Short Hilt Poems

to avenge
wanting revenge
every fight
not the hilt
fighting
holding the blade of sword
it's such a fight....

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From life I begged poetry! 
She answered with a knife,
Hard into my breast, plunged hilt-high,
Aware I wear no metal vest!...

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Bumper rusted with dents
Alley in the rear dark and tense
Coming around a behind the fence
Knife’s with gilded hilt shows finger prints...

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The puppy in him ventured forth
  eager to live life to the hilt
A flea-bitten hound crept back home
  Who'd taken the meat from his bone...

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A ladies' man named Winston MacWilt
pursued many women to the hilt.
He eyed every skirt
ever ready to flirt.
But he died touching a Scot in a kilt....

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He went faster when that's what she said
When she said deeper his face turned red
I can't be rebuilt
I'm in to the hilt
Let's just let that fish go instead!...

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yes Sara K

life moves on , 
and flowers wilt,
but love does burn,
right to the hilt,
in the background of thought,
amongst the silt,
the red-tips bloom again...
Don...

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In the media, we are told
that lots of us, have too much guts

What we’re eating, is not the best
and what we’re drinking, makes us a pest

Its healthy food, that’s priced to the hilt
chop down the price, so we don’t feel the guilt...

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So naked that i long to be,
Amidst this pure insanity.
Powerful these words i write,
Surreal is this enlightened sight.

Bursting out to conquer life,
As sharp as angels on a knife.
A blade that thickens to the hilt,
And savages eternal guilt....

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just under his kilt
                 slightly hanging at a tilt
                     from the tip to hilt
           once great weapon starts to wilt
             highland dirk ~ covered in silt

By David Kavanagh 

highland dirk = Scottish stabbing weapon...

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Rapier
slender,
steely, swiftly
plunged deeply
where no one had touched, to its hilt you thrust, 
embedded...
and then,
silently,
without a whisper,
finishing the deed,
withdrew the dripping blade
And left me to hemorrhage
our tourniquet friends to mend...

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May has dawned
with wind and whiskey
and sideways glances

a rendered heart
and maybe a start 
with an eye for details

i would love to see your
entrails up close

if they were spilt and split
with a sigh from the hilt
they would smile with a 
turn from my hand...

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Cut it- clean

Swath on down under the muscle

Slide along the bone

Withdraw

Now enter lightly, gently, deeply

Hilt rested upon the surface

Step back
(don't lose your grip)


Bow to your partner

Turn 
and
salute any onlookers

Sheath the pen and walk away...

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A camping vacation the only kind
The trip with grandsons would be mighty fine
Standing in rush and Spanish Moss
Pictures to remember embossed
Scratching redbugs from hilt to my hairline  

Inspired by Carolyn Devonshire's Vacation Contest
Not an entry...

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Escapades pursued with passion and abandon, blindness entertained to the hilt, perverse attitude embraced to the exclusion of any sanity modicum have torn my world to pieces as remorse strives to awaken my moribund mind.

Broken, foresaken
sunken to the lowest ebb
I eat my humble pie....

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Sacrifice


My love has no edges					
	it is like a great ripe fruit,

both, sustaining and life giving 


Your love is a sword
	its' hilt as a cross

both, protective but life taking.	


As you cuts me in half
	sucking the juice I provide

in willing sacrifice
         To sustain you


John Thomas Tansey...

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Dark halls filled with listless flame
	casting shadows upon walls
for souls with no names.

Fury cried upon faithless 
	wings spread wide with tips
		dipped in blood spilled
	by blade
bore of golden hilt. 

Hand fasten to steel
	of warrior made
	iron born mountain
		scaled where Angels lay
	brothers and sisters
of war – slayed....

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A season for the homes dire
Crooked are the places sure
The dry empty street about
All the hard parts shown

The fabric of the aisle-way
Corroded by the ripe plants
Flowers expressed to their hilt
Obscure is the path 

Where perfection isn’t primary
The lights beckon to bring in
The horrid pieces of life
No house asunder

Russell Sivey...

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Soaring into the shelter of loving arms
Swinging from hilt of protective gendarme
Swooning in the clutches of ingratiaging charm
Succored by incubating touches so warm
Shielded by your barelled chest from pending harm
Soothed by your enticing, enrapturing smarm
Serenading smile; pulsating lips to your kisses conform
Swivelled contours my erotic impulses inform...

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hello blank white fog of empty
familiar you of wrapping guilt
standing in the sands of time
catching at my thoughts pre empted
claymore buried to the hilt
chuckling at attempted rhyme
tilting tattered wind blown kilt
watch it lar I’m sorely tempted
Words are forming in my rage
Soon to fly at empty page
Spitting splatter
What’s the matter?
Is it time to clean my cage?...

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AYLATER

Trapped in complacency 
In sickness, a self-satisfaction
SADDNESS.

A driven inaction
	In stubborn madness
A wish for her to see this life
From the inside
See what I see

The schism of the cut
	The weight of the hilt
		The blade of the knife

In balance we divide

Losing the me I used to be
In ruin of the kingdom I built.
A sinking ship
	On a violent sea....

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Rebuttal mind why are you so fluent
Why do you snap back like a rubberband with a sting
Why do you transpire based on sight and feel
Why do you engage in the forte of a hilt
Is it because a strike like the third eye makes an out real
The gist to which switched of gut wrenched What is to feel
Possessing the ability of lost and found
That is to heal
Submerging fore in rear that reminds
A rebuttal mind...

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Let me hold you commandeered in wet armor,
Slippery passion, delights you in leisure
Tortured and taken to the hilt the treasure;
Hot showers to burn you in divine pleasure:

Tasted I will not deprive you the raptures,
Helpless charge forcing you in snug captures,
Imaginative new joy with temptation;
Fascination all the way in seduction:

Taken you yield with adult profanity;
 Enchanting each moment to insanity?...

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Me’ Fury

Me’ fury, ensue, inasmuch of the bullies; my halo es leaning, me’ grimace is beaming, my hand on the hilt, mahound be at awe, es me’ duty

Sheathe the’ inedible reach, lid thy albinism duress, your forehead me’ claymore to rest, snipe fell manual take topheth, down to the cove shall descend 

Coffer, tricely  Mankind, pending another one come, donion debar de devil, Lord with the wade, or bis mein Woden o hoard...

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What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt?
Is it Fruit of the Loom?
Is it nuthin'?
When it's cold does he cover himself with a quilt?
How much good Gaelic blood has been spilt
'cause he buried his Wee Willie up to the hilt
In a fair colleen's warm married muffin?


Author's note: Dear reader, after reading Linda Alice Fowler's delightful limerick "Kilt Atilt", I felt inspired to go into my archives and dig up this old chestnut....

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