounts its insurrection!
Ambushed!
from every direction
Fainting in steam
Squeezing my eyes
till the blood shuts my brain-failing
Down my wrist
all over
the front of this rubber apron....
Someone hates me somewhere
Someone found me more tenacious
than a road-kill skunk!
I eat I drink I work I sleep
between these vicious icicles
-18F = -28 C
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
He was always a quiet man,
never seemed to look up...
as if his eyes were afraid of
what it might mean to
see the sky
His gaze seemed neither
fierce, nor soft.
Neither attentive or lost
He would never look at you,
it was as if he was looking everywhere
except where you happened to be.
I never saw a smile cross his lips
I never heard a laugh escape his lungs
I never heard him curse
I never heard him yell
When he spoke, I could hear the dust
falling off his breath
It wasn't a monotone sound, but I imagine
he sounded like what trees or mountains
would sound like, had they voices.
He existed in the loosest sense of the word
He was an oddity and an enigma
His quietness and unobtrusiveness
could be somewhat offputting
Yet...he was often able to blend into
the background like a rain drop
in a storm.
You can imagine our surprise
when he stumbled into town one
hot afternoon, clothes looking like
he'd fallen into a vat of red paint.
Splattered. Head to toe.
In between his head and his toes,
cradled in his arms, was the
body of a young girl
He had found her in the woods,
he had said, voice devoid of emotion.
She had been lying off the path,
in a pool of crimson.
An investigation turned up nothing
The people, in need of a murderer,
settled on the only man they could.
The man who hadn't shed even one tear
over the death of a young child
The trial was a farce
The kangaroo court adjourned
Death by hanging
The man remained silent throughout
the proceedings. Quietly answering
the frothing prosecutor's questions
with the same demeanor as someone
would use when discussing the weather
He wasn't defensive
He wasn't derisive
He didn't plead, nor pray
when the verdict was announced
On the day of the execution
nearly everyone in town was in attendance
Most of them couldn't tell you why
The noose around his neck, he stared
back at the crowd. Stared through them,
as if they didn't exist.
When the rope snapped taut,
The man flailed as his body
involuntarily spasm'd.
When he finally passed,
his body swinging lazily
under the gallows,
I caught the hint
of a smile
Only for a moment.
I found it odd
That he would only show
a sign of life
as it was ending
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 12:18 AM UTC
With a beaming smile that could warm the tile
She came flying down the corridor
the sun was setting, so i asked her heading
and she said, "I'm going to Florider!"
Well she seemed to like to talk
and I really love to listen
so I pressed her for the details
and her eyes began to glisten.
"I been staying in this rest home
since I lost my dear departed"
and I asked her when he died and she said,
"No, I meant my leg".
So we stood there, well I stood there and
she sat in her new wheel chair
I asked her what's her hurry.
and if she's gonna get a peg.
And she said:
"Maybe if I lose this weight~
Gotta get down to 220
but the trouble is I love to eat.
I know it's not that funny."
"I've had my share of heart attacks
and twice I had a stroke
Buried my husband and lost the house
and gee I love to smoke"
"I can't move these three fingers
but I manage in this chair
on nice days take it to the road
for excercise and air".
She went on to share her story
was from somewhere up in Queens
married twice without children
and lived well within her means.
She talked about her childhood home
and how chemicals from the pool
splashed onto the strawberry patch
and the fruit was the size of a stool.
The best of all of her stories
was one about her dad
who had worked for Sunshine Biscuits,
but once fell into a vat.
no sooner had she told me
that I knew I'd have to write
a lymric for this lady
whose smile brings such delight.
The folks at Sunshine found him
pulled him out but hound him
was one lucky catch, 'til he met his batch
when those lady fingers done nearly drowned him.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
Lime green envy.
Residing in me.
I understand it’s ugly.
Imprisoning me.
In my own insecurities.
Constantly believing I’m unworthy.
Unworthy to be happy.
