the blood runs thin yet saturated with ideas
foreign and forgotten of home's idyllic nature
day's twinkle welcomed the white svelte blankets as
golden needles pierced deep through the fabric of her sky
the world's warm embrace held where happiness ebbed away
dragging and plodding until there was nothing left but
the last rain's cleansing nature
the world around was reborn
the rain washed my skin and soul
the blood that once ran iced thawed
the chambers broke free from rust
forever stained and broken
yet renewed and young
intersperse were the rays of gold beyond the
fields of fruition and hope
returning inside, dripping
i embrace absurdity
that was once my prison as
the once maddening stenches
run clean
Categories:
stenches, hope,
Form: Suzette Prime
If I should get punctured, laying leaking Crimson Tide,
call me Deacon Blues as I slowly start to die.
If they miss me, take it easy.
All is as it should be.
It's best to cut losses, cut ties, change your name, skip town, and grow a beard.. Like To-day, act now before patience sells out in turn I act out of character, and when I leave this is all that you'll talk about.
Our natural satellite departs slow.
Binds of the parasitic plant; first love ties.
The pulse on your neck is chattering, It's slurring its words.
Downtrodden, ragged, in rags soaking drenched and sitting comfortable in combustible liquid stenches.
Oblivious even in the question, oddly aggressively asking,
a straggly demand, expectant to be handed the light to smoke himself a real 'Death Sentence' cigarette.
The late moon is stunning, floating, acting like you're here and really you're staying, we all know that you're leaving.
What are we even thinking?
The only finger on the pulse plays to the beat of a night that reminds me of older days.
Guarded adversaries; imagine that.
The Heart Elapse.
Collapse.
Old and Grey or Rob the cradle to the grave.
Categories:
stenches, celebrity, farm, fashion, fate,
Form: Free verse
Smells and Stinches in the Trenches
Have never before wrote poem like this;
Hope my thought and point never miss;
What life meant;
To heaven sent;
About a lonely life of either hers or his.
Seems to be so many smells and stenches,
Ending up existing in long terrible trenches;
Much pain felt,
And death dealt,
Off soldiers' hope for life each one pinches.
Life will no longer exist where they were,
And God came up with an incredible cure;
I will be Me;
Set souls free;
In heaven, He will give you a great tour.
Jim Horn
Jim Horn
Categories:
stenches, allegory, analogy,
Form: Limerick
Control
Slaves of Sin, we are the minions
That is, if we choose to be
Though Sin houses in our system
We need not follow her decree
With her allure and her enticements
She may tempt you to do wrong
Even fool you into thinking
It’s only then you do belong
Sin knows well how to seduce you
Just to have you try and taste
For she doesn’t like what’s modest
And she loathes that what is chaste
Mind your ears, for those she’ll tickle
With the things you should not hear
And your eyes, soon will be gaping
At everything that you should fear
She will even have you smelling
Scents and fragrances so sweet
Even though these are all stenches
’Cause she’s so full of deceit
And she knows, oh she is certain
Once you are under her spell
You’ll be craving sinful pleasures
She’s within us, she can tell
So it’s up to you, dear mortal
For the well-being of your soul
Choose not to become a minion
Let your conscience take control.
Wendy Nipas
Categories:
stenches, fear, sin,
Form: Ballad
1914-1918 World war 1
Bullets flying over trenches
Can’t see too much for smoke that stenches
Lieutenant makes orders to stand here fast
Don’t be scared chaps we’re having a blast
Feet so cold my boots feel like ice
My mother sent me a letter and some cake that’s nice
Taffy told me of his girlfriend at home
I hope he sees her soon this boy has grown
The food is scarce and the moral even scarcer
We know we are the last battalion between the Germans but God won’t make me a martyr
More troops arrive and we push the Germans back to slaughter
England has won the war and I cry to know I’ll see my bonny daughter
God save the King.
Categories:
stenches, art,
Form: I do not know?
Good to see you ?
Taste the touch of the night it’s real
Escape reality but find the truth in the deal
Today tomorrow the dust the dawn the steel
Desire deface distract determine then kneel
Hounds of horror barking razor wire cut heal
Watch the look the crooked man the wheel
Inside you choke from perfume inhaled now squeal
The pigs smelly like the sewers they come from for their meal
Putrefied congealed and rife with poison on a knife suffer reveal
A dream that stenches of a matter that in your head pictures peal
The devil will sweat when I bring more fire than any man can wield
Categories:
stenches, art,
Form: I do not know?
Just do it.
Whipping lash,
hot, cramped pit.
Odor, stenches
still working.
Cash coins wrenched.
Wealthy, rich
sitting back
pulling stitches.
Dollars drop.
No more wages,
still won't stop.
Sit, knot, knit,
broken wrists,
just do it.
Categories:
stenches, black african american,
Form: Haiku
It is a Sunday morning in spring the bright sun shines in Bethnal-green,
Wander along a path between the church, the railway towards Whitechapel,
For one day there are beautiful flowering gardens thrown open to anybody
And at their gates there are beautiful plants and flower-roots for sale.
