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Category Archives: Song

Thou Shalt Kill

I’m a flamethrower

I’m on fire, burning from the core

I’m a blazing gun

I’m smoking, imprinting

My scars upon the unsuspecting ones

 

Flash-fire, acetylene, etched to glass,

Unstable, flames ignite on premise alone

Nitro-magnetic, a glycerin unglued—a fiery speech

In a land of apocalyptic truths

 

Charring crisp the color’s door

Singeing all the scenery one abhors

A tornado metes infernal, basking in its char,

Evaporating things once taught that now lay scattered far

 

You’ve got the heartache like Jupiter,

A Crucifix, a rood, upon that hill,

Where only the crows and nomads go

 

When it’s down, it’s done

When it’s downed, you’ve won

 

And then you look skywards, upon a patronizing dawn,

And then you remember the directions you’ve left behind

 

And then, in circles, you covet the sparrow’s mournful song

Awake, with circumference as your guide, webs come undone

Aware, of words in falter, understanding your solution’s wrong

Unto horizons, well past the stifling shadows of a bitter sun

 

On my chest there breathes an adage,

In a language as dead today as it’s ever been,

And if you can understand it, then you know

And if you can read it, you better run, you better go

For within my own dominion, the adage has control

 

The hours therein acts the perjure

It’s sounds hold me fast in peril,

I am bound to this translation,

Where the lines spell it out succinctly,

Reading thou shalt now kill,

For each misdeed you’ve ever done

 

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Time, Ticking Away

Time, time, got the time, tick, tick, ticking in my head, time, time, time, time after time, tick, tick, ticking in my head

Slowly shows the daylight slows, a light that bends yet not defend the inversion of the balance spent, hours spending speed

The speed and dearth or times rehearsed, echo the clock’s hand freshly stopped as the fingers pushes down, issuing the rate upon the watch. Upon the wrath’s watch…go…

There are sixty in an hour; thirty in a half, sixty in a minute and so it goes… empties the hourglass

Sand shifts like dunes dismay, subtly drifting because of winds displayed…blowing about like paper on a freeway during rush hour land… scenes, news to windshield, rain to screen, dampening the ink yet dry, undoing a portion of its pen unto the glassy countenance your wipers deny, scrawling the side, transference across one’s lens until time depend upon it once again

Time, Time, Got the time ticking…time, time, got the time, tick, tick, ticking in my head, got the time, tick, tick, ticking in my head.

Chronos led the titans unto tartarus, trapped without a sundial, locked away in what we trust, without a shadow to span past the numerals at which time, personified, was but a fractal of the all-knowing, eye to spy, sight to see, time to tell, the wicked and the cruel, and each its spell, to the spot where time could begin or end, where time could play, defend, to which the hours grow quite dim, to the lengths the fool will squarely follow him, time to feel, time to flee, end or pretend, tenor or alto sax, a six-string to which we crash….WAKE UP…TIME TO DIE….

Sideways, forwards back and down…twisting, turning, right side up and upside down

Strings of strings that time forgot, in a landlocked ledger found at the edge of a stadium parking lot, where times, tomorrow’s headlines are alive today, commingling with the past’s history refereed to as yesterday

Conviction of distinction, draught to drag the lock, procuring silt and sand from the bottom of the clock, where the sides and tips react, contract, push and stride, each hand’s a budging the hour closer to the inscription staved, sordid like a camera there, stealing image to polaroid’s frame, dividing a future frozen by a tomorrow’s moment ne’er to crave

Time, time, got the time, tick, tick, ticking in my head…. time after time, time and money, money and time, turn the dial, make it chime, ring the bell, ring it slow, twist the transistor and make it go, make a smile show, change, change, got the change, tick, tick, tickling in the pocket as the sense of directions smoothens low, paving the way to one’s red painted drawing the charcoal made, forever altering the art in which we may behave, in which we believe

