"webbing" poems
Law,
All ye termites hacking ants are you without sin?
Twisting the law to your greed thus dethroning justice
Thou that dis-virgins the law to suit your selfish taste,
Did not equity say that none is above the law?
Money-thirsty vultures seeking positions to occupy.
Law hackers depriving justice and equity of her rights
Equity and justice now lives in shame of her virginity,
Almighty termite, do not your deeds speak evil of your sins?
I weep blood for justice and equity whose daughters you *****
Is there none whose conscience still breathe or lives?
Power-driven termites making uncountable promises
Yet accomplishing none but your calculated interests.
Equity,
All ye leaders that preach peace, are you not corrupt minded?
En-slaving accounts meant for public welfare
Yet you claim to have the peoples interest in mind,
Did not the law command you to let equity and justice smile?
Parasitic predators hi-jacking the country's economy
Filthy termites proclaiming injustice upon powerless ants,
Justice hackers, do not your conscience judge your judgments?
I wish that you allow justice and equity have her way.
Law benders at whose feet equity and justice bow
Rippers of the law, at your hands justice is twisted,
Is your nature as humans so inhumane?
Little wonder the earth lives in fear of your tyranny.
Justice,
All ye slanders of the law, why not sheath your swords of corruption?
Your unchecked power has broken the wings of justice
Thereby making equity a widow without a husband,
Remember your oaths to serve with justice and equity;
Did you deceive the ants that voted you in to serve them?
Chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions
Woe betide your conscience for refusing to judge you,
Are you not guilty of molesting the law?
I mourn for the shameful death of equity and justice.
You that crafts the law to fit your suit of corruption
Remember a day comes when justice will laugh again,
And you being powerful cannot escape the law of Karma.
Karma,
Murderers of the law, will you also bribe karma?
I doubt if you can buy the law of karma with money.
Thou whose gluttony corrupts justice and equity,
Don't you feel guilty that you disvirgined the law?
Equity and justice now roams about in nakedness,
You that preach the law, are you true to yourself?
Heartless spiders cob-webbing the law to entangle poor ants
Did not equity bid you come to justice with clean hands?
Yet with filthy garments you condemn innocent ants;
Mind you that someday the law will rise again.
All ye scavengers of justice and hackers of the law,
Do you think you can **** the law of Karma?
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
…
*Gentle water lord,
Four seasons show in your graces:
Breezy spring, wafts, leaves so soon,
Lost loves, colours longing for white,
Light jewel.
Hottest summer, moves, in sleepy
Sun, all her ways soothed, running,
Milky days.
Autumn shakes of mellow webbing
Leaf as you arrive, majesty's thief,
Gliding lithe.
Frozen winter, low, pure and pale,
Never demure, as your wings aloft,
Flake so fair.*
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
I always made it my
business to touch the
parts of you even you
neglected, the webbing
between your fingers,
your eyebrows. I was
fascinated by your
eyelashes, I always
wanted to show you
I would not hurt
your eyes.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 8:58 PM UTC
deep in a stargazing trance
i stumble through the night
in the darkest hour
a star-crossed lover's stupor
bewitched by constellation filled eyes
tangled in star studded netting
and silently screaming
- i am not a frightful nightmare
- nor a heavenly dream
- merely flesh, bones, lungs, heart...
the closing of night
still woven in intricate webbing
the rising sun's warmth
'tis but the scorch of fate's kiss
i shall smoulder and disappear
with perspiring flesh
shivering bones
panting lungs
pounding heart...
jolted awake
'twas but a dream?
Apr 13, 2022
Apr 13, 2022 at 4:18 AM UTC
I saw you coming with your prissy dog
and I moved my solid dog twelve feet away
from the sidewalk where you'd pass by;
But you came my way anyway.
You brought your little sofa dog
three feet away from us and upset mine.
He jumped without warning, wrapped his leash around my knee,
sliced the tender back of it with the nylon webbing,
threw me into the tree that stopped him from running after you.
Did you even take the cell phone away from your ear?
Hey, hey! Watch where you're going with that dog!
"Not my problem!" you yelled back.
Right. Next time, my dog won't give way to your expensive
rug rat. Next time, you can fall into the bushes.
Not my problem.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 6:01 AM UTC
Gentle water lord,
Four seasons show in your graces:
Breezy spring, wafts, leaves so soon,
Lost loves, colours longing for white,
Light jewel.
