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"weilding" poems
There is a hole in the world All the doors are painted a shade of liars faces their colors while arriving are also fading but we are still here.. Where corroding slats of 63 year old wood sound like the screams echoing across the crumbling pages of days burnt yellow beneath the fire of eyes The purple pouring through unseen waves in the dusk sky as Janis joplin sang gray star clouds into my heart she sewed my wounds with the ash of of bodies adrift of lovers living only in the mirage air disguised as smiles everlasting glass of the empty kind of love that lies, and never breathes yet forever dies dreams devour you with tears remembering the terror in Janis's eyes, she poured herself out across the floor of the perishing world while performing "work me lord" "live at stockholm 69'" to the dark, we were never there we were born into hands that were dying we breathed our last breath of freedom- then we were born, It was then that I heard the darkness cry. we are dying.. because we have forgotten the free gift given, our lightless bones loose around the spine of every bolt we never knew, strengthened our stance against the murderous long night. Choosing blindness, over looking without sight, The invisible mountain, that breathed in our corroding dusty hearts, weilding love against the demons behind our mirror eyes.. Refusing to call his name.. we have lived for each one of us just for ourselves ("selflove") so it is this then, we have sold our freedom to the lie named death.
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Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 2:42 AM UTC
And, so it was that in those days; the lips of clouds erupted!
There is a hole in the world All the doors are painted a shade of liars faces their colors while arriving are also fading but we are still here.. Where corroding slats of 63 year old wood sound like the screams echoing across the crumbling pages of days burnt yellow beneath the fire of eyes The purple pouring through unseen waves in the dusk sky as Janis joplin sang gray star clouds into my heart she sewed my wounds with the ash of of bodies adrift of lovers living only in the mirage air disguised as smiles everlasting glass of the empty kind of love that lies, and never breathes yet forever dies dreams devour you with tears remembering the terror in Janis's eyes, she poured herself out across the floor of the perishing world while performing "work me lord" "live at stockholm 69'" to the dark, we were never there we were born into hands that were dying we breathed our last breath of freedom- then we were born, It was then that I heard the darkness cry. we are dying.. because we have forgotten the free gift given, our lightless bones loose around the spine of every bolt we never knew, strengthened our stance against the murderous long night. Choosing blindness, over looking without sight, The invisible mountain, that breathed in our corroding dusty hearts, weilding love against the demons behind our mirror eyes.. Refusing to call his name.. we have lived for each one of us just for ourselves ("selflove") so it is this then, we have sold our freedom to the lie named death.
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65
we walk with faces to the sky the goddesses on earth our words from a breathless heartsigh we appear with old grecian beauty and not such modern masks it comes in hand with our ancient virtues true to our everlasting tasks hera; dark curls and flaming passion striking down all who cross her thin and wary is she artemis; earthy flesh and midnight coils gentle to the wild and bow-weilding athletic and kind is she demeter; flaxen tresses and tenderness protecting her wards mothering and calm is she athena; thick legs and honey hair raising blood-soaked war flags wise and fearless am i
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Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 10:35 PM UTC
goddesses on earth
In every moon there is a man And in every man there is a heart inside of which lives a woman Who doesn't clean Who doesn't cook Who doesn't serve him Only lives within the walls of his heart And within every woman living in a man's heart There is a desire to be free It is not odd to imagine her leaving Merely odd to see her go Riding on the back of an elephant In high heels With a bottle of Chateau de Michelle And weilding the sword of a swallowing minstrel Drunkenly yelling songs of a time in which she never lived And that will never leave a man Whether the next woman comes in riding a golden chariot pulled by blazing reindeer Or mounted on a shark wearing a cocktail dress And while he laments her going She regrets her ever having left So she turns around Looks into the vast nothing behind her Trampled under the weight of the elephant Cut down by her drunken fit of rage Burned and eaten by the coming and going of others And she sees That beyond the husk of the home she once knew Lay merely arteries and valves And no soft place to lay her head So she dismounts her companion Lays down her sword Crashes the bottle upon the rocks Tears the heels from her shoes And limps into the desert Looking for that which she had already found While he lie Filling the emptiness of his ravaged heart With the tender touch of fleeting acrobats
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Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 4:56 AM UTC
Women, Swords, Regrets
Life  is merely a series of before and afters       begininngs and endings,      Sometimes we are a fortune's king,     weilding the key to open or close doors. Other times, our control is lost and a line is drawn     by the sword of a skillful hand marking          a change of heart or opportunity. Inevitably, death bows to the governing power of Chronus     holding time in his hands    But in between the before and afters, and the beginnings and endings are moments.    *defining turning     quiet stolen of no return* Moments The rhythmic newborn baby's cry,     goodbyes that cast a shadow, songs filled with Heaven's joy? kisses that taste of forever,       breezes that dance with the angels    or quarrels armed with poison.    Moments Some left with arms reaching       for they were missed.  a hesitant heart refusing love words left unspoken      time not taken forgiveness held captive Looking back at memories held,     moments have brought light and darkness but the missed moments     have left the deepest scars marking opportunity's lost. So, I try to remember   that in between the before and afters,    and the beginings and endings, are moments,     and I shall adorn them in jewels and embrace them in peace lest them not be missed for soon,    they too shall pass.