Tick, tick, tick…. time on a wire…tick, tock, tick, tock, turning around the arms of the grandfather, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo and family’s turn on kin, society finds one’s sins, shun and deny, it’s in the odds we cry, never choosing to made as fools, all because of the discomfort caused by the curse of the scare of the eyes of time…blind justice calendars the page, alleviating nothing, no, time it cannot save

Tick…tock…. tick…. tock…. tick…ticking…Time, ticking, Time, time
Stands still, leaving the future
Forever in a shroud of doubt…time itself cannot command the affection we swallow here in this land…time stand still, as it would, there were a rush, if telling time was never understood

And the good times are killing me…the good times are killing me and love’s got me doing, love’s got me doing time and you, had, the time of your life…ageism in a stand on biography, bigotry and bigamy in a land of confusion set still against time standing still, time, time, got the time, tick, tick, ticking in my head…if
Of course, we understood, the meanings of the words instead where this time, this time, will be the last time, the last time and all time, every time, is nothing, but a good time. How can we resist…ain’t looking for nothing…and it don’t get better than

The first time’s working, slaving, everyday, moving to the next time, to the last time, to the closing of the bell, ringing, tolling, away we spell, the hours numb, the hours sink, into a clock up on the brink, of a fully flooded sinking ship…where time…don’t mean a thing…don’t mean a thing…but it’s that thing, precisely that separates the slicker from the skin…. porridge on a rainy day…inflated to the womb It may…forever returning to the moment we had the time, the time, tick, tick, ticking in my head…tick, tick, ticking in my head

Well, after watching my football team suffer a horrendous loss this afternoon, I had to write of course. But, you know, when my moods get stirred up like this, I find I either go in one of two directions with my writing, typically I wind up writing violent, disjointed and abstractly, but then, like today, I take an idea and I pervert it to the point of farce. While on the surface this may read coherently, if you listen to my rambling wreck of a reading here, you’ll see what I mean. I mean nothing by farce, farce is great, there’s a style to it, well, for the really good ones anyhow, which I have no preconceptions to such claims, certainly not when simply stream of consciousness writing and not plotting things out. But, for those that do listen to the reading, if you think you’re hearing a bunch of 80’s-90’s bits of songs in here, you would be correct. To give proper credit, well, credit I can remember anyhow, and all apologies to those bands that I forget who wrote the song, but Got The Time by Anthrax is the main verse sung in here, Rush- Time Stands Still, Some INXS song, Time after Time from Cindi Lauper and I think there’s a Smith’s or Cure piece in here, but not quite sure.

Anyhow, Mary over at D’Verse, ran the Poetics Prompt last night and offered up a really nice write up about stages of time in one’s life, and lots of excellent poets linked up their work as they always do. I wrote a piece and linked it up, on my other site, but the theme stuck with me, not sure if there’s any tie in with watching a poorly executed football game or not, but needless to say, I went with it again and thought I’d post it up here for anyone who wanted to read/listen to it. And, as is the case with most times, while the disappointment is certainly still there, I find myself grounded and let the poetry soothe me as it typically has that tendency to do. Thanks

A Possible Reaction For The Mortally Wounded

Dagger’s drawn
In too deep
To ponder what this means

Dagger’s drawn
In too deep
Pulling stitches from the seams

In too deep
There’s no way back
I pray for what comes next

In too deep
I’m Leaving scars and
Endless regrets

To ponder
Would be a waste
Of time left to feel

To ponder
Is but a luxury
For the living and the real

What’s this mean
Guess answers come
Much sooner than could know

What’s this mean
Just gonna’ reel
in all this light’s glow

What’s this mean
Just gonna’ reel
in all this light’s glow

On Rebellion…

Stu McPherson hosted Poetics over at D’Verse yesterday. Stop on over and read the article, I’m fairly certain that after you do, you will be inspired to create. Rebellion has always been an idea that has interested me, as to how far does one person or group of people have to be pushed in order to come together in such a manner. Rebellion, in this sense, has always reminded me about the situation where you have heroes and villains united, to face and defeat a much greater evil. I see rebellion in the same way. While those pushed to such a point, may, for the most part be like-minded and living in similar conditions, it’s just a fact of human nature that not everyone will get along in amenable ways. And yet, under such circumstances, you can easily see two nemeses joining in arms for a unified cause.

