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Sam Temple Sep 2015
Red planet hiding
The sun offers a refuge
My eyes strain to see

Cosmic disturbance
Asteroids collide in space
Is our fate sealed?

Solar system change
The gods are off their rockers
New heaven coming

Tilted axis shifts
Hurricanes on land masses
Humanity cries

Helpless government
Hides like a fresh baby fawn
Grass gives no cover

Georgia guide stones sit
Atop a hill in the sun
Not that many live

Are we at the end?
Planet lives on without man…
Just some rock structures………

smile washes over
I have lived a good full life
I feel no fear.
680 · May 2015
garbage to the "nth"
Sam Temple May 2015
flaccid pacifists symbolizing sexism
single-mindedly corrupting hostile youth
ruining bullying and facilitating inbreeding
through top-down initiatives laced with bath salts
the pussify-ing of America has begun –
tear soaked cheeks distort with rage
at the blatant separatist ideals propagated
creating not one nation under rule of law,
but many angry independent states bent on torture laws  
and privatized prison for profit
shareholders holding gavels and lives
in an unjust system of justification
……they deserve this –
broken-hearted mothers line razor-wire fences
defenseless against the tyrannical bureaucracy
beholden to the loved one wrongly incarcerated
banging bloodied fists against walls that hear no cries,
defeated, they slip into damaged Datsun’s disappearing
freeway anonymity is the course of the day –
Sam Temple Jul 2017
~
Standing at the concrete bridge
just at the entrance to the L-Line
I scan the clear-cut of two years ago.
New maples stretch to the sky and
ferns fan out like a forest compass
each direction, devastation.
I close my eyes to the horror and feel my brow
scrunch. A lifetime of memory spills like the creek below
passing me by, cloudy and swirling.
It is really progress to ends so many lives?
Each stump I pass seems to call out
in a weak wavering voice, asking my why.
I rub my fingers along the chainsaw tracks
shaking my head as I cannot answer.
When my father used to return from work
smelling of sawdust and
gear oil, I relished those scents.
Today, in the face of a forest in ruin,
my nostrils flare against the stench.
And yet, even in my anger and dismay
new growth brushes my pant legs
and I see where the planters have come through with
***** and ***
giving baby firs a new home.  /
675 · Nov 2015
she knows my truth
Sam Temple Nov 2015
no amount of pretty words
or cleverly crafted phrases
could capture what she means to me

I sit, trying again
to find a way to express
what goes on inside this body

when she touches it

I sit staring at walls
begging my poetry muse
for a better style or scheme
that would make her see

what she already knows

she tells me everyday
the ways in which I make her life better
little does she know
it is mutual and eternal…
like cosmic wind carrying supernova particles
the building blocks of my existence
reside within her eyes

and I look deep
seeking reassurance
from god’s special gift
presented to Samuel Lyman Temple
on a warm summer day 13 years ago

one kiss and a sealed deal

I stand looking over more words
attempting to show you all
how much she means
how lucky and blessed I truly am
but it is just symbols etched onto papyrus
images carved on cave walls
burnt offerings to a pagan god

and she already knows –
674 · Jun 2014
exit-seeking on the job
Sam Temple Jun 2014
distant foothills in the pre-dawn haze
draw my memories back to youthful exuberance
pond fishing under clear sky
creak tromping in the search of the perfect agate
pockets full of jasper and quartz
as if pebbles were treasure
pleasurable day-dream
measure of peace –
wafting peppermint
transports me to a snow covered logging road
schnapps and a trap line
bobcats lured with carcasses tied to trees
scent jar in a vest pocket
and a 22 ruger on the hip
smooth clean strokes
hide on the shoulder
another carcass in a tree rinse and repeat –
long barren abandon railroad
lacking ties
lies
cinder rock sunbaked
sage and Juniper
mule deer and pronghorn
lonely cottontail narrowing avoiding
hungry coyote gaze
sunsets cast purple shadows
orange and pink streaks stretch the horizon
flat backed in green grass
smiling into infinity
673 · Sep 2015
modern sociopath
Sam Temple Sep 2015
never once
did I stop
and seriously consider
the Lilly…
I am what the kids call
a ‘macro’ thinker
when a school shooting happens
I never think about the victims
or the perpetrators,
instead I contemplate our violet society
and wonder at the surprise of my
fellow countrymen
landslides, floods, forest fries
not once do I stop and worry for the homes
or the individual memories
I reflect on 100 years of industrial pollutants
and the effect they are having on our
fragile ecosystem…
remember the O.J. trial....
I didn’t care if he was guilty or innocent
only that fame and wealth equate
freedom from legality –
from time to time this
attitude gives my closest
friends and family, pause
I was raised in a compassionate household
by near-hippy’s looking to help the community
was given public education and love
the deal is
not all sociopaths
are violent or dangerous,
some of us
just don’t care the same way –
Sam Temple Jun 2015
you think I don’t live
hip hop
in my drop top
boy, I’ll slap a cop
for messin wit my
organic crop
I got’s hogs to slop
fruit is starting to drop
rabbits ears are lopped
still, I got time to rock
see I
write rhymes all the time
mostly in my mind
helps me to unwind
when I smoke the kind
like a real balla
dog don’t need a
shock colla
he listens when I holla
I like to gives the bums a dolla
that **** makes me feel bangin
while my ******* swangin
Am I entertaining? –