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Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 9:34 AM UTC
Life
It's about 2:30 in the morning there you stand a janitor weilding your gigantic paintbrush in a full jumpsuit and a bald cap. Nobody's around. The mophead slaps the ground you dance with it Swirling it all across the checkered tile with such grace and such beauty! Soak Swash Squeeze Repeat. What magnificent art Such extraordinary masterpieces being created night after night across this marble floor! Why, Michaelangelo would be turning in his grave! A shame though, That the paint is clear and it dries away in about 15-20 minutes and no one will ever see or know the greatest art ever created by you, the unknown custodian, the master of sanitations, the mop artist.
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Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
The Mop Artist
A glistening, shimmering, cardinal room flushed with  light. Bright, white, pale, ghostly light that reveals those I conjecture to be the sick. A pounding, loud rhythm lulls any intellect I still grip. A fierce, shallow, pained pulse shakes my blue streaks. All words escape me. Yet all emotions haunt me. The sickness draws near, weilding to be a blurry brass. It feels me, touches me, handles me. Hurts me. A once well-kept health now littered with purple smudges. The violet raindrops on my skin slowly dissolve to a sickly yellow. Bones inside my complex anatomy quiver, tremble, threaten to crumble. Yet, it's all over in slight second. The crimson, glowing, glittering, sentient walls seem to cave in. The next level, the next trial. Blurred brass now replaced with a stick with no stains. By now, I have no guesstimate as to why the fight in me faded. Sccrrraape. A gentle scrape, blade, cutting,cold edge slices me like paper. Though my own rust spills, I feel more alive than ever. My personal pulse and hesitant headache fade to null. Hot, burning flames lap at my body. I would never have imagined a sickness so horrifyingly painful. A simple warning would never have stopped my doom. Rip, tear, slash. Guts held within my willing bowl now pour like Seppuku. Maybe my own subconscious knew that it was more than I could connect too. What am I now but a corpse? Carved wood, turning death into a spectacular sight. Roadkill, squashed within confines of a simple vermilion hold. Bed head, Split head, and a  coma that came to soon. A drugged animal, put down for instinctive behavior. A gift switched around, like a fetus left dead in the womb. This is a red room
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Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 9:02 PM UTC
The Red Room
A glistening, shimmering, cardinal room flushed with  light. Bright, white, pale, ghostly light that reveals those I conjecture to be the sick. A pounding, loud rhythm lulls any intellect I still grip. A fierce, shallow, pained pulse shakes my blue streaks. All words escape me. Yet all emotions haunt me. The sickness draws near, weilding to be a blurry brass. It feels me, touches me, handles me. Hurts me. A once well-kept health now littered with purple smudges. The violet raindrops on my skin slowly dissolve to a sickly yellow. Bones inside my complex anatomy quiver, tremble, threaten to crumble. Yet, it's all over in slight second. The crimson, glowing, glittering, sentient walls seem to cave in. The next level, the next trial. Blurred brass now replaced with a stick with no stains. By now, I have no guesstimate as to why the fight in me faded. Sccrrraape. A gentle scrape, blade, cutting,cold edge slices me like paper. Though my own rust spills, I feel more alive than ever. My personal pulse and hesitant headache fade to null. Hot, burning flames lap at my body. I would never have imagined a sickness so horrifyingly painful. A simple warning would never have stopped my doom. Rip, tear, slash. Guts held within my willing bowl now pour like Seppuku. Maybe my own subconscious knew that it was more than I could connect too. What am I now but a corpse? Carved wood, turning death into a spectacular sight. Roadkill, squashed within confines of a simple vermilion hold. Bed head, Split head, and a  coma that came to soon. A drugged animal, put down for instinctive behavior. A gift switched around, like a fetus left dead in the womb. This is a red room
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34
I am no...Annie Leibovitz weilding frames per second in an angled lens while you tilt your head back to laugh at whatever it was that I said. It's beautiful. The sound of your laughter filling in-between pauses like music, so sweet and so dear but I am no Henry Purcell. The Fairy-Queen lilts like a bell. It's all so much like magic how tragic it is to have your eyes see mine and still never know I exist. I am no Girl With A Pearl Earring I just find you endearing how if Sandro had found you decades ago You would be Venus and I would be Picasso. Both so different yet striking and maybe you'd know You are my everything.
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Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
Everything
Words of the masses are gathered in galleries, Verbage is gathered in cloistering mass. Masses are gathering to cloister their verbage Where verbage is cloistered for masses to stash. Nursing the words from a mind full of passion, Coaxing the phrases to render them bold. Weilding the pen with theatrical flourish Hoping to God inspiration takes hold. Legions of letters lie waiting in folders Waiting for praise to hold up it's hand, Begging acclaim from occasional perusal To seeking the fame of a publishers' brand. Passion and pain are an artists' portfolio Ego and talent are held presupposed, Preposterousness is taken for granted But nil recognition gets right up the nose. Gnashing of teeth and fingernail chewing Coincide with a confidence fall But the ultimate down in a work hard done Is to have your peers ignoring it all. A kernal grows from fleeting feelings Inspiration holds the thought, A thing of grandeur pens to greatness Breathlessly... a script is wrought. Dancing fingers grace the keyboard Lilting music fills the air, A wordsmith's touch of rich creation Links the literate portrait's flair. There tis done.. A thing of beauty Silently I sit and stare, Wordlessly, I thank the Heavens Art is wrought and art is there. Marshalg Mangere Bridge 1 August 2010
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Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 1:38 AM UTC
A Poet's Portmanto
It was almost a fairytale right at the start. I was stuck, alone, in a high tower. With nothing but my own thoughts and fears. I was pacing, and tracing back and forth. one moment to the next, it never stopped. You approached me alone, unafraid, weilding your sword and magic tricks. I was amused by your antics i only wanted more. you brought your ladder and laid upon my high tower wishing for me to reach out, i was so close yet you were untouchable. a fingertip away from the inevitable. you climbed and brought me closer we were one step away from becoming lost together. our very own happily ever after. you could sense that i was terrified by your demons They followed you everywhere and never gave you reason. Your were a fingertip away from saving me, from myself. But your demons clawed holes through your eyes, clouded your judgement, and seperated your lies. i couldnt believe the sight i had seen. your demons tore rips through our fairytale blitz. you let them get to you, and hurt me. they pulled you down, and pulled you deeper. down the steep ladder, of my high tower. you fell to the ground, with a much dreaded shudder. i could see you bleeding all your pain and misery, feeding the demons that brought you close to me. i stood there enclosed within my safe, secure, haven and wondered if you would ever stop breathing. i am stuck inside my tower, full of thoughts and fears. waiting for you to come back and rekindle my spirits you will return in time you are my last living hope in mankind. i need the comfort, the thrills. i await your return to me heels. one day you will escape all of your demons and finally rescue me from my prison.
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Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 11:18 AM UTC
Once upon a time, i had hope for you.
It was almost a fairytale right at the start. I was stuck, alone, in a high tower. With nothing but my own thoughts and fears. I was pacing, and tracing back and forth. one moment to the next, it never stopped. You approached me alone, unafraid, weilding your sword and magic tricks. I was amused by your antics i only wanted more. you brought your ladder and laid upon my high tower wishing for me to reach out, i was so close yet you were untouchable. a fingertip away from the inevitable. you climbed and brought me closer we were one step away from becoming lost together. our very own happily ever after. you could sense that i was terrified by your demons They followed you everywhere and never gave you reason. Your were a fingertip away from saving me, from myself. But your demons clawed holes through your eyes, clouded your judgement, and seperated your lies. i couldnt believe the sight i had seen. your demons tore rips through our fairytale blitz. you let them get to you, and hurt me. they pulled you down, and pulled you deeper. down the steep ladder, of my high tower. you fell to the ground, with a much dreaded shudder. i could see you bleeding all your pain and misery, feeding the demons that brought you close to me. i stood there enclosed within my safe, secure, haven and wondered if you would ever stop breathing. i am stuck inside my tower, full of thoughts and fears. waiting for you to come back and rekindle my spirits you will return in time you are my last living hope in mankind. i need the comfort, the thrills. i await your return to me heels. one day you will escape all of your demons and finally rescue me from my prison.
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62
What is worse? A physical cut Or an emotional jab A corporeal hit Or a mental stab Upon my skin My scars do fade But in my soul they do remain The memories are clear as day As you disappear in to the night I feel my heart's rhythm subside Do you see You're tormenting me I explode into the dark Searching for your spark And your gone But you soon reappear Casting doubt upon my fear Weilding your astral dagger Another slice and I stagger Yet I am addicted in my swagger A night like tonight Takes my will to fight Anymore But alas That's true love
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Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
Scars
Azure limelight faded grey by the bewilderment I am the King of All living, we remember infested as the bunny and pine tree weeping as mothers marry off their siblings why wear white at weddings, why wish to be a innocent a bottle of gin is a grin tonic for a child to see as an aching smell of visions last saw as if Calvary was a horseman weilding a Lance A tree to Long for us, grown in the desert Already Peace flown in pure reverence Sang real The Last Great Initiate, Oh Reign, Reign, Rain, Rain, Reins, Reins Dye his skin with the empowered wish of will A well endless to stare through is warp drive A might so glorious we all must avert our eyes, a New Motion a **** gorgon, to start the serpentine on the sabbath to revolve and molt in a revolutionary vulcan grip to fly to the sky with birds writ uplift delight, delicious, appeal. zeal, feel Iesus covered in Liquid Cheeses Sweet Fleeces its Christmas Season Solar Deities yummy as Pizzas A pie in the Sky is my age divided by the week A pipe dream plumbed with gooey memories the weaken ends of my jeans faded blue from seventy charred black as the temples crystals phase out painted-glass Murals too light to be mailed, too large to be contained by an envelope too short to fit in the door way, too effulgent to weigh on the scale Pi sees Men, laughing as a woman changing clothes on a curbside speaking seventeen in one hand, zero at the bone in the other IhavebeenChanced, Iamexceed, Iamtheether, Iamsanctioned Fletcher Night: folllow your heart
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Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
Aura Aurora
Azure limelight faded grey by the bewilderment I am the King of All living, we remember infested as the bunny and pine tree weeping as mothers marry off their siblings why wear white at weddings, why wish to be a innocent a bottle of gin is a grin tonic for a child to see as an aching smell of visions last saw as if Calvary was a horseman weilding a Lance A tree to Long for us, grown in the desert Already Peace flown in pure reverence Sang real The Last Great Initiate, Oh Reign, Reign, Rain, Rain, Reins, Reins Dye his skin with the empowered wish of will A well endless to stare through is warp drive A might so glorious we all must avert our eyes, a New Motion a **** gorgon, to start the serpentine on the sabbath to revolve and molt in a revolutionary vulcan grip to fly to the sky with birds writ uplift delight, delicious, appeal. zeal, feel Iesus covered in Liquid Cheeses Sweet Fleeces its Christmas Season Solar Deities yummy as Pizzas A pie in the Sky is my age divided by the week A pipe dream plumbed with gooey memories the weaken ends of my jeans faded blue from seventy charred black as the temples crystals phase out painted-glass Murals too light to be mailed, too large to be contained by an envelope too short to fit in the door way, too effulgent to weigh on the scale Pi sees Men, laughing as a woman changing clothes on a curbside speaking seventeen in one hand, zero at the bone in the other IhavebeenChanced, Iamexceed, Iamtheether, Iamsanctioned Fletcher Night: folllow your heart
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31
It's a tragedy You gaze into green eyes Upon curves and stretch marks, Onto a battlefield of scars, Weilding two calloused hands, A pair of average ears All topped off with a crooked smile A person you've liked, loved Stares back from the blunt glass mirror That person, you, is me.   It's a tragedy
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Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
Mirage
They're back, They’re back, Were under attack, The lunar rabbits are out for a snack! Alert the army, the navy and scrabble the jets, The rabbits on the moon are down here with nets. They come armed with cannons with weird purple goo, They fire brown bullets like moon rabbit poo. We have to fight back, with our own ***** bombs, So, Fire the grannies in pink frilly thongs! If that doesn't scare the big moon bunnies back, Send in the school teachers, send them in in a pack! Armed with rulers and dusters and big books of maths, Throwing questions and fractions and patronizing laughs. Alert all the animals from around the whole globe, From the great Megladon to the smallest microbe, Get the Austrian emu with the horns on its feet, And the machine gun bees to assemble their fleet. Call the ninja koalas and the samuari fox, And rats in the prisons with socks full of rocks. Ring the axe weilding pugs from Norway’s fjords, And the peacocks from turkey with tails made from swords Then maybe we can ride into battle on the back of a beast, The mysterious king ***** that migrate from the east. Well almost be ready to hold back the attack then, I fell for that story once, I will not fall for the same trick again.
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Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
Attack of the moon rabbits
I hate being a damsel in distress, Lying on the railroad tracks with a villian laughing behind me I’ve always fought back Tie him up instead, let him squirm in the coral snake pit I’ve never liked being saved, Seen as fragile and weak, Standing here with my pretty dress and rose-petal cheeks No, I’m not fragile, I’m not weak I prefer boots over slippers Trousers over skirts I’m not some poor, defenseless litte princess I know how to weild a sword But then my knight came along, And while I’d still fight, There were battles I could not win, Not without him And when I collapsed beneath the dragon’s feet, My knight came Weilding a sword of tear-stained steel, The metal reinforced with soul mates’ heartstrings And he was brave, slaying the dragon Even as I tried to get back up on my feet and say “Nay!” The great beast fell, and my knight turned to me Eyes glimmering with fear “I know you prefer to defend yourself, But it looked like you needed me here; I couldn’t just let him devour you.” I stepped forward, booted feet suddenly light And surprised him with a crushing hug. “Thank you,” I said, “thank you. I will owe you forever for this, my knight.” He smiled at me, relief lighting his face, and replied “All I need in return is you by my side.” We sealed the promise with a kiss. But that still doesn’t make me A damsel in distress. I’m a knight, too, just like him, And we save each other.
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Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 7:28 AM UTC
The Damsel Who Can Fight And Her Courageous Knight
This country is run from the shadows The goverment here is blind Puppets for the evil ones that lurk and hide behind They reach for global ********** from deep inside the black They bomb and destroy there own buildings then send their troops to Iraq Must control the world Before petrolium's obsolete Before the energy source from the skies arrives with its massive fleet Who do you think is running this country? It's certainly not Obama Shadow men from behind the scenes weilding Rockafellers hammer
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Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
The Hammer
Pray for the poor bald eagle Felled by a bullet from a gun Killing eagles is surely illegal You better harness your weapon and run Play for the old bald idiot Who pays to see your ****** old band It's him who keeps hollering "Play Free Bird" When you've just finished playing "Free Bird" He's an idiot Killed a majestic bald eagle Someone took photos Isn't that also illegal? Just an idiot weilding deadly propulsion clinching the deal with precise aim He's no amateur Just sloppy, careless Might as well be an amateur Don't feel sorry for the creep He killed a big old bald eagle Stay in your homes, for no reason leave Comfortably dumb in the webs that you weave Trapped by the ridiculous things you believe Pray for the eagle, and grieve Now you come to realize Roy Orbison was the man But you never played any of his songs In your dreadfully ****** old band The crowd could chant "Pretty Woman" For all the good it would do Your ****** old band couldn't play it Even if they wanted to
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Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 12:11 AM UTC
Eagle Felled
Who is the man weilding my gun when time stops and holds its breath? Cold hate runs in his veins— steady, unflinching death. Engines roar, radios chatter— Silent! Vision, sharp and thin. All existence is ending the threat closing in. Thumb pushes the safety— click Center mass. Steady. Hold breath. Squeeze. Who wore my skin? Foe? Friend? Truly me? Will I ever see him again— Bold stranger, powerful-- fear free?
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Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 7:03 AM UTC
Stranger