Hottest summer, moves, in sleepy
Sun, all her ways soothed, running,
Milky days.
Autumn shakes of mellow webbing
Leaf as you arrive, majesty's thief,
Gliding lithe.
Frozen winter, low, pure and pale,
Never demure, as your wings aloft,
Flake so fair.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
You’re being replaced with other attention now.
I’m finally talking with other women.
I realize now that you were a huge section of my time at one point.
That’s what made us a couple.
It’s when I left the country and our talking faded into small chats
And then arguments, stress, conflict.
I’m jaded by our divorce.
It makes me have little hope of another marriage.
It even makes me not want to spend time on trying to make another one.
But I might only be kidding
Since I’m really just waiting for my new friend to message me back.
New relationships have so little webbing it’s hard to tell if they exist.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
You took my hand and asked me to dance,
But I was far too tired to do so,
The simple act of walking being far beyond
My limited capabilities at that point.
I had been reduced to hugs and kisses,
And tales of how glorious my past lives had been,
And holding hands.
I wondered if I should let go- it seemed so different,
From any I'd ever held before, that hand.
For years I'd held others with the sole
Intention of drawing pain away-
I am not capable of creating happiness,
And I've never claimed otherwise.
Your hand had no pain to draw away though,
Or at least none that I could find,
Which startled me (All the others held so much!)
I had thought I knew all there was to know about hands-
Their needs, and all the varieties they come in.
How they all needed comforting in different ways
For similar ailments- grief, loneliness,
Heartbreak, being among the most common.
I'd even learnt to hold phantoms limbs for a few.
I'd move the pain aside, lessen it, or sometimes
Even take it as my own, releasing it when no-one else was looking,
Into a stone, or an abandoned old house.
But your hand simply said "I am here to be held."
It shocked me so much I didn't realise I was
Walking again. You glided gracefully ahead
As I clunked behind, unsure of myself,
Holding on to you, trying to figure you out
In the short window of opportunity I had left.
I saw it as our interlocked fingers departed.
Somewhere in the webbing between your ring
And index fingers on your left hand
Was what I had been searching for all along.
I won't go into detail about what I saw
(Our pain is no-one's business but our own),
But I saw it though, far more beautifully arranged
Than I thought was ever possible,
Noticing you had stolen some of mine
When I wasn't looking, and wondering
How much damage I had done.
I don't know whether I danced with you or not,
The release answered so much while
Explaining not quite enough.
I watched you, enraptured by the way
The pain never once showed
Through those beautiful, happy eyes,
Which never seemed to break.
Now I wonder if I had held your palm
Not too little, but far too much.
The pain I saw was labelled thus-
"Life experiences- Please don't touch
All is well. Please remain calm."
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 1:11 PM UTC
Gentle water lord,
Four seasons show in your graces:
Breezy spring, wafts, leaves so soon,
Lost loves, colours longing for white,
Light jewel.
Hottest summer, moves, in sleepy
Sun, all her ways soothed, running,
Milky days.
Autumn shakes of mellow webbing
Leaf as you arrive, majesty's thief,
Gliding lithe.
Frozen winter, low, pure and pale,
Never demure, as your wings aloft,
Flake so fair.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 7:28 PM UTC
wee spinning spider
her webbing the line of time
laced with dew like pearls
the world magnified in spheres
I am caught in the beauty
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC
His awful skin
stretched out by some tradesman
is like my skin, here between my fingers,
a kind of webbing, a kind of frog.
Surely when first born my face was this tiny
and before I was born surely I could fly.
Not well, mind you, only a veil of skin
from my arms to my waist.
I flew at night, too. Not to be seen
for if I were I'd be taken down.
In August perhaps as the trees rose to the stars
I have flown from leaf to leaf in the thick dark.
If you had caught me with your flashlight
you would have seen a pink corpse with wings,
out, out, from her mother's belly, all furry
and hoarse skimming over the houses, the armies.
That's why the dogs of your house sniff me.
They know I'm something to be caught
somewhere in the cemetery hanging upside down
like a misshapen udder.
