"causeways" poems
I lack inspiration, when sound does not riddle the causeways of my mind
when echos bounce less around my cranium and more from my lips i find..
solace,
solace in the fact that no longer am i directed from indirect communications but more from the sound i make,
i learnt to grasp the steering wheel in both hands and turn sharp in the corners,
i learnt that without sound echoing through my ears my eyes work with pinpoint accuracy..
i never noticed the way the grass grows over old cobbles..
i never noticed the way my heart beats
the way it skips, and bleats,
i learnt not to be a sheep, but a profit,
a guider to the blind,
don't tell them I'm blind as-well
because it doesn't matter if i can see or i cant
it does not matter if what i say is truth or lies
but if the fiction of my antiquity compels you to lift your heart up
brings joy from the desolation of your mind but to the fore front of the battle field that is your life i have achieved something incredible, I've achieved peace
peace through happiness, joy through inspiration so read on!
read on young soldier,
your broken mind and battle ready battle wounds are bound too tightly by your compassion to conform
take of your bandages and read on! read forwards and on wards and strive to learn, why
why young soldier i know you've never been trained
and i know your mind is ill with discontent and i know your shoes are whittled to your socks and i know
i know how hard it is to stand with two broken legs and only the solace of that barren bare cranium to lean on
but in my antiquity young soldier
i have learnt that we are all warriors
fighters along a broken line standing our ground against greater odds then you could ever conceive of battling...
i know young solider that many will fall and die
and many will perish to broken minds and hearts and souls,
but the ones who make it through this perishable existence, the ones who fight beyond any compassion beyond any reason,
god I've met boys who will tear out each others throats with their teeth I've learnt that men are shells of creatures that have never been fully understood,
my existence has been about
nothing but fighting
and now i have reached an age where i can lay down the rifle of my words, i can leave my blunted knives to rust in a back closet i realized young soldier
the agony of your existence may seem like the end, but its just the start.
and when your reach a point in your life where you can rest,
savor it,
do not let someone tell you how to exist without your consent , do not fight a battle you do not want to fight,
stand your ground young soldier
re-reinforcements are on the way
L.G
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
The ogre that I am, I sit in my man-cave.
It’s bathed in light from my TV and laptop.
Each is a portal to our ugly world.
Regulated crystal-city skyscrapers
Form Giant’s Causeways.
Aircraft eagle overhead
Reminding me of vultures
And 9\11.
Cars beetling about the suburbs,
Some Beetles, Ha Ha.
River highways cascading cars.
Ants rush everywhere,
A seething nest.
So many an ant,
Holding a conch to the ear,
Or staring mesmerised at that tiny screen.
Yoda fingers his phone…
And me I sit here,
Metamorphosing metaphors
For a while
Before I visit Facebook Land
Once again.
Paul Butters
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 5:40 AM UTC
My heart's ablaze
I'm so amazed
cluttered in clichés
in a daze
I'm dismayed
too many long driveways
Life's fortes
as we graze
upon the gaze
in a haze of haze
trapped inside this maze
our voices phase
into the next of days
Oh did we raise
with utter rephrase
glancing sideways
into stairways
how I hate your ways
as much as I hate causeways
too much decay
along the edgeways
inside the hallways
roadways
screenplays
my heart strays
on into Sundays
and Tuesdays
I hate the weekdays
they're gateways
into other days.
© 2012 Christina Jackson
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 1:08 AM UTC
Whatever the cost I pay up at the minnow pools.
I don't know anything of the misery of these trapped fish,
or the failure of the marsh I'm so hidden.
Up above is the island with its few houses facing
the ocean God walks with anyone there. I often
slosh through the low tide to a sister
unattached to causeways.
It's where deer mate then lead their young
by my house to fields, again up above me.
Pray for me. Like myself be lost.
An amulet under your chest, a green sign of the first
rose you ever saw, the first shore.
Then I wash my horse, dogs, me behind the barn.
Only the narrow way leads home.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
I watch in retort
as you blunder
over causeways
of stammering lies,
hurtling weathered blows
from your
mournfully
tarnished
mouth.
The sound alone
asphyxiates me
and I would rather it hurry
than disable my
regal silence
with the screeching noise
of your
thunderously
garbled
deception.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
Breast-ache woman, you beautify
behind redden scars
and befriend those who are
free from languid storm-hair.
I see you rate the raw breast-worship
of frantic whistles which collide against the
callus freckles of a moon-sea.
