Kniving poems on Hello Poetry

Emily Nolan Jan 2013

Thirty-two. Adventure.

Exotic was the word we felt. You rode beside me, small as we were on rickety
flippant and injured bikes, but it was so dark dark and your hair
your hair was *****, and the lights that neoned over our heads turned into lines and twists
fists of red and blue and green and the bricks were wet, like the dirt on the bottom of your shoes
shoes that we fled in, shoes that slapped water and collided with the pavement
You were just as cunning kniving knifing strafing dodging as I
and our lips cracked smiles of sharp white teeth and we ran
because we were bad, we were motors of deliberate disobedience
our eyes were glazed with dizzy daffodil poppyseed crushed ice and bottles hidden
and the room that was the city sky was spinning
weightless and confused and sure so sure, we broke window after window with rocks
and danced, out of character and space

I took you home late

Teenage trance or ecstasy; a wild night out

Nebulous the Poet Nov 2013

Con-iving Plan

Eight months ago we parted ways
Like a ship parts the water
When slicing through the sea.

Now when I close my eyes at night
I dream some wavering dreams.
Sometimes it feels we're inseparable

The way the ripples of your fingertips
Would embrace the warmth of my hand
And my problems would magically wash.

Or how I could be so timid and nervous
Your presence would impede my expressions
And I'd struggle to snap out of it.

Maybe it was the beautiful blue in your eyes
That would wave when I looked at you
And sometimes I'd forget to wave back.

Or even just simply hanging out with you
Knowing the hours that would follow
Will be filled with nothing but conversation.

And how my odd sense of humor
Somehow seemed to make you laugh
and smile, quite an overjoying sight.

Sometimes I can't stand the thought of you
When I close my eyes at night
Because you left me to look like a fool.

False promise given to a hopeful heart
Built walls greater than those of China
That aren't the easiest to move past.

It all seemed like an elaborate plan
That was constructed by a con-artist
And being truthful happened to be the con.

You duped a vulnerable soul
Who ventured outside his body
Because of this risky. . . decision.

I learned a caring sense of compassion
Is an unrealistic trait to look for
In someone who is kniving and selfish.

Because to walk away from someone,
with what seemed like little to no regret,
who walked into your life
and made any sort of an impact
is as heartless as Kanye West.

neth jones Mar 2022

. . . . . . . . . . . . . devoid

i govern an idling heart
doomingly glazey
won't lift a care                    but won't swat no fly either
maintains functional        with the safety hitched on
observes the public goings and fro-ings
                           without discrimination
but offers no service
             no aid
and no addition

docile         and folded         and dormant of view
in a world-scape kniving to be brighter
                                           more memorable and avidly self dominant
                             i am a skiving witness

the older i get the more this approach
                                          is not an easy one
i observe a neighbour bully about his kids
using jest rewards between shouting them to heel
and cuffing them violent
i observe a lady place her friend
                                      with a simple remark
('i like your choker.. it's like something i wore as a child
it's nice to remember that')
i observe war retread on the screen
i observe a couple secretly kiss and brush fingers.

human spoil seen now ;
        it draws pity, pain and longing
i am not devoid
                                       despite much practice
  some involvement on my part
                                             may be due

#indifference #observer #feeling #devoid

Jonny Angel Jan 2014

I Cried Behind My Patch (Sailing on Island Time)

It was a ritual scarfing
spiced-eggs at the subbase,
then heading up
to the mountaintop
to check on
the cumulous-situation.

From the banana house,
one can see for eternity
the tips of Tortola & beyond
& grow fond of such splendor.

The beauty of such moments
can sink deep & stir hearts.
Even the stoutest of pirates
can cry behind the patch,
get snatched by this passion,
reveal his hidden treasure.

My blood-eyes always
seemed mesmerized,
pleasured
by the ***-filled hours
spent down on Back Street
before each maiden voyage.

The trips to Drake's Seat
to confer with the
dreadlocked-donkey man
were always my final stop.
For he had select bumblegum-*****,
homegrown at market prices,
to change perspective
& buccaneers ya know,
certainly need that fix.

Those warm Trade Winds
whipped through
the Inward Passage
while lobsters boiled
on the shore,
and there, raised up
high on the edge,
my stiletto kniving sapphires,
I understood
the true meaning of freedom,
riding supersonic
under golden suns,
in a world
so alone & starving.

sparkjams Mar 2019

Untitled

Welcome back to shop
****** mop and worn out rock
I am now your tourist friend
greetings on the other end

smiling devils smelling fresh light bulbs
I am the other one
sapping violence from mind and matter
I am your other

good intent my pal
good words for stellar decay
you forgot me

no worries my cherished
begin again and renew
we shall

it's slowly becoming part of the water
he's moving rapidly towards clouds of deceased
but I am on the move

I'll make sure he knows
I know that's what you wanted and let go of
give space and leadership
you expected no less

he will be pulled along by greed and friends
he will see both sides of the demonic coin
he will rest no more in shades of gray
he will unleash, torn yet prepared
decaying but obeying
blinking and crying
he will separate us.

You've been here before
kniving fiend with claw and bow
you are seething and timid
you watch us from below
who are you?

gore my flies and capitalize
ancient tongue worth coins in lies
burn my flesh and rot my eyes
I am here to exorcise...
agonize...
petrify...

BLOODLUST

— The End —