Best Manacle Poems
Belladonnic poison seeps from your eyes,
like an electric serum of Venusian alchemy,
one that paralyzes my sense of pride.
My mind oscillating,
alternating,
your gaze,
annihilating.
An infusion,
Uranium radiating me into half life,
as I look up small to thee.
How can you be my painkiller,
stretching rack,
healer,
and a killer clown surgeon
with a knack for stealing autonomy?
Your touch burns with the fires of Purgatory,
a solar cycle casting elemental ghouls,
in a rogues gallery of impish valkyrie.
Propheting in New Moon phases
of alignment's interferon mightocon cell mining,
beaming morse code anecdotally-
You dress me in the dark's fairie mood ring-collar- manacle- you cause me to wear in my captivity.
Endangered in the midst of your wilds,
from your strange type of phi
that echoes from the voids-
enchantress- third eye.
I flop like a fresh caught fish
in your net of silk, patterned telepathy.
You are a siren, a villain- bewitching
the stormy seas- to shipwreck adventurous souls
and harbor them on your oasiatic Isle, Circe?
So why do I feel saved, even in your captivity.
Turn me into a fattened pig, then,
do as you will,
but be the truffle of my descent
as I forage for delicacy.
Blue velvet caged
Behind rusty bars.
Soul within chars.
Fervent flames raged.
Mighty door creaked
Black-veiled phantoms
Chanting the anthems
Thus the dusts freaked.
All the phantoms read
The holy pages.
The pious sages
For repentance plead.
Life’s last drops
Time’s burning tears.
Soaked deep in fears,
Crushed by crops,
The soul crumples.
Satan’s oracle
Tempting manacle
On heart tramples.
Towers of flesh
Drag my weary bones
As the axe-man hones
His blade afresh
Heard the Devil's voice:
"Crimson Cross!"
My dice to toss
Fate's generous choice!
"Kneel by the altar
Take my rosary,
Or God's pillory.
You have to falter?"
Succumbing feet tread
On scaffold's heart
As the moments part
What's there that they dread?
Nails of Divine love
Prick my palms
Grope for balms
Wails a benign dove
Mocking herd of sheep
Ignorant vultures
The gaze tortures
The wound doth weep.
The Fallen Prince
Roars with laughter:
"The hereafter!?!
Who else to convince?"
"O thou Holy, hark
The Forsaken Son
Has thy Father won?"
All the rest is dark…?
Captured and chained
A cellar, my home
Neck manacle
Hands free to roam
As she sits astride
Taking me in
Deepening feeling
Flesh to skin
In throws of thrust
She gorges my love
In this darkened room
Freedom above
Her spasmodic scream
Orgasmic outs
Her breasts excited
In pert like pout
My standing feeling
Signals release
Internal fountain
Love hungry feast
Our bodies mellow
As we wilt, unite
Passion conquers
The thrill
Tonight
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love2.php
Talk the Talk and Walk the Walk
Know Your Onions
Hey there Big Cheese
I think you are the bee’s knees
Not a bluenose or a flat tire,
But, ooh hardboiled & too Oliver Twist to resist
Let us skip the youths' rub & head far removed from the petting pantry
Share a jorum of skee at the local speakeasy
Now we are on the trolley!
Let us slowly ankle to the joint
I’m a copasetic-bearcat
Watch my gams, catch my point?
Oh hepcat I’ll get your handcuff or
This darb Sheba’s bank is closed for someone else
Butt me, you spiffy sheik
Cuz I’m stuck on you bimbo
Unleash
Know your onions & manacle this
Choice bit of calico,
You know you can’t resist
Then and then only will you wield me to your struggle buggy and
We’ll be jake!
The cat's pajamas!!
Berries!
Sunshine Williams
1920’s Slang
Man child. Mean manacle meaningless.
Painfully pondering potent powerlessness.
What and where and why the worst.
Found fear of failing. This the first.
Faced foe fist for fist.
Gaining gentlemen game gist.
Soon shattered, smoked so surely.
Error eternal, earning effects early.
Different daily dues dutifully dealt.
Alone, angered. Agony and anguish felt.
Many memories meaningfully marred.
Solemn son. Soulfully scarred.
Hiding hurt hinders healing.
Frightened, fearful fettered feeling.
Knowing now not known then.
Damage done. Never again.
Life's lessons learned of late.
Heaving heart hemming hate.
-Angel Fatale-
manacle she felt
incarcerated by things
beyond her control
©220720121755
But nevermore my harsh friend, for I hear Kipling poignantly
Clearer now, when he beseeched “If neither foes nor loving friends
can hurt you.” I am holding nothing against you. But allow me a wry
smile as I imagine you sneering, or with morbid bacchanalian
fashion smiling with me, as I proclaim it is a 21st century movie
which sundered the lock in this, my bes-Poe-k (bespoke) manacle.
NEVERWAS my tormented brother, for once more I could meld dreams
with all that it seems. Once more there be castles and stalwart kings.
Once more there be beauty and strength in ideals held as faith and truth.
Once more there be no such thing as out of sanity, when I can hold
Aloft again a head full of flighty things. When I can believe again that
All that we see or seem is not a dream within a dream.
When this genius of a character proclaimed: “Once again, I live as I dream…”
The Other Side of Work
When from afar you look
The door of a big office
Tiny hole, an obscure it is
A little square of an orifice.
Draw near; knock to enter
Inside Big Guy you’ll find
Commanding heaps of books
To obfuscate others’ mind.
Wings of Authority spread
Like Eagle on safe pinnacle
Directing some dire Subjects
Feet laced on taut manacle.
“A blue chip Firm, this is
“Trade Cowards make way,
“Shall ye fear being a brigand
“You’ll not eat yor hay!!”
Big Guys in black robes
Studied minds to bend
Slaves are flashed by brains
If they laze or pretend.
Shiny Tables tell tales:
Souls here meet their Fate
Planned; non-existent Objects
Toil, Coffers to inflate.
To the fiscus they submit
Economy to make grow
Sound wealth is sound workers
Not bleeding them to straw!
A few work for their future
Some are toiled and broken
Others have a broken Future;
To retire with just a token!
A few are worked alright
Others; minors in their prime
Trapped by naivety of age
Bleed for an empty dime!
On and on they rant and rave
The heartbroken to goad
And toil them to near death
Not to listen to their load.
They then rise up the ranks
For their loyalty to enslave
Power to deal or despatch
Of those who “misbehave.”
Who cares for their ambition
These miserable chaps
Who have unfulfilled need
To fill up their empty gaps?
To work is good, we all say,
To be killed at work is bad.
As we relate Boss and Slave
Stop making another sad.
Man must work to eat, yes
Why would one savour
Another who works to eat
With appetite and flavour?
This is the other side of work
We all must start to work!
JM
13th Nov’ 2013
I have a still snivelling mirror
From the silk-cotton tree
But can that take the stabbing cowries
From my heavy,swollen foot?
I am in the dark the naked she-goat
Panting over flying stones.
I must eat washings of my half-thread
Sudden cut by Atropos;
I must return to almost forsaken ploughs
A balding soot by my wake
Amidst flying tongues of dagger and malice;
Poor manacle must watch armour-less
As malignant rats dart in mottled errands,
Breaking the last walls-the fields,and then
I must rove naked in the inky sky
And then sit under the cypress,
Chewing my fingers-ever.
How sudden the icy embrace
O that I had caught with you the ambulance crest.
Gag my mouth to thwart my speech and seal my protests
But the language of my eyes will be heard in the hallowed highs,
I speak not to be heard by those that have no ears to hear
But to confirm that my words have reached the skies.
Tie my feet and hinder my motion
And I still will globe-trot the untrodden earth,
For I walk not on the legs you see,
And I will walk on every road and sail to every firth.
You cannot manacle my hands
Although you may handcuff them with a chain,
The arms I have are invisible to you
And the ones you see you bind in vain.
And you never can kill me
For my life is in the air you ignore;
My body died long before I was born,
Before the rains of brutality began to pour.
I will speak against your contrary wish
And I’ll walk although my legs you may tie;
My hands will wield miracles wherever they’re waved,
For my soul has sworn never to die.
i need to stop frowning and epitomizing
and sell this Caddy to the Cardinal
trying to let it miss your attention won't fly
since writing is speech even if somewhat removed
or fit only for bouncy news anchor banter
pancake makeup a bit too aflame
like they do in shadow theater
where the container is the contained
because we can still index the cornucopia
eff you said the furry little May Pole Bunny
you can be sure he was in on it too
along with the Hen in the Willow
the Great Flaming Spiral in the Sky
and the nuns of St. Manacle
doing their Plantation Rebel Dance
with cascade of equally herkimer antecedents
perpetually enthused with the mystery of tomorrow
just don't try to tell me how to move my eyelids
smoke signals will always take care of that
cascading across the clacking copper contacts
in a total lack of continuity all at once
it is a pigeon tongue spoken in barter
barely able to walk after the derision of linguists
lobbed horseshoes across the barricades
against surgeons wielding kitchen knives
on a search and destroy mission
for chopped liver epicures from the Bank of Winter
living dead men's dreams was no picnic
memes eating my soul like red worms
only my degree from the School for the Sickly
standing between me and the Necromancers
who were emphatically not house trained
my collective unconscious operation manual
tossed on the burn pile half a life ago
now dumbed down to syntactically correct
in infinitesimal quantities with a Nefertiti smile
my mind a bordello of interpretation
God is not dead he is passe etc.