You ask, "Can you see the satellites that sate
lights of the city...Creating
causeways or ways to cause
the first chill of dirt in a Martini?"
I take a drink.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 3:11 AM UTC
If I may presume to summarize the concept,
"Eminent Domain,"
The Big P People own the Right of Way
And the little p people
Have temporary possession of the opportunity
To get out of the Way,
Or to be smashed under the wheels
Of Big P Progress.
Appropriate compensation will be paid,
Of Course,
And living spaces provided
To the little p people,
While the Big P People thunder by on their new highways,
Overpasses, airports, causeways, and thoroughfares.
Reclamation will be done over the torn earth
To re-bury the unearthed little p people's dead,
To restore damaged aquifers,
To "replace" trees and grasses "just as before,"
Never mind the pipelines,
The concrete roadways,
The railroads,
And the power lines....
Eminent Domain...
Rhymes with Capitalist Gain,
And little p people's pain....
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
where did all the dreams go.
once soaring
over river sea desert arctic ocean
roots and veins
deserted glistening ringing
over yellow red and purple
poppy fields temptatious shimmering
now I am souring
I ate the forbidden fruit
and rather than being sweet
it was sour.
where did all the dreaming go.
I recall transversing convoluted causeways
unconscious
uncontrollably wandering then falling
toothless
standing amidst the spider king
I ask if I can bring a date to the wedding
the king replies, 'No, and I hath stolen the ring!
you must sing for me, lest be spun and forever left undone.'
and rather than being sweet,
it was sour.
where did all the dreams go.
I recall traveling charging at the one
the one was forever in my view.
I challenged the one
cross-eyed concupiscent cyclopian nightmare,
the siren song always draws me in
and rather than being sweet.
It is sour.
*I wake up and think rather than say,
are we all not just elegant decay?*
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
This is a quick note
informing you that I
have enrolled
in "your geography 101."
I look forward to exploring
you from sea to shining sea,
your fruited plains,
your mountain tops,
your golden fields of sunlit grain,
your divided highways, causeways,
and often spread a luscious lunch upon the apron of your back roads.
For extra credit
I plan a thesis on your deltas,
spelunk your caves for glistening jewels,
swim your lachrimal lakes,
and pray that you keep me after school.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 7:42 AM UTC
To take a stroll,
Down the alleyways
Down the causeways
And brain waves
Of my ever burning mind
Is to sink 60 feet into snow
And to ask yourself
Just how deep can this possibly go?
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 11:08 PM UTC
Some say we are all islands
solitary lonely shadow lands.
Some claim a community.
Is there a sum of humanity?
Poems - causeways between castaways
constructing insights into language
link lives, as well as brains can contrive,
summoning minds to share and thrive.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 5:58 AM UTC
new sphere--you knew
it was here all along,
hung on the tip of every brain,
heart & tongue, but held back
by our capricious lungs
& blanched knuckles
clutching the nous fear
like clumps of salt tossed
across left shoulders of causeways
long since sheered into the sea;
the carrier of all songs sung
by souls all sizes, both old
& young--we knew.
Jul 16, 2011
Jul 16, 2011 at 11:36 PM UTC
What is it she whispers?
Outside..
The brittle bleach decor rustles shy applause
Inside….
half encumbered slumber wins
The aching World to part made play
Arcadian chapels hover in folds
That form in the fields of gathering grey
and still she whispers.
Damp calico dales murmur and shift
in the twist of a tremor.
A cold palm press upon temples that pulse
for the touch of another that passes
high over the way…
What is it, she whispers?
Witch-fingers lift at the filigree latches,
saltwater patches salivate free…..
..lasciviously.
beneath the list of chalking blinds
rim- shot eyes scour windswept causeways
Always searching,
Always waiting,
For some unknown.
And still she whispers...
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
A heart is a war, a heart is a shutter
One stream of light is allowed to escape
Far into your chambers a ceiling is painted
Mosaic by name, but truer to form:
An electrical storm we ourselves engineered to
Perpetuate evils eluded before
In the grimness of what lies behind the mind's door
When we met as two fangs in the jaw of a serpent
And you were the flares arcing up towards the sky
And I was the lens overawed by your light
Yes, I was what bent you with colors diffracted
Now I am that glass which your mildew begrimes
Color me flyblown, or color me blind
Marred are the edges around this old glass
The ink inundates and the horn is all hollow
Latched is our gate when the causeways collapse
Besieged now in my ocean of ink
Scanning the night sky for sign of a flare
No whisper, no shutter, no lingering there
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
We turn pages like the hands of a clock,
merely waiting for the pain to stop.