2.6k
A good Pi means you can't
Resist, or have a piece
It should be almost
Sensual, to the tongue
But only in the mouth
This Pi is the mind
Which is sensual in itself
But only when you know
The lace is a lattice
Spider webbing a donut
Delicate in design
Intricate, but precise
Pi is of the mind
It's visual representation
Spectrum of colors
Covered the bases
And even a reflection
Of itself, geometric
Colors and mechanics
The Gemini Pi(e)
Is like unto the same
Complexity, Reflecting
Precision, and in that
Expressed in every
Spectrum of color
And delicious
(In the mouth)
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
Strike a mark on a sun kissed shrine
Cheek bones, dance within the sand's light -
Lambent spore sprig -Rot - beneath the mine
Lay the tourniquet fused, marble eyes.
Center stark stork - wracked to atomic bliss
Forked tongue minotaur, auric troubadour -
Machinations of bellowed amethyst,
Composed the flowered Aum, raising thy *********
Arachnid's webbing - strung of turquoise beads -
By what are the viscid lines severed clean
That they convolute binaural progeny,
And lure the soul to breathe?
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 7:17 PM UTC
It's the conspiracy to conspire,
Think of how the fist or flies feel,
The most enticing truth,
Astonishingly mouthwatering,
Turns out smoke and mirror,
You see, because behind the window paned,
skeleton of steel and wire,
Underneath there is commerce,
In the webbing of marrow, worldwide underhandedness,
Something is always being sold,
What better way to take power away,
Then having scheduled rebellions,
The greatest put on,
Our system only works under thumbs,
from the backdrop works the crippled puppeteer,
behind his blank, vagrant, expressionless lenses,
Behind the grey skin and swilled organs,
Attached to the oil drum veins,
Beats the very same heart of Moloch!
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 10:20 PM UTC
I, too, saw God through mud, -
The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled.
War brought more glory to their eyes than blood,
And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.
Merry it was to laugh there -
Where death becomes absurd and life absurder.
For power was on us as we slashed bones bare
Not to feel sickness or remorse of ******
I, too, have dropped off Fear -
Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon,
And sailed my spirit surging light and clear
Past the entanglement where hopes lay strewn;
And witnessed exultation -
Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl,
Shine and lift up with passion of oblation,
Seraphic for an hour; though they were foul.
I have made fellowships -
Untold of happy lovers in old song.
For love is not the binding of fair lips
With the soft silk of eyes that look and long,
By Joy, whose ribbon slips, -
But wound with war's hard wire whose stakes are strong;
Bound with the bandage of the arm that drips;
Knit in the webbing of the rifle-thong.
I have perceived much beauty
In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;
Heard music in the silentness of duty;
Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.
Nevertheless, except you share
With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell,
Whose world is but the trembling of a flare
And heaven but as the highway for a shell,
You shall not hear their mirth:
You shall not come to think them well content
By any jest of mine. These men are worth
Your tears. You are not worth their merriment.
2.2k
My Poet:
*tho evening draws nigh,
on this our wedding day,
the stars, guardians of our canopy,
reminder twinkle it can never be
fully complete, for you always make
a moment in time for me,
today we wait, synchronizing seconds
until both pronounce,
I do
let my hands,
in my tenderest embracing grasp,
perforce, when I hold you face,
still cannot hold your entirety,
for you always make and leave a space
for me to seal our universe
today, you need me to fill you,
so together, ever forward,
we will define and explore
the edges of our redrawn,
now, single unified line,
our ever expanding contiguous boundary
our blood is not commingled
but when our bodies unified,
the physics of our conjoining,
illustrates that those in our
surround of time and space,
in the aura we create,
not so very great,
and yet our oneness
'tis a shining upon the countenance of our place,
a luminous emittance upon this earth
when you write your poetry,
it always finishes with me,
I am the native child of thy words,
I am the filament webbing
illuminating the spaces between each line
but more than this,
I am your beginning,
you are my destination,
together we make,
The End
they ask me to vow,
demand I swear, make promises,
certify, preserve, record and store
the solemnity of this marriage born,
in ledgers of the city,
before an invisible god
I eschew all this
for nothing in life
ever guaranteed by words secured,
but this I know true*
My Poet:
*what I shall give to you,
and you to us,
cannot be spoke,
the words, not yet,
have we originated
for each day
will we compose anew,
each day, shall be
a new combination
under new stars,
our canopy unfolded,
our joining sanctified,
by the simple truth of us*
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
Dawn casts her long line for spring
Days linger to catch the angel irises bloom
Enveloped by early chirping chitter-chatter
Lightly crusted sleep argues for lids to remain closed
Black perking wake-me oil makes a strong cups case for compromise
A nudge to join the living
- On negotiated terms -
Somewhere between another dream and lavender bubbles
The contract will begin
Foggy feet shuffle onto the wheel
Spying steps creak tattle-tale floorboards alerting all on the way
Pleading thoughtfulness
You beg for silence as the Ra room comes into view
Brightly checkered yellow-brown mustard window patterns
Cut diagonal boxes across maple hardwood
Stained glass dots of emerald, violet, and red raspberry
Dance on lemon washed walls as they turn and wink for a smile
Your morning chair sets at the edge of the warming sun pond inviting you
Join them
You listen to the ripples of space
Your cushioned dock perfectly positioned for a loving embrace
You sit
And slowly dip legs into the glowing pool
Drenched limbs cocoon in the heavy webbing of golden rays
Bathing
The chickadees celebration is known
Immersed
Lids succumb to the orange haze
The Girl from Ipanema sings
Young and lovely
You feel wonderful
No risk of drowning here...