Unworthy of education.
Unworthy of you.
And then I see you chatting up my friends.
And I’m engulfed in this,
Lime green envy.
It’s all consuming.
Taking over my rationality.
Becoming a hulkish version of myself.
And It’s certainly isn’t incredible.
I know I shouldn’t worry.
I know you care about me.
But I can’t help but to fall,
In this vat of chemicals containing envy.
Turning me into something of a villain.
And ironically,
I’m my own greatest enemy.
And ironically,
I’m pushing you away.
With all this,
Lime green envy.
Residing in me.
And I understand it’s ugly.
Imprisoning me.
In my own insecurities.
Constantly believing I’m unworthy.
Unworthy to be happy.
Unworthy of education.
Unworthy of you.
And I can try to blame my past,
My family or friends or even you.
But I know that I’m truly the one to blame.
For no one is forcing me to treat you all so badly.
It’s a choice that I make.
And I have to deal with my actions.
Whether positive or negative.
I decide to either be the successor or the victim.
So, I’m sorry.
Sorry that I’ve let this lime green envy consume me.
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 1:39 AM UTC
In the oiled vat of sadness
Slip of the tongue
Whimpering in the not-moment
Lost the scent of you
Because…. because, because
Because because was, because is, because will
Maybe
Was is, will is, then now, you me
Probably
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
As easy as
accidentally
falling off
a log into
a vat
of ****
As a poet,
you might
drown.
Watch
your step!
- mce
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 8:38 AM UTC
Knuppeldik gaan slaap die stad
na 'n feesmaal van smaak en kleur
vloei die reuke deur die strate
in 'n Brown se beweging van geur.
Alle trommels , trommeldik maar maak 'n lee geraas
en in die donker , agterstrate begin die ander nou te aas
Kom die honger hande uit die sakke
en krap met rook-geel vingernael
soek die skummel in die swartsak
vir 'n laaste dissipelsmaal.
Maar jy is skille , jy is doppe
jy is alles wat laat gril
nie genoeg vir koningstafels maar vir my
net genoeg om die knaagdiere te stil.
Onerfare soos ek is , vat my hongerbrein ook mis
watter mens kan so dan lewe? watter mens kan so dan eet?
van die lykswa en die straatveers
het hierdie boemelaar vergeet.
Ek is mens en nie 'n vark nie,
(al moet 'n mens ook eet).
En stil vergaan die boemelaar
wat kieskeur ook wou wees,
nog 'n straatkind se ou lykie
nog 'n honger kinder gees...
ek wat was het mos gesien
*** kos op tafels lyk,
en het sodanig hart verloor
op kosse kleur en ruik.
Met 'n bord vol knubbels le die lykie
voor hom , onaangeraak.
Al was kos ook wat kos was daar
het hy te lief vir die droom geraak.
Eerder kwyn en dood verslaan
as om die droom te ruineer.
Eerder dood van honger,
as om hierdie kos , as sulks te eer.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
230
We—Bee and I—live by the quaffing—
’Tisn’t all Hock—with us—
Life has its Ale—
But it’s many a lay of the Dim Burgundy—
We chant—for cheer—when the Wines—fail—
Do we “get drunk”?
Ask the jolly Clovers!
Do we “beat” our “Wife”?
I—never wed—
Bee—pledges his—in minute flagons—
Dainty—as the trees—on our deft Head—
While runs the Rhine—
He and I—revel—
First—at the vat—and latest at the Vine—
Noon—our last Cup—
“Found dead”—”of Nectar”—
By a humming Coroner—
In a By-Thyme!
1.8k
I step towards the pool.
You look at me like each step is the end of my life.
I swing my leg on the side.
You flinch.
I laugh at your expression.
You didn't find it quite so funny.
I guess it's really not that funny to you,
how your mouth puckers into a straight line when you hear me laugh,
like the picket fence outside the house you were born in,
only the stark white boards of that fence don't curve downwards at the ends.
