"wolfman" poems
the motherships are
hovering overhead
& to the east,
apollo breathes fire
past the ****** off incisors, like
'try &
catch me now'
now,
or never.
to my west I felt nothing
but the most
uncomfortable comfort.
it's just.
too.
much.
becoming barefooted
clouds of dust I run
to the godlight
& in time I find I
also become
disenchanted.
& I'm just freeezing
& my feet are filthy & bleeding
but
anything for that rush
tell me somethin brother
do ya cluster with the others?
are you some
undiscovered color
in the monochrome gutter?
are you sixsixsix seven
aren't you *** & heaven
dost thou seek
the foul
or the feather'ds;
brother of blood
& sweat,
is thou the sheep
or the shepherd?
wolfman.
we want the teeth.
to the tooth, troopers.
how rude;
I can see right thru
that wool suit
all too true to the stupor,
stupid.
don't you know I know you,
don't you.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 8:52 AM UTC
5:00 am - Happy New Year!
I look like I should be a musician not a poet.
"It's so easy being a poet
so hard being a man"
- Charles Bukowski
----
5:14 am - Passing Rocklea, no sign of the dawn.
Coopers Plains station.
3 people get on.
Florescent lights cast a spell of sleep.
I wish I could sleep right now.
Eyelids droop like sad flowers from a convenience store.
I write metaphors like a drunken amateur.
Trinder park - Sounds like a bad neighbourhood.
**** ME ITS WOODRIDGE.
Where even the McDonalds sign is ******
XxXxxxxxx, Xxxxxx Xxxxxx :
She could be fun. So tight, she sometimes felt illegal.
Tight and bald. I would slide up to the *****
She loved it rough,
golden hair wrapped around my fingers
as she was pushed into the pillow.
She was loud in the mornings.
I could feel her tight ***
grinding against my thighs
as I ****** her harder and harder.
Until I came :
either inside her.
Or on her chest.
Or in her
prim
pink
suburban mouth.
Tightening my grip on her hair as the hot ***** spurted against the back of her throat.
The head of my **** throbbing as she gulped it down with silent satisfaction.
That only happened twice though.
----
5:37 am - The Dawn begins to rise over the Suburban Nation.
Final remnants of night
twinkle like stars
against the silhouette
of society.
House lights
Street lights
(and the omnipresent)
fluorescent light.
Beenleigh station - A pinch faced older woman gets on.
Business suit, lunch box.
Short hair, glasses.
Her earrings are imitation mother of pearl
(step-mother of pearl?)
She sits next to a window covered in graffiti.
Prim, tight mouth
incarnadine lipstick.
Over in the distance a smokestack cuts through the sky above the horizon.
Trees do mask the sun and sky.
"Hippies; they spend their whole life trying to get to a microphone and when they do, they don't tell anyone to **** off." - The Wolfman.
----
5:52 am - One more stop.
The clouds are the colour of smoke against the pearl blue sky.
----
6:00 am - Arrival.
Clouds are tinged with fire and blood
incandescently.
You can watch it spread and grow
with intensity.
Taxi driver was a foul mouthed Indian.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
I was bitten by a Werewolf and now I'm undead.
I was a mortal man but now I'm immortal instead.
I'm responsible for many deaths because I'm a Wolfman.
Many people have tried to **** me but they never can.
They never use silver bullets when they fire their guns.
People can never escape even though they try to run.
When I change back to human, I'm covered in blood and gore.
I want somebody to use a silver bullet, I can't take it anymore.
I can see that the moon is full tonight as I look up at the sky.
I'm about to become the Wolfman and more people will die.
Unless somebody does what is needed, things will get worse.
Somebody must use a silver bullet and end this horrible curse.
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
Watch out! They're coming everybody beware
they walk around real life,
from our nightmares.
Through the town their creeping
to get the things they want;
they come with a password
to each house they haunt.
From a pirouette forms Draculla
as he comes to full height,
he draws his cape to his chin
to hide his overbite.
Against a full moons light
hangs a witches shape
all year shes been waiting
for this very night to escape.
The wolfman howls through the distance
and sprouts coarse red hair.
As ghosts and goblins frenzy
through the cool nights air.
Two lights are yellow glowing
above a toothless grin
on an old Jack-o-lantern
born from a pumpkin.
Into the light comes creeping
a cat as black as coal,
from out of hiding places
upon the night to stroll.
Out of the closets rattle
old Mr. Bones,
and from the tombs rumble
a mommie moans.
Outside they all gather
monsters of every size;
from huge Frankensteins
down to the little guys.
Here they come, be quiet,
wait for a knock to be heard.
There it is get ready
for the password.
"Trick-or-treat's" the password
then comes the trade,
for the small price of a treat
no tricks will be played.
"Happy Halloween!"
before they all turn and disappear,
back into their hiding places
I'm safe again till next year...
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
On my journey to the center of the world
Of phantoms dreams, I find all my thoughts with
Mysteries. The moon is shining bright and there
Must be a werewolf out tonight. In the dark I see
Ten people in white-a group of preachers, cursing the
Zombies, and I can also tell the vampires around
Every corner must be down below. Every night it's the
Same, the sanity of reason never seems to be
In anyone's brain...the full moon comes I hear
The wolfman call, this seems like a normal night
In fall, but then I can tell you it's just filled
With witches calls. They cook their roasts and cast
Bolts and hail, and I can hear them chant while I'm
On the speeding city Light Rail.
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 6:11 PM UTC
and one day years down the road she told me:
I once met a wolfman
with big hands, sullen eyes, and canyons carved into his cheeks
down deep in the caverns of the forest’s snow-sunken branches
A man more wolf than any wolf or dog I’d encountered before
I met a wolfman hungry with lust for the danger that seeped from everything
with fear being a forgotten foe of his past
I met a wolfman who taught me to kiss the jewels on the hands of challenges
and how to live with gratitude for mortality
This wild wolfman knew that the lips of death are glossed with sweet cherry-flavored balm and are worth every smooch as long as you make sure to breath in between
He knew that a well-lived life makes death’s embrace that of an old friend
Whose arms will seem like home
This wolfman showed me the ways of the beasts and the burdens they carried
showed me that I’m no different
that I’ve got hairs on my back and a growl in my throat just like them
and one day years down the road he told me:
I once met a lady
with strong hands, sunrise eyes, and valleys painted across her face
far beyond where most explorers often lose themselves,
in terrain only told in legend
A young pup with a river’s blood in her veins, disguised as a woman
I met a lady crazy to close her eyes and capture the sights she’d seen
only to find them running away with tears that she cried through her tight shut lids
I met a lady who taught me to look for sunken treasure in the depths of my mind
and how to share the wealth and welcome visitors with a doormat and a smile
This little lady knew that togetherness was found within the distance between our solitude and silence was as well a told myth as time and Bigfoot
She knew that no matter how far a man could run his footprints would never stop chasing him
unless he stopped in his tracks and let the wind erase his past
This lady showed me more than one way to make a home out of weakened hearts that still pump
showed me how to repair instead of replace
how something can be damaged and still work, maybe even better than before.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
Quilts and winter blankets
my small den of hibernation
is where I am at my best
for a good five months.
Crawl in and crawl out, again,
for a few hours of shortening daylight.
I have the genes of a Bear
and the hair on my head and face
lay testament, to these things.
I could be a wolfman, especially,
when I wake up, Howling,
Over what, is anyones guess.
Maybe the need of mating, deep
In the DNA, of a wild creature.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Like a darkman's cowl
I've seen light more than twice
And darkness more than thrice
Like a wolfman without a howl
Like a moon without a glow
All these feelings I'll never show
Some things I'll never do
I'll never do these things with you
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 7:14 PM UTC
Unleash the wild one
Freedom open plains
Mighty is the wolfman
Casting of his chains
Aroma of the breeze
Freedom open skies
Victim of the wolfman
Ghastly shrieking cries
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 12:06 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Teeth and claws,
Lot of kills and brawls,
Not use to staying up late,
But the moon can illustrate,
And have a love for a human being,
That can't be tamed,
For a love that has no name,
Oh I'm glad you feel the strain,
Got fur on my back,
Matching fangs,
Silver bullets are my only restraint,
Although I will not show it,
For this woman,
And even when it ends,
Still hearing the moanin',
Can not deal with the pain,
Every since the wolf bit my flesh,
Using abilities to my best,
Fur growing from my chest,
My speed and agility I confess,
Humans fall beneath like pest,
Angry mobs never loved me,
But she did,
They carried torches,
But she carried a set of lips,
That kissed my cheek and calmed me down,
From the moons embrace,
I would forget all the rage if I seen her face.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
i sat in the rocking chair
in front of the window
expecting a long night.
"a broken nose and a broken heart,"
i whisper.
"and 2 black eyes,"
the moon tells me.
"she gives that smile,"
i tell the moon,
"i don't know
what it is
that little upturn
in the corners
of her mouth
no
maybe,
no
that isn't all of it,
a part,
maybe,
and her dark eyes
bright
like a streak of lightening
across a thunder clouded sky
beautiful and dangerous
and in a second,
gone and"
"funny,
what a man is willing
to die for, "interrupts the moon,
pauses
and then," love
is when the damsel
shoots
the werewolf
with a silver bullet
holds his hairy paw
and looks into his
wolf eyes
and as the wolfman slowly
is turning human
the man
returns that love
you can see it in his blue eyes.
now,
that's, TRUE LOVE."
i put a cold can of beer
on a book of Neruda
love poems
a sacrilege
i know
so i kneel down
and pray
she will read this poem
i'm writing
and it will take her
to some
distant flowered field
but...
the poem never finished.
the letter never sent.
so i'm talking to the moon.
Nov 11, 2023
Nov 11, 2023 at 3:02 PM UTC