Veins, veins,
length and breadth,
intertwined

beats to freedom
or desolation;
a terminus

lost on a circular.
An ebbing destination,
unchartered targets,

Follow the signs.
We are a one way street,
follow the signs

on software maps.
Stumped
by sequential lights

and us, caught
in a dragnet
within steely fish,

gasping for air,
choking on smoke,
bilious coughs,

hacking sputum,
gobbing phlegm globs
in interval gaps

within gridlocks;
nose to **** to
nose to ****.

The rage, the stares
the shouts, the finger,
the Grrr’s, the Rrrr’s,

the honks, the blares,
the bumper to bumper
expletive shares.

The rolling down,
the alighting,
the threats,

the fighting.
The falling down,
the separation,

reseating,
the rolling,
the thunder,

the trudge,
the stops, the starts.
Follow the signs,

follow the signs.
Robotic conveyors
for humans,

mechanical
fossil fueled
chariots,

grumbling, grunting,
wheee-ing and
screeching,

and screaming
and spewing
and chuffing

and guffing
black plumes,
air tarred,

veins, veins
clogged and bogged,
viscous, molasses,

liquid black blob.
Road fogged,
numbers logged.

Veins, veins,
follow the signs,
slow crawl.

Veins, veins,
follow the signs,
follow the signs,

sprawl.

Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017

Blessed are the weird people...
Poets, Artists, Writers, Misfits.
For they teach us to see
the world through different eyes.

Devoted living,
Contradicted goals are just the things we despise.
For we grow in contrast to your limited sky.
We live to be free
An avian species yet to fly.

Understand that your soul
isn't bound by a
three-dimensional
earthly existence.
She who is brave is free.

We yearn for the sky
Hope for the light
Treasuring the summer breeze
Escaping the cold winter nights
Trapped in our diversity
Everlasting battles of creative adversity
In times of logic
Rhymes and rhythms seems Shakespearian, somewhat nostalgic.

We are the drifters,
& dancers, the sun worshippers
& risk takers. The dreamers,
the lovers, the believers
& change makers.

*We are the offspring of Creativity
The red-headed step child of derivative.
Conveyors of empathy.
And without us nothing would exist
We are the golden child of heavens bliss.

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Sitting in place, watching for each breath to follow. Sitting in place while the pulse of the universe passed through, washing over me like a quilted array of colorful threads.

Waiting, resisting any urge to categorize it while breathing…..

From here to vapor clouds of yellow-green shapes, familiar and yet strikingly new and delightfully unique; letting go of any hold on my place, sitting in place.

Complete stillness in unison with an amplified propulsion of movement, surging through my body while the crafted, colorful texture buffets any notion that it could ever stop.

The fabric woven from strands of green, red, rainbow hues, standing and waving but endless; recognizing its elusive presence. Here, then gone, new forms and ideas.

There, but whipped away in a reality of thought; throbbing back to a joyous cacophony of brilliant cobalt spots melding into pools of glaze and meandering laughter. Rich with a deep knowledge of comfort and creation.

Rolling conveyors of electrified strands in textile grids, carrying me through existence; not away but throughout. Not alone but connected in a field of saturated love and reaffirming energy. Beckoning to participate in a communal array of shared newness and fascinated creativity.

Beating, pulsating, reverberating through my being; lifting and transporting from here to here. Flashing, stunning, gripping yet gently releasing me to a river-stream of floating and mellow current.

Elusive to comprehend yet immediately sure. Breathing with a singular rhythm but bombarded with a magnanimous abundance of photons, blasting through into an ambling state. Smiling, soothing, mirthful but astoundingly reassuring and irrevocably present.

Sitting in place, wanting to stay and receive while being pulled to a new place of possibility and self-perpetuation.

Sitting in place in the middle of nothing. Delirious.

Like a rebel I flee from exquisite fate of deception,
Neither a knight of a night nor no day by both,
Watch brave man knows neither sun nor moon,
Slavering From conveyors, chisel and shovels,
Victimized of labor with a distraction to ultimate
Prize, while the politicians Serves through favor
Adjudication, feeding the Masters of the game,
Who strike at dawn till gloom, silence predators,
Animals, strike down, seizing, killing and ignoring
The Yelling, pushing the agenda of 1985 speech,
Using the Nelson Mandela image with the Big 5 as their
Lucky charm, to muting Africa’s consciousness
Wisdom for our freedom, detaining our brains in
Chains to keep their game on, I resign from their
Design, using us against us to build their golden castle
To live us so cold in a Convoy at their feet

This charade has ended,
I can no longer stomach the strain.
I'd rather quit, choice undefended,
Than to watch it slowly circle the drain.

The hours of waiting are past,
There is no more place for them here.
This now must be the last,
It was the final year.

The memories come tumbling down,
Feeling more like dreams than not.
Each crashing silently, not a sound,
Much more painful than I thought.

So many reasons, so many nights,
But I can no longer justify.
It's not fair and it's not right,
For the involved to stand idly by.

So now the hammer is crushing,
The blow staggering with finality.
Any further attempts just waves crashing,
Decision standing firm against the sea.

I'm sure the blood will run,
And the hate words will be poured out.
This was the battle I never won,
Weak and overcome with doubt.

Nothing here is happiness,
I find not joy in words of ending.
Soon now the reflective sadness,
As I feel the promise rending.

Words are but pointless lines,
Sentences conveyors of betrayal.
Fate fought all my best designs,
Until I caused my own self to fail.

From the back of the amalgam-coated glass
Reflections of a backward self
A communications gallery of
Familiar features that time has shaped
A metamorphosis, I think not so

For eyes, eyes unchanging as mountains
Covetous of the material world
Conveyors of deception
Keepers of a stoic past
Guardians of a Pandora’s box

What powers thee possesses
To penetrate this tenured vortex
What contrivance
Releases water and salt
A fissure

Swirling emotions, confusion
Muscle fibers that remember
Bits of information released and recaptured
Bolts of pain flashing across a shielded chest
Sanctuary sought within a fetal self

What powers thee possesses
To penetrate this tenured vortex
What contrivance
Releases more water and salt
A river

Arms extended
Promises of safety
Broken bones, broken trust

Caregivers at work
Expressions of love
Seen from afar, further still

Words of wisdom
Instructions of work
Failed expectations, disgust

What powers thee possesses
To penetrate this tenured vortex
What contrivance
Releases water and salt
An ocean

Religious beliefs
Procreative duty
A numerical lot, identities lost

Sharing of food
Selected portions
Calculated worth, lessened value

Childhood dreams
Encumbered plans
Lost play, labor bound

What powers thee possesses
To penetrate this tenured vortex
What contrivance
Releases more water and salt
A horizon

Such is the power of unconditional love
Of accepting non-judgmental eyes
Of healing hands
A soul who knows such disturbances
Such sorrows of childhoods lost

A spiritual journey renewed
Resiliency is my strength
Active patience my tool
Universal energy my food
A soul so noble my guide

Lethal.
Words,
deadly
weapons
used to
attack,
hurt,
destroy.
Words
as a
cudgle
used to
control,
intimate,
dominate.
Words,
powerful
tools to
inspire,
elevate,
create.
Words,
conveyors
of meaning
ideas, intent.
Welling up
from within,
pulled
from the
ether.
Words,
conveying
rules, laws,
knowledge.
All of
history,
all of
sentience
reflected.
Words,
explaining the
unexplainable.
Grasping
at straws.
Words,
used as
lubricant,
moving
things along.
Words,
contractors
of existence,
seeds of
creation.