If memory serves this was a special branch of the
Militaty U.K.
Those boys came to town to play.
Weekend rabble loose on leave.
Ready set by the truckloads.
Bully mother fuckers in jungle boots.
Ready to blow a few months pay
And whip anyone's ass for looking the wrong way.
Rowdy and loud.
Imperialist pricks.
Long on swagger short on dick.
Eh mate got any sisters about?
Asked one blatherin putz as he stimbled about.
Every now and then one strayed from the pack
Drunk and disorderly. Four sheets to the wind.
Well... he kept close after that.
I was about 8 when I became aware that
The big loud men in kilts and fatigues were men
On a mission an ill wind.
but victims of power same as we.
God save our gracious king
God save our glorious king. God save the king
Send him victorious.
Happy and glorious.
Long to reign over us.
God save the king.
Those blokes were bigger than life. And not all bad either.
The mysterious stranger
who thinks he is so sneaky
trying to blend in with the rest of them
But I see his eyes
they harbor a secret
to dark to be told
But that's what draws me near
Makes me want to know him
I'm not afraid of what his eyes say
His distance is intriguing
his failed attempts
to push me away
Only make me get closer
My caring scares him
I can see it in his eyes
I read life times
in those windows
I don't care
if I'm getting
way over my head
he's worth it
I can see it all ready
If I don't guard my heart
I will fall madly in love with him.
this father’s day
i give thanks to my fathers
one gave me life
one gave me freedom
i am lucky to have had both in my life
and my mother too…
first i will say
a few words about the sea
something you, mother, always told me to be
you never used words, but actions you see
to teach me the value of harmony
you are always there with open arms
the truth never did you any harm
as is the ocean, you accepts all things
i watch your heart open to a world to be
this is how i know of this vast sea
gently awaiting beneath me
and to my father of freedom!
a man of few words, you guard your wisdom carefully
you have the right to be my father, you see
you taught me what it is to truly be free
for you taught me that all who wish to swim the sea
should first build a ship, then be set free
with pine? upon a time i asked you once
'you will surely sink if you don’t think wider, you dunce'
then maybe of these white aspen trees?
just to be scolded with your knee
but before i set out to sea
you taught me what the wood needed to be
with your giant hands grasping tight
you brought me the oak needed to start my flight
you warned me though, of the difference between
the red oak, and the white oak trees
one, you said, will sink you down quick
decays in the waters as fast as a wick
the other, you said, was as strong as the land
and would never give way to the lures of the sand
be wary however, of their bark my son, for they both look the same
there is only one way to know for certain, without any shame
cut out its heart, search it well and search it right
for one has a heart of red, the other of white
if it is red, just let it be, if it is white, you can be set free
so into the timber line, with ax in hand
cutting through iron barks to see what’s within
and after some time, and patience please
i found all the white oak i would ever need…
and to my father of life!
i must say with sadness
that your lessons have been the hardest to manage
for what can suicide possibly teach?
other than there is nothing left for you to preach
about suffering…
for when you died, you sent me your wave
that crushed through walls that stood so brave
and all that remains is a note with some words
to the grasses of yesterday, and to your young wards…
even so, what you taught me
was to play chess, and to love poetry
you were a wizard of words, living and dying
a man who was in love with the birds, living and dying
you always warned me against your addictions
and was always kind with your benedictions
when you play chess, let the pieces sit still
until the right move is all there is to fulfill
respect your pawns as you do your king
for both are made of the same thing
and like i said, you were a wizard of words
who taught me it’s okay to be a nerd
you used to say that poetry is a bird, or a cloud, or air
sitting somewhere way up there
can you see it now? after each metaphor, you would always ask
no, i’d reply, forsaking the task
you will someday… he would say at last
as i jumped back on the xbox, just as fast…
i didn't see then, what i see now
and i wish with all my heart i could tell you how
you gave me the mast to set on the bow
and i hope and pray, that you are flying high
with those birds you so loved, up in that sunlit sky
and if you are not, that's fine too
the air you gave me still flows through
lifting a sail from this white oak ship
setting to sea from this floating air strip
and whatever this sea has in store for me
i will be prepared, indubitably
for the next big wave that comes around
i have a ship to sail heavy ground
knowing, someday that too will end
for now at least, i am not condemned
to suffer, like you
rebuilding a castle made of sand and glue
and stubborn pride...
to be washed away, by this coming tide...
for such a life?
happy father’s day…
to the poets,
to the ship builders,
and to the sea, too.
"We could do it, you know."
"Do what?"
"I could swerve."
"We'd die on impact."
"Exactly."
I hear whispers. Then shouting.
Out in the hall.
"She killed my son!"
"I'm sure it was an accident"
"No it wasn't! The whore!"
My mother gasps.
"I could just jerk the wheel."
"Yep."
"Hit the guard rail."
"Do it."
I feel funny. I can't move
I try to open my eyes. I hear more commotion.
A nurse asks me how I feel as another calls for the doctor
He shines a light in my eye.
I am told I am lucky to be alive
I ask where he is.
Blank states.
I pass out
I got off on our exit that night.
I was too afraid of the possibility of survival.
Or worse, that I would survive
And my love would not.
Deep in the meadow
Under the willow
A bed of grass,
A soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when they open again, the sun will rise.
Here it's safe, here it's warm.
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.
Deep in the meadow, hidden far away
A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay
And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.
Here it's safe, here it's warm.
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.
never forget to guard your mind
as well as your heart
for doubts, like parasites,
will eventually find their way in and
destroy all that you know and
love and
soon you won't be sure about
anything
anymore
.
