The
Nights
Fury
Lacerates
Into tortured flesh
Fiery hailstones slowly embed
Underneath wailing dermis, sorrowfully bruising
A misplaced poet, madness gradually invading like rabies cultivating
Within tainted bloodstreams, forgotten faces liquify into frothing depraved moonbeams, psychedelic hallucinations corrupting
Underworld’s wolves broke their gate, snarling with labored breath, piercing of dawn welcomes a funeral of fireflies, eclipsed by a broken brain being delicately dissected by elongated canines feasting ravenously
A picturesque snow dancing iced winter rings,
imagine its artic coat tail’s sheer zoom,
frosty shriek from children who flaunt its soft melt flake,
the zeal unleashed by doting winter veteran kin attachment,
if adult figures shiver they might whoop,
as well as gorge ravenously on a chilled feast,
from cascade to wobbly ad hoc cold spurt gaze fixer,
snow is both Christmas rampant friend and foe,
aching frostbitten trees with swirls and limp splatters,
gardens bear the ruthless onslaught,
of wispy white sourdough layers,
hoarse vocal mantra cushioned quiver,
in that agile limb shudder on a surface torrent,
fantasy upon fun-filled fantasy such wonderland entanglement,
immerse oneself in the occluding snowball sphere,
camaraderie of fellow eye dazzled worshippers,
at the swooning atmospheric glacial shrine tangible,
of frozen vapour tickling and teasing awestruck mirth,
so ephemeral in its momentary winter surreal deluge,
yet impactful mind lodger so audacious in its billowing beauty
This poem is being distributed under terms
laid down by galactic conventions of amorous angels.
By breaking the seal on my lips, you agree to be bound
by the following conditions: you will frantically search for perfection
in love and end up a snack for worms; you will never regain
that gemlike slumber in the universal womb
which is the only thing worth having; you will waste your existence
in howling pursuit of the phantoms of desire,
which will suck you dry as you ravenously feed on them.
No warranty, expressed or implied, is being made
that you will conquer cities of moonlit enchanted towers,
or bask in the homage of rajahs with perfumed beards,
or drowse in voluptuous pomp of erotic temples,
or be otherwise enabled beyond necessity.
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"Lingering leaves of gold
frolic in the autumn wind,"
Swept up by bygone breezes,
already collapsing
before they begin,
As disillusionment clouds an overtired soul—
Misplaced and irretrievable
To a society that ravenously
disembowels empathy,
Twists and mangles trust
until it becomes unrecognizably disfigured,
Leaving the carcass to be plucked by bone-thin vultures,
Fed by culture’s apathetic, parasitic narcissism,
Under the boiling, pre-winter sun.
I’ve littered the page with alliteration
Marbled it with metaphor
Injected it with irony
Confined it in constrictive cadence
Slathered it with slithering syllabic silliness
Ravenously roamed the Rhyme Zone
Challenged the demons of “How many dot com”
Punctuated the un-punctuatable
Said “the heck with spelchek”
Shed the shroud of sentient surveillance
For my words are fed through
The shredders of sentiment
The chopping blades of “critique”
The swirling blades of trimmers
The plucky platitudes of pruners
And yet I write, compose, imbue
In unseen color distant words
Rough cut diamonds
Defying the cutters edges
Leaving a life unpolished
Unabashedly unashamed
Of the tarnished truths
That mar the purity
Of poetry’s perfection
Wanna go back to my poetic cauldron, the ink boils within me, pass me the spoon, minds and souls have went long without. Need I be punished for starving the nation, sprinkling my artistic expression, the aroma reverberates with poetic reverence, tasting glands oozes ravenously, sauces of creativity fills my hand, edible to the soul too,
marinate the mind with creative expressions, like an artist painter, paint spots all over my poetic kitchen, in my artistic kitchen crockery and cutlery of spirit evokes words, fill the cauldron to brim, multitudes are to be served, a poetic meal, entice the smell sense, as appetites widens, one belly after the other,
I serve the voiceless, the trapped, the surrendered and those who left this this earth not fed, for in my cauldron ingredients of life giving, competes. Lemme put flesh to these poetic bones and feed life back to this poetic body, it's in my poetic cauldron I wanna go back to
#Poetic_Ink
Have we learned nothing!!!???
That the “gods” do not bleed
That fervor and fear are fools
Dancing on the edge of folly.
Peace but a sleepy hollow
Dozing in the woods
Awakening to the horror
Of wars “alarm” clock.
“The gods must be crazy”
Sacrificing their lambs
To feed the desires
Of ravenously rabid wolves.
And we, poor fools,
Bow to them all
Praying for a dream
Defended by death.
Must our faith now be placed
In prayer, muted by hate,
Shouted to distant” gods”
Have we learned nothing!!!??
Eve of fall
denuding of trees
No longer lush whispers heard through the leaves
A low pitched moan a creak here and there
In warning to all listening
to heed and beware
The salad days behind us
and winters hounds approach
Ravenously looking for remnants of life to poach
The air increasingly
bearing a sting in the fog of new day
the fickle sun wears a ring
Announcing its departure
Rushing to its betrothed
On the other side of the world in silver arraignment clothed
The trees declaring without fail
Some years more vibrant than last
The comings and the goings that happen much too fast
Caught up in lifes bounty unable to see
that summer would end we couldn't believe
we'd witness its death and solemnly grieve
Pulling tight our woolen wear
to the inner rooms we go
to pray once more for early spring and awaite the sleet and snow
He was known for a puzzling idée fixe
for literature in an array of topics;
Not a citizen of particular themes.
Given to a pursuit of this literary ENTERPRISE,
he would hermit away and ravenously read,
which left him with a pale VISAGE.
He'd dealt with comments of its PERNICIOUS effects,
putting a BLEMISH on his social standing.
Yet, it didn't DAMPEN his spirit.
He didn't shy from upgrading to a learned man.
A mixture of books granted him entrance to
TRAVERSE an ever transforming road,
for which weather had no dampener on.
He was a SENTRY of his own mind,
following the ASTRAL bodies in the night sky,
to channel knowledge into dreams.
~~~~~~~~~
8 Word Challenge: DAMPEN, BLEMISH, PERNICIOUS, TRAVERSE, SENTRY, VISAGE, ASTRAL, ENTERPRISE
Perfect Playmate
puny pink primrose
pursuing phantom pleasure
pecking playful puff
Quitter
queasy queen questions
quirky quail's quivery quacks -
quill quietly quit
Ride
rain rake rattling raft
river roared ravenously -
rider relished ride
First Place in STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (10) any theme any form Poetry Contest sponsored by Brain Strand
Dark,
ravenously ruled the rocky cave for many hundred years
fearfully fled to the firmament when a little lamp brought
Light
Honorable Mention in STRAND CHOICE Z,any form,any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
When guilt
collides with my pleasure
and pain is too hard to measure
Escape is the elastic tether
that accompanies
my sensual physical bender
Tock tick tock
my emotional drop
for a second
hands feel time stop
Flipping out
as I body flop
liking being on the bottom
her bouncing on top
surrounding my need
with her hunger spot
Brown eyes
Black hair
I love touching her everywhere
especially there
I enjoy drowning
while being fully aware
My eyes reveal my selfish
while in that moment I don’t care
It feels like my sad is no longer there
as at her beauty I ravenously stare
She helps me
feed my need
as I release my seed
In that moment
a feeling of ecstasy
my illusion of being freed
I catch my breath
feeling my thoughts begin to bleed.
It seems even my sweetie
can’t unearth this weed.
Deep down I know
what I truly need.
A small note to explain the last line. During times of stress I am inclined to use physical aspects of our relationship to help silence my inner turmoil. At those times I would do better to look to God to calm my spirit. The physical can only temporarily satiate me.
This is America.
We kill everybody equally.
So do the Neo Soviets.
So do the English.
So do the Chinese.
So do the Muslim extremists.
So do the...
On and no it goes.
A meat grinder of death.
More fresh kills are needed.
Feed the death machine.
It's ravenously hungry...
I’ve developed a deep respect for scavengers.
They ravenously attack that which most would disdain;
The impure,
the contaminated,
the defiled,
the rotting flesh gorged with maggots.
Furiously devouring the putrid flesh of the no-longer-living,
inhaling its essence.
They voraciously consume what others abhor,
taking it in with a fervor, a passion,
allowing their body to perform its natural process.
Turning rot into life.
Taking those sacred nutrients, missing from the board of kings,
and churning it into the milk of gods
I have no Lord!
I'm in no God!
Oh, I'm the punishment of the opened pains,
the cursed in the blessed world for the bragging
here in the inn of heart
the holy wine glass
filled with burning coal;
I drink it ravishingly as well as ravenously
I'm going to die
death kisses me mirthfully
I regain the life of humiliation
Oh, no mortification of thought
cuddling me
here I'm the me, Sin Refugee
wandering port to city
known to unknowingly
no home I make
on the dew of arum leaf
shining more than rising sun
but after a while much burn
I'm in the burned heart
burning odour I'm in the ghost
likely most living in death
-27/11/19 CTG, BD
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