"belay" poems
I'd last about an hour as a clerk inside a store
invariably I'd shoot my mouth off
about someone's daughter dressing like a *****
or making comments about the dreadful things consumed
which would include a good 99% of the people in the room
I'd eventually end up getting my lights punched out
after ********* someone as a fat *** undiscerning lout
or cracking some aside regarding what comprises that crud
and making faces of revulsion "you'd be better off eating mud"
ewwwww, you really eat that stuff?
this store should be sued for selling such bluff
children with diabetes, a third of adults obese
the courtesy clerk dies a little for lack of surcease
line after line of vapid consumers
mindless knee-jerk impetuosity belay the rumors
what's an adulterant, what's a filler?
propylene glycol alginate, yum yum
sorbitan mono sterate, shut up and eat it, its fun!
I can't even pronounce it, much less do I care
need I be a scientist to enjoyably savor fare
Go ahead and poison yourself
the quirky clerk exclaimed
its ever so clear you're stupid and lame
stay mired in your pig-headed muck of ignorance
you're exactly what they want
another brain dead consumer
a regular culinary savant
stuff your face with no remorse nor heed
no worries, the clerk of little courtesy knows your need
he'll limply wheel out your cart of miserable choices for you
and wise-crack some snarky rejoinder
then promptly get beaten, black and blue
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
Tiger Wood's wins the Masters today
Another green jacket comes his way
Finally, his image stands large at the doorway
For it's been a knock and a hiatus of his cache
As the years after 2008 suffered from his play
No major championships one can say
Only gossip headlines, mugshots, and injuries in gray
Where once a phenom in his twenties on display
Such greatness and legend his star headway
His mid-thirties saw some of his luster fall in dismay
With mostly self-injury to his ego in disarray
It was hard watching a once proud man's fall and decay
Especially one that held his world at bay
With his swagger, swoosh, and shine turning to clay
And like a good drama of accents and descents convey
With the wait and weight on his shoulders belay
He turned the storybook pages of dismay today
The pressure of his swing, swing, and putt on display
And how he uncorked his demons is a pure bouquet
After 43 years of his years, he took the fairway
Running, running, today after his prey
It was great seeing his game not get away
Logan Robertson
4/14/2019
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 12:13 AM UTC
Back when I was a follower
I had a good friend Ed
He grew up amongst the Alps
His Pops worked for the Ambassador
Details left unsaid
Ed could climb the steepest crags
Like a mountain goat on ****
And ski the steepest slopes
Like a rocket on a sled
As I said
I was a follower back then
And my friend Ed
With his prematurely balding pate
Would chuckle at my dread
Following him up a sheer rock face
Free style climbing into outer space
Rappelling down the other side
No belay to slow my glide
I remember the first time
Ed led me wrong
Clinging tightly like a lover
Halfway up the face
Hugging tightly a giant rock
Like a gambler hugs an Ace
No holds left or right, up or down
Too scared to breathe or shout for help
Till there was Ed like a monkey scurrying round
A smile of reassurance
Laughing at my plight
“Left hand here, right hand there
“Right foot to the left, left foot to the right”
Till finally at the top
Sweating, swearing, trembling
Lying on my back
He sitting there without a twitch
Thanks Ed, you Son of a *****
And then we hit the slopes
Ed starting with the Black
Piece of cake he said
I thought I had the knack
First mogul flying high
Second one I kissed the sky
Third I began the tumble
All head and *** and skis
Face buried in the freeze
I knew it would come one day
Ed asking me to dive
He didn’t mean the water
Ed loved to dive the skies
Finally I decided
No more the follower to be
I repeated the grunts number one rule
The only things that fall from the sky
The snow, the rain, bird **** and fools
We shed our uniforms
Said our goodbyes and headed home
Me to the South and East
Ed further West and North to roam
Last I heard my friend Ed was dead
Jumping from a bridge
The final dive for my friend Ed
Deep into a river gorge
I think he just got bored
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
A puff,
two puffs,.... A narrative or cleft notes for the Praxis exam. Otherwise, as smart as a equinimity is, a expository form in writ. The monkey's wait in Compton.
