Submissions by ButcherScraps
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
Born under a bad sign with a blue moon in my eyes.
Crawling Chaos Calming Grey
Croaking sky, her iron eyes
speak no more my wet rock home,
thundered soul claps true & free,
freeze within the quiet storms...
feathered crowning starry shine,
brimstone shores unhorsing flies,
blazing calm thrown to the sea,
mellowed from her salted peak...
crooning zenith siren head,
sickle moon reaps looming toil,
mongrels boom our rainfall plead,
tongue is parched with rusted luck...
singing fume to wooden East,
melts with mantled Northern hiss,
crawling chaos in-between
binding mind to iron winds...
...
speak no more my wet rock home,
thundered soul claps true & free,
freeze within the quiet storms...
feathered crowning starry shine,
brimstone shores unhorsing flies,
blazing calm thrown to the sea,
mellowed from her salted peak...
crooning zenith siren head,
sickle moon reaps looming toil,
mongrels boom our rainfall plead,
tongue is parched with rusted luck...
singing fume to wooden East,
melts with mantled Northern hiss,
crawling chaos in-between
binding mind to iron winds...
...
105 reads
2 Comments
Electric Aegis
Flesh machine on mind control,
from under my thumb to over my head,
I am the cost of roads with eyes carved long,
asleep at the wheel of a tire fire dream:
the grinning grind of a roundabout scheme
through a smokestack rat race cul-de-sac town,
down to the crunch of lunch by the gravel pit,
by hollow miles of the blues & wires,
a restless smoke of abandoned hope,
eyes threadbare to squandered steel,
integrated taste of fume & coal on snow,
from a hole in the ground a light shines out-
& dream time is streamlined to...
from under my thumb to over my head,
I am the cost of roads with eyes carved long,
asleep at the wheel of a tire fire dream:
the grinning grind of a roundabout scheme
through a smokestack rat race cul-de-sac town,
down to the crunch of lunch by the gravel pit,
by hollow miles of the blues & wires,
a restless smoke of abandoned hope,
eyes threadbare to squandered steel,
integrated taste of fume & coal on snow,
from a hole in the ground a light shines out-
& dream time is streamlined to...
71 reads
1 Comment
Inside Joke
You can laugh
at me
if you want
but
I believe in
many Gods.
(I converse
with
more than
one.)
I do not
pray to them,
though:
that's because
they already
know
my feelings
on the subject.
at me
if you want
but
I believe in
many Gods.
(I converse
with
more than
one.)
I do not
pray to them,
though:
that's because
they already
know
my feelings
on the subject.
77 reads
3 Comments
Sight Unseen
The light
at the end
of the tunnel
was revealed
to be
some fool
holding all
I had
earned.
at the end
of the tunnel
was revealed
to be
some fool
holding all
I had
earned.
78 reads
4 Comments
Sylvan Blues
A page of mind, a book of flesh,
a spine of light on the moonless night,
a burning goats my fox run blue
in the spitting wet that dawns in red.
The mantid prowl of my smoking scowl
may grace with ash by howl or bite,
my hillside perch for hawking crows
is stuck to the point of a pining craw.
No waif nor wraith will sing me long
that soothing voice from a hole in stone,
a space that flowers to the power of one
I release to the peace of my wet rock home.
From beyond the clouds I gist my list
in the dark & call of a glowering...
a spine of light on the moonless night,
a burning goats my fox run blue
in the spitting wet that dawns in red.
The mantid prowl of my smoking scowl
may grace with ash by howl or bite,
my hillside perch for hawking crows
is stuck to the point of a pining craw.
No waif nor wraith will sing me long
that soothing voice from a hole in stone,
a space that flowers to the power of one
I release to the peace of my wet rock home.
From beyond the clouds I gist my list
in the dark & call of a glowering...
92 reads
2 Comments
Selachophilia
Aye!
Let them come,
those rude & angry points
of misplaced palaver,
let their tongue stones conjoin
to appreciate teeth.
(I only wish to love & die with the sea,
to garden in my coat shagreen.)
Subconscious breeze, blackened under
the blue-grey bullets, like a shark
of words with a silken pirate...
an eye on the coast, in the crabgrasses,
a salt-licked high on the skin of a mountain:
a view from the beaten cliff,
a siren call of crashing rocks,
crushed in hope for melodious death.
Villages immolate,...
Let them come,
those rude & angry points
of misplaced palaver,
let their tongue stones conjoin
to appreciate teeth.
(I only wish to love & die with the sea,
to garden in my coat shagreen.)
Subconscious breeze, blackened under
the blue-grey bullets, like a shark
of words with a silken pirate...
an eye on the coast, in the crabgrasses,
a salt-licked high on the skin of a mountain:
a view from the beaten cliff,
a siren call of crashing rocks,
crushed in hope for melodious death.
Villages immolate,...
57 reads
3 Comments
Statute of Limitations
Mystery phrases
shielding cryptic, wary tongues
preserve ugly truths.
shielding cryptic, wary tongues
preserve ugly truths.
103 reads
3 Comments
Bride of the Outlaw Philistine
Barbarian summer,
broadsword whistles by -
king or fool
to bowing
from once he stood
on ceremony -
a veil, or slice
through open neck...
the toning dark,
the graining head...
spoke in smoke
to the lucky bloke...
powerless high,
born to leaking
bile of Ba'al,
she is a
shimmering
Jezebel doll.
Autumn flies
the choking moon,
thistledown tones
of longing by,
deep in the brush,
with thoughts of fire -
crooked splays
the banging bride...
alone, now,
bound...
broadsword whistles by -
king or fool
to bowing
from once he stood
on ceremony -
a veil, or slice
through open neck...
the toning dark,
the graining head...
spoke in smoke
to the lucky bloke...
powerless high,
born to leaking
bile of Ba'al,
she is a
shimmering
Jezebel doll.
Autumn flies
the choking moon,
thistledown tones
of longing by,
deep in the brush,
with thoughts of fire -
crooked splays
the banging bride...
alone, now,
bound...
115 reads
2 Comments
Liaison
The chariot's lull,
the Sun sets the wheels
& words abrupt,
a blanket of grit
on cooling flesh...
talk is cheap & short,
sharpened on a belt
pulled away
with a slide & a point...
discussion as movement,
sublime in tentacled
freedom searching,
the night is a mind
of a million miles:
the canopy chatters
a whisper of morning
coming.
A shot in the dark:
ridiculous sight, the motor sputter,
dismount the lout with sniper sense,
my exit wound shines
her creaming shriek...
the Sun sets the wheels
& words abrupt,
a blanket of grit
on cooling flesh...
talk is cheap & short,
sharpened on a belt
pulled away
with a slide & a point...
discussion as movement,
sublime in tentacled
freedom searching,
the night is a mind
of a million miles:
the canopy chatters
a whisper of morning
coming.
A shot in the dark:
ridiculous sight, the motor sputter,
dismount the lout with sniper sense,
my exit wound shines
her creaming shriek...
119 reads
1 Comment
The Guilty & the Dead
Emotionless voices on humdrum airs,
slave girls jingling curb & motion.
I am on a bring-yer-own to the lithium strip,
a smoked-off plastic thrusting home
& I strangle sleep on a one-two-three,
step by step & assholed up in a mobile hut
to wit or shit this stain with a two liter face
where some worthless sons a cunts
are shootin' the breeze between their dying trees...
& the cauldrons bleed their pillars of white,
I lament a cold pack rule with a grain of salt
while gangbusters scoff at the dope fiend...
slave girls jingling curb & motion.
I am on a bring-yer-own to the lithium strip,
a smoked-off plastic thrusting home
& I strangle sleep on a one-two-three,
step by step & assholed up in a mobile hut
to wit or shit this stain with a two liter face
where some worthless sons a cunts
are shootin' the breeze between their dying trees...
& the cauldrons bleed their pillars of white,
I lament a cold pack rule with a grain of salt
while gangbusters scoff at the dope fiend...
123 reads
1 Comment
Blueblood
wake~
Voices in my head-
the tones in my bones,
a cut on the operating hand
or a lash of sweat in the eye;
a way with boring word-clinics,
oohing & aahing
to grilled meat
& spilled milk.
McGoogle yer freaks n' losers...
these chickens fried
the path walked
to spade & use
my tools for recompense...
all that nancy shit we do...
mostly talked & balked...
it's not like it was
back when a few hours
was a few hours
& not nine fucking minutes,
when it was more or less...
Voices in my head-
the tones in my bones,
a cut on the operating hand
or a lash of sweat in the eye;
a way with boring word-clinics,
oohing & aahing
to grilled meat
& spilled milk.
McGoogle yer freaks n' losers...
these chickens fried
the path walked
to spade & use
my tools for recompense...
all that nancy shit we do...
mostly talked & balked...
it's not like it was
back when a few hours
was a few hours
& not nine fucking minutes,
when it was more or less...
67 reads
0 Comments
Seething Cock
450 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by ButcherScraps