Cause I‘ll never be mainstream
never learned to silk screen
5th wheel, Slipstream
Pajamas on, a *******
I’ll never be mainstream –

See I
don’t own a gun
shoot my mouth off
just for fun
never eat a wheat bun
not a celiac,
just don’t want none
****’s come undone
solar flare
from the sun
life weighin like a ton
smashed flat on the ground, son
but I
get back up ya’ll
no time to fall
harvest in the Fall
watch the water-fall
like the politicians ya’ll –

I will never be mainstream
wont listen to yo kids scream
buy those ******* ice cream
all up in the sun beam
I’m never bein mainstream –

Ya’ll, I cant wait to own
acreage and a home
space for my dogs to roam
hide those muthafukka’s bones
or maybe I will buy a cow
work with a horse and plow
homeboy’s, the time is now
gotta get a loan somehow
so I pay off all my back debt
save some cash for
a down pay-ment
so I don’t got’s to pay no rent
life will be so different --

and I will never be mainstream
create power with my own stream
use my cow to get milk and cream
this **** isn’t just a dream
boy, I will never be mainstream --
670 · Sep 2016
evolution
Sam Temple Sep 2016
long faded echoes
dance and congeal
smooth canyon walls
hold memories like agate

molten basalt cooled
faces hide beneath stone
abstract images of yesteryear
geyser from unseen depths

microscopic bacteria
slip betwixt crevasse
depositing refuse
giving flora a foothold

multi celled seedlings sprout
jutting forth with sprigs of green
instantly photosynthesizing
oxygen creators

new organisms take the fauna
making it home for both species
invertebrates
and those with a backbone
they exhale life

frontal lobe and thumbs
humanity as product
plague and virus
drinking the lifeblood
challenging the ecosystem

planetary shift
earth groans with growing pains
food chain emperor
next to extinction
a great cleansing
is at hand /
670 · Nov 2015
reoccuring dreams
Sam Temple Nov 2015
dull thumping, deep in the subconscious
pineal reawakening
decalcification in progress
seeking my alien alter
the union necessary
for the next evolutionary jump --
the cliff is breezy
mist swirls below
undefinable guttural growls from the depths
echo off vast canyon walls
sending a shiver up my unnaturally curved spine
forming in the misty shroud
a face of the ancient gods appear
locked eye to eye
the command is for blood and worship
a thin smile crosses my lips
clamping down on my own tongue
until the thick red flowed down my neck and chest
I spit my ability to speak
into the very face of god
thinking ‘worship me, *****’
****** distortion
rage filled eyes penetrate deep
and a chasm opens
BWOMP BWOMP BWOMP
the 5:32 a.m. alarm
sounds
time to prepare for another
day of work –
669 · Apr 2015
I'm a outdoor grower
Sam Temple Apr 2015
ah yeah
beautiful ladies
stretching up to the sun
what a gift
this little ****

see uh I been a grower
for some time now
grow that types a ****
make ya mind bow
gettin lower
on that cheeba
no not cheva
this is a killa weeda
so many strains
make ya heads spin
you like to stay up late
or get all locked in
see it don’t matter
which way ya wanna go
indica or sativa
I treat ya right, bro
see here in Oregon
we do things different
work a barter system
help each other pay rent
call me a socialist
like a give a ****
you be at my door
when ya havin hard luck
I’m a medical grower –

Son, I grow medicine
stopping censures
killin cancer
out my freezer
alcohol extracts
make all ya'll relax
no mo heart attacks
rushin like the train tracks
I grow medicine –

I grow out door
like that plant was meant to be
no chemicals
let that ***** grow free
feed em organic
lots a guano
watch the buds rippin
from the back po
see I’m a real farmer
have a long patient list
always lookin to add names
get the money makers ******
so I don’t charge much
just cost no overhead
I aint in this to get rich
that’s why I got this rap bread
I’m a medical grower –

