Submissions by ButcherScraps
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Born under a bad sign with a blue moon in my eyes.
Inquisition
An open space
of blade on wind.
Grits this dirty spell.
I left my shadow cleft
by a babbling brook
all hooked to the tendril
of a murmured glaze.
I snapped with rasping
scamps in damp.
Dust.
This wild brown musk
can only be dusk-at-play
to drip-drawn-dawns
on swarthy stones.
Hoof prints lead
beyond the reeds.
Recorder chips
on ever-changing
fountain shapes.
Naiad deems
ensorcelled lust.
Watered sculptures
sing obscure.
A beast in the boots
of our...
of blade on wind.
Grits this dirty spell.
I left my shadow cleft
by a babbling brook
all hooked to the tendril
of a murmured glaze.
I snapped with rasping
scamps in damp.
Dust.
This wild brown musk
can only be dusk-at-play
to drip-drawn-dawns
on swarthy stones.
Hoof prints lead
beyond the reeds.
Recorder chips
on ever-changing
fountain shapes.
Naiad deems
ensorcelled lust.
Watered sculptures
sing obscure.
A beast in the boots
of our...
90 reads
2 Comments
You Rook Me All Night Long
Prime hour
gravel spit.
A moonlit drive
is pried from time
as tomorrow sings
a phantom wing.
Beware the stare
of a mirrored crouch
this highway claims
with grey retrace.
A mean-machine
liar-fire.
Slights-in-trance
we fuck in the muck
of a dim repose.
Trollops n’ plug tails
singing names.
Goads from roads
a bone to light
by courting the smoke
of a mindful growth.
A fingerless
lingering
proffers nil.
...
gravel spit.
A moonlit drive
is pried from time
as tomorrow sings
a phantom wing.
Beware the stare
of a mirrored crouch
this highway claims
with grey retrace.
A mean-machine
liar-fire.
Slights-in-trance
we fuck in the muck
of a dim repose.
Trollops n’ plug tails
singing names.
Goads from roads
a bone to light
by courting the smoke
of a mindful growth.
A fingerless
lingering
proffers nil.
...
93 reads
4 Comments
Evening Primrose
A spoiling light is coiling rime
to a bell of flesh in chimed release.
A dance of chance on a mouth for rain
is soaked to the bones of a thornbird song.
Flowers sprout from every circuit,
greeting the vane of a gluttonous aim
while scratching lunch on tested haunches
these bloody seasons keen for reason.
But there’s a look in the eyes
when the lights go down
where the wroth is pent on lonely evenings.
It stars a start in a black-holed heart
with a minded sight in grey delight…
it bids us think on the stormy...
to a bell of flesh in chimed release.
A dance of chance on a mouth for rain
is soaked to the bones of a thornbird song.
Flowers sprout from every circuit,
greeting the vane of a gluttonous aim
while scratching lunch on tested haunches
these bloody seasons keen for reason.
But there’s a look in the eyes
when the lights go down
where the wroth is pent on lonely evenings.
It stars a start in a black-holed heart
with a minded sight in grey delight…
it bids us think on the stormy...
146 reads
3 Comments
Necromance
An ageless scribbled getaway,
my undead perks begin to ring
this dirtnap tracing mind of grey,
a bannered fool beneath a king.
As nitwit baning crescents gash
worth dipshit moons across the sky,
the venom doubts with blinding flash,
a meltdown torching sulk & spy.
This monstrous sense of salt fire eye,
about the wind my cobweb sings.
This comedown sheathes a hopeless high,
a fuckwad face of remind stings.
On unearthed stalking spirits by,
the storm-struck whisper secret flings. ...
my undead perks begin to ring
this dirtnap tracing mind of grey,
a bannered fool beneath a king.
As nitwit baning crescents gash
worth dipshit moons across the sky,
the venom doubts with blinding flash,
a meltdown torching sulk & spy.
This monstrous sense of salt fire eye,
about the wind my cobweb sings.
This comedown sheathes a hopeless high,
a fuckwad face of remind stings.
On unearthed stalking spirits by,
the storm-struck whisper secret flings. ...
95 reads
4 Comments
Restoration
Life & stress alone
yet owned
by the dirt of dusk
& evening chill,
lord of fools
come to fly
on temple dust-
a modern daze, faith: declined
the ~pleasure snake~
whispered on
golden time-held
tongue & trial
worth its weight
in salt & loss-
the toll of the street patrol,
gloats & glaives
the halcyon days
across our
throats…
heart & soul
(each with brain)
dawning upon
the basking
basilisk gaze:
the Old Man is
...
yet owned
by the dirt of dusk
& evening chill,
lord of fools
come to fly
on temple dust-
a modern daze, faith: declined
the ~pleasure snake~
whispered on
golden time-held
tongue & trial
worth its weight
in salt & loss-
the toll of the street patrol,
gloats & glaives
the halcyon days
across our
throats…
heart & soul
(each with brain)
dawning upon
the basking
basilisk gaze:
the Old Man is
...
82 reads
6 Comments
The Fell Snatch
Deep seeking dense.
A film of slipping
on the plunging jab.
A pinprick clang.
Machinations lag
where teeth await.
Flaking peel of steel
& rumbling pang.
A splat-born lad
bites the rusting love
with his hulking lust
as reaching fails
the handhold stab.
Plummeting rails
of parkour passed.
Climbing slick
& bricking depth.
A wall of skin
is trained on whim.
Heat-seeking tense.
Distress & flesh
of scraping rust.
Mechanized quest
to screaming...
A film of slipping
on the plunging jab.
A pinprick clang.
Machinations lag
where teeth await.
Flaking peel of steel
& rumbling pang.
A splat-born lad
bites the rusting love
with his hulking lust
as reaching fails
the handhold stab.
Plummeting rails
of parkour passed.
Climbing slick
& bricking depth.
A wall of skin
is trained on whim.
Heat-seeking tense.
Distress & flesh
of scraping rust.
Mechanized quest
to screaming...
63 reads
4 Comments
The Technological Singularity Blues
An electric voice is what tickled my groove.
It bit my bolts to trembling rust
on the fleshing coat that flailed my wire.
& it’s in the wake of an age
that brains this stage.
Our invisible eyes on unseen highs,
winging glance of lines in {sigh}
by glassing a face to hunt the brim.
Adorned in the scorn of an hourglass gaze:
I wax an ax down my heart to wane
& dog a cog ‘til blind with pain
(where your feisty pink ribbons
match my blue...
It bit my bolts to trembling rust
on the fleshing coat that flailed my wire.
& it’s in the wake of an age
that brains this stage.
Our invisible eyes on unseen highs,
winging glance of lines in {sigh}
by glassing a face to hunt the brim.
Adorned in the scorn of an hourglass gaze:
I wax an ax down my heart to wane
& dog a cog ‘til blind with pain
(where your feisty pink ribbons
match my blue...
111 reads
4 Comments
Swilling Sanguine Storms
Pulsing thirst of night
(pouring fast)
a storm-teased cocktail
quenching gleam.
Uncorking rocks
in your realm of ice,
my clinking teeth
on the twinkling din.
Your salt-wary eyes
are cloaked in wing.
Slowly, they swell
with molting rage
in a cask of age
{as the window keeps
to your secret weep}.
Heavenly dust
is harkening crust,
wrenching fire
& killing hot
with cold-hearted care.
Purpled cuts roar
your thunderous wonder,
a curious blue
keens your gash of sight.
...
(pouring fast)
a storm-teased cocktail
quenching gleam.
Uncorking rocks
in your realm of ice,
my clinking teeth
on the twinkling din.
Your salt-wary eyes
are cloaked in wing.
Slowly, they swell
with molting rage
in a cask of age
{as the window keeps
to your secret weep}.
Heavenly dust
is harkening crust,
wrenching fire
& killing hot
with cold-hearted care.
Purpled cuts roar
your thunderous wonder,
a curious blue
keens your gash of sight.
...
162 reads
3 Comments
Erotomania
There's a lust for an age
behind the phantom beam.
A sky to moss this stony drag.
& I am gloved in love
by a swallowed dove
with the eyes to match
a skyline blur.
I am burned in turns
yon Valleys of Death
through the breath
of the dirt
beneath your skirt.
These degrees of shade
are weak in the knees
as you split my wits
to dawn with ease.
& my guts are yours
past shattered doors.
Yet there's a hanging gape
for thrusting brass
that's hung with a spine...
behind the phantom beam.
A sky to moss this stony drag.
& I am gloved in love
by a swallowed dove
with the eyes to match
a skyline blur.
I am burned in turns
yon Valleys of Death
through the breath
of the dirt
beneath your skirt.
These degrees of shade
are weak in the knees
as you split my wits
to dawn with ease.
& my guts are yours
past shattered doors.
Yet there's a hanging gape
for thrusting brass
that's hung with a spine...
201 reads
4 Comments
Memento Mori
This torrid cold is gilding clay.
Horizon scorched
by a smiling gold.
Bleeds the earth
into gelded brays
of frozen pain.
Emptied urns
have turned to burn
this clash of wills
into slashing walls.
A slithered sniffing
blood at length
for divergent flesh
‘til winter's end.
I’ll ease a cloak
of flame within
your plight of peeling
time reprieve.
Where the white winds
croak on a tick of heads
I skin to the dark
from beyond your torch.
I stand to sand...
Horizon scorched
by a smiling gold.
Bleeds the earth
into gelded brays
of frozen pain.
Emptied urns
have turned to burn
this clash of wills
into slashing walls.
A slithered sniffing
blood at length
for divergent flesh
‘til winter's end.
I’ll ease a cloak
of flame within
your plight of peeling
time reprieve.
Where the white winds
croak on a tick of heads
I skin to the dark
from beyond your torch.
I stand to sand...
120 reads
8 Comments
Come Heavy
All-wet applesauce,
a big-shot bluenose.
There’s a broad
bump-off
packing torch.
The stand-up
cat’s meow
has driven home
the darning dame.
These drugstore cowboys
are a buncha
Dumb Dora
fall guys
with flat tire
frame gams
in their giggle water
gin shorts.
Buncha hard-boiled
heebie-jeebies
wishin' for
some high-hat's
hoochie-koo.
Buncha horsefeather
hotsy-totsy
jalopy-jackin’
tear-jerkers,
linin' up for
lounge lizard molly
with an ossified pinch
on a...
a big-shot bluenose.
There’s a broad
bump-off
packing torch.
The stand-up
cat’s meow
has driven home
the darning dame.
These drugstore cowboys
are a buncha
Dumb Dora
fall guys
with flat tire
frame gams
in their giggle water
gin shorts.
Buncha hard-boiled
heebie-jeebies
wishin' for
some high-hat's
hoochie-koo.
Buncha horsefeather
hotsy-totsy
jalopy-jackin’
tear-jerkers,
linin' up for
lounge lizard molly
with an ossified pinch
on a...
97 reads
5 Comments
Puissant Pissant Poet
Slither in cryptic strips
& squirm from the shell,
lithe from the light
of death in-between
these bickering steps
of degraded glories,
my workaday straight,
now,
through fields of pride.
It is this
(the husk of the morning,
filled with earth
on a dearth of dreams)
that is the flesh
of the Sun,
for a glimmering night
befalls my laboring wrath,
snickering steep
& gambling asunder
a life from the light
that is chanced in twain...
yet, swarthy swaggers
my high ring hammer,
I...
& squirm from the shell,
lithe from the light
of death in-between
these bickering steps
of degraded glories,
my workaday straight,
now,
through fields of pride.
It is this
(the husk of the morning,
filled with earth
on a dearth of dreams)
that is the flesh
of the Sun,
for a glimmering night
befalls my laboring wrath,
snickering steep
& gambling asunder
a life from the light
that is chanced in twain...
yet, swarthy swaggers
my high ring hammer,
I...
68 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by ButcherScraps