Only in happiness
One radiating breath
Before the Samba plays again
© 2019 MJL
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
Eric kept mostly to himself. Other children didn't like to play with him, but he didn't care. Instead he used to go into the woods and collect frogs.
He never had to look for them. They came to him. He used to pretend he was their king. He imagined he looked like them. But not really like them... He was bigger and a lot more dangerous.
Eric did quite well in school even though he seemed strange to others. Occasionally someone tried to bully him but it wasn't any fun. He just stood there without any reaction.
Afterwards, he used to stand in the schoolyard and stare at those who had tried to bully him. Although they didn't admit it, this made the bullies afraid. Eric's look was so strange. Empty, cold and...dead.
Eric knew he was different, but didn't have any words for what he was. He figured he must have been adopted, because his parents wasn't like him.
In the night time he was under the water. He swam swiftly and skillfully. His destination was a sunken city. A city with buildings very unlike those on earth.
Dark and chaotic, with a geometry that would have been impossible to depict on paper. These dreams would have made most people wake up screaming, but not Eric. Instead, he was sad the dream was over.
One night the dream didn't end. Suddenly Eric was outside the place he lived, but everything was different. The sky was completely black and alien stars shone there.
In front of him was the beach and the ocean. Cliffs towered at the sides and all was shadows and silver grey. The ocean was calling him. He looked at his feet, and noticed the webbing between his toes.
Into the sea, into the darkness he threw himself. Finally he was coming home.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
You, my old companion,
I’ve junked three trucks and still I keep you.
Buried five dogs. Raised three children
who are now raising children.
And still I wear you.
You jingle when I walk.
Nails clink in pouches.
The drill in its holster slaps my leg.
The hammer in its clip spanks my ****
You bristle with screwdrivers, chisel,
big fat pencil, needlenose plier.
You call attention. Random kids
who have never seen a tool belt before
follow me around asking
“What are you doing?”
Then: “Can I help?”
You smell like me (and I, like you).
Leather, fourth decade.
I’ve washed your pouches with saddle soap,
sewn your seams with dental floss.
Now the web of your belt is fraying,
wrapped (silly, I know) with duct tape.
Your pockets fill over time.
Once in a while I remove every tool,
every last ***** and nail.
I hold you upside down and shake.
Sawdust, a dead spider, little strippings
of insulated wire will fall out.
And once, my missing wedding ring.
It had broken. I had taken it to a jeweler
for repair, but when I got there
I couldn’t find it. A year later,
you coughed it up.
When your webbing finally snaps,
when you drop from my waist,
maybe it’s you, old tool belt, I’ll take
to the jeweler for remounting,
for buff and polish. He’ll understand.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 8:23 PM UTC
You are, almost
Tell me your first memory of happiness.
Maybe a swing set above wood chips or
collecting ladybugs in your pockets or
a perfectly cut sandwich you didn't make
or the smell of grass mixed with chlorine
and sunscreen coating your skin under
a sky brighter than any future imaginable.
Pink frosting from cake dyes palms
into a canvas of sugary pigment
A popsicle melting down between
the webbing of eager fingers
Teeth are covered in chocolate and
face a mess and
all smiles,
it is funny how joy always seems
to be synonymous with
sweetness and
giggles and
the memory of being too young to remember anything fully.
19 is poison for a clock
it is reminder to wake up
after pretending to be
something you were not for too long
time is eating away the comfort
from your bones, I wonder
does candy still taste like candy
when it has grown stale?
when the shell has cracked and
all that remains is what's inside,
is it still desirable then?
will people still want to know
what you feel like against their tongue
after you've already touched the ground?
