"whelps" poems
Cam ye o'er frae France? Cam ye down by London?
Saw ye Geordie Whelps and his bonny woman?
Were ye at the place called the Kittle Housie?
Saw ye Geordie's grace riding on a goosie?
Geordie, he's a man there is little doubt
He does all he can, who would do without?
Down there came a blade linkin' like a lordie;
He would drive a trade at the loom o' Geordie.
Though the plaid were bad, blythly did we niffer;
Gin we get a wab, it makes little differ.
We have tint our plaid, bonnet, belt and swordie,
Halls and mailings braid—but we have our Geordie!
Jocky's gane to France and Montgomery's lady;
There they'll learn to dance: Madam, are ye ready?
They'll be back belive, belted, brisk and lordly;
Brawly may they thrive to dance a jig wi' Geordie!
Hey for Sandy Don! Hey for Cockolorum!
Hey for Bobbing John and his Highland Quorum!
Many a sword and lance swings a Highland hurdie;
How they'll skip and dance o'er the *** o' Geordie!
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
Sprung, from beauteous filth,
The lies and gradation of the un wed saints
Hung, from gracious guilt,
The death and oration of the un sung and faint
Led, from grounded earth,
The soulless narration of the unloved taint
Believing is all when your all is a lie,
The smell of defeat in the blink of her eye,
The way you never fail to surprise the easily shockable,
Revealing that all was a lie of your life,
The decay of a scent from the skirt of the pile,
The path you never chose to really surmise the unreadable, uncollectable
Paid, to believe this girth,
The salt and salvation of unborn wealth,
Laid, the solution of all their faith,
The untouchable wrath and indignation of lifeless whelps,
Said, to ears that deceive all truth,
The unsinkable feeling you and your friends try not to avoid
Swaying in time to a common hope thief,
The guileless age and her sense of relief,
I thought i just told you to leave love at the door,
Poison and ruptured the stale old lies,
A night of betrayal and blood on these tiles,
Faithless, inauguration a purpose that you belie,
Lover, sweet mother, joker, and harpies with scales combine,
Hater, sweet undertaker, all is within, a touch to cold skin and a world you can't deny,
Believers, my underachievers, fornicate how to the march of the rain, a lifelong ambition that's driven in pain, a rusty disease that you spread with a knife, a guiltless decision made by his wife, a turning old format that withers and screams, a breathless recognition, we all fail to grin, just wait on the inkline to say what you want, I’m turning these covers and buying the bought, ******* the sweetness to boldly deny, that all these suspicions were aroused in the night, a turning, a quickening, a life on the rails, this one ****** mess i can't wash from my nails, so thorough, so clean, yet so impure it's not true, i tried to remake what i thought couldn't be you, but all indication now points to my spine, the tossing and yearning beneath valentine, i am the weather that spoils your day, please hold my ears as she screams my name.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 4:48 PM UTC
Chatter
she. what are u listening to?
me. melancholy song writers broken love tunes
she. ugh. why?
me. wanted to see how deep into the bed
I could sink,
till you came a looking to
play with me, my spirits to raise,
a game of capture the flag
indoors
--—————
Aural vs. Oral
her night dress rides up,
I awake to an undressed
waist and thigh,
take advantage of the pomp
& circumstance,
cause i believe
whole heartedly in
waiste not, want more
as tongue performs its
repertoire of magic tricks,
i.e. reciting poems,
to the standard whelps
and yelps of “oh its just you,”
keep hearing little tiny whispers
but not those accustomed
sweet nothings?
turns out she is
listening to her book,
quite the mesmerizer,
on her new cordless earbuds
which are tablecloth covered
by her blondini tresses
upset?
nah. applauded her
multimedia tasking,
but took it as a challenge,
my efforts redoubled
she didn't seem to mind
now she wakes me up to show me,
Surprise!
her cordless earbuds, in place
sigh.
