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Literature
The House That God Built
This is the bat which scared the chap
Who stole from the house that Dad built.
This is the cat who replaced the dog
Aged five and five who kept me alive
Before the life could leave me.
This is the mother, problems and all
Who’s helping me up when ‘ere I fall
Assuring I’ll grow broad and tall
And never fit to leave her.
This is the man who built the house
This is the printer what paid for the house
This is the drunk who destroyed the house
And I am the boy who left it.
This is the brother with open door,
An open door that can pay no more
This is the brother  who’s sweet friend
Made me the boy to leave it.
This is the house that  Marc Built
This is the bat to pretend to be that
This is the food that’ll do you no good
And the hash and the heroin growing outside
The wee-washed house that Marc Built
This is the house that God built.
This is the lace to carry the grace
That is water to make you anew
That is the lie we walk along by
For it’ll dest
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0
Literature
Rave
Here, under lights, under fog
We take our grim communion,
One and two euro bites, become one.
This is the rave, boys, we are the rave-boys,
And we rage against the spent night,
For dawn is still while we wave.
Crystals come from Paris, gasses
To inhale and see God’s wonders
And all delights forbidden in the bright
Sun’s consternation, no constellations
Of accusing eyes may drag us down.
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0
Literature
Snails
We cower, beneath the great broken tile,
Leaning by some bird-haunted shed.
Heavy, laden-down with dark water,
Droop leaves, like pregnant mothers.
The murderous grass, death-sharp
Stand ever on parade, sleeping afore the sun
Can burn clean all things, and that which crawls.
We stir, stone-swift, and raise solemn heads
From slumber, and creep out from shelter.
Stalks aloft to the stalking birds above,
Tongue to ground for wolfish centipede
And drink deeply of the morning’s tears.
Huddled now, while the prowling spider
Haughtily ignores us, stooping past us
Rattling leg on domed shell, hungry.
We wait, as the birds call and hunt us out
And fail, as dawn returns to night.
Dig deep, delve down past worm-tunnels
Woodlice monasteries, plant eggs far from sight
And wait for unshelled things to slink from soil
And cast wondering eyes at the dark water.
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 1 0
Literature
Kuwabara
Let not your lightning touch
Nor voice give harsh command,
For this wilderness is wide
And I shall not tread in one night
Over these barren bones, O Lord.
The pool is shallow, shall I drink?
Or have beasts defiled afore I ran?
Time does not touch here, but rip.
No shelter, but the sun in the east
And slow-sinking west harries me.
I have come to rest for now,
Beneath lily-white flowers of Eden.
Cast me not from your sight, O Lord,
Yet humbled, prostrate before you;
Let me live, and be pleasing too.
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0
Literature
Tzion
Spice slides by on ships,
Past Himyar Jews and sand.
We sit together, rock cut,
Stone-stairs rising to God above.
We sing Psalters, while Bet Giyorgis
Rides down the devil on our walls.
A hundred hands, a hundred years,
Have hacked this Zion out of stone.
The Derg bent us, Italy chipped us,
Yet nothing may harm the hills,
Nor make the mountains bow down,
Not here, in Tzion, where Solomon’s seed
Spent itself at last, in white, unbroken-
And proclaiming aloud “death to the world!”.
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0
Literature
Whippoorwills.
I play the part of poet, and well.
I sing these psalms to the echoing dark
And pray for answer, or a glance.
They stride by my life, in ones and twos,
Stay a while for tea and titillation
And are off again like whippoorwills,
For to drink is fine, but they see the danger
Lurking down the blue water, past smiles
And second-hand Kavanagh,secrets known
And secrets kept silent, or wept to drunks
In bathroom stalls, skeletons of past selves
Drowned, and  buried deep with bricks
To weigh them down and drive no more away.
Yet these are no fools, the whippoorwills,
Their eerie chant is wiser still than I.
They flee, fed with danger.
Clever- I wish I could flee too.
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0
Literature
Boyne.
Wheat grew, barley too,
Where that old man took his walks
Past potholes, rough-stack brick huts
And kelp dragged by screaming knuckles.
Wheat grew, barley too,
Where he watched a wife die,
Past point of care, cattle gone,
And children scattered like seeds.
Brambles grow, dandelion too,
Where they buried that old man,
Past the burnt-out mill and wasted soil
And the dismal valleys of the Boyne.
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0
Mature content
Groomed. :iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0
Literature
Dispute/Disrepute
Why must you meet me here?
By these brushes, while rushes weep
And dance beside the cotton?
There are no words left,
No victory, nor defeat,
But vague murmurs,
Second hand hate!
I hurried, past the burning year
Where whole months fluttered,
School notes on the wind,
