"baulk" poems
The distant park
Was a graveyard of dead stars.
Each streetlight a system of worlds,
So many lives between each mote of light,
Indistinguishable in their unique love,
Bespoke hate, and the drama of the modern age.
Drunk laughter behind transparent
Double doors. Another hotel balcony,
Another cloud behind the canopy
Of marijuana eyes
To unsettle me from the crowd.
She points out, when you look closely
You can see the disorder
Amongst all constellations
Of life and love and litter;
Of discarded Coke cans
And temporary highs.
She says this is not a scene
To imbue the ****** of a present mind,
More to baulk at the incompletion
Of one thousand to-do lists;
A million reasons why
You should just stay inside.
She says you can see the human swell
Of ignorance, our city lights
Blotting out the stars
In a black ocean of broken politic
And irretrievable fault lines-
Divisions between us all.
Lives twisted with professional smiles
And eyes lit with stunning indifference.
Still, I have felt charity and warmth
On the doorstep of lunatics and fascists.
I have read the love of life
In faces of those who gave up.
I have recounted countless artists
Who saw beauty
In moments that precisely lacked it.
I have spent too many nights
In anaesthesia,
Fleeing each instance of feeling
And terror; all the tremors
That tell me I am still alive.
Continued to stare at the lights
Long after her voice
And the laughter inside had gone.
Heard waves in the traffic.
A world so large, so expansive,
It can never truly sleep.
Every broken heart,
Every war-torn land,
Every promotion,
Every one-night stand.
I wonder what would happen
If we all stood still.
If we all took one moment
To observe the motion
That unfolds beneath
Our static windowsill.
If we all took one moment
To recover our loss.
The wars that we won,
The feelings, forgot.
The hell we retain;
Our paradise, lost.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC
Swept in on the sixth of the first
Icy winds sluiced on dripping fleecy snow showers
I saw a raging storm coming with vile foreboding nursed
Staple in peace in love in goodwill laid a fitting banquet for all hours
Rewards for toil and strive in minds attuned and goodness versed
I knelt supplicant before my Lord
Laid my just heart bare and without fear or dread
laid a ringing vow as in warmth or bellowing thundering cold
I rest in the forethought I am girded to sail sun's flames un thread
For no blooded being can justly state I harmed or injured in my fold
I will walk this vale of tears
Meet with demons and the ****** of the outer worlds
Face the volcanoes in hell and shame blazing red lava ingots
I will not cower before deadly serpents or baulk at icy frozen walls
If I fall I will stand again an again till God's time uneaten by maggots
I implored my Faithful Lord
Take me down grind and cast me asunder and bereft
If this be ordained that an innocent soul pays an unjust price
The darkest storm has raged wild and furious a depraved joy theft
My God upholds me and holds that truths and honesty never a vice
[email protected].
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 5:34 PM UTC
*Claw beneath your ribs
Hold down wild you
Just for a little while
Feel the anguished flutter
Begging these gruff hands . . .*
1.
Fear takes commotive hold
Makes wooden legs
Delayed dance…..so delayed
Causing silent attendance of synchrony
No use stepping out for flight just yet, if alone
Will meantime practise wing-span
iron out brittle energy
attempt to fortify links
..
2.
Careless snubs to fragile sapling
Did absolutely nothing
To the course set out
Only hypocrites squander even half-truths
and wallow in obsequious words
rendering paralysis and decay
I will continue to claw beneath your ribs
Covert trove awaits us
In the tormented form of
Crashing waves on a broken coast
Hacked to near-distraction by potent searching
3.
Loss is not wasted
unseen by its absence:
evocative presence felt …with penniless eyes
I challenge you to visualise our melting:
perched on fate’s right shoulder
re-sent to this basic arena as buoyant token
summoned by that primordial, blue light
..
*the sun may well baulk and melt
at the ruddy sight of
such intense clawing beneath your ribs
(like your customary digging into my bristling blades)
To find my foetal place
within the calling drumbeats
of imperative you . . .*
S T, sunsday . . . 21 July 2013
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 4:50 AM UTC
Why is it that most of us men baulk
At the idea of having to talk
About issues we find troubling
Even when we know we’re not coping?
Why to men does it make much more sense
To say nothing, suffer in silence?
To shut out all those who might just care?
To refuse all the supports out there?
Why do we find it so hard to speak?
Do we feel reaching out makes us weak?
Do we think men must always be strong?
Maybe that’s where we are going wrong!
