Best Boney Poems
The night like clouded charcoal scorched,
A sea of trees with starlight torched.
A night where laws are sound asleep,
Anarchic prayers running deep.
Alone I hear the wretched screams
Of screeching trees... or so it seems.
The cries protract into the air,
Without a sound they disappear.
The shrieks have bartered now anew
With sounds of meat and boney chew
Discharging from the faithless trees
And snarling with my memories.
But creatures' gruesome growlings drown.
I smell the gunpowder and frown.
The waging sounds of war advance
In battle stance with gun and lance.
The sounds of bleeding men enhanced,
The sounds of fate and time and chance,
No sooner do they cross the trees
Than fade as all their voices freeze.
But worse than bombshell sounds occur;
The storms, the winds, the thunder stirs.
The roars that shake the forest's roots,
The flowers, soil, and passion fruits
A rainy resonance restocks
The grass the air the woods the rocks
And washes with its dancing tingle
All the sounds that intermingle:
A dreaming forest in the night,
And trapped within its fanfare fright,
It chokes me in its thunder thrill
And hangs me in the silence still,
And hangs me in the silence still.
~Marionette Master~
All my dreams evolve around my wooden floor
Candles and clowns the show must go on
~~~~
The Moon slowly moves its way into my room
Dust pushes through my window making shadow puppets on my walls
The talent on my walls dance, scaring my sweet dreams away
No cradle-songs tonight
Dangling artisans’ fingertips scratching down my core
Exquisite observation, an alley down “Death Street.”
Panic rattles my bone,
Stuttering a taste of ma' ma' ma' mama' off my lips
Grandfather clock ticks with every pull of the string
Invisible jellyfish puppets swaying their feelers that sting my site
A superior skill eating away at my fear
I can’t breathe,
I can’t move,
It dangles!
What can I do?
Carved Marionette figures locked in my head
A game in which trickery and deception are the main events
Staged with an evil sinister mask, sanctioning my nightmares.
No one to rescue me from the danger of this bedside playground.
The puppeteer engages to provoke me with my own dolls.
A dramatic performance throttles my mind …….
I cannot come out from under my blanket,
I cannot run,
My hands cannot reach the circus print lampshades!
A shadow show played in slow motion!!!
Realizing the moon can pull a world of strings with its own light
***
Suddenly, boney fingers from the sunrise show me the way…
I look down until my toes touch the cold wooden floor
I creep and creep,
Then I flick on my lamp.
The purple walls swallowed the orgy drawing inspired by the mooned night
A huge diversity of graphic illusions of puppetry in my room vanishes in one click
Mother please no more Pinocchio in my lullabies! ;-)
I love how your long chestnut hair flows over your gentle shoulders,
And when the sun searches you out for a moment, your hair sparkles…
Because I lit a match and threw it into that rat infested hair ball that you
Waste all your time on. Next up is your head which I’m going to rip…
Don’t listen to him. I’m mesmerized by your deep blue eyes, when they lovingly
Gaze In my direction. I will never make you shed a tear, my dear…
But I’m going to kick you about this filthy house. It looks like all you’ve
Done all day is piss in the wind. And stop your crying; your baggy eyes are…
Ignore him, my love. Your soft, gentle touch upon my face arouses my senses to new Heights. All my cares wash away as your aquiline hand slowly glides along my arm…
What the hell does he know? If you don’t get your boney hand off me, I’m going to break it In half. And the next time I catch you trying to be nice I’m going to throw you out with…
Stop that, Hyde. Sorry, my love, but as I was saying, your body is a masterpiece sculpted out of the finest treasures. I’m in awe of its supple curves, how it flinches to the touch…
Oh, shut up Doc, you’re killing me. And speaking of killing, I feel like pummeling
The living daylights out of your emaciated, piece of good for nothing…
Please be mine baby, before I’m lost forever to…
I’m in charge, so get over here and take it like…
I’m fading, my love. Hurry, say you’ll be mine. Save us.
I’m going to tear you apart. You’re no baby, you’re a…
Save me, before the monster wins…
Too late, Dr., she will be all mine soon…
Just a kiss, my dear. Just a…
‘Slap’, take that b****...
One kiss. Now! -The Dr. and his lover kiss- Thank you, my love. Let that vile
Monster rest in peace, so that we will be left in peace from it for evermore.
