A poem, of a sort

[wight]

weeds and mulch
shovel and sweat

comes and stops,
directions, don't know,
money, don't have.

Knife snick, demand, denial
A push, A movement
jab with the handle
swing the sharp end.

Blood spray, screaming,
pushing, pulling,
Away

weeds and mulch
shovel and sweat

 

[Mia]

Another

'I am the destroyer of worlds' Inspired by the Bhagavad Gita


Sphere of blood and skin and bone
its core still soft with molten heat.


Biting down the oceans squirt like blood,
the mountains, stone and trees between my teeth.


Nations sliding down my throat, to float in stomach bile,
something hot to scald my tongue
the sun would follow.

 

[WittyAspie]

Another

'I am the destroyer of worlds' Inspired by the Bhagavad Gita


Sphere of blood and skin and bone
its core still soft with molten heat.


Biting down the oceans squirt like blood,
the mountains, stone and trees between my teeth.


Nations sliding down my throat, to float in stomach bile,
something hot to scald my tongue
the sun would follow.

Talk about some indigestion.

 

[wight]

I tend to favor Robert Frost, of the American Poets.
By the way, you can find many of the famous poets and their work here.


Out, Out–
Robert Frost, 1874 - 1963
The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside them in her apron
To tell them “Supper.” At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap—
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy’s first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart—
He saw all spoiled. “Don’t let him cut my hand off—
The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!”
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.