--——————-
Ordering Coffee
weekends, get coffee in bed
in my 19 oz. porcelain
cup from Toronto,
standing order is:
fill it to the rim,
extra cream
she says.
isn't ironic!
that is exactly
what I
charge for my coffee
payable in advance
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 11:08 AM UTC
*And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah*
a cry you hear at night (my nighttime vocabulary), the same repertoire as the daytime residents, yelps and screeches, groans and screams, bleating whelps and yelps, grunts and curdling silent low moans and pierced wails, crues du cœur, (cries from the heart) but at night when these orchestral sounds are released without modification, freed from the governor of self-consciousness, the embarrassment of waking mirrored witnesses, atonalities as raw as a violin string snapping, the terrible sounds, twice as harsh as the scrape roughened roaring sound of the hoarse word, raw, when spoken out loud but I count them all as friends, these then my nighttime vocabulary companions.
each deed, each sin, committed, lifelong repetition, dances in a chorus line, across my eyelashes, each demanding my punishment with a different matching sound; the reciprocal noises of the lives I shed, the lives I've taken, the forsaken forsakings, the blatant ones done with no excuse, no pretend rationale, these are my very own
songs of the night, conductor, musician, audience, one for all,
all for me, my torment of endless and relentless unforgiving sonality
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 2:27 PM UTC
We are the Choice of the Will: God, when He gave the word
That called us into line, set in our hand a sword;
Set us a sword to wield none else could lift and draw,
And bade us forth to the sound of the trumpet of the Law.
East and west and north, wherever the battle grew,
As men to a feast we fared, the work of the Will to do.
Bent upon vast beginnings, bidding anarchy cease--
(Had we hacked it to the Pit, we had left it a place of peace!)--
Marching, building, sailing, pillar of cloud or fire,
Sons of the Will, we fought the fight of the Will, our sire.
Road was never so rough that we left its purpose dark;
Stark was ever the sea, but our ships were yet more stark;
We tracked the winds of the world to the steps of their very
thrones;
The secret parts of the world were salted with our bones;
Till now the name of names, England, the name of might,
Flames from the austral fires to the bounds of the boreal night;
And the call of her morning drum goes in a girdle of sound,
Like the voice of the sun in song, the great globe round and round;
And the shadow of her flag, when it shouts to the mother-breeze,
Floats from shore to shore of the universal seas;
And the loneliest death is fair with a memory of her flowers,
And the end of the road to Hell with the sense of her dews and
showers!
Who says that we shall pass, or the fame of us fade and die,
While the living stars fulfil their round in the living sky?
For the sire lives in his sons, and they pay their father's debt,
And the Lion has left a whelp wherever his claw was set;
And the Lion in his whelps, his whelps that none shall brave,
Is but less strong than Time and the great, all-whelming Grave.
1k
Smile happiness
Mourn sadist
Play, until you die
Treachery, till you lie
Slay, the eternal demon
Hail, the blazing fire
Only if you knew the truth
Avoid fate's tooth
Angry whelps
Drain out, until you fall
Live, to die soon
Death, you're all gone
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 7:36 AM UTC
Another dead
another broken
another word is left
unspoken
I saw you in your time of need
your sores and pus I'd often bleed
with this we'd formed a sacred creed
I'd be a friend in word and deed
time and time again you'd stumble
and the more my tongue would fumble
your flesh grew big I grew humble
both our minds became a jumble
Another dead
another broken
another word is left
unspoken
your every life like night and day
from Hot and cold you'd often sway
whilst my nine empty dressed in grey
grew stagnant in lukewarm decay
with every passing solid moon
for your howling ache you'd swoon
my fear would take my every boon
in angst I would await high noon
another dead
another broken
another word is left
unspoken
as I watched our friendships dying
I only wished that I was crying
eyes were dry, was my heart lying?
thought of pain, felt only sighing
do I pervert and weakness skelp
or in my lonely sorrow yelp?
was it in heart I tried to help
or do I prey on weakened whelps
another dead
another broken
another word is left
unspoken
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 6:13 AM UTC
There are houses on this street filled with wolves.
He-wolves and she-wolves and wolf-whelps howling for meat
Scattered like snowflakes across the neighborhood.
It starts slow, and ends with “I lost my temper” “It was their own fault”
“All the better to see you with, my dear.”
Some of us are eaten up, and some of us grow wolves in our own bellies,
And some last long enough to meet our wolves down the line.
What does it matter if you become the wolf or not?
What narratives are left to us now?
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 6:52 PM UTC
Look at the world, you may find
Sunshine, rainbows, fantastic mankind
But when you actually look
You'll find all you need to know in a history book
I'm talking death, suffering, immeasurable grief
All caused by people, to people, no disbelief
Yes when you take everything in
All that'll happen is the beast mankind will maul you and grin
Because we humans are curious beings
We ****** and steal; **** and we **** all without seeing
The affect of our devastation
Mother nature the victim of our molestation
Animals being made just to die
I think we are all on a power high
We proclaim we are better than all else
But in reality we are just tiny whelps
On some great being's mighty ***
You say, "Now don't be so crass!"