Lost like landmines.
Word-hover, five feet in front,
Fireflies that sprint before my hand.
Come back to me, something, please,
Lest I fill friend’s seats with merest strangers.
I have howled this out before, in rain,
Drifting, flotsam man, down by dusk
And rivers packed with rusted steel.
I lived, lived to make mistakes again
Not learning, too wounded to walk.
At edges, come crying gulls,
With revenge on beak and wing,
Cawing cruel thoughts, retribution.
We heave together, ferry-born drunks
Mourning mistakes, and confusion,
Delusion reigns in the heart of man.
We whisper melodies, laden down,
Voices thick with sick-smell and sour
Apples, Vaseline-floors and falling down.
I wake and see a long gone face, a rose
Of pure
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 1 0
Literature
Evergreen.
Birds flirt and flit amid
Rotting evergreens which line
Along this squalid street.
They heave sickly sweet sap
And burst as bombs where once
We walked, in damp mornings,
To feed busking ducks who brawled
And swap shy looks over bread.
Now I shun the blushing pine,
And its swelling scent
And the itinerant birds that beg
Beside the dusk-damp benches.
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0
Literature
Potter's Field
Two men buried today, sank past sod.
Swinging, ringing in the rain came he
Of public affection, to go down to death
In grim splendour, ivory and damask.
Yet about the casket cavort the demons,
Drinking, swilling at his death and victory
Over life, and the life eternal.
Yet went down, in Potter’s field,
A boy no one knew to name,
Scabrous, stolen bread on breath
And copper coins for riches.
They rolled him in this ditch
With a coat from some teary drunk
As the burial shroud donated.
Yet angels alight on the bottles
Broken by the grave as celebration
Of an unknown saint.
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0
Literature
Night Howler
The neck is sheer, the voice is shut
Yet it squeaks aloud in the street.
How the chest is rent, the teeth spread
And the gullet goes on forever.
The anger and hate, the twisted fear
Drowns out all other sound.
The head has long since fallen off
Yet there is power within its bones,
To touch and make the world as ash
And never to be sated.
Who built the bones, sharp as steel?
Whence did this horror slink
From children’s dreams at night?
Why must it breathe ragged breaths
Just beyond my hallway door?
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0
Literature
China Garden
He leans across this table,
Fried meats and polished rice
At elbow and palm, adorning lip
And breath with spices come from China.
He has desolation in his words, yet knows
Not what works he does, for he is foolish.
He rouses recent thoughts, wounds still damp
With blood and bile, and blunders through me.
His wisdom is worn out years ago, his tact dead
At birth, purple and bloated, mottled when born.
The boot ignores the flower, he ignores everyone
And all are trodden down to death by bastards.
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0
Literature
4 AM
This void yawns around me,
As I yawn, worn to the bone.
Ignoring the rain, filled with medicine,
The motions I make are stiff and dull.
A stunned mannequin, hovering
For years on the cliff-edge
Wishing for wind to drive me over.
How I quake in the hours, silence,
Broken by click-clacks and a broken
Cable’s whining, alone.
This year shudders out in murk
Just as it began, as all begin and end.
The heat and cold brawl over me,
Like roaring drunks, divorcees
Fighting over this little room.
My dreams sit outside my window,
Leering from beyond curtained-eyes.
Exhaustion leans around my screen,
Weary itself from drugs and drink.
Pistol without bullets, rope without knot,
Blade without edge, pill without poison.
This impotence fills up my horizons.
As they filled me long ago.
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 1 0
Literature
Meat-Monastery
Angel-bidden came he of cowls
And white-black shrouds
To Hindustan, to where flesh festers
And flies, amid the sweat, rule the rivers.
Far from the corpse-choked roads,
Cut from clay and red rock, many gods
Cavort and duel amid the monastery men.
Yet up these crude-cut stairs lies paradise,
A crooked cross announces to the knowing ones
And he goes amid the Greek singers, praying.
The meat runs into walls, faces leer from stone,
Stoop to kiss at those who pray, veins run along
And blood pounds in the brickwork, alive.
The monks sleep under whispering mouths,
Dreadful things are murmured in the night.
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0
Literature
Block
How far will words flee from me?
How long must I chase them,
A father hunting for stolen children,
Through damp lilies on Sunday mornings,
Sick from sleeping in sunless cloth?
All  I write is but ash on the wind,
Touch it and it is gone, a smear
A stain, unremembered.
A thousand-thousand words line up
To bear my coffin past empty seats
And tear-dry soil,  mournless.
Who shall be my children but these?
Who shall marry me but the paper?
Where is my family but among the letters,
These trifling words, whispered in the dark?
:iconTheLastIconoclast:TheLastIconoclast
:iconthelasticonoclast:TheLastIconoclast 0 0

