For war, Word or ward Odor of war Draw forward. Do for war A wood arrow draw Or wood oar Draw forward. Word of war Roar raw ward Offroad or radar Draw forward.
From an Ampersand Poetry & Prompts Anagrammatical Prompt. Check out the Ampersand Site Here
Chipped polish on keratin Formed instruments of misery Against the carved ivory candlestick, But played in time and one half Between clicked wooden heels And shuffle scuffed leather toes. Shrieking warped wood boards Bemoaned the restless pacing Until eased by the storm’s drippings Rolled from the oversaturated linen. Youth kept the nightdress white, Precisely creased on double pleat Perfumed in almond and rice starch. The insipidness of immaturity Creeped up the ironed dart lines To satiate the linen’s thirst for spoil, And seeped into the recurring path In a bogged mix of clay and blood. The sludge had smudged the vows Between the ruby and diamond ring. Lightning had taken exception, Or so it would have seemed, To the metal cockerel above the well. It’s striking boldly lit the sodden grass To illuminate a solitary jacquard spat Encased, leather, side button boot. He’d sworn himself inconspicuous once, Yet adorned himself so pretentiously For the eyes of the unwed maidens On the night he was intended to wed. The dusty manor house windows Did not hide the ostentatious footwear From the overwhelmed on looker As she bit her nails cuticle bare. Had he simply fallen, she’d be asleep For the drunkard had overindulged On pints of overtaxed Thames Gin. But he cracked his crown on limestone Before his legs lost the ability to hold His brainless form to full attention. Inebriation settled most heavily In the bones of his shaking wheeze. Had not the split of his mindless skull Incapacitated his conscious movement, His well wished departure would be, To the greatest of detest and chagrin, Replaced by opiate coma numbing As his bride rode Peeler’s prize In a carted cage of lucid lunacy And cursed language of wicked folk. Luck had been her bedfellow, Strength her mightiest gift giver, And determination: her kind muse. No sooner could he groan in ache Than his moaning was quick silenced In the crunch of crumbled spine That met with a barren dark age well. Her hand warmed by the liquid wax, She stopped pacing to reflect with joy At the sickening sound of lifelessness.
Originally Written 08/05/2020, Edited 12/05/2021
I want to set my teeth into your throat; Gargle sour blood around your larynx And tease out your last gasping breath. I want to kiss the lines of your jugular: To rip away the freckled fleshy covering Stimulating my taste buds on its pulsing surface. I want to play maestro with your nerves; And watch you twitch and convulse like a puppet As I pluck the taught tendrils one by one. I want to pick my teeth with your hyoid; Scrape from my grin your lingering remains To purge the taste of you from my mouth
Originally Written 09/05/2020, Edited 12/05/2021
Bestowed gift of manifestation As laid by this babe's head, Bring abundance to this child With bounds yet to be unknown. Create from his flesh a conduit Flowing bountiful in curiosity And free in unabashed glee. Fortify his bones against misery And afford him only adoration. Grant him true expression of Boundless and pure creativity Cascading from his fingertips Or coursing from his pouting lips. Hold his tongue from envious spite. Transform those jealous intentions Into tangible and fortuitous actions. Harbour angers, fears and explosions To free his spirit for fresh pursuits. Transmute his negative shadows Into innovative and fertile passions That may regenerate his being And unshackle his ambitions. Produce from this humble bairn An infant of widened eyes and heart; An enduring and steadfast being. Make him true, fair citrine dreamer.
Do you have to scrub your skin too? Scratch off it’s surface over and over Until twenty burning layers away From the tracks of unwanted caress? Remember as the acid seeps through And you lose that arrogant composure, That I am only just beginning to play With these things that helps me ‘process.’ Have you ever had to show your face When no-one knows the predator won? Force a smile, a dead eyed, dull grin, Hoping when friends hug you don’t flinch. Centre of the tooth, with nerve in place, I’ll drill a hole through every single one, Thread through each a fine steel string To pull them slow with a hand crank winch. When you’ve walked passed each other Have you been filled with complete terror? Did you grasp tightly at your fabric clothes As though they’ll protect from the shame? It’s so gratifying to watch as you suffer. The chemicals turned your skin to leather It’s time to cut that wailing tongue into rows I hope I don’t strike a vein, I like this game. Does the night bring back all the memories That weigh you down with its terrifying grip? Do you hope that by the morning sunrise Your heart would stop it’s painful beating? I’d quit the whining, there are no remedies As I watch you choke behind glued lips. I can’t stand to be devoured by your eyes But a pin prick will remove their seeing. Are your days filled with asking why? Blaming yourself for being the prey, Breaking yourself down ‘til you barely exist Pretending it never hurt you that much. I’m sure you’re all but ready to die? But you don’t look like your inner decay! I’ll let you decompose in your own shit Because a touch is not just a touch.
Dew swept wind hills of May morning Captured moments in sprinkled droplets That begged passers by to be collected. We knew to wait another hour or two Before stepping into their damp tracks Lest we become entranced by their tales. Humanity bled memories into the valleys. Tiny beetles feasted in the chaotic morning, Their shells glittered in the gloss of droplets. When the night's trouble was collected They'd disguise themselves in a minute or two Before the songbirds could recite hunting tracks. It was finally safe to leave our sacred cover. Humanity bled memories into the valleys Through the corpses of their fallen brothers. The glorious warmth of a sunny morning Reflected in our eyes like twinkling droplets Of youthful hope. It was our courage collected, Shared and displayed between only us two, That we may complete our pilgrimage together No matter the troubled ground we may cover. Humanity bled memories into the valleys Through the corpses of their fallen brothers. So few survived when kin killed beloved kin. A journey of miles, trudged through a morning. Stepping rhythmic, drenched in sweated droplets And woefully feigning we were calm and collected. Fear was painted behind our mission worn mask As we checked the mapped route together, Arguing the shorter path as we replaced it's cover. Humanity bled memories into the valleys Through the corpses of their fallen brothers. So few survived when kin killed beloved kin, Too many were martyred by man's monstrosity. Legs aching from the endless walking morning, Bodies craving sustenance, but surviving on droplets Tipped from the final flask of water, and of hope. You snatched the final sip, cracking under your mask. It seemed we'd outlasted our journey together, Our separateness apparently hidden under cover. Humanity bled memories into the valleys Through the corpses of their fallen brothers. So few survived when kin killed beloved kin, Too many were martyred by man's monstrosity: Those who fought for the beauty within us all. We parted with the last seconds of the morning, Silently wishing the other would reconsider. Survival now was only built on an anchor of hope That outlived the violence and psychological masks. Hope, that final chant uniting the distant together In a melody no imposter was able to falsely cover. For humanity bled memories into the valleys Through the corpses of their fallen brothers. So few survived when kin killed beloved kin, Too many were martyred by man's monstrosity. Those who fought for the beauty within us all Are anchored beacons of hope in dirty waters.
The feathered wings smelt the worst, Like plastic had fucked hair and created hatred. The smoke those feathers created Wrapped itself around every breath And burned our tracheas raw. At first, His visit was delightful, But as judgment reigned on our indiscretion The townsfolk yelled witch And bound His wings with the rope They bound their wives with at night. We were entranced by the screams Just as we were oft enraptured in each other’s sex. Gleefully we cheered melting skin, And screwed as the fat charred, Breathing in roasted celestial. The final flames danced at the messengers’ feet As townsmen recovered from climax, And wives licked each other's wounds clean. We satiated all violent and sexual desires, The day we set the Angel on Fire.
Outstretched legs that could reach the sky, And nails long enough to lose an eye. Curves small and soft, but defined and outlined, Face tight, flawless, and often kind. Pointed toes that swept deftly, precise, And affection that came at a price, Back tickled with golden hair, A body most beautiful bare. Elegant movements, jeté, plié, Childish as very cliché. Parents who raised their child right, With the grace of a mythic sprite. Shame everyone else had loved her too.
I am years of depression in the making, A broken concoction of self-help and self-hate. Progress, the weapon utilised to silence the audience, Is just as fake as the smile I paint on in the morning, To hide the desire to either laugh at my suffering, Or to will my heart to cease beating. I am composed of trauma’s melodic refrain, And I am played over my own disturbed backing, Pretending every moment is a blessing, When really I am gluing my pieces back together, Finding discarded shards all over my psyche, Pretending I am on a journey of self-discovery. I am bursting at the seams with rage, Sewing myself a harness to contain my mania With the snapped threads of my heart strings. The blood thirsty fever dripping from my jaws, The seething grit that sits in my grin, Aims as inwardly as it does outward.
Burn me to beyond my flesh, Until charcoal becomes my bones, Prepared to fall into unskilled hands, And trace amateur musings on cheap paper. Remake my ashes into your altar, Ready to receive sacrilegious homages, Prayers filled to the brim with debasement, As you pick your false God, or God’s, And punish each other for differing choices. Betray my actions with your memories, Portray as a fictitious being of your design, Claim dominion over your perception, And pass on your contortions to your kin. Teach them of my misery and woe, Belittle my mistakes to lowly choice, A haphazard misstep by misstep, That led to inevitable brimstone. Pretend me to be a sinner in life, And a fiery withered soul in death, As you picture thick sulfuric gasses, Turn and swirl in my remnants of lung, Catching breathless behind my tongue. But don’t scream when your lack of reformation, Stemming from absence of self-reflection, Leaves you burnt on my named headstone.
The Poet Armistead 