Son, I grow medicine
stopping censures
killin cancer
out my freezer
alcohol extracts
make all ya'll relax
no mo heart attacks
rushin like the train tracks
I grow medicine –
Sam Temple Jan 2015
five followers in two weeks  
seeking new poetic musings
alternate sources of inspiration
stylistically, I no longer cut it
my metaphor lacks substance
leaving the reader lingering
never to ******
only to want and regret –
filibustering no longer captivating viewers
retracing steps
complaining about the station of society
expressing joy and hope through prose and rhyme
left alone at the gates,
they reject my premise
and instead enjoy the cake –
fat head wall art purchasers
drooling as yet another riveting left turn
takes the beer car one lap closer
to bringing democracy to the middle east
****** yokels eating Miracle Whip sandwiches
don’t read if they can’t find anti Obama propaganda
subtext of Christian morality
and the overt pushing of American ideology
on their children and
immigrant workers –
668 · Jul 2015
poking at pro-lifers
Sam Temple Jul 2015
insanity reigns
as aborted fetuses
are sold to secret labs
for cell experimentation –
fore-runners from the right
cry out into the darkness
screaming profanities
at poor would be mothers –
politicized uteruses
stand at the precipice
of human rights activists
endless need for debate –
all laws are applied to bodies
all bodies are under the yoke
of both local or state
and federal governmental whim –
frenzied followers puffed up faces
holler about the unborn
desiring every fertilized egg
to be another slave to Capitalism –
**** victims cower  and
pregnant sufferers of ******
rock gently back and forth on the cold floor
holding bellies tight with both arms
tears running freely down sad and lonely faces
somewhere in Louisiana …
option less, they birth unwanted children
abuse and neglect them
beat and mistreat
spawn of filth
like good little constituents –
666 · Oct 2015
some shit salad right here
Sam Temple Oct 2015
impressed by blessings expressed
my guess is the cesspool confessed
undigested fresh shoots shoot forth
at stressed guests with repressed ******
sweet caresses in the rest area
treat processionals with hysteria
fleeting pedestrians thin with dysentery
imagined thespians acting accordingly    
elder accordionist shakes liver spotted fists
at lists written in jest
by **** drunk sisters with wrist rockets
and bobby sock pocket protectors
knobby kneed sarcasm injectors
deflect suggestions relating to indigestion
and pander to the discretion of their own reflections
in conclusion the union mission’s position remains
to refrain from insisting on persistent revolutionaries
wearing terry cloth togas
in the merry moth of May --
666 · Jun 2015
a man-whore no more
Sam Temple Jun 2015
once, in a bramble thicket
a young lad found himself
accosted
she was older than he
freer than the bees
and while on her knees
made a man of him –
looking back at a lifetime
full of indiscretion
and physical meetings
fleeting greetings
and their beating of my meat
I’m beat –
Not large enough for ****,
but, born with a gift of satisfaction
as it is in their excitement
that pleasure is derived
a man of no equal measure –
squeaking freaks seeking to be discrete
needed to meet my meat
but alas, it is too late
as I am now complete –
no longer bound by *******
or enslaved at the rave’s
foundling of happiness
as one other human,
the perfect one,
is better than years
of sharing ****
with the masses –
666 · Feb 2015
finding my inner rapper
Sam Temple Feb 2015
ranked out ****
on drugs
lovin lady hugs hatin bugs
cuz
I smash em
like a hammer nailin
combine bailin
fire line trailin cuz I be sailin
distant shores
sunblocked pores
drinkin Coors
rollin with the movers
do her
then leave in the compost
heave her on the fence post
go coast to coast
roast that ***
like the muthafukkin
*** roast
almost coasted into the trap line
caught my behind
shot em from the tree line
try to unwind
blowin my mind
try to find
some kind
buds on the street
beatin calloused feet
greetin hip grannies
with my fly *** beats
eatin meat
shooting to killa
thrilla the hunt
act like Ted Nugent
‘cept I still be shootin drunk
listenin to funk
***** trunk honey smells bunk
and I roll out --
665 · Apr 2014
meanwhile, back at the lab
Sam Temple Apr 2014
embattled researcher
mad-scientist hair-do
lot 47591-03F4 is not reacting as hypothesized
drawing board black hole ***** more life
from chalk caked fingernails
as the streets flow red with blood of the infected masses –
radiation poisoning runs rampant
across the northern hemisphere
undetected
slaying the unsuspecting
no one is protected
deflecting these thoughts he scratches a head
thin on hair, but long on freckles –
shadowy figure of death looms in the corner of every dream
creating a dependence on methamphetamine
which alters clear thinking
breeding ground of alternative ideas
half-crazed notions of grandeur and  prominence