Anyhow, just wanted to chime that in before getting to my offering for this subject. The pieces I’m sharing here in this post, in some way reflect the above, but not entirely, and certainly emphasizing different aspects much deeper than others, focusing mainly on the origin, briefly, if at all speaking about the uprising itself, and then, a quick look at how those involved, may look back upon their involvement much later on in life.

The second piece, which is a found poem I put together. I took some well known, well at least to me they are, lyrics, and jumbled them up together to create a poem/song of my own. For those who don’t recognize the songs, credits are given for both the artists and your benefit.

Recordings are also included for each. In the case of the found poem/song, bear in mind, I tried my best reproducing the vocal qualities of the original vocalist, in many cases to a most amateur degree. But nonetheless, it was all a very interesting and enjoyable Poetics, so much so that it took me past Saturday and into Sunday to complete.

Finally. I’m going to try and read as many pieces as I can today, as I’m very interested in seeing what everyone constructed here, especially for this theme. But the fact of the matter is I have someplace to be for the majority of the day, and will most likely not be able to visit as many as I’d like until either late tonight or tomorrow. Anyhow…


I.
Nobody told us…
Nobody said just how it would be…
They led us with blinders
They held our hands; they held us tightly
They led us with blindness
To the guillotine; dropping the blade for all to see

No one said easy
Such words, never spoken
No one hinted…
As to the cruelty brokered by a system
Condemning the poor and weak

Nobody told us…
Nobody said just how it would be
I’ve kept looking
Looking for treaties
I’ve been searching
Searching for peace
Nobody told us…
Just how unjust this all could be

and in our trust, truth bleeds
and from our ignorance, they underestimate
Unwittingly planting the seed

Rebellion…Rebellion
From one, a web shall be spun
Rebellion…Rebellion
With more, a movement’s begun

II.
Looking for answers, but instead, more
Questions form,
Where once, we only sought direction…but now
demand to know…
what tomorrow has in store

You’re so adept, when it comes to the runaround
You’re so clever, deflecting pressure
and creating the convenience of a detour,
without ever changing the direction or desired course

You smile, smile, a wave and a smile you so willingly offer to share
You Smile, smile, waving your hand,
as if even you, yourself, believe that you truly care
But no longer does it matter
As we’ve grown to understand,
through the clatter and past the din
we now are able…to sift about the subtext
and see…what lies beneath those painted faces…
so easily performed

Stirring…steeping, stirring…
Steeping, stirring, steeping…
fragments made from rage and scorn
And in such, a rebellion is born

III.

I’m tired of the talking
Without the semblance of words
I’m tired of listening
To all your plans of action; plans devoid of verbs

I’m sick of the treatment
That No treatment gives
I’m sick of how easy it is to gauge
Where your every motive lives;
Where all paths provided ever seem to lead

All those lies you offer us,
never blinking from your stance
Your efforts are not based in compassion
Just fodder and feed, another false position, another song and dance
Proving the disrespect you harbor
The contempt you have for those similar to me

But you are not alone
You’re but a haze amongst the fog
A pebble lining the riverbed
A puppet without a soul
You never really held the strings
Your buttons had never been your own
You can’t make a movement
Without being told which way to go

In a system so corrupt
only the politicians, lobbyists
and the rich alone
can understand the nature of their sin
yet still… wholeheartedly condone

In a system so unbalanced and equally unfair
We the people have no chance
When the elected just don’t care
Where our leaders never hesitate their stance

Spurring forth a pushing point
for those condemned to such oppressions
A last resort is the only favor they have left
In such tumults a tempest spins it’s eye
Offering a revision of sightlines
And providing voice for the perpetually denied