What a pity, what an awful shame
That our feelings we fear so to name,
That we can’t discuss our darkest fears,
That we are afraid of our own tears.
Oh when will the penny ever drop,
That this way of thinking has to stop?
For it shows great strength, courage indeed,
To ask for help in your hour of need.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC
I was drunk,
Lying on the Delhi Street,conked,
I was thrown out of a bar nearby,
I can't remember why?
I woke with a start,
I found myself in a cart,
Pulled by a shabbily dressed man
With a tattered turban,
And a ragged **** cloth round his waist.
Was he here to collect waste?
Not to ask I thought best.
I threatened him to stop,
Or I would call the cop.
Immediately he put the cart down,
He thought I was gone!
We had a long talk,
His sorry tale made me baulk,
Made me sober.
He was a corpse collector,
With a six year old daughter.
For a few miserly rupees,
He collected corpses,
From the alleys and streets,
And performed their last rites.
The corpses were mostly of those who died of cold,
Their stories untold.
The man had no home,
Come rain,cold or storm,
They lived under an old building's dome.
The little girl with him tagged along,
Looked at life as a song,
Never a complaint,
The little grubby saint.
On cold frosty days,
To stay warm,the only way,
The corpses became the child's blanket,
She cuddled amongst them as if in a basket.
Tears welled up in my eyes,
This was reality, not lies,
The strings of my heart broke,
From a lifetime of dreams I woke,
I have to turn the hands of the clock,
The Almighty had cleared my vision,
I was sent here for a reason.
I made up my mind,
Gambling and drinking I left behind.
I adopted the pair,
On the same street,I opened a Shelter,
For the needy and underprevileged,
And a Home for the aged.
In life I found my mettle
With wife and children I am settled.
I also work with other NGO's
For the betterment of people's lives.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 3:46 AM UTC
fare thee well
oh my good ol' hawai chappal!
thy sole is free now
to roam worlds unknown
unfettered at last from feet
and straps and strings unseen...
don't let your gait slacken
in fear of some fearsome vulcan
do'nt baulk at the spectre
of, in his cauldron, giving up your sulphur
for you may yet be reborn
in an avatar as yet unknown.
a glove, a doll or an eraser
a ****** a cap or something baser.
for you, i shed a silent tear
so loyally did you serve me, my dear!
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 8:58 AM UTC
Will I walk,
Will I talk -
Will I open up,
Or will I baulk?
---------
Moved by time, unremitting;
Approaching disintegration - universal dispersal.
Emotional denial, fearing the inevitable.
Procuring the future by biological means;
Neglecting angst instilled in collected dreams;
Ever hopeful for intervention - role reversal.
----------
Dancing betwixt light beams
Floating on echoed screams
Unsure what reality means;
Confronted by attitudes obscene
Lost amid chaotic scenes
Is anything what it seems?
---------
Hello - How are you?
Hello - Can I help you?
Hello - Did you hear me?
Hello - Who are you?
Hello - Do I understand you right?
Hello - What'd you say?
Hello - Are you with me?
Hello - Did you see that?
Hello - Are you sure?
Hello - What's this?
Hello - I'm trying to communicate!
Hello - Welcome.
Hello - Come in.
Hello - I am...Friendly (and Curious)...
---------
Too much angst
Too many sorrows
Too much fear
Too few tomorrows.
Too little, too late;
Too bad, too sad.
Too much waste
Too much greed
Too much gain
Too much need.
Too distracting
Too frivolous
Too complex
Too preposterous.
Too many scandals
Too many re-acting
Too muck shock
Too few enacting.
Too much terror
Too much blood
Too many agendas
Too much cud.
Too much goodwill
Too little done
Too...
...You...
You're 2 kind.
Thanks, mate.
---------
Rhetoric or ridiculous?
Rude or risqué?
Right or righteous?
Ruling or ruining?
Revolving or resolved?
Revolting or revolutionary?
Repeating or reposing?
Revealed or reviled?
Rambling or raving?
Rising or risen?
Robust or round?
Rigorous or regressive?
---------
Aggressive
Repressive
Depressive
Regressive.
Impressive
Oppressive
Expressive
Obsessive.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
Long divorced from love,
owned three guitars
and slept with nine women.
Remembers every song,
every poem,
scarcely recalls their faces;
lilt of their tongue
as sleep took hold of them-
not him.
Trigger finger over the snapshot
through each baulk and ****** of passion:
"this is the poem, this is the verse
I can lay down in print
and finally live again."
Night sky too full of uncertainty.
Cannot observe a desert scene
without a commentary
on each unanswered question.
She is dressed in sequins
but what for the spaces in between?
He cannot accept filler,
blank spaces that intercede
moments of ineffable beauty.
Maddening crowds emerge,
bright-eyed and stupid
to each early, pink noise morning.
He awakes, drugged to the eyeballs,
slow to movement; formulation of words.
Each night a battle of sobriety
as the sun does bleed
in the skyline before him.
Each night a generation dies,
subtle points of light
lost in the noise of the modern day.
Screams pointlessly, without need:
"don't forget me, don't forget me..."
would rather leave a scar
than no mark at all.
Lives for the colours
he cannot see, for the common thread
that connects everything.
Tweaks the string of each broken seam
to expose each diversity,
each personal loss
as a collective sigh;
every sleepless night
as an off-white lullaby.
Born for collision
beneath a dying star,
long divorced from love;
he is married to art.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
The Rhino's last stand?
my eye's still baulk .
For 15 litres used, Fina offered collectable cards
and this free coaster.
I can only think of forecourt charges now
and blinding energy shortages,
needling the near skint.
Surely we had failed the insurmountable test.
Eco Care conditional on my father not being disparagingly cross promitionally conscious?
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 6:53 PM UTC
The sun does rise the sun does set, another day goes by
One day closer one more day, to the day that you will die
-
Long ago when you were young, death was far away
In a mirror now behold, your gray hair is here to stay
-
Your youth is gone your eyes are dim, you need a cane to walk
The people that you meet, you they only mock
-
Very soon, all to soon, you will breathe your last
Your life will be snuffed out...your memory has past
-
Where will you go then? To Heaven or to Hell?
You'll go to Hell to burn! Forever there you'll dwell
-
You lived in wanton greed, in debauchery and lust
With your soul you will now pay, your gold has turned to rust
-
Death is at the door, for you he will not knock
Your rotting caucus will lay cold...Grim Reaper will not baulk
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
There’s always been something controlling me,
I knew, but I knew not what,
Something diverting and foiling me
Since the days that I lay in my cot,
I thought it was simply a parent thing
As they whispered their rules in my ear,
The things that were right and the things that were wrong
And the things I would most have to fear.
They sent me to school and the teachers, too,
Must have read from the very same book,
They always laid blame and they said it the same
And the cane lent a sting to their hook.
‘You’re coming to learn, not to think for yourself,
You’ll repeat everything that I say,
And maybe just some of these rules will stick
If you dwell on the rules every day!’
Then once in the world my employers unfurled
All the rules and the regs I would keep,
I didn’t last long, I’d seen them before
And told them they put me to sleep.
The government fined and unlicensed me
From a book that they said was the law,
The magistrates sat on a heap of these books
As I shrugged and I said, ‘What for?’
I sat in the jail for contempt of court,
Spent plenty of time in my cell,
The world was consumed with a million rules
Designed to consign you to hell.
I watched all the lawyers and prisoners, cops
As they danced to the rules of the cot,
And sensed they were puppets, and most of them fools
Who would baulk at the words, ‘I will not!’
They’d hate to be questioned, they thought they were right,
If you disagreed you were canned,
They’d lock you away for a hospital stay
There was no going back, it was planned.
You had to be made to agree with their way
So they clamped electrodes on your head,
Then slide up the volts, and it wasn’t their fault
If it happened you ended up dead.
They called it Electro-therapy
And said it was doing you good,
But the thoughts in my brain they were never the same
When I came out from under that hood,
I saw the strings jerking from shoulders and heads
In a vision you couldn’t conceive,
And there were the hands that were pulling their strings
When I called out, ‘I don’t believe!’
‘I’ve never believed and I’ll never believe,’
I called, and they all moved away,
A thunderous cracking of mortar and ceiling,
It all fell apart on that day.
The strings fell away from my shoulders and hands
And I knew I was finally free,
And then I called up to the Puppet Master,
‘You won’t be controlling me!’
People were falling all over the place
As he dropped all the strings from his hands,
The bearded Master could see the disaster,
‘You’ve ruined my world and my plans!’
He paused for a moment and then he was gone
Leaving people to blink in the light,
The rules were the rules of the Puppet Master
Now we can decide what is right!
David Lewis Paget
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 8:28 AM UTC
oh dear sister how easily you forget
I can not read your mind we are not twins
nor are we travelling on the same frequency.
I can not ask you what you need if you do not answer my calls
and shout at me when I come to find you.
sister dear, I know you want me to make you shine
and polish the silver ware and forget my cooking flair, fine.
but, wasnt it you who had said:
"if your inviting that vegan friend"
that I had to cook something she could eat at the spread?
and now youre all huffed and puffed and natiness instead
when I have organsied to cook it together with this friend
because I was trying to contact you and got no response in the end?
I didnt blink when you and mother dear went shopping and planned all the fare
I didnt baulk when you asked me to buy the meat nor did I care
I didnt say anything at all when you didnt include me
and nothing again when you didnt call to advise me
now I didnt deserve that stupid display
and especially since you and mother want to put your wears on display
your facebook anitcs are something to annoying to see
#hashtag food selfie
and well I guess you dont want to see the shine in me
but the memo came at birth, I know its your own ball
Im only here as a front in front of you and mothers friends
playing happy family to whatever end
just be glad I'll come at all thanks to my vegan friend
Her name is not 'that vegan chick' its Melissa
so do your own polishing.
News flash: Im not the ugly sister.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
Spring-loaded,
Nervous energy;
Often wondering
In an archer, a yogi-
Gathering static strength,
A tension
With the potential
Of absolution;
Else a stopwatch wound
Too tight. A pointless climb,
An effortless demise-
Out of time,
Out of mind.
Cannot walk slow.
Baulk beneath
The cathedral,
Lengthening of the shadow;
Another wasted day.
Often wondering
if idle or incomplete,
Whether the chip
On my shoulder
Is a flute
Or a fatal malady.
Managed the cap and gown
With a professional smile.
Found my audience
When I gave it up.
Often wondering
What I am doing,
Sat drunk at the typewriter
Alone;
Often wondering
Which is more fearful;
the void
Or the comfort of home.
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 7:58 PM UTC
World rotator broke, needs hearts inside to churn
We are stuck in the same grid.
Agony on the forefront, sign your name to the list
Cardiac arrests in a jam and sad, nowhere out.
Rush your feet, paddle your wares
Sesquicentennial views would baulk at what we do.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 11:49 PM UTC
Egypt,Iran,Saudi and Afghanistan,who is the man,who was the man they killed somewhere in Pakistan,
groaning,droning,mark them down and then home in,children dying,Mother's blown to bits crying.
U.N set the talks,
the Russians baulk,the Chinese walk.
What we need are peace accords,what we get are bombs and swords,all we want's a little space
all we need is face to face,
communication is the key, the only way to set us free
but until then and as and when
we might as well forget the pen
Bombing runs,bullets,guns someone tallies up the sums.
One more whore,Ambassador,another vote lost on the floor
stop the war
stop the war
we don't want it any more.
**** em all, just play ball
and call the whole thing off
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 3:32 PM UTC
Skip Skate, trot hop,
moving forward rock to rock,
every step unique and considered,
life newly born carcases of the withered,
shimmering shaking, liquid meets solid,
altitude zero both beauty and torrid,
shades of green, hugs white chalk,
the mass of the undulating lapping with baulk,
the foamy bubbles lead the way,
drops of oily bring colour and sway,
like tiny little clouds, egg whites in ***
this meeting of the worlds characters, an ever new plot,
signs of creation, signs of decay,
I pass through this picture in my personal way,
grounding and purifying its this cleansing i need most
as i wander tentively along this little stretch of coast
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 9:39 AM UTC
The driving force is of course
need
and we feed it to
those that deny it and rely instead upon
the natural order, we're also busy
weeding out the dead legs
those that can't walk can't baulk at that.
I had drive once until the gearbox seized up and
the engine caught fire,
but once
I was so high octane
that
I peed petroleum
need?
I did not.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
Europa’s Struggle (new version)
Like life wars go on and on, it is in our genes under layers of prattle there is a murderer
who wants to **** the different what we do not understand and loathe .
This influx of a foreign culture has demanded too much of our self- preservation as a race.
Destroy them now!
We tolerate crime in our society but what we read is crime committed by people
we have given succour we baulk somehow they should not be criminals.
They hate our way of life we call Christianity that now is a liberal culture that blathers
about forgiveness. They came to us because we could not let them starve it was our duty
but we do we feel our duty as a burden.
If we follow the call of our ethnicity should we not stop them coming into our life
making us think about if our values are ossified that we should give up without
a fight and let Europe be a sect for whom death is glorious.