as soon as the world is saved –
664 · Oct 2017
Beaver Trap
Sam Temple Oct 2017
~
Heaving rain soaked blue jeans
over fallen and rotted fir trees
I struggled to follow my uncle
and father through the forest.
They moved almost mythical,
never disturbing low hanging branches
or crushing limbs with an echo of snaps,
misty bodies weaving in and out of shadow.
For one moment I lost sight
as they slipped over an embankment
and slid down to the water’s edge.
A deep panic filled me
as I scrambled to catch up.
When I poked my head up over the berm
and saw them standing above the slide
a smiled passed my lips.
My father reached tobacco stained fingers
down the shaft of a wooden stake
and pulled a wire up from the murk.
Feeling tension on the line, he let out a whoop.
It was the first set on this creek
and already we had paid for dinner and gas.  /
661 · Jul 2014
happy fourth
Sam Temple Jul 2014
first glance
penetrating blue
hostility
embodied
embroiled in inconsistency
irregular heartbeat
palpitates
facilitating fallacies
like ‘health’ and ‘well-being’
beings damaged goods are sold on clearance
shouldn’t the mentally ill be sold into slavery
eliminating national debt
by selling the sick to Chinese factories
sending those who drain our health care system
the **** outta the country –
broken records repeat 16 bar blues
supreme court embraces homosexuality and marijuana
while removing campaign donation limits
and the woman’s right to choose
maintaining balance
is often ugly for the masses
passing gasses for solar fuel
poisoning the producers
creating cancerous lesions
attempting to save the sky –
dangerous liaison as the corrupt
meet with the condemned
concentrating on collusion and coercion
of the community at large
so as to better control the carefree
bleeding calluses hold broken handles
handcuffed to the handrails
hanging on for dear life—
beaten seals stain beaches
furless
representing the future
freedom looks like death
sprinkled with red, white, and blue
candy
at least in my homeland –
656 · Jun 2015
a Farewell to Brucie-o
Sam Temple Jun 2015
blessed with blemish-less-ness
the ole warhorse decided a new dawn
was upon us all
and dawned a frock of silky white
to grace the cover
as a lady of glamour
instead of the epitome
of masculinity –
decathlete hero in drag
or
a lifelong sufferer of gender
uncertainty
either way
today we have Caitlyn
a vision of beauty
with a funny little scar –
Sam Temple Jun 2015
sticky cold sweat
coats hairy back skin
as the garage sale fan blows –
droplets of water continuously collect
in the corner of agonizing eyes
while the relentless ticking
of the wall clock
beats rhythmically –
press board paneling bows
under duress from years of nail pounding
and decorative wall hangings –
flickering fluorescents
hidden behind translucent ridged plastic  
sends mutated shadows
dancing across dust-covered paperwork –
squeaking roller chair
with one stuck wheel
scoots every inch of the five feet
linoleum flooring, off-white marble
as I desperately search
for form 35-wr121 –
655 · Oct 2015
is the time right...
Sam Temple Oct 2015
there is a chance
that today is the day
in which I utilize
the fountain of information
at my disposal
in order to live
a happier
and more health conscious life –
so many fine books
hours of research
digging deep to find the truth
hidden in dark recesses
humans no longer need meat
only the awareness and fortitude
to live as fans of nutrition –
fast food fallout
cancer in droves
obesity in the streets
and food addiction as the norm
live if America revolves
around being and maintaining
fat ***** –
290 lbs. and 6 feet four inches tall
probably should weight closer to 185
probably should never eat another steak
probably gonna die of heart disease
unless……
we are have the amazing ability within
to make another choice
today, may be that day for me
time to make another choice –
Sam Temple Oct 2015
Pressed hard against warm flesh in the barely illuminated darkness guesstimating the blessings of your fresh mess, I ingest the best and leave the rest unstressed. Soft caresses underneath the dress bring visions of ancestral ****** in jest. My accentuated ******* bereft of the simplest zesty scents leave jesters lamenting about the repressed nexus of flexing wreckers. Flickering trestles rustle as the mesh lays lifeless after undress and the pressures of the rescuers sheds ravenous blushers rushing and undulating such as plush calves do. Fissures, wet, impress impresarios investing in resting besties and ******* lechers; a pitcher, ditched by the rich, flashes in the marsh stressing the finches and leaching petroleum onto the beaches.   I reach for another peach and beseech the mashed potatoes makers, “just take a rest” –
654 · Jul 2015
A lil Love for Mine Wifey
Sam Temple Jul 2015
crystal clear pools of blue, gazing
caught in the vision as if mouse to glue
reality becomes hazy
memorized, I know not what I can do