My neighbor Ken loves to display
those tanned, boney ribs on the bay ;
He thinks it's really darn cute
to look like a dried out mute...
While ladies roar out, 'stay away!'
--------------
John Freeman’s Personal quotes
5/21/2015
High coffered ceilings,
an odd filtered light,
mote constellations adrift,
rooms enfilade...
In the room at the far end
— the kitchen, it was —
I met my dead grandmother,
her crooked corpse
bothering a hot stove,
boiling up a pot of her
awful, brown, sticky soup.
She turned to me, as if to ask,
“Do you want a bowl?”
Startled, I turned to leave
(She was a ghost, after all...).
Her boney hand,
still holding a soup ladle,
brushed my right shoulder.
I turned. She whispered,
“You had your chance.”
From what she was in high school
to what she is right now
Some may consider a phenomenon
while other marvel how
I remember the face of the cool cool girl
in the class before me
Vanilla chocolate was her flavor
a favorite for sure I've seen
Though thirty years has past
there was still something to see
She was the woman I always knew from a child
the woman with ageless beauty
You know the color of her lips
and the mascara around her eyes
you know the shape of her cheek bones
her boney fingers and perfect smile
There is a beauty that we call elegant
often found on wedding days
but rarely doe's this elegance
grace our wrinkles and grays
Yet I still wondered where she came from
this woman of grey delight
Always high maintainence
always someone's wife
But how shall I describe her
this woman that I know
The immortal beauty that took others places
Others that were there before she showed
Destiny is a force that cannot be stopped
The place where she is that awe and shocked
time is a blessing depending on how it's spent
But beauty is a lesson testing the bearer
and the one to whom beauty was sent
Though I speak of thousands of women
there is one that looks the best
The queen of all the goddesses
for whom there is no contest
The woman I see is timeless
she hasn't always been the rage
But now that she's past fifty
she wears the beauty of that age
But looking past the beauty
is the life you may not see
The horrors of real life
hidden by ones fantasies
When makeup is mostly for mirrors
and not the world outside
Beauty is only a mask
and compliments sooth the pride
The shell of forbidden beauty
hidden by an unattainable goal
And yet this untamed beauty
may posess a lonely soul
And life may hold larger things
than we could ever imagine
But what can be more beautiful
than this wonderful distraction.
POTD~
In the misery of a paler grey nightfall
she blinks like citrine glazed along walls,
Ivy of Boston flaunts her shimmer without guilt
as palette of amber claims her lustrous glides
slithering with her bohemian lift,
rosette flesh blushing in chilled breeze.
Social climber this paramour, whirling
among plants wanton wild ,
trickles of mist freckle palms of curled leaves-
stem for stem-- translating the language of time,
of how branches relish herbage flow
as my wet hands paddle my dusky breaths
through mid-evening's freeze.
How her alchemy draws gasping sighs
more red than red could ever tease,
and that gypsy's heat...leaving mortals
in awe-...that her fluid pose seems to jut out
from a glass frame to rush forth with all
her womanly senses gushing, snaking,
writhing in the middle of ghastly, boney winter
meant to return on the edge of wild abandon,
enticing men with her faceted charm
never ever the same each time.
My bride of the black dress,
Come to me my dear,
Take my hand and kiss me,
My beloved bride,
Soon the wedding will start,
And we shall be wed,
Now wait for me,
Wait for me,
My love is never ending,
Your deathly white skin,
And boney arms are beautiful to me,
So wait for me my bride,
I shall join you soon enough,
But first let me remove this dagger from your heart,
My beautiful bride of the black dress,
Our heaven awaits.
She traces a litter of rising stars;
while exploring a place blissful within--
or even feel a desire to extend a timeline
where vicious crimson cells invade
those mounds of chalice breasts, uninvited.
And a once vibrant energy grows frenetic ,
nearly withering from the changed biopsy of
a frame now boney, lightly skeletal
from a hostile tumor raging within Reena’s veins.
Yet, she crawls uphill , this woman warrior
of a hiker… steadily focused on reaching
the mound’s crest, undaunted by lumped pain
as soft tears glitter upon those thinning cheeks.
Grappling with a second -stage notice,
her limbs wobble in exhaustion, her fingers
cold at the same time eager: treading on, I
watch my friend dressed in bald crown, facing
this combat between towers of hope and despondency.
My breath weeps inside. Reena smiles and blinks at me
like an advancing star.