The slim neck on the feminine beast;
the erotic trick on so sweet a treat,
took to me like a doubtful dare,
when their mirrors, descending, rolled as a pair.
Bind these hands,
these increasingly suffering hands
that have crushed the squeeze
on palest necks with ease,
whilst wishing death
for their typical demands!
Born in blood,
amidst the rancid stench
of Skid Row urine enveloping my sense,
my face was cruelly bitten and tattooed
by a maniac's angered hanger….
the result of a call girl defiled nude!
It's building,
building,
building more!
What's your name?
Where's your face?
I don't really care!
Your stare was your final act of grace!
You used to lock your doors
and raid your mother's drawers
for her drugs, perfume and lip rouge.
You've let down your guard,
growing up with short regard,
with evil near, affording refuge.
Leaky bruises, bubbling up my body sores,
make sure a devil's door
for mites to dine from inside out!
A moldy cerise burlap sac,
woven taut to my scalp, infested,
traps the voices that bang about!
My worthy place,
no higher than that of a rat
that swims pleasantly in lethal sewage,
is to drown the sorrow of a dame
whose wretched wants and Whiskey haunts,
prove to be my daily tutelage!
Mind the silent menace taking drink alone,
pondering rape in your favorite bar.
Free your selfish skin, unto me unmolested,
roaming into crimson-lit shadows
for you, for me, who was born in blood,
helping you to numb your darkest scars!
-Mark Lach
I didn't feel so conflicted
till I got in the moment
holdin' strong egos,
like chessin' opponents
who could hold out and show they're the strongest
of love
tryin' to hide they ever felt any
but how could they
when everyone's the enemy
why would I trust you, when I'd do to you,
what you might do to me?
So cat n' mouse chase
won't look ya right in the face
lying to myself that I don't miss the fuckin embrace
why even care when its just a race
for that feel good first hit
when it aint found
claimin rights to quit
quit fucking what
life?
ya man I'd be the first to tell ya
I've written a verse
on sacrificing myself for the own good
of the fucking earth
but hands on the shoulders
stopping the damned
from the right to shed skin
they're own contraband
n' now its tough
everyone thinks they're the diamond on the ruff
but told true to dwelling in the soul hard n gruff
keepin to the sunrise, lookin to the set
under nights hand guard
everyone's a threat
guns in the temple
consider em mental
for resenting the present social norm
of talking to everything and everyone
just to mold n conform
light n dark is a misconception
cuz there's lots of beautiful shit to be let in
by your own definition thas what matters
can't be bothered by other mad hatters perception
give what you need n always be freed
from the chains set in place by societies greedy fuckin need
and
its all to god damn beautiful
to the human hating anti social
to admit they'd slice the life to their own sacrificial right
not abandoning light but the body gifted to the sight of others
that's what brings the sadness
cuz from the dirt, leaves and trees
is this made up ruling tyranny
madness to take flight n life
is just plain beautiful sadness
Isn’t it strange
How amidst the dying leaves and growing grass and snarling ivy
Keeping their vigil without choice, perhaps
Isn’t it strange
How in the land of the doubted god, omnipresent, yet never seen
Who killed himself for the lives of the faithless, perhaps
Isn’t it strange
How in the shadow of His building of stubborn stone and vicious spire and painted glass
Waiting for a fable to knock, perhaps
Isn’t it strange
How with the shadows and ghosts and worms and butterflies
Symbols for what they guard, perhaps
Isn’t it strange
How in line with the crosses and grails and angels and virgins
Left in loving memory of the forgotten, perhaps
How curious it is
That the obelisk stands tallest: ancient symbol of those heretics
Who kneel before the filthy sun
Defile it as they will
Atop it may they place a crucifix
That they may execute the knowledge
But still it will stand
Still Proudest
Still Sneering
Still
Amidst the still and silence and spirits and guns, perhaps
I hate to wake tangled and twisted in sheets; pillows molded to my face; smothering me. I just want to breathe. But when I pull back the sheets my skin meets the frigid air and that's a sensation my morning after sore body can't bear. The only source of heat is the body lying next to me. The body I'm afraid to see. But still I revel in his warmth and his steady heartbeat thumping through his chest. It's always these moments. These skin against skin moments, these me wide awake while he's sleeping moments. It's always these cold quiet morning moments that make me think about my messy situation. I can't stand being this exposed, this vulnerable. All of my secrets are stripped away with my clothes and I have nowhere to hide, He whispers the loveliest things when my guard is down and it's too late to run. I tuck these whispers in my heart and pray he means them. I'm too weak ti brush them off, but I'm to smart to get so caught up. I've learned my lesson so well until he presses his lips to my neck. How can I say no? Especially when I;m so completely in love with him. That was my first mistake. My second was letting him know. He's an angel sleeping with a pale morning light halo. But he's a demon at night when he so carelessly rips my heart to shreds. He has to know what he does to me. When he opens his eyes, he squints down at me and smiles. I'd like to capture that sleepy look of contentment. Keep it like a promise that this fragile thing will last one more day. One more night. One more morning. But I don't belong here. Not here with him. How am I supposed to leave this and smile when I'm lost in pale morning light halo moments? Lost in moments spent tangled beneath bed sheets; in sleepy eyed smiles; in lovely whispers; in exposed, vulnerable moments. How am I supposed to love anyone else when my heart is still beating with the rhythm of the boy lying next to me? And I'm reliving those skin on skin moments, those neither of us wide awake but neither of us sleeping moments, and of course those cold quiet morning moments that make me think of my messy situation.
