"catapulting" poems
I gaze into my crystal ball, discern amidst the haze
A world so far removed from that of now, it would amaze,
Where catapulting incidents collide like billiard *****
And sense defies belief as renaissance makes the calls.
Blueprints fresh from Internet supply the suitcase blast
Where the terrorist’s, simultaneously, ignite in cities cast
From Moscow to New York, Beijing to Berlin
Gay Paree to London town then way out east again,
Budapest, Jerusalem Calcutta burning all
And Tokyo is levelled in a ghastly nuclear pall.
Kneejerk reaction triggers contrails in the blue
Crisscrossing all the continents obliterating through
An overkill so vicious that in seconds it is past
And the living cling in horror, bearing witness… aghast.
Restraints are erased as the opportunists dash
Flotillas from the Spratleys sprint to occupy and cash
In on the minerals, oil and potential food supplies
Of uncontaminated nations found beneath Pacific skies.
Hindi, Jew and Muslim settle scores bereft with years
Of resentment accrued in a flood of blood and tears.
A sudden realisation of immensity of loss
Curtails the destruction in retrenchment across
The habitable outposts, the dearth of supply
And the daunting prospects of a nuclear winter sky.
Global collapse of all electronic gear
No power, no phones, and no cars now…for years.
Electromagnetic impulse put paid to all that
And the day is as dark as the cold night is black.
And here all we sit, in the here and the now
On the verge of catastrophes’ teetering tower,
With a fools pudgy finger just inches above
The nuclear button…and all that we love.
……You fear the insanity, sense the insane
Knowing that people like this are holding the reign?
Knowing that volatility strikes
Like the shot of a gun and the ****** of a knife.
I don’t have the answers to hand
But someone out there, knows how…and can.
The sands of time are running thin
URGENTLY needed a LEADER...to WIN!
M.
Planet Earth
6 March 2019
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 12:46 AM UTC
So I've been thinking lately
What if
he's on a journey out to find himself
reading Hemingway and Emerson (his namesake) and roughing it at Walden Pond
smoking foreign cigars
and staring deep into coffee
to decipher the meaning of the swirls of smoke
that rise from it in the morning?
What if
he's asking ChaCha! the meaning of life
or trying out a new brand of shampoo
or attempting to set a high score on Tetris
or out burning down bridges just to see them ablaze
or doing volunteer work,
reading to disabled children at the local library?
What if
he's decided that this is all too much,
that he'd prefer to live in anonymity
trading his celebrity for secretarial work or carrot-harvesting
or breeding exotic fish
or renting out those inflatable jumping-castles?
What if
he's tired of all those books in Technicolor
all the paparazzi out to get him
and commercialize his favorite beanie
just because he's on vacation because he pulled some strings at the office
thus catapulting him into some movie set halfway across the world?
What if he's sick and tired of them hunting down his girlfriend
his dog
that random wizard mentor guy that's a deadringer for Dumbledore?
What if he would rather sit at home and watch the Game Show Network
and change his name to something boring like John instead of living up to a thinker's expectations?
Or maybe just the opposite, he's just watching Family Feud to pass the time because he WANTS to be a thinker
but doesn't know how?
Or maybe Family Feud just makes him lonely because he doesn't have a real family,
just that evil guy with funny glasses and ****** hair and an awful Hamburglar taste in clothes?
What if he's decided he's on the wrong path
and needs to turn his life around?
What if Waldo doesn't want to be found?
Dec 22, 2009
Dec 22, 2009 at 6:05 PM UTC
*Your kiss effected an explosion,
catapulting bats hanging from the tree of my memories,
warm full lips, exuded the flavor of banana flowers,
in time of ******* out nectar, from it
I imbibed the heady feeling,
it garrulously spoke about my idyllic childhood in the village
and on your inner environment too,
that prompted your kiss, so fervid, full of longing.*
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
*blistering day shuns a walk
all flock to recycled air-con of malls
few venture out* . . .
1.
walk along a mountain path
dislike snakes
wear heavy ankle-boots
rough route
craggy stones
grow tired
2.
head on stone
fall into drowsy slumber
baking brains gathering aches
3.
huge mountain appears
espy a cut opening along the side
a welcoming slit
enter slowly
step by step
seems to brook entry to no more
wonder what calls inside
4.
distant drumming
not afraid
joy fills supreme
reducing epicenter
gentle hands touch and pull in
negating every fear
melting away bleak thoughts
sink deeper into the earth
down . . . down . . . down
into cavities unknown
follow secret canal away from here
5.
sweetest eyes greet and kiss
fall into soft furrows
carried along canal of warmth
close the eyes
fall in heart with glowing ambience
subtle humming felt beneath the soles
sweetest honey-lake
deeper . . . deeper . . . deeper
sublime cocoon - always dreamt of
what supreme bliss
falls in lap of bearer
6.
all cares washed away
known memories seem to float off
as a dinghy to a waterfall
lost over that lip
free fall
free fall
conscience takes a bobbing nap
on waves which lull the senses
into drifting buoy
as conscious dips
utter serenity
spirit moves freely
totally unencumbered
/ /
[awareness - jolted - sudden - open
as corporeal fetters take hold once more
teeter into rude awakening
rub eyes to verify
faculties catapulting in greedy succession
/ /
find a hessian bag on rock
half-afraid to check inside
seemingly empty
lift the edge and peer inside
/ /
the most silent rainbow of inner dreams
long-forgotten wishes flow
into being
as rains come down]
/ /
*no more fear.. again
no more tension
no answering to
no deprivation
no derision
two pure doves hover
quite high
a pale-blue
buoy ~
the only signs of hope
blistering judgment dissolves
beautiful buoy floating
a way.... to marve cut of pure crystal
away...
on an endless ocean of calm*
S T, 20 August 2013
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
Burning nails, the beginning of the end and black sails for the death of an invisible friend,
Tragic loss resulting from the magic catapulting from my fingertips.
Read my fiery lips:
Give me shelter from your Neptunian storm,
Split the world with a wedge and keep our bodies warm
Kick the trunk of the oak until it bleeds with the fire you stoke
And coke you need and **** you smoke, and ****** Prometheus,
You are only human. But the fire in your blood leaves their smokestacks fuming
And nothing can save you, enslave yourself
With your strong-willed bravery on a rocky shelf.
Roll your eyes, disregard, spit in faces, **** me off
Because I'm the good sister, just tend the hearth and when I speak I scoff.
My name is Hestia, and I don't often stray from the Pantheon
So just trust me on this:
I'll introduce you to the smoldering truths, induce catharsis
And let your body loose, pick up your liver, tend your wounds
As if they were ash and oil, because we alone know justice.
You alone know how you've toiled.
And I can only start to understand your firebrand,
A passionate command. I tolerate you and adore you for your mortal score.
Prometheus, don't let those raptors gouge you anymore.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
I
loathe
fighting with
my entire being.
Maybe because I have
never really been in a fight
just observed my parents, my
friends, everyone around me and
watched as the tension built and built
and built making me feel as small as a child
and as powerless too. People don’t understand
the consequences of their actions, I don’t understand
people. But, I understand fights. Words are like slingshots
catapulting friendships into dangerous territories the words you
say sometimes you mean them, sometimes you don’t and it’s the
words you mean that are the worst. Those are the words you can’t
take back. And what I understand about fights taught me this. A fight
is like a symphony it builds and builds until its deafeningly loud, and then
its quiet, and there is nothing left leaving its audience unbearably sad and at a
loss.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Trust came as a blade catapulting through the air
Unsure of its trajectory
Unsure of where it may land
Unsure of where it was even thrown from
But it was so gorgeous rotating in its path, pushing light from its edges
I had to have it
That feeling of utter security
I reached and in half a second my hand was gone
Trust had sliced every ligament and sinew away
Carved muscle from bone
And I felt weak
I quite literally could not grasp the double edged blade that was trust, and now
I think I may not ever even reach for it again
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
her silent monologue inside the cage of her mind
leaves fleeting expressions catapulting across her vacant face
like a strange circus act
the pasty face clowns in silent repetition
weakly grin as they grind through the dance
the lovely high wire girls seeking the perfect tuck and roll
her expressions move through this deranged carnival
of the mad again and again
never releasing its warped players to
the solace of privacy's ease
over and over they dance and roll
her lips stumble through misbegotten phrases
ten word haiku's written by the voices in her mind
written in lipstick on the mirrors of gas station restrooms
and truck stop shower stalls
haiku's of loves desperado warring against loneliness
the heart dose not actually make a sound when it breaks
her hearts deeper waters
like tidal pools in moonlight
the surface reflects the beautiful sky above
but in its cool depths other things live
some have no name
her silent monologue slows and fades away
the exhausted clowns of her madness laughter crawling
to lay their pasty white faces in reflection of sleep
the high wire girls to dressing rooms where they moan
for long departed heroic villains
who were last seen folding up diabolical schemes
and her silverware and making for the sun coast
where you can find them on beaches of paradise
sipping cool water under a neon moon
she slips into slumber
and dreams sweetly of all these players
in her silent minds story
she loves her madness
as she loves the rain
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
Dear Newborn,
Hi, hello.
Welcome.
I hope you’re enjoying your stay here on planet Earth.
I’m sure the drive in was a little difficult, a little painful,
perhaps a little ****** (or a lot ******
like moving from the darkest cavern to the brightest….
well, place. Area. Location.
I can’t think of anything superbly bright right now.
Oh, oh, I know.
It’s like living your whole life floating
at the far reaches of outer space and then
catapulting directly into the sun.
Great analogy.
Regardless, welcome.
I said I hope you enjoy your stay,
the key word being hope, because, well,
you may not enjoy it.
In fact, it’s guaranteed that there are parts of life
that will be near-torturous,
that will make you wish you had never been brought
into this world.
But with that also comes moments of happiness
unlike anything you will ever experience,
intense joy that makes you feel as though
you’re weightless once again,
floating out in space with no restraints,
no boundaries, just peace.
The good will be great,
and the bad will be horrible,
and sometimes the good will be good
and the bad will be just bad,
it all depends on the day.
A word of advice: treasure the time you have.
You won’t understand why this is important until you're older,
but do it anyway.
Life fades just as quickly as it is brought to fruition,
and there are people on this Earth you will want to treasure
like they are the finest gold ever to be panned out of any river.
There will be moments like this, too,
moments you wish would never fade,
and they will fade,
but never let them escape your memory,
and seek to make more of those moments every day,
even when happiness seems like an impossible dream.
Life is the most difficult journey you will ever go on,
but has the possibility of being the most rewarding, as well.
Allow the pain to be felt just as vibrantly as the happiness.
Never stifle your emotions.
Never limit others.
Never forget where you came from.
Never stop dreaming,
But never allow yourself to be tied down by those dreams, either.
Be free,
do what makes you happy,
be compassionate,
travel,
drink and make merry
(once you're legally allowed to, mind you),
and just be.
Exist to the great capacity you possibly can,
and die knowing you lived
Wishing you the greatest of luck,
A young dreamer
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 3:47 PM UTC
Catapulting into the depths of the dark,
my mind won't grasp the objective real.
Obliterated,
scared,
new.
Born again is me,
with the knowledge of possibility.
Apr 19, 2010
Apr 19, 2010 at 5:02 PM UTC
Rays shine
warm breath on my neck
golden light in my hair
Here comes the sun
Catapulting life into overdrive
while smiles glance off
rain dropped tulip petals
and the outside of my spoon
scooping red delicious
watermelon dripping from
My fingers
My lips
sweet sticky
like baklava
or my mom
when I leave home
affection caressing our
words and tears
Honey filling our eyes
as we look back
once more
to see if the other
is smiling or crying
or both
Summers remind me
of transition
coming home
going home
So many homes
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 2:55 PM UTC
She stood waiting.
Waiting as the stars await the suns eventual death.
As the desert awaits that one translucent drop of absolete euphoria.
Her lips cracked open,
A sliver of fragile hope escaping its tremors.
Fluttering away.
She is surrounded by exquisite misery,
Drowning in hysteria.
Day folding into night,
The moon running circles.
She stood waiting,
With the sound of stinging memories reverberating endlessly.
Touch, smell, touch, love.
All catapulting into that final crescendo,
Where all those moments
Flow into the sea of those hauntingly beautiful words,
I Am Here
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
flying into Chi-town
Altoids of various sizes
litter the scenery.
An artfully constructed
playset thrown off
by the skilled placement
of refreshing breath mints.
Maybe they’re off brand,
or perhaps ecstasy,
though I don’t see any
smiley faces or hearts.
I like to look for high school
tracks as we descend.
Forget the football fields,
they’re far less interesting.
Mostly black, though
sometimes gravel, dirt
or red and even
purple once,
though not in Chi-town.
The homestretch extending beyond
each curve;
no hurdles in sight
much less a sand pit.
A mile inland
there is some sort of water.
The body scattered
and split like some
kind of man-made accident.
shallow sand banks
invisible from the ground look
like dead whales.
floating (submersed) there
like lifeless, sandy corpses.
Maybe it’s because of my “Free ***** spree,
but I see whales.
I’ve never been to Chicago,
only in and out of the airport
and catching glimpses of what I
can see through the windows
of Midway.
My good friend has flown with
me once, but we parted at the
big city.
Have you ever wondered why
cities are built like mountains?
the tallest buildings in the
center with everything
else leading up to it?
Kinda like that Verizon commercial
with the magnet and lead…
Maybe I’ll Google it
to find an answer.
There’s a private airport a
little closer.
(Too good for Southwest to land
there). Private jets and runways
too classy to have a White
Castle across the expressway
from it.
They have cornfields.
Even closer now.
The houses larger with matching
sheds and identical roves.
Almost all have pools, makes
sense for a windy city like
Chi-town.
Some are covered and
nasty for the impending
winter. Playsets and driveways,
minimal trees.
I wonder if the children
ever get scared when
the shadow of a 700 series
darkens their windows and slides.
If they look up and feel warmth
in their Children’s Place pants,
throwing their ice cream to the
wind and catapulting into
the comfort of their father’s
arms and then
write about it 13 years
later after they get off that plane.
“Thank you for flying with us
today, please come back and
see us soon.”
A desperate cry for profit
Dec 14, 2010
Dec 14, 2010 at 5:45 AM UTC
That’s another story timing the pace to match the waste of time
She makes a box of remembered sounds catapulting across the room
And stores them in measured rows of lines of time with tentacles reaching the floor
Its not the seemingly nonsense that drives her to beserk-dom but the seemingly sense it all makes
Take that and that she says and jousts her thoughts into the paper lid that forms the tray of her mind
Pulling it out like drawers in the mortuary the morgue the home of the funeral director and associates
Examining it like the rock collection of her youth the butterfly cases of the PhD the recipes snipped clipped
But that’s another story
This story speaks of wasted time lounging on chairs and couches in front of firelight and TV ions
The dryer rocks the clothes dry the washer beats it clean knocking the detergent to the floor
It needs to be balanced that’s all but how how to balanced she’s not the tools
The fridge ice frozen in the line and the disposal as well stopped in time no action from either all quiet
She’ll do it later get the guy who fixes things to come by and not fix it but says next time
And fixes something not broke and charges her anyway and cleans the gutters but sweeps the yard instead
Its this nonsense that makes the most sense padding around in hospital socks non slip to slip into his arms
What do you think a movie and dinner or just the *** you know the blood won't flow to both
And she hops on and hears her stomach growl it’s a trade he’ll do it next time the movie she means
The dinner ingredients dry up in the frozen fridge and she muscles the dryer to clean the vent
She’ll get the guy to come fix it but he doesn’t do appliances so he’ll fix something else that’s not broken
And says I wont charge you as much this time I’ll bring the brush to clean out the dryer so it can rock the clothes
But that’s the story the other story of her tender soft spots making memories in boxes pulled out like drawers
Her drawers on the floor as he rocks her like clothes in the dryer around and around up and down tumbled and dried
Moist to the fingertips her memories linger scent upon scent crouching to see why the fridge is frozen
Under the peas and the tiny ice tray frozen in dinosaur shapes are piles of ice in bags awaiting the storm
Take it all out take it all to the counter and you tube the answer to the quest but end up couched crouching
Not seeing what the camera shows so she’ll call the guy and he’ll help her put the peas back and not charge at all
This time
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 12:51 AM UTC
Thorns guarded gates of,
boundaried frontiers,
where roses appeared,
in fractured concrete,
a lovers war.
Complicated star crossed,
shooting within universes,
explosive desires,
catapulting grenades,
sand piles blown;
smithereens.
Splintered fragments,
of body; bodies,
at heavens gates.
Hell & hostility,
dollars fueling,
weed(s) laced with crack(s);
watered roots.
The final frontier.
© Sia Jane
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
My heart is racing skyward
Racing against the moon and stars and my
Ribcage. Beating everything in its path
Catapulting upwards out of my chest
Pushing through the atmosphere and
Ascending to higher dimensions.
My heart is a comet
Shooting through space soaring
Past planets trapping itself in revolutions
Evolutions of life floating about
My heart moves through moves
Forward moves on.
Oh heart! Stay planted stay firm stay rooted inside me! Do not leap to great
Heights if you won't take the rest of me Higher too.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
For years I've been your
Pretty, pretty china doll.
With pink lips, permanently set
Into a half-smile.
But inside, my china heart
Broke a long time ago
And the blood, it
Threatens to seep through
The cracks that you made.
I'm dreaming, dreaming.
And in my dream the
Mirror shatters.
Catapulting a million fragments
To the floor and little Lily
Is there. See?
She's playing with the shards,
Hands bleeding.
She pulls them to her mouth
Like her teething rattle.
Blood, dripping down her baby gro.
And you laugh, you laugh.
I watch your chest rise and fall
I can smell the whiskey on your breath.
I, I take a plump pillow and
I press it hard over your mouth.
The porcelain mask starts to
Slip, it slips. It falls to the ground
And splits, it splits.
You don't struggle and your chest,
It doesn't rise any more.
Now I rise.
I walk over to Lily's cot,
I check her hands and they're
Fine, they're fine.
I kiss her mouth and my
Tears drip, drip down her baby gro.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 2:59 PM UTC
The swings are never empty,
they are always occupied by girls
pumping their legs to fuel ideas
that have not yet been created.
The sun manipulates its rays
to illuminate tin-foil slides
and girls burn their legs as they go down,
learning more about life than they wanted to know.
Girls pause at the edge of bridges,
one foot hovering above the shaky metal.
and when they finally take a step they run,
catapulting themselves away from nothing.
Hands grasp on metal bars,
Feet hovering above splintery wood.
Girls swing back and forth,
enticed by the idea of letting go.
Roses catch the eyes of girls.
They grasp and beg for them.
Girls will blossom into roses,
and they will ***** their fingers on their own thorns.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
See the mountains
Shedding arsenic and snow
Catapulting and shaking.
Pacing before they know what's to come.
These are the trees I mentioned.
They don't have them from where I'm from, but
All over the world it's the same:
It's fun to do drus
When you know that you're gonna die young.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 7:44 PM UTC
it's not a prison that
keeps me segregated from the
general population to
protect their neurotypical minds
that are terrified by
a blood lust directed toward the self
or perhaps that urge to consume
and consume
all just foreplay for the
grand finale where i'm
bent over the toilet and riding
that stratospheric high
catapulting me out of this world
and into the forest of stars
a pinprick in the infinite black of
space
but do not misunderstand
it is not some sort of jailbreak
a streaking figure in the
black and white stripes of shame
clinging to my exiled body
it is more the futile pulling
i am not stuck in the trap
i am the trap
and i lock down on my
vices and the
self destruction that sings
the most sickly sweet songs
that somehow convince me
that if i am pulled even tighter
i might somehow break the mould
and no longer lash myself to
those actions and thoughts
that terrify
and destroy
i worry i am the strip
of glue that hangs in the kitchen
to catch the fruit flies that
come to visit in the summer and
pester me until
they land their feet on my
sticky
sickly
trap
they can't escape
and so they die
is that what i do to them?
is that what i do to you?
do you become paralyzed
by some sort of
noxious agent or
a viscous bog that
cements you here
and forces you to watch
eyelids held open
as i dance with the demons that
you assure yourself
you will be able to tame
you will be able to banish
but they're the one's who've been there
decades of companionship
and torture
Stockholm syndrome that
ties me to them
through some sort of
vital connection which i can't escape
clipping the umbilical cord
and leaving me bleeding on the ground
aching for that part of me
that is gone
so i pull myself
i stretch myself so thin
and the harder that
your fingers fight to escape my trap
the harder i clamp down
because i want you to go away
to prevent the inevitable pain
and yet i pull you tighter
i lock your fingers into me
my nails digging into your back
as if somehow i can affix myself
to you.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
Cicada sounds crush me,
they take me back,
catapulting me
to those simpler times.
Hanging out down at the lake,
corn dogs & pulled pork,
summer watermelon.
Jeff & Jenny sure did their thing,
that Camero
was a starship,
& what a trip
sneaking into
the drive-in.
Marlboro lights ruled
our nights.
When we got older,
Miller Time took Becky.
That ************ drunk driver.
Her mom lost her son & hubby
the very next year.
She's a survivor.
When football star Jessie
got smoked in Iraq,
a piece of our hometown
really did die
& it ain't never coming back.
I heard they closed Shorty's last week,
that tweaked me just a bit,
best vanilla shakes in town,
******
Here come the cicadas again.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
My name is Saddam Hussein Al tikrit
Please don’t shoot me, I have complied,
Let me come out of my hideout
Out of this hole in which I have been hiding,
For sure ,I want to surrender to your might
By acceding to appalling condition of my Arabic folly
Imbued to me as a legacy of my childhood trials,
Perpetrated unto me by my foster parenthood
My Arabic uncle ,who often whacked me my skin
To thwart my good manners into defiance disorder,
He pummeled me often, as if I was an African antelope in the trap,
He misled me to amass weapon of mass destruction,
Goofing in my dreams to decimate the synagogue of Satan,
Only to ire my holy big brother of the capital cosmology,
Catapulting him in to an imperial overture;
Zero option but to declared unto me a holy preemptive war
In which I am beaten like a desert lout
By the global powers that have been
In my foolish stamped of the clash,
Very classical clash about civilisation.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 5:35 AM UTC