Yet we glutinously eat anything living
Doesn't that sound like a horror beginning?
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Belgrano
Can you hear the curses? I hear them still
dead in the air rolling on the grey high seas,
fluttering, stuttering, up in the cold stony clouds,
frozen like kites in the middle of nowhere.
I hear the silence too, of the boys, the young young boy's
pressed against the bulwarks and the dead eyed iron,
sense their gun metal faces hidden inside the masks
of home spun green wool - skittering eyes peeping
through knitted balaclavas worn as cold comforters
dripping in Atlantic spume.
I can hear the whispers, the trembling pampas whispers
of near men, close men, light shaven, cropped near-to skull men,
some with dark, bull herding eyes , hearts full of Spanish guitar
and pampas whistles and beside them the rich city blond men,
quiet and bookish, alone with their poets and pebble black rosaries
running like the southern tides through their cold chapped fingers.
All hugger-mugger equaled by forced conscription, circling in silence
within their sea shrouded fears - crammed like live fish quivering in their ancient tin of old victories.
Yes I hear them still, calling out for a distant mother's arms, ripping
loose their little boy screams that are clear as over head seagulls
yet eight thousand miles away. I can hear their raw primitive panic,
ancient as the whelps of beaten camp fire dogs echoing back
from the steely grey clouds; I see them tearing at the
sea born mist, slicing the strings of their pampas kite curses
with broken bones and shattered skulls, loosing curses that rise to run
above the waves to our shores carrying the lost, little boy simpers
of clamour and death that found roost in our forgetful hearts.
Yes I still hear the screams, the sea drowned, salt soaked screams,
a cold southern ocean full of drowning young Argentine boy dreams
(pronounced men before their time), those fire soaked screams and I remember how we the civilized danced on their sad lonely deaths in our distant dry victory soaked streets of triumphant,disregard and screamed ;
"Gotcha".
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 1:54 PM UTC
****** ***** ****** *****
Single and so gay.
Everyone in Christmas mood
Why throw this chance away?
*** *** *** drunk on ***
Inhibitions light.
Party time and we are here.
Let’s have some fun tonight.
I just hate to help you think
All us gays are flits.
We do not all act this way
This image gives us fits.
But far too many do
And ***** and drugs don’t help.
Unfortunately gay life has
A bunch of silly whelps.
****** ***** in the halls
And bedrooms when they can.
Some are fond of parties
With wall to wall **** men.
That’s not right, but every night
The Christmas parties start,
You can see which ones are tarts.
They really stand apart.
Sadly though, they hit the news
The rest of us do not.
All you hear of is the ones
Who act up and get caught.
Most of us think Christmas time
Is time to celebrate.
We wrap gifts and make cool treats
And really we can’t wait!
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 10:41 PM UTC
The wicked whip of word
lashes whelps
upon the starved psyche
of the errogenous mind
Indeed !
The moment rises
in smoke and flaming
"I-don't-knows" of sheets
of layered heat
pressing down
into the flesh of desired
impunity . . . iniquities . . . liquidity
Happy is the framed statement
of thine , birthed
behind plastic cups of wine
in sheds of grey wooden sides
from long long ago
Was it board through (Bordeaux)
or just shabby (Chablis)
But the experience
while daunting
leaves you panting
for more
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 2:26 PM UTC
Standing in the mirror never seeing myself
my death can turn to heaven when your living in hell
Fat but not jolly
Never popped molly
learning from my folly
****** a sinking couch where I smoke tree
The best is what came out of me
Worst was all my apathy
Losing a battle of wits when my mind keeps attacking me
My words could leave whelps
although the pills never help;not really but who the **** can I tell
stress digging me deep I could live in a well
Got 99 problems and its all mental health.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
I know you know that I know that you know so
where do we go?
******
analysts
Analyzed it's a cycle
Rumor has it
We're chasing our tales
Appearing malcontent
because everyday
I'm in a place
That Formerly didn't exist
A space
with the Erie feeling
that
I've been here before
And I keep saying
Would've gone crazy
By now
if I kept sane
What everyone says
Each and everyday
A million thousands
Things
With this million dollar
Dream
A million thousands steps
And the
lessons in between
Glory from the pain
Gains through suffering
Drinking water
From the rain-y days
10 seconds for buffering...