a raised by wolves feral non-conformist
everything orbits everything else
and that's space for you
which will bend yer crank kid
unless you can get your mood to swing
out from the nether realms of mourning
and the agony of oblique signals
written with the ***** of Satan
shaking money from your pockets again
a Conniving Backstabbing Bastard production
he hated coercion like he hated licorice
he was revolution incarnate all fresh and rosy
it was a kosher Pentecost event
tried quoting Lenin but it was too easy
the proletariat is people in a pickle
the dueling cucumbers of class warfare
now I'm on a dozen watch lists
followed by Diana's paparazzi
to this claustrophobic cinemaplex
and its temporal artery of light
at 3 in the afternoon
a good cheap remedy
following a bad diagnosis
To the desert shackle, sweaty all day
Manacle it is for the appalling thirst
Searching for water all day
A pinnacle of complexity and the dust
Approaching no where to keep the sand away
Every other place looks like watery
When reached there it is nothing but sand
In fact it is all treachery of the sunshine
So hectic and helpless
To be in a hapless situation like this
Then I yelled help me!
Out of the blue, the lovely time emerged
When everything changed so swiftly
It was all greenery to be seen
And the waterfalls, the delightful scene
That has flourished for me
And the all-beautiful things around me
That has surrounded me to feel joyful
I reckon where I was suffering as it was
So hard to quench the thirst
And now it is amazing
What a transformation
That was unexpected
So to me an ecstatic feeling
I want to be always in the same place
As I’m now for which I thank Almighty.
ICE NINE
The sourceling of anti-matter,
morphed in, a slithering form.
From Darkness's anteroom chamber-
The wormhole, in escape-
The place where disobedience was born.
A
S
p
i
r
a
l
staircase, passage-
from Satan's spawning floor.
The full embrace of the fall, from grace-
Leading to a pit, a chasm within,
a vacuous sore.....
(The Abyss)
An Epitaph to Hopes Epiphany,
suffocation of man's denial.
Viper's soliloquy on Life's Headstone-
singing Hade's Reprisal.
The Manacle Frost seeped in, absolute,
in a stigma of waves.
Grasping, ill repute,
adorning its crystal plague.
Sculpting a stoic coffin,
for the Deads Winter.
Thematic serum, preserving decay,
reserving sinners -to it's chaotic
pain of spread-eagle splay.
Delivering retribution of hydrous tentacles-
A black mosaic, sadistic, iced anti-miracles.
What once were flowing streams,
now, solid, cataracts, in the shade of heresy.
Clogged arteries,
unstirring unto Death's Trident.
Neptune's chill, unforgiving, arrant.
Blood rigid, arresting the heart of Heretics.
A frozen mirror casts justice's like image,
reflecting back from the Abyss.
Unrelenting, this visage, to the fiends,
strewn about the thick of it.
Icy fangs sink in their eternal repress.
Yes.
The Sickle of Death's Angel.
The Fog of Hade's Breath.
Shouldn’t you manacle villains?
For a villain should be in chains
You might be laboring in vain
With one often using his brain
And dreaming to derail a train
Or cause to fall untimely rain…
Needn’t you deal with that villain?
A mere glance at his eyes real pain!
Your losses transform into gain,
Waiting for your glory to wane…
He who laughs with villain insane:
Deep in his heart you are not sane
Anyone can be a villain
In the Bible was a Marked Cain
In the United States, a Shane
The villain would never be plain
He can have his own mother lain
And his maternal uncle slain!
We often our poor necks crane
For the Villains that's his cursed bane.
I came to the cross to heed Christ’s clarion call,
Rolling in dust and ashes to say I’m sincerely sorry
for all the dirty deeds that led to my sudden stall.
I was once lost, far away from His grace and glory;
Sleeping, sitting and strolling in stains and stress
until he came my way and wrote off my sorry story.
He was sent to save me from my manacle and mess;
cursed, crushed and crucified on a cruel cross,
yet he despised the stains, pains and the dirty dress.
He carried the whole world’s luggage of lies and loss,
wallowing in want of water, and in weariness and woe;
Oh, how he was detained… amidst dirt, dust and dross,
yet he saved me from the forceful, fearless foe
He thread on sin and death with his terrific toe