breathlessly stammering, I try
to express desires deep in my heart
completely enthralled, I just sigh
wishing instantly that we would not part

feeling this way seems too crazy
selfishness gives way to concern for her
walking through my life in a daze
only really knowing one thing for sure

those eyes make me sing, lips, I fly
effortlessly soaring though skies so clear
without her love, I might just die
this thought, to my eye, brings a single tear

summer meadow, perfect daisy
contented kitten expressing through purr
moving stream tranquil and lazy
all of these things just remind me of her –
653 · Dec 2014
wrinkles elongate
Sam Temple Dec 2014
falling into despair as the inundation continues
every turn finds me staring into another memory
of you
motherless child staring into the void
seeking to be comforted and held
by arms free from judgment  or need
close to the source
of my existence –
hidden in the background sits a vision
future life placed in hazy quarters
glasses and compounds give no relief
as the reality is locked from me
cleverly stashed between morality and righteousness
the grail pail sails the trail of failings
settling gently in the obscene and tarnished
oxidized
rusted
worn
shabby remnants brushed by archeologists
collect dust on a shelf in the home of the long dead curator –
fading into obscurity my youth looks back
cracked mirror inferiorly reports the passing of time
lines etched along the horizon
crow’s feet menagerie –
passion passes for persuasion
and the rotted fruit holds tight
blindly winding, finding lined rhymes
pining for the time shinning on the vine
let’s look behind the sign to the minds grinder  
and just try to be whole –
653 · May 2015
embracing Spring
Sam Temple May 2015
dreaming demon screaming without reason
treasonous season fastidious and aromatic
blooming blossoms bursting from bosoms
new shoots shooting forth
life re-awakening with longer days
and warming temperatures –
civilized industrialization outclassed
by the low roar of larva taking flight
en masse wings flash and crops gasp
nature retaliating after its relinquishment
relegating mankind to extinguish the fires
of the long cold lockdown –
frolicking fawns free and fuzzy
boundless bounce in green alfalfa fields
white tipped hare tails leap and scurry
and Mrs. Coyote cleans kits absentmindedly
looking over flowing prairie grasses
for a mouse sized morsel –
Sam Temple Jun 2015
Everyone rejoice!
Run out and get Gay Married today!
While you are out, sign up for universal health care
if the website is up and functioning…  
and you can navigate the page –
America is in an uproar
over new laws effecting the status quo
and yet
no one is discussing
a Republican house and senate
granting one of the most hated
democratic presidents ever
fast-track power
for the Pan-Pacific trade agreement
or the fact
that the Supreme court
just voted down
an EPA recommendation
to lower and eliminate Mercury emissions from industry –
But, Hay!
Don’t let that damper the parades
or stop people for one moment
from shaking a clinched fist
or frantically waving hands
at the leaders
of, by far,
the most insane nation on this
little blue rock –
Sam Temple Aug 2015
afternoon poo cramp brings a wave of nausea
sweat coats my back causing
the polyester blend to stick to my skin
unsightly wrinkles and folds follow
my belly bulge’s smooth contours  
highlighted –
trying to adjust my ball cap
in a pointless effort hinging on the idea
that wiping the sweat from my brow
will alleviate six feet five inches
of gross wet mass;
this of course is fruitless and all I get
is a wet spot on the bicep of my shirt—
gurgling belly as I try to digest poison Taco Bell
and high fructose soda-pop
like I am still a teen
trapped in a 40 year old frame…
one day I will give up the trash
eat a bit better
and feel loads different,
until then, this will occasionally return
and be my revolving lunch fate –
Sam Temple Dec 2015
shadow people flash across cracked windows caked in icy fog offering my epidermis a thin layer of gooseflesh and sending thoughts cascading into visions of murderous strangers and Victorian era hauntings…catching my breath and remaining froze to the ground while the very blood within these veins seems to turn and transform into thick slow moving maple syrup fresh from an Eastern Canadian tree… attempting to regain my composure I conjure images of sunny days and buzzing bees, free government cheese and freeze tag in the warm breeze…ticking of the wristwatch forces reality into the scene and my pleasant daydreams seem to vanish into the mist swirling around dilapidated stairs greyed from years of weather abuse and staining deficiency…splinters, jagged and threatening, stand poised to pierce shoes and send victims screaming to hospital only to discover untreatable infection based on ancient ***** matter and insect larva bacteria…one deep breath coinciding with a white-knuckled gripping of the three special pamphlets is followed by the most courageous step ever taken…confronted with the specter of the large wooden door, I stop, look skyward and ask god for strength before knocking on the twenty-second home this day…
642 · Apr 2016
heroin can-can ( a san-san)
Sam Temple Apr 2016
he spit the little baggy from his mouth to his hand
I took the prize and dropped it right into my own mouth...
turning to leave the filth of the lower Burnside Bridge,
as I walked away I developed a plan;
I would take my little baggy a few blocks down south,
spit the prize back into my hand, and start to cook...
place the little baggy delicately into a syringe

spit drooled from my mouth as my prize took
poetry month prompt 14


'bridge' and 'syringe' are a bit of a broken rhyme, but what the heck....
642 · Dec 2015
autumn bovine moment
Sam Temple Dec 2015
wet mush is pushed from left
to right
giant tongue reaches deep
into a large pink nostril
in the distance a tractor rumbles to life
and excitement fills the meadow
slowly meandering in the general direction
head swaying and bell ringing
still digesting yesterday’s cud
looking forward to fresh alfalfa
or perhaps seeded straw bails ….
a long sustained vocalization
breaks the early morning silence
and three little birds hop on the back
scrambling to find lice or ticks
as breakfast takes on many forms
on the farm in the Fall –
639 · Mar 2016
man's desire (sestina)
Sam Temple Mar 2016
Sitting atop a high mountain trail
Considering the wind and sun
Looking down upon the Cascade foothills
The patchwork of clearcutting and trees
A forest wide checkboard of man’s desire
To forever control and capitalize on nature

I wonder of this is the way with man, his nature
To blaze the wilderness and cut his own trail
Curse over his shoulder at the true god, the sun
Think only of commerce when overlooking the foothills
While taking the minerals, the animals, and the trees
To placate his own insatiable desire

What is it that feeds this desire
To conquer and control nature
What makes a man think about cutting a trail
While working in the midday sun
Is it the need to explore the foothills
A need to own all of the trees

I look in my yard at the trees
I like them, but I feel no desire
No overwhelming need to rule nature
I walk back down the dog trail
They have cut in my yard while playing in the sun
Here at the base of the foothills

I am a part of these foothills
One with the trees
I am filled with a strong desire
To recognize my comradery with nature
Forging my own, new trail
And feeling on my face the warmth of the sun

I sat on the mountain in the summer sun
Overlooking the Cascade foothills
Near me a hawk sat in a snagged tree
Neither of us felt a longing of desire
Just the need to be there surrounded by nature
I gathered my things and headed down the trail

Is it really man’s nature to be locked in such an unhealthy desire?
Do we need to take every tree from the Cascade foothills?
In the sun, I thought these things, as I walked the trail…
639 · Mar 2016
farmland daybreak
Sam Temple Mar 2016
I

creeping up slowly through the dew
dirt and grit stuck to a slimed back
trailing off into the pre-dawn purple
pink elastic head pushes forth
exploring new territory for foodstuffs
on a chilly morn
near a dilapidated barn
greying wood darkened
both by the time of day
and the coating of early morning moisture
stretching out and doing
a masterful accordion impression
the tiny flesh-colored soldier
presses on so as to eat
before the sun finds and cooks him


II


still wet, a brown milk cow travels slowly
bell clangs randomly
as if the uneven ground were sheet music
and her hooves the fingers of Bach
long lolling tongue stretches forth
to clean away nostril debris
and reposition yesterday’s cud
one large eye scans the farmhouse door
looking for a light or signs of life
as the daily fest arrives
with each breaking day
a low bawl escapes her mush filled mouth
an attempt to signal as the sun cometh


III


upon a post a small finch lights
without fanfare or announcement
a song bursts forth
filling the quiet valley with whistles
followed by chirps and tweets
the greeting is returned  by a thrush
hiding in the brambles
soon a chorus erupts to greet the sunshine
and express gratefulness for another
beginning
bouncing down and fishing a twig
the little finch, proud of her concert
returns to the job
nests do not build themselves
and the young will come in short order
mashing the twig
into a muddy slot
and stamping it perfectly into place
eyes cast across the meadow
seeking flying insects unaware…



breakfast at the farm takes many forms
638 · Feb 2015
oatmeal for breakfast
Sam Temple Feb 2015
wrote a note
to a row-boating goat
wearing a down filled coat
emoting about the broken tote
while doting on the potato
floating around the moat –
636 · Aug 2015
fate salad, no cheese
Sam Temple Aug 2015
I can’t breathe….
the weight is too great and my fate waits
plated…
I need only choose it as it sits so near
I can touch it
crutched ******* munch my lunch
my growing hunch bunches
and I get a headache –
the macabre steps out
rotten curtains hang limp around eyes
coated with think and smeared mascara,
earlobes gauged and a professional gapper,
lifts its 6 fingered hand
reaching for the peaches –
cheap fruit on the veranda molds
plastic bowls hold cracked eggs
and her legs stretch to the moon
swooning, I come unglued and swallowing ludes
like a Bill Cosby date I wait again
for my fate to begin –
peeling paint and fainting actresses
plaster masked maniacs along muddy hallways
shinning pennies give the illusion of care
but rarely is flare so debonair
the holey underwear share in my despair
we were unprepared –
636 · Sep 2015
too much Republican debate
Sam Temple Sep 2015
talking heads
discuss the moral fiber of America
but they mean
rich,
white,
elitist
fibers….
what about the fiber of those who helped slaves escape
at risk of their own peril?
what about long-haired kids from the Height
building communes in the California forests?
what about those firemen who ran into burning buildings
to rescue humans regardless of race, creed, or color?
rich,
white
elitist men,
don’t care….
look at the native traditions of living
harmoniously within the natural order of the planet/
look across the impoverish third world lands
and the way families feed each other, tend to children,
work for the common good/
look at the medical marijuana movement
freely giving pounds to sick or autistic children/
rich,
white,
elitist men,
don’t care….
these men only care about making money
off the backs of the less fortunate
expanding the bottom line
while maintaining the status quo
taking care of the shareholders
at the detriment of the entire planet….
rich,  
white,
elitist men,
care about that….
635 · Apr 2016
where unicorns come from
Sam Temple Apr 2016
weaving  through the farmland
past black bodied cattle
in misty fields of green
zipping past the rows of Christmas trees
varying heights
we hit the sharp right at near 50
and dive into the Birch forest
steep grade and a hard right
down into the bottom of the glen
and time slows
the grass and brush glisten a little brighter
and sunlight displaced
gives shadows a playground of mossy Eden
the trees seem to lean in
surrounding the open meadow
my pre-pubescent mind
has relegated this
the place of unicorns
fairies and elves
I hop up in the back of the backseat to watch
utopia fade into the distance
its delicate ferns
and wild lilies
dance in the breeze
left by my father’s old blue Pontiac
he yells and I turn quickly back into position
locking the seat belt
and looking at the red face in the rearview
staring back
this road is always worth the *** whooping --
poetry month prompt 11
634 · Feb 2015
fodder for freelancers
Sam Temple Feb 2015
substantially thicker
media outlets slather
drivel
set to the top 40 hits of the day
over all propaganda
creating a sea of dis or misinformation
rising to just about the knee
forcing the masses to wade through
thick, dark, stinking lies –
perpetrators pretend to punish
philanthropists
in the public square
spouting insults such as
socialist
communist
or worst of all
constitutionalist
undeterred, many once manipulated
stand together
arm in arm
singing songs 65 years old
still under the yoke
of peaceful demonstration –
bent backs of immigrant workers
support affluent Caucasians
simply by being the focal point
of hate
these same well-off pale faces
place enormous strain
on said backs
while digging toes in deeper
stretching to the heavens
for that perfect corporate job –
lasting impressions of mutated idealism
sit battered on a polluted shoreline
tumbling until rounded
shining through the mundane
like a agate
on a black sand beach –
629 · May 2015
sociopath reflection (10W)
Sam Temple May 2015
encouraged by individual acts
I attempt empathy
alas, no avail
628 · May 2014
9:26 a.m. wednesday
Sam Temple May 2014
rocket ship day-dream
believing in pollution free exhaust
perfect white billows
against azure a.m. skies
windshield bug, ride of its life
Jell-O plunge into the unknown
soft and gooey mashed potatoes
swallow my space submarine
cradled in eternity
alien architecture flashes by melting windows
escaped light blinds me
atoms separate slow-motion
like stop-footage of decomposing fruit
double-bass heart beat
as God’s eye looks down
recognizing self
624 · Jan 2017
Talking River
Sam Temple Jan 2017
~

we laughed at my attempt

pretending I was the moon

trying to create tides by


dangling fingers which gently brushed

the skin of a river



a ripple floated away

captured a leaf and carried it

to the opposing shore



I heard a voice

cool and soothing

trickling around soft earlobes

the ancient river spoke



on a grassy mound I listened

to tales of great brown bears

thrashing after sweet row

of flooded banks gathering crops

and depositing fresh rich silt



after a moment I rose to leave

a whisper followed me

babbling about the invasive carp eating

every last crawdad in sight



and the pipes of the old saw mill

forever vomiting sewage and

oily discharge

clogging tributaries

poisoning algae



as my tears fell

they created new circular ripple

within the center

a face stared back

eyes full of blame


I slowly looked away   /
Sam Temple Apr 2016
tattered memories
of flattery
splash against the backdrop
of pastel coated youthful visions
soft blended colors fade and blend
swirl and collide
embrace and recoil
forever interpreting
the dreams of my childhood –
faces take shape  
staring blankly into space
I shake my fist
and race to place
the case at the law bringers feet
bowing at the stone alter
sacrificing time
desperate and forlorn
I say, I say, I say,
boy,
feeling like foghorn leghorn –
cartoon falling down the hallway tunnel
funneling idealism
into tiny glass cups
roughly stumping speeches
at penniless preaches
beseeching those reaching
for free handouts and doubting
the ones touting freedom of thought….