I belay the last law they have and will naught forgive or forget a Jesus freak.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
we the daughters of sliced sunbeams
and those who chase gales in between
the pasture gates and barbed fences behind
the silo--
who think there's nothing softer than the way
honey sounds drizzled on toast or daisy petals at the supermarket
the women of ferocious silences, standing before
dozens with trimmed smiles and deafening inner beauty
squeezing our fingers down barley stalks and sewing
the roots into our dresses, we've tried six ways to sunday
the rules, the book on being wanted, before realizing that anything
born out of self-indulgence wilts away
all the work we did to grow and plait our hair with vanilla,
dipped in sweet almond oil we had no idea
that pretending
could only get us
so
far.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
Fear and infractions,
Basic senses,
Subtle subtractions,
Delayed response,
Relayed reactions,
Play off the hint,
Winter hue,
Malice tint,
Hateless tasteless,
Faceless placeless,
Placed placement,
Playful payment,
Frivolous and fevered,
Tempered beliefs,
Believers,
Belay the bounty,
Beautiful and temptress trite,
Fracturing county,
Past tense recite,
Fast forward rewrite,
Rewound and respun,
Locked and lead loaded,
Geared and gunned,
Sudden and semi-accidental implosion,
Rewarming,
Sickly hex,
Weakened flex,
Internally overcasted and overtly storming,
Outwardly warning,
Slowly learning,
Forever turning,
And in turn,
Burnt and still laid burning,
Waking a ghostly turning,
Soundlessly and -ly burning,
Smokey on the peripheral,
Ethereal,
Eternally external,
Forcefully feared,
Into inferno,
Out of opinionated opressionables,
Que wide and willingly willed questionables,
Wordlessly whispers with the whim of the wind,
Beget blindness,
Begets mindless,
Begets beauty bound by which beauty begins,
Found fearfully,
Torn tearfully,
Retold beautifully,
Molded after mourning,
Mourned before morning,
Night neared,
Sadness teared,
Tearing soundly on edges,
Destruction and dutiful pirouette,
Tasted tyranny teem and endance pledge,
Irony stills,
And the air dare not forget.
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 12:14 PM UTC
together we sit and scan through pages
searching for knowledge of savants and sages
apart by wires and spaces deemed cyber
together in some places besotted by desires
for that which you seek and that which you share
your hasty interests may lead you to stare
into the abyss of the nets' unending
the maelstroms vortex you'll soon be winding
going ye here and going ye there
hopeful your meanderings
shall leave you fair
for within some sites there's the inveigle snare
ultimately constructed to leave you bare
go wittingly into the all- electric fray
some sensitive toes you'll invariably belay
don't fret over words harmlessly mislaid
to err is only human, short-circuits allayed
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:39 PM UTC
An army is being made
Dead souls, crushed hopes
Our very minds they invade
They shout, they splutter, they slap red faced
Trying to suppress us
An army it is, in a way
Countless men, bereft of dreams
Nooses on our necks they belay
They glare, they sneer, they stare with disdain
Trying to suppress us
An army of the forlorn
Like switches, with two defaults
The *** of green turns them on
They follow the little antenna where plasures are born
Trying to suppress us
We think, we try, we hope
They follow, they attempt, and die
We are numbered, each death a loss
They keep coming, a stack of meat and a shield of flesh
And yet we survive
The very essence of humanity protecting our souls
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
The battlefield long now cleared
of corpse, blood and gore.
Belay the epic truth they tell,
knee deep in history and wars.
Dead stacked like cords of wood,
burnt on unsanctified fires.
Log by log of rigored souls
sent the flames up higher.
years later make shift morgues sat 'bout
to hold the fallen heroes.
Kept in dungeons and deeper colds,
till springtime thaw for burials.
Those that live on to build
and keep recording life.
Never thought once and all
war would end their daily strife.
So it goes, axe to sword,
Cannon to machine gun.
Scud missles to nuclear.
Who will be left to say they won?
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 10:30 AM UTC
To wake in the morning and hold the sun in your hand
To see a dream come to be after thoughts you had planned
To laugh with a child and to share in her tears
To hold and protect to belay all her fears
The sound of a blackbirds enchanting sweet song
To admit to yourself when you know you are wrong
To shout out aloud when you know your alone
To make good of a sin, to admit, to atone
To bathe **** in the moonlight with the one you adore
To win or to lose to miss or to score
To feel dew-wet-grass, slowly squeeze through your toes
To share with the bees the delights of a rose
To write to compose to compile to make prose
To go on a diet, then to fit into your cloths
To be happy with life to make do with your lot
To finish a poem to the end with a dot.
Apr 19, 2010
Apr 19, 2010 at 10:46 PM UTC
Touch softly now, your sweet lips-
gently, as I am in your fingertips.
Within this touch I leave a kiss.
You bring me near by doing this.
Unnumbered times, I think of you,
I wonder if you’ve done this, too.
The door is not bolted nor on the catch.
Should you come by, there is no latch.
There is warmth and comfort here
A welcome meant for you, my dear.
My heart will never turn away,
Though well, I know, you cannot stay.
Your heart still whispers back to me,
betrays a love is there, you see.
When you need what I hold true,
drift on a dream, I’ll come for you.
We’ll feel each other close and warm
to calm the winds, belay the storm.
Then gone again, on your way -
free to return another day.
I am left to wonder, still -
Will you return, have you the will?
If I softly touch my lips
will you be in my fingertips?
Within a soft touch, by doing this,
will you warm me with a distant kiss?
Lin Cava©
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 5:55 AM UTC
The jaundiced eyes that yellow skin,
won't someone open up and let me out or let me enter in,
and be frolicsome,indulge in sin.
Time.
The *** bellied pig dancing its jig while my bones start to crumble away,
Come time and lay with me or do you just play with me, is that the game you prefer?
I see you and your hands and those cruel metal bands that you hold
and tell me time if you can,
why make this man old,why can't you stay, the hours of the hours of the day and belay any thought of letting the minutes walk on right through me,
why can't we be friends?
You look at me lovingly while plotting to smother me,why don't you just Mother me,nurse me not curse me,don't bother me
there are so many others to go out and disturb with your hands that perturb and your chimes only chime to mock at my rhymes.
I need more
I need more time
I implore you to hear me,
not sit there and laugh while you hungrily feed on me.
The end.
It will come
just when I started,
Aye,aye just when I began to have fun and the bell of the last round has rung
It's a knock out
a lock out
and try as I might there is no way to continue the fight,the referee has decided that time is the winner by three falls to one
and thus
I am gone.
Not forgotten
I hasten to say,
time laughs and still laughs at me where I would lay
and a long time it will be
I see that as a certainty.
I rest between the pillows of grass,waving willows goodbye,aye and I sigh
as will we all, when time gets through with me and you and wipes her hands clean
meanwhile,
I shall dream of the time when time stops and everything
drops into place.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
And so it was his past caught up
a dread for many many years
it was time to face reality
and belay his darkest fears.
A time to face a painful truth
he’d never known this child
he’d left when he was just hours old
and the loss had made him wild.
A soldier he’d been sent abroad
to fight for others’ errors
and in the deepness of his mind
he remembered years of terrors.
They’d captured him and half his men
his captain they had killed
and made the rest including him
dig the grave and get it filled.
When he came home he was a wreck
who drank himself to sleep
and though he had had several jobs
they were impossible to keep.
He later found his faith again
and now he has a certain peace
but the fear of meeting his son at last
was filling him with unease.
He wonders if he’ll understand
and how it will work out
but the boy had come and sought him
now he waited full of doubt……..
©Joe Wilson – His regret 2014
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
As he'd flip his hat
his ties have shone
though quaint in fact
just belied and bade
his call of freedom yet
his mapping afield where
he'd belay topography
and his harmony too
with hint of something new
even enticed quite averse
that hastened to implore
he cherished that linen
more refined in his attire
as he must wear it again.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 7:57 PM UTC
Detach the mournful profile from youthful embittered emotions ..
Sad , dark hours preceding death are merely curtain calls , rivers that peek inquiry from birth to ocean swept , delta epilogue ..
Reborn of Spring storms , the memoires of blackberry Winter ,
gray day maritime gales , thundershowers of September , yellow daffodils of March foretell the onset of today , gleam in the abiding sunlight of their anticipated hereafter ..
Behold the cliffs whom covet the turquoise exposure of the sea , imperiled flowers that belay their certain capitulation amongst the sharpened bottom .. Gulls shriek in suspend animation , black shorelines echo their resignation , carried across thick ocean breezes ...
Our physical days quite aware of the future at each subtle turn , the payment of debit with every expensive hour ...
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 4:27 PM UTC
*One, the friends you shun.
Two, darkness they eschew.
Three, a caged bird will die when set free.
Four, you are the hunted, the prey; the boar.
Five, nobbut a bee in the hive.
Six, they've forseen your deceit; belay your tricks.
Seven, a cursed soul shan't return to heaven.
Eight, death is every living being's fate.
Nine, if God is the Devil himself, who do you worship at the holy shrine?
Ten, time tells the day of your damnation.*
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
One, the cater-cousins thee shun.
Two, darkness they eschew.
Three, a cag'd bird shall kicketh the bucket at which hour setteth free.
Four, thou art the did hunt, the prey; the boar.
Five, nobbut a bee in the hive.
Six, they've forseen thy deceit; belay thy tricks.
Seven, a curs'd soul shan't returneth to heaven.
Eight, death is every living being's fate.
Nine, if 't be true god is the Flibbertigibbet himself, who is't doth thee worship at the holy shrine?
Ten, time tells the day of thy damnation.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
I miss the nights we called out to each other
I miss the ones spent sprawled out on one another
like long lost lovers the first time our lips met
Barely ready, but on you my heart was set
the wind came in and washed away my worries
You send the butterflies I’ve got into flurries
I’m thinking of all the things I should have said
But now I will never have the chance
Of all the cute little things I kept in my head
As I reminisce in our recalled romance
your skin was a map guiding me to safety
With your soft arms you did belay me
I’ll trace your tattoos with my tongue
Because we are happy and we are young
Hoping the later doesn’t make the first due
Because I’d love to grow old with you
I’m thinking of all the things I should have said
But now I will never have the chance
Of all the cute little things I kept in my head
As I reminisce in our recalled romance
I hope that these hopes don’t remain so
Because you mean more then you’ll ever know,
That tale would take a life time or two to tell
and the full attention of you, my beautiful belle
So I guess that’s all ask of you, a life time to say
How perfect you are in every single imaginable way
Sep 11, 2010
Sep 11, 2010 at 5:48 PM UTC
An interesting paradox
we revel daily.
Ornate additives
subconsciously sedate.
Rather the latter
let nature belay.
Raise and ride higher
in a most righteous way.
Majesty of creation
surrounds you today.
Revel it autonomously
and realize your strength.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 8:27 AM UTC
Before me
I feel the hand another placed
Whether it was so long
That the language they spoke was strange
Or near enough to touch
As was what was now
I cannot say
The demarcations by the brush
And knife and palate board were one
But here I know not to see them
Only to experience a part
A portion of the exchange
Like the loss in translation
So a blind man tries
It is one blank and haze from birth
A single shapeless depth
That endured the years into its gut
Among the faces and the shades
Like a flower know not its scent
Nor the ocean its expanse
I am unable to understand
Smooth cuts along their blades
And rows where the bristles gap
I wage the moats of paint and pencil
And take in their edge
Their weight upon the frame
Like I would the wind
How it blows through my stranger tips
One is lost to outside walls
Obstructing none who know to look
To only what is in one's reach
The window ahead
And not the mirrors
Or the mason brick barriers
That belay a soul whom thinks ahead
To other grasp the naked dream
An emptiness materialize
Through one notwithstanding yield
A glass even I can peer through
That drives the same man
The same soul
To the burdens I have been ******
True sight is one that catches sign
The single or a multitude
Infinity befalls the eye
But those who learn to sort their panes
Can feel through its difference
And guess its weight
Even if their worlds are blind
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC