Bannon 11h

Dog shit
   Dog log.
Dog bit
   Hot dog.

Dog eared
   Dog days
Dog weird
   Sniffs hayze.

Bone thug,
   Bone hog,
Porky Pug,
   Sup, dog?

Toilet bowl
   Dog dish,
Black hole

Dog bite
   Peace, dog.  


So confident when signing up for it.
So comfortable once in.
So awkward when outside the door.
Am I the me who wants to be in?

On the fly

A verse recited,
From some place of despair,
A verse to sing of forgotten heroes,
And Villains never caught,
A verse erupting,
From the depths of emotion,
To display a poets pain,
Through the written word.

The daughter of the moon and I
Fell from the stars
And crashed into a lonely lake
Where she would spend all of her days
Forsaking all others
Except for this
The wielder of the sword to be
To rule the world
By his own outstretched hand


Eventually you forget how to escape
To open the door at the back of your mind
And walk on though it
Into the new
And that is why we should value our innocence
And our children in such a way as we do

I was speaking of imagination...
Marc Hawkins Sep 14


Blood seeps
It curtains their eyes
Rendering them
Temporarily blind
Skin folded back
Exposing of skull
Ready to crack

Holes drilled
An access to the mind
Pumped with liquid knowledge
Which then solidifies
Conventional learning
Soft subjects barred entry
Too fluid to be controlled
Deep fear of creativity

Kicked into touch
With confined education
Sent into life
Into great expectations
3R certificates
Irrelevant to some
Force fed on dictates
From the seed to the crumb

For some who think outside the box
Of the language of academia
Why have knowledge forced upon
When it’s free on Wikipedia?
Stifling ideas
Kettling free thinking
Those and more values
Lined up for the shrinking

You will think in the ways
That we want you to think
You’ll sink into rules
And you’ll fall into sync
You will follow the norm
You’ll adhere to the rules
Of stagnated teachings
In stagnated schools

Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017

The ocean is why I wish to create
Look at the depths
Feel the weight
When you’re lying on the bottom reef
The pressure is immaculate
And you cannot wait
To taste the newness of each breath
Surrounded by salt
And the slow falling sand
Like the snow of the sea
So the freshness in your eyes cannot wait
To be both above and then below again
And that is why I wish to create
Like the ocean sands which are underneath
And not like the hot sands beneath our feet

Both in the sand and of it. But only when it's cool. My preference.

How quickly she forgot
How poorly I expressed
And either way
We are run away
With the feeling of want which may not keep
And will not if you ask the likes of me

It's true...and this is why time matters to me.
Marc Hawkins Sep 11

Did you remember to breathe in your sleep?
Did you, upon awakening,
Look to the ceiling and, in doing so,
Was greeted by the image of your own face
Descending toward you?
Pausing when close enough
To be face to face,
Nose to nose,
Eye to eye,
Breath to breath.
Then falling into you
Like water into a pond.
Indiscernible as you become one…
A mirrored image absorbed by you,
For gain or for loss,
For the greater good
Or the despicably bad

Do you have eyes in the back of your head?
Empowered by your future vision
Which they have stolen and twisted in reverse position,
Watching a trail left behind
That should have been lost
In the blaze of things to come,
Of promise and ambition
And the journey to success.
Do you have a contrary voice?
If so, which speaks clearest?
Which do you believe?
The angel or the devil?
Which overtakes the other?
When the words become intertwined
And in-separate
Like an image falling into the real,
Which sound do you follow?
Which turn do you take?

Somewhere at some time
A mirror cracks.
The image passes through
And is lost within the fabric of your pillow.
Lost in feathery down.
Choking on its guts.
A black gloved hand reaches down
And sweeps your eyelids shut.
Like the image reflected in the shards of mirror
You become fragmented
Before sinking into the numb relief
Of nothingness.
Lost for a time in the suspension
Of temporary death,
Hoping, upon awakening,
To find reconciliation.

Copyright Marc Hawkins 2017

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