The Door Wolf.
And, what of the waxing Moons
Its flood, of relentless tides, that time
of scar faced pit dogs, long sharp toothed,
their belly grumbling handlers, eager
to chalk a death line, on cold ale stained flag stones hard.
While in bleakness yard, belly tumbling hags squeeze, last drops out of well gripped ****, for the blind pups bellies,
babies must wait, in so many ways they are a benefit, against the door Wolf.
And what of pale, deep eyed children
Barefoot in waste lands of snow
Thin as cotton threads, as are their ragged clothes !
Their belly grumbling quenched, by easy swallowed earth worms, to placate the parasitic worms hidden within.
Ahh, all in ! to the avoid the door wolf.
And what of the well heeled lace lover,
hovering in trinkets of silver, and cups spilling with distain, against the scroungers pain ?
With, Parisiene perfume, to muffle the drum
Hum drum stench, from a piss trench
soaked and brandyied to sleep.
Her blinkers finaly, blinked blank.
Those waxed, and wained Moons !
Now cobwebbed in long past night skies.
Categories:
deep eyed, history,
Form: Free verse
She was looking beyond those dark, deep eyes
She was looking for something, searching for something
She was not sure what that could be.
She was hopeful that it would lead her somewhere.
Two years back, she got stuck in a snow
One neighbor came to help her, with his father
She was a sister to both of them.
“The boy had a pure smile. Quite amazing!”, She thought to herself.
Last night she had a bad dream
She saw her, naked, in the middle of a mammogram
Agitated, she woke up.
And it was still dark outside.
The only thing left for her is to pray for her own
She was walking through the fine line
Of ability and inability.
Like every day, the sun decided to glow on her window too.
All she wanted is to be a little sister of that deep-eyed one!
Categories:
deep eyed, sister,
Form: Free verse
THIS MORN' I CLIMBED THE MISTY HILL,
AND ROAMED THE PASTURES THROUGH;
HOW DANCED THY FORM BEFORE MY PATH,
AMID THE DEEP-EYED DEW!
WHEN THE REDBIRD SPREAD HIS SABLE WING,
AND SHOWED HIS SIDE OF FLAME;
WHEN THE ROSEBUD RIPENED TO THE ROSE,
IN BOTH I READ THY NAME--SPECIAL!
THOU ART TO ME A BRIGHT REVELATION,
OF THE BEST NATURE OF WOMAN PASSED:
WHAT IS TRUE AT LAST WILL TELL;
FEW AT FIRST WILL PLACE THEE WELL;
SOME TOO LOW WOULD HAVE THEE SHINE,
SOME TOO HIGH--NO FAULT OF THINE:
HOLD THINE OWN, AND MAKE THY WILL!
YEAR WILL GRAZE THE HEEL OF YEAR,
BUT SELDOM COMES THE POET HERE,
AND THE CRITIC'S RARER STILL.
Categories:
deep eyed, love
Form: I do not know?