There is every flower imaginable radiant under the English morning sun,
Old flowers to take you back childhood and your grandparents childhood,
There are lads loves, sweet williams, daisies, pinks to warm your heart,
Wallflowers, polyanthuses, thrifts, tufts of sweet-peas, with daisies
Tufts of larkspurs, violets with columbines all for sale at one penny,
For one penny the poor can stock a small plot by a door, or corner tub,
Or it could be a pot in the window, where these poor plants will fade,
Under the admiring eyes of those who are older and fading themselves.
Out of the alleys and courts and unknown streets many people come to see,
And those pale and sickly weavers are streaming along to feast their eyes,
Different from stenches and factory grime, miserable times over the years,
magical, beautiful and delicate, for a moment their grim lives forgotten.
Categories:
stenches, history, beautiful, beautiful, morning,
Form: Prose Poetry
I saw him resting his laurels among dust
With dry gin conquering his stenches
A company of skulls screaming
Eerie sounds move through the trees
A hooded noise screaming behind
But I tell the stone to be still
Watching the wind and,
One the ghost came forth
Like a monument I stood among ancients shapes
As the landlord beckon on me, to come forth
I said no, am only but a tenant
He said come live with me without rent
Awoh Kingsley
September 1st, 2012
Dedicated to a cousin who was buried on September 1st, 2012
Categories:
stenches, death, cousin,
Form: Elegy
congregate and anticipate please,
eliminate traces of old dirty fleas.
please don't confuse any old thoughts with these.
christmas trees smell better without presents.
pungent, pulpy stenches float up my nose,
duct-taped paper-clips make a nice rose,
miniature villages, cotton-ball snows,
oranges and pine needles smell good.
recycle orange peels which first were caressed,
while cookie crumbs gather underneath an armrest.
the winter holidays detest:
over-commercialized representations of Santa sporting Old Navy vests.
Categories:
stenches, holiday, old, old,
Form: Rhyme
Madness…
Characters, actors…
In my mind doth play
Presence, until the curtain call
Unknown, then afraid!
Seek to quell the voices
Run amok and askew
In depths, directors scream “action”
Then, they take their cue!
Next, Frantic desperation, panic!
The fray to change their will
Only thing to stand between the nightmare and the darkness now
A mislaid bottle lost, accompanied by suppressing pills
Amid mirrored reflections on the wall
The evil grins begins to grow
Cool breezes of the rotting stenches
From cities dark alleys upon my skins bestow
Into the night, lusting for fleshly desires
Gaslight lamps of familiarity ambers glow
Amongst victims in the mist of crusted, dirty streets of ire
Eclipsing, remnants of sanity left to passions throes!
Categories:
stenches, fantasy
Form: Rhyme
Beauty tells the story
Of days we were younger
Come join the famine
Lose someone
Beneath the sands
At the Tip of your toes
A touch of the gods
Join the war
And lose someone
Bridges
They mend
The things that god
Cannot touch
Rivers
They separate
The stenches
That man
cannot rid of
Join the war
Lose someone
Among the worst
mercenary’s
Those of us
Who were careless
of wanted whispers
Join the war
And lose someone
Come join the war
Won’t you lose someone
Morning breaks
Come join the war
The warming phase
Alarming as days
Join the war
Lose someone
“The important part is the suffering,
death is just the part that eventually
happens.”
Categories:
stenches, hope, life, loss, music,
Form: Verse
Why dies the blue sky red
Hue of a deeper dissolution
Falling from the face
The puzzle of Africa
Stains dry and brittle circle the dust
Where withers a standing grain
taunted eye of barren sticks
To black and lifeless rage
Oil oil oil black and lifless blood
Why die to plant your sickel of sun
In war the blood of children feed
A pile of small hands and feet
The surgeons knife and tyrants belly
Why die civilised world
With your blue sky
That lies above the red machete
Wasting the black hell of stenches
An oil that fills your heart
Categories:
stenches, blue,
Form: Free verse
Foul as Funk!...
Stenches your honey-sweet words;
Politically polite,
as you perpetrate,
ya freakin posers!
How can you be so disillusioned
as though you are morally decent upstanding citizens?
Directly after your verbal attacks?
And your inflicted wounds
that contaminate the emotional and spiritual realms
within the already heartbroken...
the enlightened living,
in which you strive to kill?
As though others' views of you matter?
How can you freaking stand yourselves?
How can you go forward
as though you haven't...
Afflicted the afflicted?
Traumatized the already traumatized?
As though your insults,
and your multifarious abuses,
are humanely justifiable?
Foul as Funk!...
You disgust and revulse me,
you freakin beeches!
Screw you and your felonious freakin politeness!
Dirty Beeches...
Categories:
stenches, angst, health, people, philosophy,
Form: Free verse