It is here in such moments,
A bond solidifies,
Where groups of varied peoples
Concur and relate,
Finding comfort in camaraderie
Raising the spirits of the low
And offering empowerment for those disowned
And thus, within such situational endeavors,
Where a collective is created
from the scraps tossed out to curbsides
it is here, at such moments, where
A rebellion’s seeds are sown…

IV.
Rebellion…Rebellion
Stirring…steeping, stirring…
Steeping, stirring, steeping…
fragments made from rage and scorn
A reason to live…a reason to be
To alter the dearth’s that teem
Making sure their case is known
Where tomorrow cannot become
When the present is impeding the possibility of ascent…where the mobility of desire
So often floated freely atop repressions murky lakes so cruel…where the hours of one’s latter years
would remain imprinted,
By the only designs they would have ever known
Now, in such times burgeoning for reform
Those states of regret, ridicule, contempt and hate
Are replaced with the memories of Rebellion…
With the history they had played a role in,
Where they now will be able to remember fondly,
As to how their spines were straightened and their voices heard, that
They stood their ground and fought injustice for what they
Knew, that as a unified people, they deserved
All only possible, because they each
embraced Rebellion as their very own…

Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses
Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses
Rage against the machine- Killing in the name of

You grow up and you calm down and
You’re working for the clampdown
You start wearing blue and brown and
You’re working for the clampdown
The Clash- Clampdown

Oh, you’re so condescending
Your gall is never ending
We don’t want nothin’, not a thing from you
Your life is trite and jaded
Boring and confiscated
If that’s your best, your best won’t do…
Twisted sister- We’re not gonna take it

Modern globalization,
Coupled with condemnations,
Unnecessary death,
Matador corporations,
Puppeting your frustrations,
With the blinding flag,
Manufacturing consent
Is the name of the game,
The bottom line is money
Nobody gives a fuck
4000 hungry children leaves us per hour
from starvation
while billions are spent on bombs,
creating death showers
Boom, boom, boom, boom,
Every time you drop the bomb,
You kill the God your child has born
Boom boom boom boom
System of a down- Boom

I take flight for one last time
With raven wings and two black eyes
Don’t be afraid with demon speed
The Gift of hate
I bare my teeth to make them pay
Don’t be afraid
Nowhere to hide
Converge-Bare My Teeth

And the battle’s just begun
There’s many lost, but tell me who has won
The trench is dug within our hearts
And mothers, children, brothers, sisters
Torn apart
U2-Sunday Bloody Sunday

Oh, you’re so condescending
Your gall is never ending
We don’t want nothin’, not a thing from you
Your life is trite and jaded
Boring and confiscated
If that’s your best, your best won’t do…
We’re not gonna take,
No we’re not gonna take it,
We’re not gonna take it….anymore…
Twisted Sister-We’re not gonna take it

Inactivity Stirring Guilt

I’ve included two recordings for this piece. They are not continuations, but two very different recordings of the same poem, listed below). The first recording is a poetic reading, read from a point, position, of overriding guilt and sadness. The second version I sung. I did so using more of an upbeat, sing-song melody, trying to mask the guilt and sadness of the lines themselves with a contrasting vehicle for the poem’s words. If you listen to them both, please let me know what you think.

I see their eyes
I hear their cries
I see, I hear, I cower in fear
I see their eyes
I’ve seen inside
I hear the call
I’ve heard it all
The sighs that stir from broken drums
The hurt, the pain, the loneliness spun
In their eyes
In their eyes I see
Nothing worth repeating

I hear their eyes
I see their cries
In the mirror
Religion’s proved
In the heart
It’s tenet’s flow
But in my eyes, in my eyes
I only see shades of doubt

I’ve seen their cries and felt their sighs, I’ve bled their why’s and heard their eyes, calling for someone, anyone, to come and save them there, as they wither and writhe in stressful stares, inconceivable positions of despair, alone, to suffer such an unenviable state of fear

And such conversations I locked away
Praying they’ll never resurface to the light of day
And yet reopen they do, each night, each night at sleep
Where they control the tempo and intensities
That present and form, the nightmares that have become the
norm,

for which I weep, sobbing wet the pillow beneath my eyes, and shed forth a river of tears, a chalice I sob, and cry I do, for all of them, each and all,
with each sense of scream, they come alive, to remind, that deep inside I still can hear, I still can see and feel
all those moments, all those sounds, repressed so low, yet if I listen, their echoes can still be found…reminding me, that what I’ve seen

Are not the products of a dream…

Wingwalker

Aerialistic circus flights of fancy filled,
Above the tops of swaying tree’s, prophecy fullfilled
O’er rural fields, a gone by day
Barnstormers delight is lost in the modern rays
Barrel rolls stir the heights with a passion proud,
their loop-d-loops, are for the crowd, to
Bring em’ home

But this was nothing compared to those
That dared defy the wind,
way above, their deeds, a baptism

Step outside and breathe the air, a purity like none
Breathe in deep every cloud, Wing-Walkers, Oh, what tales, what tales you’ve spun
Away with ease, embracing breeze, not for applause, not for the crowd, but simply cause, to bring it home

The sky is a field, a place
Where it’s easy to lose one’s self,
It’s landscape’s wide, ethereal, peace and calm
You’re sense of time lingers long and the space is divine,
Always diminishing the reasons why, you left your home

In the sky, Heaven is close for the touch
In an arena, that is free, an indescribable love
Unintended is the aim, for there are no plans
Without plan you stand and play the role, your command
You play your part, and
This takes you home

Walker’s weaved, mesmerized, as the impossibility sings
Walkers brought to life, the dreams of both, commoners and kings
Carving paths out through the sky
Dancing gales caressing thighs
Balance becomes a part of you, becomes home, a part of you

Wing Walkers, Barnstormers, Aerobats
Once gave promise to a world when it sorely lacked
And today, here and now, I stare to the sky,
And pray, that again, a walkers will walk the planes for our time
And give us the reasons why

Villainous Lover

You’d think you were Magneto,
With how you draw me towards
You act like you’re Electro
Ever shocking me with your lighting storms

You’re parallax and all it’s fear
My lanterns die when you come near
You’re captain cold, perhaps Mr. Freeze
A sheath of ice, forming, trapping me with ease

You’d think it was Carnage that you became then
scribbling your name with a bloody pen
forever etched across this heart’s wall
Forcing me to embrace the venom’s call

You act like Poison Ivy
Every time you drift a room
You’re scent’s intoxicating
Contagious to consume
You act like Mxyzptlk
Not allowing me to understand
the reasons for your actions, the reason for your plans
You act like Mxyzptlk
Ever entangling the snares between,
impelling me to trick you away from me

Like a shape shifter made of sand
You transform to any thing you possibly can
But turn you will, back to grain and dust
Disappear, but you’ll return, and this I trust

Riddle me this, many times I’ve heard that poke
From puns and riddles to the cruelest jokes
And I know your laughter will only extend
until the last punch-line’s been said and ends

You’re deadshot
When it comes to me
Always piercing my heart
With supreme accuracy

And I’ll wait for you
That little girl whom I fell for
With all that she is, all of her flaws, and so much more

For countless days I’ve yearned
For that little girl to return
For the real mystique to show her skin,
So perhaps, together we can start again

Linked to D’Verse OLN Anniversary Edition. Happy Birthday Guys and Gals, can’t believe how quickly the time past by, amazing poetic community, expanding exposure and offering a great forum for sharing and exploring poetics, meeting likeminded artists and for helping to create those moments of inspiration that only needed a bit of prompting to break free . Been a blast, look forward to many more anniversary’s. If you haven’t already, check out D’Verse. Open Link Night is in full swing, as it is every tuesday night. Head on over to read the greatest collection of poetry on the web, and while you’re there, step up to the mic and share your own poetry with the world.