Favourites

Professor Jordan Peterson by HaltabSD Professor Jordan Peterson :iconhaltabsd:HaltabSD 16 8 Godemperor President Donald Trump by Theocrata Godemperor President Donald Trump :icontheocrata:Theocrata 543 291 its 2016 ppl by Karisean its 2016 ppl :iconkarisean:Karisean 5 7 Indoril Ordinators by Swietopelk Indoril Ordinators :iconswietopelk:Swietopelk 438 40
Literature
The student
Right foot, left foot, ever marches on,
In the early hours, the break of dawn,
Charging again, right out the gate
Hastily drawn into debate
Against masses who despise
Retort against echoes and lies
Despised, but this gives him pride.
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:iconmcwkennedy:mcwkennedy 1 0
Literature
The City That Died Screaming
White phosphorus depicts the lands of Hell,
It melts the skin, it drowns the soul in flame,
The trigger finger has a tale to tell,
A medal for the winner of the game.
I beat you to the floor, you crawl away,
You look at me with haunted, angry eyes,
Don't you still hear the screams of yesterday?
I grin, what screams? And yet another cries.
I am your savior, bringer of the light,
The muzzle flash, the one that brings your end,
I'm here for you, I never want to fight,
Says he who used a bullet on his friend.
I ask, are you the monster, or am I?
Yet still we know we both deserve to die.
:iconNocturnalSentience:NocturnalSentience
:iconnocturnalsentience:NocturnalSentience 22 6
Alien Aquarium by NazTheEternal Alien Aquarium :iconnaztheeternal:NazTheEternal 1 0 Federal Defense Corps Revised by Hessmix Federal Defense Corps Revised :iconhessmix:Hessmix 4 0 FoM: Dominion Corrections Logo by Hessmix FoM: Dominion Corrections Logo :iconhessmix:Hessmix 5 1 Private Joker 1 by Insane-Pencil Private Joker 1 :iconinsane-pencil:Insane-Pencil 10 2 Tom Waits by ChrisVisions Tom Waits :iconchrisvisions:ChrisVisions 128 6
Literature
ANZAC
Maybe when the poppies grow,
when their petals open wide,
maybe that's when we'll all know,
if they're on our side.
maybe when the last man's gone,
and when the plants begin to grow.
Maybe when the families mourn,
for those lost in the front row.
Maybe then the bang and blast,
fall silent once again,
maybe then this war won't last,
and we'll go home, my friend.
:iconskiniminni:skiniminni
:iconskiniminni:skiniminni 14 23
Simon and Garfunkel Stamp by CheeseTitans Simon and Garfunkel Stamp :iconcheesetitans:CheeseTitans 123 23 St. John Paul the Great icon by Theophilia St. John Paul the Great icon :icontheophilia:Theophilia 199 85 ATONEMENT -JESUS CHRIST PORTRAIT by Noel Cruz by noeling ATONEMENT -JESUS CHRIST PORTRAIT by Noel Cruz :iconnoeling:noeling 524 50 St. Patrick Icon by Theophilia St. Patrick Icon :icontheophilia:Theophilia 261 77

Activity


This is the bat which scared the chap
Who stole from the house that Dad built.
This is the cat who replaced the dog
Aged five and five who kept me alive
Before the life could leave me.

This is the mother, problems and all
Who’s helping me up when ‘ere I fall
Assuring I’ll grow broad and tall
And never fit to leave her.

This is the man who built the house
This is the printer what paid for the house
This is the drunk who destroyed the house
And I am the boy who left it.

This is the brother with open door,
An open door that can pay no more
This is the brother  who’s sweet friend
Made me the boy to leave it.

This is the house that  Marc Built
This is the bat to pretend to be that
This is the food that’ll do you no good
And the hash and the heroin growing outside
The wee-washed house that Marc Built


This is the house that God built.
This is the lace to carry the grace
That is water to make you anew
That is the lie we walk along by
For it’ll destroy the house that God built.

This is the boy who fled the house
To  flee to the house that God built
But years and beards and an addiction to tears
Makes a boy squat in the house of the Lord.

This is the scandal that God built.
This is the man to touch the child
This is the sin that is easy to hide
This is being told I always lied
So I’m the boy to leave them

This is the group to take them all in,
This is the group that Mike built.
This is the twat to say just that
Will make the boy remember


This is the mix, the jolly old mix
The mix that Mike made together
Buts its all in a duddle and flim and a fuddle
For the builder ran away!

This is the boy, the running boy
The boy the broken house built
This is the fist that gives you the gist;
The guilt of the boy the house built!

This is the party for sowing wild oats
This is the library full of old goats
And there is the boy buried by old coats
And wondering how to leave.

The hair the hair the wonderous hair!
Used to be up then and there
Now gone to Siobhan with both boots on
The house the shaven man built!


This is the house the skinhead built
This is the ban if you were their fan
This is the empty inside and in the bar
This is the blank looks and lack of a car
So I can crawl home to the house that Dad built.


This is the house that lies built
This is the sheet for I have no character
This is the lying according to lies
This is the fatty with envious eyes
To throw me from the house that lies built.

This is the house that love built
This is the house that hate tore down
These are the beatings and chillier greetings
And dancing past the break of mourning.

This is the lace that lost all her grace
And friends who stab you in the back
This is the foe to stamp on your toe
And steal away what love built.
Here, under lights, under fog
We take our grim communion,
One and two euro bites, become one.
This is the rave, boys, we are the rave-boys,
And we rage against the spent night,
For dawn is still while we wave.
Crystals come from Paris, gasses
To inhale and see God’s wonders
And all delights forbidden in the bright
Sun’s consternation, no constellations
Of accusing eyes may drag us down.
We cower, beneath the great broken tile,
Leaning by some bird-haunted shed.
Heavy, laden-down with dark water,
Droop leaves, like pregnant mothers.
The murderous grass, death-sharp
Stand ever on parade, sleeping afore the sun
Can burn clean all things, and that which crawls.

We stir, stone-swift, and raise solemn heads
From slumber, and creep out from shelter.
Stalks aloft to the stalking birds above,
Tongue to ground for wolfish centipede
And drink deeply of the morning’s tears.

Huddled now, while the prowling spider
Haughtily ignores us, stooping past us
Rattling leg on domed shell, hungry.
We wait, as the birds call and hunt us out
And fail, as dawn returns to night.
Dig deep, delve down past worm-tunnels
Woodlice monasteries, plant eggs far from sight
And wait for unshelled things to slink from soil
And cast wondering eyes at the dark water.
Let not your lightning touch
Nor voice give harsh command,
For this wilderness is wide
And I shall not tread in one night
Over these barren bones, O Lord.

The pool is shallow, shall I drink?
Or have beasts defiled afore I ran?
Time does not touch here, but rip.
No shelter, but the sun in the east
And slow-sinking west harries me.

I have come to rest for now,
Beneath lily-white flowers of Eden.
Cast me not from your sight, O Lord,
Yet humbled, prostrate before you;
Let me live, and be pleasing too.
Spice slides by on ships,
Past Himyar Jews and sand.
We sit together, rock cut,
Stone-stairs rising to God above.
We sing Psalters, while Bet Giyorgis
Rides down the devil on our walls.
A hundred hands, a hundred years,
Have hacked this Zion out of stone.
The Derg bent us, Italy chipped us,
Yet nothing may harm the hills,
Nor make the mountains bow down,
Not here, in Tzion, where Solomon’s seed
Spent itself at last, in white, unbroken-
And proclaiming aloud “death to the world!”.

deviantID

TheLastIconoclast's Profile Picture
TheLastIconoclast
Ireland
A ripped off, poorly written character with no involvement in the plot. Tends to act like the protagonist of any given Lovecraft story. Still, read his work. Someone has to.
Interests

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:icontheflawedone:
TheFlawedOne Featured By Owner Sep 3, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks so much for the watch!
Reply
:iconxluckyxfridayx13x:
xLuckyxFridayx13x Featured By Owner Nov 25, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Happy birthday!
Reply
:iconcopper9lives:
copper9lives Featured By Owner Nov 7, 2014  Professional General Artist
:wave: Hello, Miles —  welcome to :iconpoetryparadise:!

We're happy to have you aboard! If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, please :note: the group and your friendly neighborhood admins will get back to you ASAP.

Currently, we're hosting a monthly contest — check it out!

:heart:
Copper
Reply
:icondannyps-customs:
dannyPs-customs Featured By Owner Aug 29, 2014  Professional Digital Artist
Thanks for the watch!
Reply
:iconbluteisen:
BlutEisen Featured By Owner Mar 4, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the watch. ^^ 
Reply
:iconbanditringtail3:
BanditRingtail3 Featured By Owner Feb 11, 2014
Thank you for the favorite.
Reply
:iconpoppyseedz:
PoppySeedz Featured By Owner Oct 5, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you very much for the watch, Miles! :hug:
Reply
:iconjescallie:
JesCallie Featured By Owner Sep 9, 2013   Traditional Artist
thank you for the fave on Hope
Reply
:iconnetherheim:
Netherheim Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2013  Hobbyist Artist
Thank you very much for the watch!
Reply
:iconthelasticonoclast:
TheLastIconoclast Featured By Owner Sep 8, 2013
Something to get a fellow guard player on his feet.
Reply
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