Topic Of Cancer for Craig Cornish
6/20/2019
I knew you well many years ago
So full of passion
A cathedral where multitudes
Of lusting souls gathered
I watched intently at the images
You allowed me to see
Such a majestic creature
Towering high into the darkened sky
You gathered the light from a million stars
To power my imagination
A haven for teenage love
Your warm summer breezes caressed my heart
You showed me laughter, joy, love and sadness
I was your legacy, and I worshipped you
Time faded my memories
Progress devoured your simplicity
I lost youthful desires, hopes, and dreams
Replaced them with responsibilities, anxiety and conformity
I left you to die alone
Discarded like an animal’s carcass on the side of the road
Rotting in the rain and sun
Slabs of your silver skin decayed
Fallen to the ground to reveal the bones beneath
Tree limbs from the encroaching woods
Stick their boney fingers through the gouges
Like demons trying to pull free
From their eternal darkness
Nature is reclaiming you…
There is no one left to care
It is the craving never satisfied, the malformation
Of gluttonous starvation, the disfigured beast of emaciation.
Hell's spiritually depraved wind walker, feasting on the
Lingering slowing pulse of the flat liners final vibrations.
Engorging itself on the fiendish terror, unleashed by this
The devil’s own kindred son!
Dare not look into his hollowed out eyes, turn away from
This misshapen abomination, with its tautly pulled
Flesh, stretching thinly over its boney skeletal frame, it so
Lurks in the night shadows, waiting for a moment of
Unconscious weakness!
For it senses your revulsion, yet it excites and stimulates
Its inner bloods thirst, and desire to feed, awaken from this
Realistic nightmare, quicken your pace, hasten your steps,
Run mortal fool, run!
But there is no safe place to hide, once you bare his
Mark as prey, the predator by midnight follows the
Unrighteous footprints, this blackened satanic beast!
Beware the wrath of the Wendigo, for it has no soul.
This demonic sadist, hiding within the arms of darkness.
Behold this Insatiable cannibalistic hunter,
Taboo’s flesh crawler, stalking on the edge of reality,
Thriving on the hatred, and malice of your civilized society.
This demonic boogie man, whom dances on the grave
Stones of the innocent backwards, wearing a mask
Of lies and deceit, spitting forth a foul odorous
Stench, repelling the living, attracting the undead!
Beneath the chilling air, a creature so slithers, undetectable
Turning into vaporous mist, sniffing at the shifting winds,
Seeking, testing its keen awareness against the night breeze.
Kneeling in the holy church, the sinner begs for redemptions
Shield, to protect him against this foul monster of evil,
But it is too late, for the devil owns this fallen soul,
And the wendigo, is here to collect on his dark fathers
Unconsecrated debit.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Until I've seen, Melbourne days
was not just emptiness in play
I know I'll see
What I didn't see,
the September soaked symphony
of Vivaldi vines climbing,
jacaranda booms,
tremolo spilling eaves
Until you know this suburban kid's righted the wrong
I'll verse on my way, you as the bridges in my song
Making choruses of dreams that could soon belong
And urban princes and their Porsches
Lost in winters, cold in summers
They adore to ornate you, over muskwood and glassy silvers
But can they look up to the night,
And know wonder in the sight?
In that blue-hued veiled Van Gogh I see your stars
These hardened hands carrying letters I send
will wear me down to some sorry end
And this I know
But I'll go knowing
the Chapel charade was the pretty noise
of sonnets chasing sunsets,
drunk Welsh poets
tearing tails for London wisps
Until it comes, a northern boy without southerly blues
The swaying Yarrans, sparkling flutes, Victorian flues
Keeps Flinders Station stepping full of over-priced shoes
And boney bonny dames, old money games
Skirts for winters, surgeons for gains
They climb to lower you, for fifteen lights upon their names
But can they look up to the night,
And know wonder in the sight?
In that blue-hued veiled Van Gogh I see your stars
Ethan, did you fix that fence?
and strip that door?
you're losing your sense.
you've hit the floor.
so, how do you feel?
so far from home.
like a complete unknown.
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......ethan?
George, did you finish that fence?
or paint the door?
you're a bit tense.
you can't take anymore.
so, how do you feel?
all alone at home
like a complete unknown
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......George?
Jim, did you look after your dog?
and get some work done?
it was a real slog
it's okay for some
so, how do you feel?
inside your own home
like a complete unknown
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......Jim?
Mum, did you feed your dogs?
and make some income?
it is nice with some grog.
it's worse for another mums.
so, how do you feel?
not always at home alone.
liked and well known.
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......Mum?
Kelly, did you relax and rest?
and cook some munja?
i'm your pest.
it's okay, have some gunja.
so, how do you feel?
having to stay home
as it is known
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel.....Kelly?
Johnny, did you use your axe out south-west?
and how's that scar?
i'll help you with the rest
it's okay, you have firewood bizarre.
so, how do you feel?
getting away from home
and to be completely unknown
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......johnny?
Daniel, did you have a ceremoney?
and smell some flowers?
I think you're a bit boney
and you need a shower
so, how do you feel?
so far from any home
known as an unknown
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......Daniel?
Emily, did you cook some macaroni
and feed willow for hours?
i think you should try rigatoni.
and not have to scour.
so, how do you feel?
so so stuck at home.
unknown to the known.
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......Emily?
Willow, did you moan and groan?
and also laugh and smile?
you need talk to deddo on the telephone.
and take that bus a mile.
so, how do you feel?
also stuck at home
well grown, it is known
how do you feel?
yes, how do you feel......willow?
yes, yes, how do you all feel?
how do you all feel?
in this complete unknown
making your next deal
like a rolling stone.
how does it feel?
how does it feel?
how does it feel, my family?
Off the cape of good hope,
On dead-man’s rocky reef,
A legend from old was born.
Behold The Flying Dutchman,
Phantom’s driven ghost ship.
Seeking infinities isle beyond,
Mortal fleshes reach.
The captains wheel sets a
Study coarse full ahead.
Treachery’s boney skeleton walkers,
Follow his orders without question.
It is the devils own hand picked,
A madman’s crew,
Hell bound disciples riding,
Currents restless waves towards,
Destiny's unknown passages.
The grim reapers soul seekers,
Beware all at sea if you witness,
The Dutchman’s murky birthing.
From depths fathoms below,
Tarred torn canvas sails unfurl,
Upon broken masts covered,
By seaweeds greenish slime.
Under heavy pressures crushing
Weight,
A chilling graveyard of wreckage's,
Carnage exists,
An isolation forgotten realm.
A tidal avalanche, aquatic blues,
Perfect storm envelopes,
Everything in it's destructive path.
Dragging anchors chains behind,
Death's black vessel brakes,
The surfaces tension.
Cutting through the rough waves
At eases pace.
Readily welcoming those lost aboard,
Then she'll dive towards deep waters,
Farthest edge.
Behold The Flying Dutchman’s,
Legend lives forever on.
In nightmares screaming twilight hour,
Another soul becomes enchained.
And a skeleton walker joins,
The devils own.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
She is the sketch, never looked nice,incomplete and the loner.
She never glowed like princesses,
always at the back raw
and was never expected to bloom like Gerbera daisies.
She is just the sketch
with her peers she played and laughed
and some days she would wish to take that atmosphere
back at home with.
one-time she was with friends playing in front of her house
and noticed one of her brothers coming out of his employers car
her friends were stunned to see a white man's car in front of her house
so she pulled a stunt and told them " that is my father! ",
knowing that she was lying but she just wanted to own a parent
and boasts about what her Father will buy for her.
She only enjoyed that imagination for a minute
then reality kicked in in her boney chest box into her agonized heart,
Her guilty conscious caused her to promise herself to never lie about herself again.
She feels uncomfortable in the crowd
She thinks they are better than her,
like a black stone amangst white crystals.
isolating herself from others is what she prefers,
it's so peaceful and comfortable in her own.
though She can see through their eyes
that they are not free around her, she gives it a blind eye.
Its not fair.
Her soul is loving and caring but it is hidden behind the thick skin.
sometimes She can see from a distant a broken soul.
Oh! How she wish she was a butterfly,
fly over a broken one, whispering words of mending
but her wings are broken.
She is just the Sketch!
mouth silenced by the hand of low self esteem
mind talking like floods, eyes speaking like a Queen
Oh! how I wish her mouth could be just her mind,
puking words from her mind.
I guess only her tears can do the talking,
the paper and the pen does the expression.
She never chose her background but She is about to choose her future.
She is just the sketch and the sketch never glows.
when taking more than just a passing glance,
It makes you feel something so uncanny irresistible.
only the feeling can confess its beauty.