sometimes I get caught up,
lose my train of conscious ideas
this is what that looks like –
617 · Aug 2014
I blame myself
Sam Temple Aug 2014
some folks look to the future with a technological eye
prying forward movement from rarified elements
planning alternative energy sources
understanding nuclear is the only viable option
bio-geneticists create new food
combining fish farts and artichoke hearts
in order to never spray petroleum based pesticides
on South Americans
300 million fat ******* from the United States
prove the failings
undeterred, government cronies funnel
tax dollars
to multi-nationals
bent on global *******
through total resource monopolization
and consumption as the path to happiness
those of us smart enough to know better
sit powerless
our prowess
carefully repressed
depressed, those awake seek to express
regret
for the non-revolution
that gave these ******* the power
617 · Mar 2015
just a guy
Sam Temple Mar 2015
Sure,
I work in maximum security prison
grow large scale medical marijuana
have 22 year old twin daughters,
who are beautiful and without child…
a nineteen year old son,
with no police record,
and enrolled in community college –
Yes,
I have a Bachelor’s degree
I received at almost 40
served on the parks and rec. board as vice-chair
was president of a prison education awareness group
have not had any sort of infraction
for 20 years –
It’s true,
I am a white man in America
free and over 21
I vote so I feel free to complain
eat GMO free and organic
try to get in a little exercise
spend time with my wife and children as fun
enjoy the company of my friends –
I’ll concede
I am a good person
make positive choices
for not only my life
but with future generations in mind
ecologically friendly
with an eye to restoring the natural habitats……………
…………………………………………
…………………………………………
but,
I am
no
hero
617 · Mar 2016
hope droplets in a thimble
Sam Temple Mar 2016
misty eyed children shift in gossamer sheets
spider web silken swaddling  
hold arms and legs at bay
whilst the neocons pull delicate straws
from deep pockets
lined with south African diamonds
and Venezuelan crude
slowly they sip the crimson life
from the babies *******
piercing hearts and slurping long
pulling each and every droplet
into an insatiable void –
feverously unwound and placed back
into wombs forever altered
space creating blank eyed apathy monsters
only fixated on technologic advances
and trending topics
broken minds unable to grasp critical thought
only seven second processing
and on to the next hashtag
expressionless blight on humanity
also, the future of civilization –
tears well as I sit across from children
lost in phone
lost in space
faceless emotionless creatures
bravely feeding medication
to their elders
for 16 dollars an hour –
617 · Apr 2014
fleeting flashback
Sam Temple Apr 2014
triangular tree-tops dot the horizon
the Fir has a specific shape
scented cones fall to delighted squirrels
eagerly scooping and burying nature’s bounty
as another winter has passed without catastrophe
blankly staring out stained glass, longing to feel the grass
between aging toes
mud puddle hop-scotch  memories transport me from a desk and a screen
to a childhood filled with wide open spaces and wooded glades
and the freedom to explore the world around me
soft cooing of the female squab forces the present into focus
and I sit watery-eyed trying to recapture a fading memory
it slips from view as I try to rekindle an interest in the job at hand
slow death by 9 to 5 employment
616 · Aug 2015
recognizing hair
Sam Temple Aug 2015
course, black, dog hair
from an eleven year old lab mastiff mix
pokes through my salmon button down
reminding me of home
while I pretend to work another day –
sitting in my swivel chair contemplating string theory,
dark matter,
zero-point energy and magnets…
enjoying a slight breeze
thinking about what a mint julip tastes like
and if the temperature and humidity are right
for that sort of affair –
wrinkled slack leg shows the truth
I wore these pants yesterday
dusty Nike proving my enslavement
thank god the sole is pulling away from the faux leather
at least I am not a slave to the seasons –
three week old stubble gives my calloused hands
something to scratch and rub
granting me the look of thoughtfulness
and intense consideration…
I play this up so no one bothers me –
615 · Jul 2016
accepting self
Sam Temple Jul 2016
It’s such a strange phenomenon
people writing poetry
desperately seeking not to be called a poet
like they are afraid of that label
like if they call themselves a poet
instantly you are held to a special standard
you are forced to be brilliant and insightful
each breath inhaling beauty
and exhaling wisdom and exuberance
or
maybe you think you have to sell all your clothes
wear only black and brood
contemplate death endlessly
while recognizing nothing as worthy
or interesting
only pain is real
if you say you are a poet…..

I am a poet.
I write poetry near daily.
I think about the way in which the leaves twirl
as they fall to the ground
consider children running through hoses
in the summer ~

I am a poet because there is no other name for me /
615 · Jan 2015
little poem for Tina Lyn
Sam Temple Jan 2015
soft freckles try to hide as
auburn hair falls delicately
across her left cheek
I am captured by the moment
feelings of inadequacy boil up
and I try to convince myself
I am worth her love—
setting on the edge of the sofa
mindlessly eating a sandwich
part of me, lost in a daydream
desires to be the bread
if only to experience even more of her –
electric shock travels the length of my body
as her nimble fingers
rub across my knee
and a realization begins to take hold
twelve years in, and I still feel this way—
a single tear wells up in my right eye
and falls down, creating a spot on my jeans
signifying my lack of emotional control
when considering our love
and life together –
614 · May 2015
her eyes
Sam Temple May 2015
Fawn’s breathe creates misty shroud
Sunlight pierced gemstone
Her eyes too, they shine this way
I think a Haiku from time to time is a good thing :)
Sam Temple Jan 2015
hate nation in love with hypocrisy
sits outside my window
pushing the limits
asking me to join in the rampage
but no peace officers will die by my hand
nor drug dealers or pedophiles
enemies of the state can drink sweet tea
on the veranda
at sunset
as apathy wins out with generation
‘who gives a ****’
the gen x-ers sit in starbucks complaining about inequality
with the baby boomers shake gnarled fists
at perceive socialism
and every day and new over medicated misunderstood
child of this environment
unleashes frustration
by shooting everyone in the room
just like in every movie
video game
fictional or non
programming
desensitizing gun violence
and making death and mayhem
the fastest way to fame –
broken dreams of fore fathers
lay tattered on ratty parchment
asking citizenry to protect their fellow countrymen
at all cost
to hold dear ideas of freedom and liberty for all
but if you are Black at night
don’t you dare be caught in a hoodie
near any peace keeping security force
local or global
‘cause America is shootin’ to ****
and practice makes perfect –
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