There's a fine line of difference between us,
the difference being "don't", "won't", "can't"
and other four letter words, such as "fear", "play", and "lame".
I stifle my laughter and try again to coax you to the edge, the edge of the earth.
You frown, and back away, mumbling like that one Muppet.
Beaker, right?
"Come down!" Beaker cries. "You're being crazy!"
Meepmeep.
The thought of this causes me to laugh again.
You. A Muppet.
You would die if you knew.
I take another step, another, another, further away from you,
up the metal rungs to the top of the world.
The ground slaps beneath me, resilient and springy like summer grass.
I remember your face, panicked, frantic.
I dove.
You claimed you couldn't.
From the bottom of the pool, the world is crisp and clear,
like a vat of liquid nitrogen biting at my skin.
When I resurface it becomes blatantly evident.
I dry off and walk away through the counter.
Don't try to follow me.
I tried.
You didn't.
Maybe I AM crazy.
The bottom line is
even though I'm afraid of heights,
I still climbed that ladder.
Dec 22, 2009
Dec 22, 2009 at 6:10 PM UTC
finally na jare se rusteloosheid
jare van verlore wees, rond soek na my
elke avenue na jaag, opskop en my kniee numb pleit
het ek my vrede om jou om my gekry
my en jou se safe place
weg van al die jare s elies en disgrace
ek vat my dae een vir een soos ek kans sien
en dit sal n lieg proe as ek nie se my verlange le diep
het altyd gedink as ek beter was sou ek jou verdien
maar ek was te naief, te jonk, te blind
het myself my gevoelnes verbied
ek was moeg vir wag, die seer, die verwyt
moeg vir die fluister van trane oor my wange en die verlange
ek wou nie die weggeooi meer wees, wou jou weg smyt
bang vir alleen wees, wou nie die faulty een wees, bang
ek het vir ons ons eie soace create
n safe place waar nie ek of jy mekaar ooit weer kan forsake
ek hoef jou nooit weer te soek want ek weet waar jy gaan wees
finally you can help chase away my fears
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
2038--neurolotto
You SEE
sometime
in years yet seen
science
will make
our bodies last longer
a decade or more
but questionable advances
will allow
our BRAINS to live
for…millennia
or longer
submerged in
a neuro-friendly elixir
connected to
electric eyes and ears
freed from
frothing fears
about our body’s
dutiful decay
BUT even with infinite leaps
in scientific skill
and our relentless will
(to be around for eternity)
only a few will have the means ($$$$$)
for such magic cyber machines
and joyful juices
to keep them THINKing
10,000 years or more!
So, the powers that be
will have a grand lottery
though millions will apply
(while 10 billion others know their own brains will die)
only a few thousand will have the privilege
of having their few pounds of cranial fat
placed in a perpetually guarded vat
for helpless these brains would be (!)
if they were left at the mercy
of those who could not pay
to extend their time to play
on this rolling rock
What things they will get to see
floating in the magic juice (!!)
But…walks in the park
will be only a waking dream,
thinking about cheeseburgers
will be calorie free,
for the sense of smell and taste
will, of course, be history
music will sound a bit…strange
for the best implants
won’t replace the old ear
a passionate kiss
and the a n t i c i p a t e d bliss
of more
will be a sweet (??) memory
a “sweet” memory…?
Or just a memory
for when freed of the flesh
can sense and soul still mesh?
Can THINKing
we are FEELing
suffice?
and will we really
savor the cyber sight
or cringe in FRIGHT
of round spaghetti *****
floating in other preciously guarded vats
that we KNOW
are our only bodiless friends?
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 10:54 PM UTC
India women dip white
linen cloths into vats of
the most beautiful colors,
Yogis meditate.
Dodoitsu 7,7,7,5 Japanese style of poetry. Circa 1600s. Often concerning love or work, and usually comical. In my case I was trying to show an analogy between dipping into meditation and the dipping of cloth in a vat of dye. But I also found it humorous that the men meditated, while the women worked.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
FAR-OFF, most secret, and inviolate Rose,
Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those
Who sought thee in the Holy Sepulchre,
Or in the wine-vat, dwell beyond the stir
And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep
Among pale eyelids, heavy with the sleep
Men have named beauty. Thy great leaves enfold
The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold
Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes
Saw the pierced Hands and Rood of elder rise
In Druid vapour and make the torches dim;
Till vain frenzy awoke and he died; and him
Who met Fand walking among flaming dew
By a grey shore where the wind never blew,
And lost the world and Emer for a kiss;
And him who drove the gods out of their liss,
And till a hundred moms had flowered red
Feasted, and wept the barrows of his dead;
And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown
And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown
Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods:
And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods,
And sought through lands and islands numberless
years,
Until he found, with laughter and with tears,
A woman of so shining loveliness
That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress,
A little stolen tress. I, too, await
The hour of thy great wind of love and hate.
When shall the stars be blown about the sky,
Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die?
Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows,
Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose?
1.7k
YOU came with your small tapering flame of passion
Thinly burning like a nun's desire,
Your eyes in slim and half-expectant fashion
Faintly painting what your veins require
With little pallid pyramids of fire.
So very small and unfulfilled you sat,
Building a little talk to keep you there,
Your face and body pointed like a cat,
Your legs not reaching down from any chair,
Your thoughts not really reaching anywhere;
So dumb and tiny--yet Love guessed your mood,
And pressed his phial in its fervent bed,
And poured his thrilling philtre in my blood,
And all his lustre on your body shed,
And hot enamel on the words you said;
Your littleness became a monstrous thing,
A rank retort, a hot and waiting vat,
Your eyes green-copper like a snake in spring,
And lusty-bold your laying off your hat,
And fell your purpose like a hungry cat;
The dark fell on us through our narrowed eyes,
The heat lashed up around us from the floor,
Encrimsoning the lips of our surprise
To sway like music, and like burning pour
Across the truth that parted us before.
1.7k
daar is niemand there is no one
wat jou die pad kan bewys that can show you the way
*** om jou volle how your full
potentiaal potential
te behaal can be obtained
jy moet leer you must learn
jy moet experimenteer you must experiment
om die ontdekkings te maak to make the discoveries
en as jy onseker is and if you are unsure
om watter direksie te vat about which direction to take
moet jy net probeer you must just persist
todat until
jy jou rigting kry you find your direction
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 5:40 PM UTC
I found you in the hum of a dying july
in the sleeping age of stinging summer days
the panic of daylight savings
and a fear of the dark.
you settle for me like you settle for the cheapest pair of socks when you're in a hurry.
everyone's in their own hurries.
all you needed was something to put your flesh into.
all I wanted was someone to spill my soul out to.
my own vat of whispers and lies was somehow overflowing.
you don't love me.
in every secret your green eyes whisper
every preserved thought
you tell me you don't love me.
behind every flutter of my eyelash
flick of my hair
tousle of my skirts that you never notice
or tear i withhold that you couldn't give a **** about
there is a girl quivering
scared of womanhood and scared of manhood.
assaulted in the dark of a summers midnight
both a rarity.
you don't ask. You don't care. You don't love me.
you lie.
i lie.
we all lie.
but none of us truly love.
that's what 17 years and 6 months with you has taught me.
we touch we kiss we sing we dance
my tongue on yours
your hands in mine
my thighs round you
your **** soft as a babies laugh.
because we are purely flesh.
i wouldn't tell you my secrets
if my life ******* depended on it.
so don't give me your ****
you dwell on her.
like a fly on ****
you love her.
but you settle for someone who doesn't love you.
this is ********
i once read that soul mates find each other because
soul mates seek shelter in the same places.
we found each other in the dark.
i do not seek shelter there.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC