Best Clots Poems
*The Dead Poet*
Many blocks along the road,
Kicking down walls of heavy stones,
Yet no one could draw through the walls of her lonely bones.
A poet who could not write what's inside.
Her pen had gone ink dry.
Her beady eyes lost the feel of an angelic realm.
She tried!
She tried until she could no longer cry!
A poet who stuttered with the mind and out came no words.
This poet hangs on a mound with a picture that tells a sad tale.
A poem that broke verses in a Carpe diem dream.
She ruffled her arms once more as if she could fly.
Still nothing,
Everything felt dead inside.
Trap in a mental state that clots the willing vein.
Isolating her form in a room with no door.
She stays this away from the feel of the marvel pen.
To never go back, and feel again.
In the most ominous way,
She lets out a cry,
A cry, never heard before.
Running from this evil, that stain her world.
Words buried deep and behind a new exterior box,
Her insides grasp all the air of air once alive.
A talon drop into the next,
This troublesome poet gave up on everything.
Had nothing left, but the empty space within.
Next!
She curls herself into a fetal world.
At last, she closes her eyes, to feel no more.
A poet who died the day, joy wiped the glee from her face.
by;PD
WALLPAPER
---------------------
Paper Thin
Cut down to any size,
Crumble, crop me wrong
Pull the insulation from my heart.
Never will I be "A Paper Doll!"
Thank you for calling me a "Friend!"
Thank you for wasting my "time!"
Enjoy the WALLPAPER display
---------------------
Layers and layers of lifeless brick
KEEPS EVERYTHING OUT!
Emotional poster boards of doubt
Envious fiberglass green never seen
Yuletide Carols warped around my energy
Merry and full of acrylic sh!t-
Hand full of putty maintains the makeup on my face
Arts and crafts display my inner fancy grace
Heavy installed Sheetrock so easily replaced
Tough paint chips away silently through the night
Rigid boards transform into fragile crystal light
The greatest illusion blinding reality
Smooth Tiger Skin, texture of orange simple peel
Beautiful mud swirl, L'Oreal.
Gypsum soft enough you want to touch
Dark walls of a thousand words
A plasterboard of discordant grey notes
Blots and clots of ink, enslave my skin
Colorless drywall, resilient to your charms
Printed designs of cleverly decorated lipstick
Morbid shadows underneath the ceiling veil
A double coat of Pacific Waterproof Blue-
Printing bags from -- YESTERDAY!
Plastered wounds of cement dry and roughens along the edge
A human-made barrier, not even God comes in.
by;PD
For good, the Druid woods claimed this girl child for its own;
nymphs named the silk-skinned, raven-black of her, Fianna.
This night, she’s hurt hunting demons in her mother’s grove.
She recalls, her fright at five, abandoned in these woods alone.
Nymphs named the silk skinned, raven-black of her, Fianna,
by-blow of a Moor, left as dross in these weird weeping;
she recalls, her fright at five, abandoned in these woods alone.
An adept now, she aids the Weird in its fight with rising hell.
By-blow of a Moor, left as dross in these weird weeping,
raised by the fey, she was taught good from evil well.
An adept now, she aids the glade in its fight with rising hell;
her blessed-onyx points, caste blackhearts from the dell.
Raised by the fey, she was taught good from evil well.
The Blood moon’s rise brings hell’s minions out in droves;
her blessed-onyx points, caste blackhearts from the dell.
Defilers die by her hand and Druid bow bespelled.
The Blood moon’s rise brings hell's minions out in droves.
Rain caught in the leaves revives; moss clots her blood.
Defilers die by her hand and Druid bow bespelled,
as she protects the oak and ash from whispering hell.
Rain caught in the leaves revives; moss clots her blood.
This night, she’s hurt hunting demons in her mother’s grove
as she protects the oak and ash from whispering hell.
For good, the Druid woods claimed this girl child for its own.
First Published by After the Pause
Love me in Black and White
musical intro
From the keys of your heart a melody rolled back the night
illuminated the sky with its symphony of lights
and fired new stars in the firmament,
each a budding soul, a firework
of colors spun within the
black and white keys
of your heart.
lyric /song (0:30 / 2:18)
If you find me
If you love me
I’ll open all the doors
to that secret place
where time and space lie
all snuggled up in place
into love’s embrace
and eternity’s
grace
just love me (x)
in black and white (x)
and all the grey of my heart
will soon disappear for
your sea-foam brush
will spray clots
of colors in
fertile soil
just find me (x)
and love me (x)
black or white
and a burst of moonbeam
will unfurl its loving sails
and my pain will drop
right back into
the sea of
moonless
dreams.
back to musical intro (1:52)
While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
from branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
with dangling pearls and diamond studs in dripping crimson clots,
midst gaping wounds and bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
for wrapped like rope around your throat’s the Reaper’s grim garrote.
"It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God." (Matthew 19:24)
(Chorus)
You think you've got swagger but really you hobble,
you've got the jet lagger and you're drunk so you wobble,
don't start on me mate 'cus I will bring trouble,
to put it into slang words I'm Barney Rubble.