I don't know; I'm old I will not live in the new Europa will it bring peace, no,
our genes, screams for war by people who are backwards in time and only know
old hatred for whom progress is not a teaching approved by their book and music
is a call from an elegant tower Not to forget their cousins who worship Mammon
and will go to any length to satisfy their blood lust, immoral, greedy and try to enslave
us with their slimy *********** and a main- press printed by bought editors and
sycophantic journalists. When those in the name of another faith vandalise Louvre or
places of beauty will we find our strength and push them back as we did before.
We cast these negative thought away we are mensch we help the less fortunate and
Above all fight fascism and defeatism in equal measure.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
Europa’s Struggle
Like life wars go on and on, it is in our genes under layers
of prattle there is a murderer who wants to **** the different what we do not understand and loathe .
This influx of a foreign culture has demanded too much of our self- preservation as a race. Destroy them now!
We tolerate crime in our society but what we read is of crime committed by people we have given succour we baulk somehow
they should not be criminals.
They hate our way of life we call Christianity that now is a liberal culture that blathers about forgiveness.
They came to us because we could not let them starve it was our duty but we do we feel our duty as a burden.
If we follow the call of our ethnicity should we not stop them coming into our life making us think about if our values are ossified that we should give up without
a fight and let Europe be a sect for whom death is glorious
I don't know; I'm old I will not live in the new Europa will it bring peace, no, our genes, screams for war by people who are backwards in time and only know old hatred for whom progress is not a teaching approved by their book and music
is a call from an elegant tower
Not to forget their cousins who worship Mammon and will go to any length to satisfy their blood lust, immoral, greed and try to enslave us with their slimy *********** and a main- press printed by bought editors and sycophantic journalists.
When those in the name of another faith vandalise Louvre or places of beauty will we find our strength and push them back as we did before.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 7:08 PM UTC
Thick gravy mud incessantly pulling at my boots,
******* and squelching it’s distaste at its failure with each step I evade its clutches,
Brown hail flying in all directions ripping into flesh and taking eyes,
Ears reverberating with the excruciating din of falling shells,
Accompanied with the desperate screams of my comrades.
Like hells orchestra,
Low rumbles culminating in shrieking sopranos,
Piercing, Deafening,
It’s very lack of percussion spreads fear throughout the ranks,
Through it all there comes a sinister silence,
The true calm before the next storm,
Medics being screamed for in every direction,
Instructions being bellowed to grasp some pathetic sense of order,
In this chaotic pandemonium we push on without hope,
Following orders,
The crescendo of destruction starts again,
Louder, Angrier,
The poetic lunacy of dying in vain,
Our last moments played out like some poorly written depraved play,
Cannon fodder,
Our own remains serving as the uneven carpet of sickly maroon within our trench,
The smell so powerful that I baulk,
Eyes constantly stinging and streaming,
All my senses being flayed in unison,
This is the price we pay for your freedom,
This is the truth of what we endure,
So many deserving so much yet left with so little,
Lest we forget,
Lest we forget.
Lest we forget.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 2:13 PM UTC
Ink navy, a tide of emotion
blink as hurls stormy ocean,
fallow seethe, etched scripts,
shallow eddies capturing rips.
Salt of waves, currents snide,
faults gloom in foam astride,
mull cliffs, my stories baulk,
gleeful gulls, sly hover gawk.
Words go splash losing sight,
emerge to dune brief respite,
graze leave sharp, corals seer,
blaze raw depth my atmosphere.
Atmosphere, my depth raw blaze,
seer corals sharp, leave graze,
respite brief, dune to emerge
sight losing, splash go words.
Gawk, hover sly, gulls gleeful,
baulk stories, my cliffs mull,
astride foam in gloom faults,
snide currents, waves of salt.
Rips capturing eddies shallow,
scripts etched, seethe fallow,
oceans stormy hurls as blink,
emotion of tide, a navy ink.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 2:15 AM UTC
And below the veneer,
we are all vainly the same.
Searching to make sense of it all,
before we finally fall,
seperately together.
We all walk alone, in brutal truth,
forever lost in the tragic forest of existence.
Tis a wonderful feeling, being happy.
So wait for a smile,
then wait another while, ever longer.
Love & life are moons hovering above,
full to the brim of emotions
that leave you hollow, lonely & wounded.
Wait then, for profit & gain,
become insane,
in a cage in your mind,
before you selfishly die.
Detached,
switched on but out of tune,
baulk at the mercy of time.
The time is never right,
its always too soon,
to be remembered to be quietly forgotten.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC