"warf" poems
All night the army came up from Gilgal
To get to the killing field, and that's all.
In the ground, warf and woof, lay the dead.
I want to die in My own bed.
Like slits in a tank, their eyes were uncanny,
I'm always the few and they are the many.
I must answer. They can interrogate My head.
But I want to die in My own bed.
The sun stood still in Gibeon. Forever so, it's willing
to illuminate those waging battle and killing.
I may not see My wife when her blood is shed,
But I want to die in My own bed.
Samson, his strength in his long black hair,
My hair they sheared when they made me a hero
Perforce, and taught me to charge ahead.
I want to die in My own bed.
I saw you could live and furnish with grace
Even a lion's den, if you've no other place.
I don't even mind to die alone, to be dead,
But I want to die in My own bed.
2.6k
Yellow-tinted-noxious-lung-warf-stunk-salty-oysters-stolen-rotten.
Where am I? but the driftwood castle promenade, fish market gardens.
Congo jungle, steam ship sunken in crying river, village elder persists at warning.
Hear the fiddle burning, drug sullen quarter note steadily, it's veracious creak reverberates through me, the loveliness reveals me, and yet I cannot behold the.
Negligent narcissus subdue me, hurry up and ***** me.
Here is the birthplace of living curse, whats bottles up by living thirst, awakening face down in a black-bellied hearse.
Driven hard line through desert ambit , throttle locked at 85, no control, levers, nobs, or nodes.
Half a Cuban snuffed out poorly, sleeping in gaping jowls, I could not believe this thing even had an ash tray.
Death had bailed and locked the doors, filled the tank, and whipped the devils horse.
I worn the blinders and found my pockets stuffed with carrots and a lighter.
Then i smoked what was left without protest, I was not about to ask what came next.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
Always was always
So certain in it's way
Never could you change it's mind
Or how it would have it's say
Her eyes are made up of sunsets
But she holds the Moon at bay
Her eyes are waters
But the sea is receding away
Her eyes are full of Shadows
She questions every thing I say
The Gemini was born
But three days past the Bull
In a land full of richness
Down hill from the sugar mill
Where illusions are surely
Cut , dried and pulled
Her hands are empty
The wind begins to blow
Her hands are fingered
But I see no rings aglow
Her hands are waving
But I am so far and so . . .
Her hands now falter
Over a heart so full of grief to go
Her hands are longing for touching
And some pure belief
Her hands are lingering . . .
Reaching for some peace
The ships come into
The safety of the Harbor
Then dock and rope
There upon the warf
The gang plank unloads it's cargo
Tons of sorrow and remorse
But this widow stands
Not among the chorus
She twists and turns in a black laced
Chiffon party dress
And the bayed back moon
Is peeping through the shifty clouds
Humming a song of freedom
Before the clouds get it moving on along
Oh . . . oh her eyes were sunsets , sunsets !
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
There’s nothing like a G&T;
at 12:43 in the morning.
It seems strange to think
that one thinks
to see such a thing boring.
And yet I’m sure there’s a lot,
to be frank,
but that ship’s already sailed
and it too has sank.
Vincent claimed the wagon too small
so we stowed it away in the hull.
Now *** bourbon, brandy…
scotch, beer and all
are sailing to Davey
at young Siren’s call.
But, prepared with these blocks
of cinder and dust,
crew heads down below
dragged by full frontal lust.
There’s nothing like a G&T;
at 12:45 in the morning.
It seems strange to think
that one thinks
to set off such a warning.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
there is an unearthly beast, inside of me, longing for you
please let it through
I’ll treat you with decenency
but let me in
let me know
you
finger flick, wise beautiful women understanding the good they see, brightened eyes, relaxed brows, not too much looking around,
men with tattoos hanging at the end of the warf with their shotgun with three shots drinking stale beer and loving the stars
professors grading papers under the moonlight with soft radio on
tired executives allowing the television personalities to understand the frailties of life and take them lightly
young boys interacting with the dirt, with the concrete, with the stairs, with yoyo, with gi-joe- power ranger, less preferences, more timing
taste permiates, taste is, is, is, is, persists, is, is is, persists, supports, taste the side effect ifsupports without conscience, taste taste taste, why preference
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
it's january 4th
& the sky had never been more baby blue.
it's january 4th
& my love for you is as pure as the frosty tips on the blades of grass in the morning.
it's january 4th
& the parking lot seagulls turn this buslting city into an intimate warf off of the coast of some state...
it's january 4th
& it's the beginning after an end.
it's january 4th
& this weather makes me simultaneously want to go walk in the woods, exploring all the parts of this town i have yet to find beauty in and wrap myself in a blanket in bed & never leave this house again.
it's january 4th
& i hate the bitter winter wind burning my ears but i walk my dog in it anyway because she loves it, and i love her.
it's january 4th
& there are so many dragons i have yet to slay or even know what they will be or when they will come for me...
it's january 4th
& i am trembling. i shut my eyes tight, & curl into a ball...praying for sleep to overcome me...
it's january 4th
& i can't wait for january 5th.
Jan 4, 2024
Jan 4, 2024 at 11:02 PM UTC
The bus threw up it's passangers
street's bustle flushed them away.
He sidestepped a muttering ******
who'd seen better days.
Umbrellas popped open
and hoods pulled up
against the falling rain,
but his thoughts were a staccato of her.
The lure of coffee and pastries
from a deli warmly beckoned all to
stay,
but the hustle of pedestrians
carried him south on his way
towards officeblocks looming ominously
flanking the warf along the edge of the quay,
but his thoughts were of a staccato of she.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 5:52 PM UTC
a thought like a flower upon my heart
and drew around it other thoughts like bees,
for multitude and thirst of sweetnesses,
whereat rejoicing, I desired the art
of the Greek whistler, who to warf and mart
could lure those insect swarms from orange-trees
that I might hive with me such thoughts and please
my soul so, always. Foolish counterpart
of a weak man’s vain wishes! While I spoke
the thought I called a flower grew nettle-rough.
The thoughts, called bees, stung me to festering:
Oh, entertain ( cried reason as she woke )
Your best and gladdest thoughts but long enough,
And they will all prove sad enough to sting!
— J.C
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 9:55 AM UTC
Through all the ashes and the hard times, the first time she looked at me her eyes made me smile,
when I think of it, you are the life of my heart.
You’re the reason I smile when I find everything so hard.
With every breath I take and the magic we make. I’m yours and you’re mine, you, my best mate.
The feeling I feel when I’m with you and when you’re not around I always miss you.
I remember the day I said i do put the ring on my finger Then I kissed you.
Marriage, this thing, this special thing that we are in, two lovers for life, as strong as this ring.
And now I smile I have a wife in my life. romantic trips to the isle-of Wright candle night dinners down Gun Warf, watching the ships pass by.
Laughing trying to count the stars in the sky, many city’s Iv lived in who would of thought Portsmouth City, is the place I would call home don’t need nothing else but me and my wife.
Planning our future together travel the world to many places, from France to Dubai to Australia to many other city’s calling us.
For she is my happiness and he is mine two.
JidosReality 3.10.17
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 3:20 PM UTC