The same texture but time
has made its evidence on you tangible
The juice once spilling from your hands
has become wine
The summer sparklers have become remnants of
cigarettes on your nail buds,
ashes of trying to forget,
you are no longer afraid of fireworks
the hairbrush holds another version of yourself,
a near stranger with similar freckles who
once insisted on only wearing dresses,
now you struggle just to get shoes on,
it was easier when someone did it all for you,
everything is, that way.
I don't know when laughing became
a side effect instead of a soundtrack but
it still rings familiar, sometimes.
19 is more sour than lost
it is possible to know whereabouts with
a bitterness between your lips but
not all of your past is disintegrating
there is a love for saccharine that still remains,
more honey than cloying and
19 may be taunting down a candle to its wick
asking to be noticed but
it is ready to be uncovered
19 is golden
You are, almost.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
What man would buy me a ticket,
and into a cocoon where moss bites?
I would sting like bees on buds,
or ***** rushing to fertilize, create
an angel no other gentlemen touches
with white hair, eyes like sesame seeds:
she seems more attractive than the
woman he made love with, for certain.
Looks unnatural to swim in a pool
when a waterfall can pour ice onto his
head: just as viney-things drape me.
I am but a fair girl, have no color.
He could not love me beneath green,
there is no comparison, me and trees,
but he does, and I feel April will return
sooner and ruddier than anticipated.
May will bark like a dog: on my knees,
cradling children who hold vanities up to
my forehead, I boast a bellyful of bugs,
brick-hued and even with red stripes;
I think they must wear sweaters to bed.
How noble in our thirty-six months!
We cuddle baby slugs, not counting sap,
then burp their brothers, spout-mouths.
He is, in fact, the man that would do
the unthinkable grey-lipped love,
authors gather inspiration from and
snakes slip, spiders webbing shapes of:
cocoon with our metamorphosis in mind.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 5:24 PM UTC
Like sad deflated sacs
Scars webbing keloid
Across the flattened chest
Where ******* were saved
From slashing scalpels
Not to become medical waste
But reminders
That a life that must go on
Compromised
By the toll of life.
And now I have lost you
You being my lust
To kiss and caress
The body I desired
(But mainly your ****
And now I am left with a person I despise
For your beautiful *******
Made me forget
Your empty soul.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
the laddering of my ribs creak
like water-stained cherrywood stairs;
tread lightly, lest you
stir the dust and the ghosts
that dwell underfoot,
‘neath the cracked floorboards
of my skin.
i have but a simple request:
rid yourself of your lungs
and fill up the empty spaces
with used coffee filters,
crinkled wrapping paper, and
forlorn hope. do
cast aside
the shroud of indecision?, for
that winding sheet will only
hold you down between
your shoulderblades, like
framed butterflies pinned on paper
with needles of stone and salt.
stay with me tonight.
we will be taxidermy birds
on marionette strings
with crumbled concrete
between our talons,
the afterimages
of neon diner signs
stamped into our inner eyelids
oscillating, phantasmic.
we'll sing elegies in spring
rock sugar on our tongues—
there are staves of music
written in the lining of your mouth
and in the webbing of your hands
––as Sappho might say:
girls, sweetvoiced.
oh! but to think
that the starfire in your eyes
could be extinguished
by the tears you shed;
i’ll return my heart to the constellations
for you
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 8:58 AM UTC
Skin a webbing
Swabbing the leaking life back in
Collarbones a spiderweb
Eyes sunken
Titanic in an ocean of a face
A harp created from ribcage
The spine a wicked wrought iron gate
Slamming through the shifting tundra of back
Tumble weeds where lush gardens were
Why are you running your rivers dry?
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
she gave me a ******* on the beach
so we got back together
nothing changed…bullshit always comes out
It’s taken some months
but I'm am reptilian again
not traditional
,but,
there are no traditional humans.
advertisers want you to think there is an average,
you are different,
that is how they make their money,
so I sit and stare into black and smile,
and think how I have been fooled
I smile wide
wider than I think possible
the webbing of my mouth cracks
I am comfortable in darkness
because
it is the only place I can truly meditate and grow
maybe one day this will change, right now it is true
I have figured the key to attractiveness; unapologetically go after what you want, period.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC