"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.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 2:42 AM UTC
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
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 10:35 PM UTC
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
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 4:56 AM UTC
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.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 9:34 AM UTC
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.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
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
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 9:02 PM UTC
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.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
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
Aug 1, 2010
Aug 1, 2010 at 1:38 AM UTC
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.
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 11:18 AM UTC
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
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
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
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC
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
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 5:28 PM UTC
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.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
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.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 7:28 AM UTC
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
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
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
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 12:11 AM UTC
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?
Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 7:03 AM UTC