Now I'm wondering
Punchlines for daze
And I'm stumbling
Back on my old ways
And it's humbling
Lightning quick thought
And its thunderous
In my brain
like a grenade
And I fumbled it
When I lost it
is when became
one with it
And I ain't done
Till you say,
What have you done with it?
Cause in my mind
I don't mine
What you digging up
I'll raise on the
Third day if I'm GOoD enough
Or perfect
Died for me
hmmm...
not worth it
With apple in hand
Conversed with the serpent
SIRIously
I need some help
I'm loosing to myself
The whelps
Are from being a slave
To everyone else
Are you not entertained?
If not check yourself
Caught in the game
Of making a name
For oneself.
All the while
Balancing, mind, body and
Health.
There comes a point.
And time
When a point. in time
A point. . /same it will
Never be
From that point. on
That point. is NOW
Infinity and beyond
Question
So when we exit
Where has everything gone?
Who left it
The best conclusions
Drawn
Is by The artist
The revered
less respected
Who can alter your
Point of view
with their
Perspective
The poems, the pros
The architects
architecture.
sonnets.
The painters,the psalms
The songs,
the silence
The writers the creators
The readers,
designers
Actors, producers,
Engineers,
provide us
A keep safe for
Keeps sake
It's ok to **** the messenger,
the message keep safe.
All I keep saying
Is
I would've gone crazy
If I had kept sane!
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 8:22 PM UTC
A cancer in my mind
No cure to find
Slit wrists and throats ease my shame
Self sentenced on death row
Yet, happiness is all I ever show
Broken and shattered no one wants to be
So who could possibly want to be around me?
I look and look
For reasons to thrive
All I can see is my dead body among the pines.
She entered my life like a rising sun
All she wanted was some fun
Perfection is all I see
Finally free
Genuine happiness floods my mind
A final end to my eternal find.
Yet, abandonment soon came
The storm returned ravaging my brain
With final hope I told the world my deepest shame.
Locked away in a place of sadness
With patients all claimed to suffer from madness
Yet, in the palace of shame
Brief peace I find once again
They told me to leave us torn apart
I could not heal the scars to my heart
I tried to believe it was the best for me
Yet, the second released I returned to thee
I just need your ecstasy with no fee
But, who could possibly love a fiend?
The tears cluster my eyes
Leaving my happiness eternally blind.
Their is only permanent cure for me
Only to pass on the cancer to the ones that had the burden to care for me
Now, I am nothing but a slave to the hearts that beg me to stay.
So, stuck I am in this eternal sadness
Once again silent towards my pain
With supposed fain
Yet, no doctor ever understands that my silence always whelps
Somebody help.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 6:23 PM UTC
Look at the world, you may find
Sunshine, rainbows, fantastic mankind
But when you actually examine
You'll find even more than just famine
I'm talking death, suffering, immeasurable grief
All caused by people, to people, no disbelief
Yes when you take everything in
All that'll happen is the beast will maul you and grin
Because we humans are curious beings
We ****** and steal; **** and we **** all without seeing
The affect of our devastation
Mother nature the victim of our molestation
Animals being made just to die
I think we are all on a power high
We proclaim we are better than all else
But in reality we are just tiny whelps
On some great being's mighty ***
You say, "Now don't be so crass!"
Yet we glutinously eat anything living
Doesn't that sound like a horror beginning?
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
We love to change clothes,
we love shoes for running, hicking and strutting on the catwalk.
We love to smell sweet, **** confident and **** plane mad.
We love costumes to look like angels or monsters.
We are a slave to change,
we complain when wear same for so long.
We seek out illicits, to get the variety.
Anothers mind and soul, is what we seek. But the self loath.
We give testimonies, of how I was and know how I am.
We change hairstyles, upgrade our accents.
We long to experience others, in yourself.
This mire and bog, has seen great minds simplified.
Seen whelps turn to fierce dogs,
Has seen urchins turn to masters.
Has seen those who bow, being bowed to.
In our quest for difference, we take alters and influencers.
We stimulate and live our imagination,
Till we become trapped and eventually lose ourselves.
Though we flirt, with drugs, alcohol, religion and mantras
let our aliases not take over us.
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 12:02 AM UTC