(Verse)
I will ruffle trouble
'cus I'm on another level
that bombs with the base
and stings with the treble,
I'll strut face to face with any ace rebel,
and put them in their place with their constant bull.
When I rhyme with my contortionist wrist
it expels a mist that sits around my fist,
I spell magic out on paper,
I'm playing with danger,
Mr. Wizardry the word selectionist,
squiggling fiction at speeds that feed friction
into rhymes that are non stop hot and cool,
so flames don't flame on the table top,
journey with me to witness the plot,
the earth shaker creator of perfected hip hop,
starting revolutions so that mumble is forgot,
dislodging the rust and rot it coughs that clots
and instating my Barney Rubble at the top.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
That last verse was just a small handful,
a sample of something that you cannot handle,
a scan like a bar code,
so lets open up the road and I'll unload these words,
I can't conceal this skill that rolls like wheels,
a Rolls Royce wearing heels,
in fancy halls doing dancing drills,
with golden walls
to an old skool beat treat.
I wont get signed up by any record label,
but I'm still rhyming better than mumble's able,
just admit you're tapping your feet to the beat
while my rhyme sits on top solid like concrete,
with the dancefloor crammed full,
they're pulling at all angles,
making the memories
that'll last 'til they're O A P's,
they think they've got swagger
and they're like Mick Jagger,
they're more like Sepp Blatter
but a little bit fatter.
(Chorus x2)
(Verse)
You can call me Trimendous and true,
you thought I'd flew crashed and was screwed,
but I took it back to what inspired my act,
an old skool hip hop sick rhyme attack,
I rhymed in flight with this write
and its smile's wild with sublime delight,
there are no poetic rare words
and I don't need swear words
in this dictionary spared verse
with airstream rhythm you can't burst,
I'm wearing this deserved set of words
that pilots and surges to my re-emergence,
a certainty that was never urgent
and not an encore from behind the curtains.
(Chorus x2)
Continued from Part 1
“Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots,
You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot,
Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots,
And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots,
Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts.
“You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat,
By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught;
You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot,
But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot.
“In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought,
The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts -
In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot.
“The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot
Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot,
Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots
Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught.
“In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot
The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot
Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots
Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat.
“While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots
And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.”
Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught.
But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot…
End
...... Part 3 ......
The old wolf creeps, the old wolf leaps
on prey he’s been a’ trackin’ –
a deer adorned with branchin’ horns
is torn by beasts attackin’.
The morning quakes, a shadow shakes,
tined antlers left a’ lyin’,
and spattered spots and scarlet clots
repaint the point o’ dyin’.
A magpie flies with frightened eyes
(on ebon wings a’ wavin’),
spies wolfin’ jaws and sated maws
of wolves no longer cravin’.
The snowdrift clears, a cool wind veers,
a dying breath, moreover –
a wraith appears, with shaggy ears,
(one droopin’ down, hung over).
Dawn’s sunbeams crowd, ignite a cloud,
its threaded strands a’ weavin’.
The pack awakes and twists and shakes,
for soon it’s time for leavin’;
it’s bleak, it chills on shallow hills,
as she-wolfs come a’ nuzzlin’,
but north winds scold, the wolf lies cold,
the pack stands back a’ puzzlin’.
On crimson snows neath perchin’ crows,
the pack abides a’ guardin’;
while nights are tight with Harpy kites,
the she-wolves wait an’ harden,
until a groanin’ blizzard stones
the barren forest stowin’
his shaggy ears beneath the weirs,
with icy hails ’a blowin’.
The storm abates and terminates,
the glacial wind’s subsidin’;
the past is past or passin’ fast
and life goes on abidin’.
The herds, today, roam far away,
not thinkin’ of the dyin’;
the pack’ll stray from day to day,
’a stalkin’ hard and tryin’.
As spring sneaks forth upon the north,
they’re lean without their leader.
A she-wolf (bound with belly round)
strains neath a budding cedar.
Upon the morn a whelp is born
(the future forest drover)
in new frontiers, with shaggy ears
(one droopin’ down, hung over).
......End......
BEAUTY BLIND in ZEUS'S EYES
Born in dark with glints of light
the baby owlet flies.
Clots of stars within the skies
and clots in owlets eyes.
Darkest night and darker days,
he soars to search for prey.
Seeing not, the hunger grows
and no light shows the way.
Need for shelter, thirst for drink,
and wanting his own nest.
Nothing safe in all the world,
and not a place to rest.
Flying on but weak from trying,
not knowing how eyes work.
All the thoughts within his head
are where the shadows lurk.
Then it rained, no shelter gained,
nor food, nor water yet.
He strikes upon a closed in porch
and thinks he's lost the bet.
Falling hard, he hits his head
and waits for all that's dead.
Someone comes and lifts him up
and gives him food and bed.
No light but still, deep inside,
a hope is whispered there.
A touch so soft, and hunger gone,
no thirst, nor cold despair.
His life enclosed inside a trunk,
provided for his care.
His days are spent in lots of play,
in starry starry stare.
Beauty blinded by a chance
and only feels and hears.
If only backwards, time could be,
to undo all his fears.
Blind beauty he, to everything,
yet his eyes show us far.
That deep in clots and clusters,
there awaits the nearest star.
Owl blind by birth and circumstance,
has seen much more than we.
Eyes renewed for bird and man,
now that would be the key.
~Edlynn Nau~
The knots have knots…God?
Threads of needing, want, desire;
passion spent on barren sod
left to burn on flaming pyre.
God, the knots have knots?
Nodes and nodules, full of spoor,
planted upon poisoned plots
hoarding, warmth, desire and more…
God, the knots have knots!
Pulse, and pump; push, and explore
lose the beastly cankerous clots
excrete angst, open the pore,
Free the knots, God, please…
By root and rote, the seedling pleads.
Contest: Me Against Myself
Date 6/30/11
D. Guzzi
Looming ...
The possibility of crisis
Life-as-you-now-know-it-ending crisis
From a crystal azure sky, shining ...
The ominously dark anvil of disgrace and horror
Like the knurled hand of karma
Crashing through a sunny window
And washing you pale and empty with oily blackness
A diabolical knot in the stomach ...
That has no ease or definition or finality
Riding you like the horsemen into hellish oblivion
A cold finger on blue steel, squeezing
Bound for naught but ruin ...
And the spalted spattering of gray matter
Vitality and brilliance and talent of a rare ilk
Turned to stains and puddles and clots
By their own ... inane ...
Ignorance.
~ 6th Place ~ in the "Contest Number 440 Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor.
All is pristine.
White lights twinkle,reflected on freshly fallen snow.
The black velvet backdrop of night
Enhances the perception of silvery glitter.
Each tiny flash excitedly gossips to their neighbor.
All is pristine.
There is no trace of mankind.
No hint of corruption or decay to distract from the beauty.
No footprints, no tire tracks,
No clots of snow pushed into dirty stacks
At every corner.
The scent of pine, of a snowflake, of a star filled winter sky.
Tears prick my eyes as the apple
Crisp wind blows across my numb face.
The tiny fuzz in each nostril freezes with every inhalation.
I lift my boot clad foot to take the first step
Into all of that vast ,clean,whiteness
And weep.
I weep for the innocence of childhood,
the freshly fallen snow of youth.
That first step Into puberty, that first taste of the forbidden fruit, into the knowledge of good and evil that inevitably leaves a nasty muddy footprint on my soul.
We do not get to begin again as winter does every turn of the earth.
No, for us winter is forever.
It remains.
We simply shuffle the dirty snow stacks
Into the dark corners of our minds.
This is why redemption is such a miracle!
And the scriptures say it best…
"Come now,and let us reason together,
Saith the Lord, though your sins be as scarlet,they shall be
White as snow.”
Isaiah 1:18
Dark slide grind
Skating around issues
Breaking ice around in spheres
Wearing gaudy skirts that sparkle
In the wind
People never believe things until
It’s the end
What will it take to convince?
Social issues don’t mean a thing if there is no world to have them in
Politics and latest fashions are useless since,
It takes more then enough time to win
Affections of green paper and greedy oil corporations
Expansions, folding of ill-will and shady ways
Consciences are thin, now-a-days
It's a lot easier to ignore and deny
Then to right oneself and imply
Goodness to the World
If I put all these facts into a binder, present them in a sense
Of pure simplicity and smack-you-in-the-face
reality
Would you still deny the fact that we are becoming past tense
Killing what makes us real in the first place, Certainty
Isn’t what it was, anymore
Dashboards won’t save human ideas and massive clots of minds
Darning of holes in layers unknown can’t stop Mother Earth exploding from it’s
core
At times, it’s really not that easy to ignore
the signs
_____
Global Warming, it’s Happening. Let's Join Together and Do Something About It.
The sun closes in on itself imploding.
Storm clouds clots like cream.
The sky tinged a rancid yellow of dream
raises tornadoes like totems scolding.
A wet haze weeps through the pine trees
furthering the sky’s somber malaise.
Life, a missing actor on the stage,
the rare and ripest red of blood, ceases.
Yet, the bole of trees carved, coalesces to form
the winged memory of bird, man and bear,
letting all of those who have forgotten stare
upon the aged markers of clans long gone.
And so life, death and the day end eternally glazed
making way for rain-bowed hues within the maze.
Poet: D. Guzzi
Date: 8/13/11
Red one
Blue one
Old on
New one
Ah heck
Side effects
I think I am
Due one
They’ll flatten
Or fatten
Always been
In Latin
Or tongue twistish
Latinglish
To patent
A statin
But I’ve had my fill
And summoned the will
To say bye to the ill
Coz I’m over the pill
There were lots
Of drug shots
That I got
For clots
And sun spots
To slow snots
And fix rots
As a tot
I shopped ‘em
And stocked ‘em
Then popped ‘em
Or swapped ‘em
I ravaged
And damaged
Til a salvage
Was managed
Lived in sin
To my kin’s
Own chagrin
I was lost
And was tossed
‘Til therein
Bought low cost
Vitamins
I’ve shaken
The achin’
Forsaken
The fakin’
Nor more need
Of needles
As I’m free
Of evils
I’m not yet over the hill
But have had more than my fill
And I at last, have the will
To be so, over the pill