The hurt that is everlasting,
and full of creeping doubt.
Where lacking of beliefs is in an action so dire,
blood is often required.
The causeways of life's sour disposition,
housed in simmering veins.
These lines of a most terrible descent,
locked in a loving embrace of time.
The countless seconds of infinite measures,
left in a crumbling heart, forever.
New beginnings can come from broken things,
if we only tend to the marionette stings of our heart.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
Nothing makes sense anymore
And unnerving of universe agrees
It just said to me, “Stop, give up, adore
Oh do I implore, you to freeze”
Causeways to galactic fracturing
Gnats swarming my eyes for tears
Saving their own life-risked spattering
Been tattering away for years
Finding winced **** gall to ingest
An antidote regarded too unreliable
Shooting up clouds with rocket tests
Only in jest, sounding viable
Criminal patterns keep moving
Through time, history, and now stars
All you can do, to keep on grooving
No snoozing will get you this far
Continued survival has cause
Find it, but with no outer influence
For you have been given no flaws
Find awe in your own existence
A crack in the sky has formed
Rain down solid answers to actuality
Hence, life and why we were born
Unworn from concepts of reality
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
*Concoctions of morning Blackstrap Molasses , Apple blossom honey
Afternoon Sugar Cane treat Sundays
Catfish feeder pond thrills
Stirring Bobwhite Quail wood line hideaways
Plentiful , native green grass runways
Kerosene lanterns , john boats o'er -
Black Crappie midnight waters
A thousand new songs rippled the moonlight -
causeways
Lakes melting into night
The warm , thick air of first light
Mockingbird chirrup , Killdeer call
August morning star convocations of -
Crape Myrtle with butterfly epiphanies*
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 11:37 PM UTC
*Traveling down
highways, byways,
causeways and boulevards.
I find in reality,
this place,
my mind is a
never-ending maze.
Of spinning wheels
of little boxes,
compartments all.
Stacked quite high.
Well above my eyes,
I look up and see
the flashing light,
reflected off
the cold dark wings.
I envision them to save
some time,
the monkey flight,
on Dorothy's night.
I pay them no mind
like they are bats
after fleas.
To clear the air.
They can be such pest.
Interrupting,
some beautiful thoughts.
As they think of their real intent.
It's time to get in
their face
and make something
quite clear.
When they came here,
it was not my choice,
but I gave in
at first in fear.
Time was short
and I observed
their fate if
I refuse to care.
So in the end,
I give them their due
in a limited space.
And share that space.
As I chase these words.
But if they get in the way
no matter the condition I'm in.
Just kick'im aside.
Cause they only thrive on fear!*
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 2:16 AM UTC
bouquets of flowers below street lamps
smeared with gas and smoke
still giving out their ghosts
stars lighting causeways beleaguered clouds
sparkling glass bare intestines
beaded eyes the orbs divined
a man with golden glows pocketed
heart coved in a trough wed
by lice through floods of blood
****** by the dreaming that sleeping does
lived in a lantern extinguished white mud
painted on in the rivers + washed away with the flood
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
Here is a song to you
Written on the cover of red, white, blue
Midnight and it's dream rights
The places where I wait for you
Quickly fading in the rear-view
Heading towards my lucky few
Meet you at the home of us
Touch you in the realm of trust
Stretching throughout the causeways
Have to do all this living
Choose to do it with you
We are the lost, holding hands
The only sanity in a realm of descent
We are the old souls
Waiting for the world to mend
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC
I carry a casual carapace,
A character trapped in ambience.
Amble the alleyways and ascertain an avid state in acid rain,
The product a revision of charisma corrected conditions,
How I've come to envision a victim or a villain.
Attach the cataracts to collapse to a tone of grey,
We're all the same under the sages, same as saints.
Geared to the gutters, I greet in mustered mutters,
I mumble through humble structures,
The tongue erupting ruptures.
I'm sure they see me as a background actor,
In the shadows of a flagship,
The character on mute behind a selective scene of laughter.
Is this disembodiment, or an echo of the cage?
The skin, bones and flesh under the semblance of a face.
Amazed by the growth of atrophy,
A passenger passing passively,
Impactfully passing passages,
Just practicing for a classic scene.
Fit in, camouflage, play ******* chameleon,
The inner truth a Gilles suit, where this mere meat is measured in a meager mediums.
I'm certainly a circus of surplus circuitry,
I could be less of a mesh of flesh, with a sense of urgency.
Here a golem strung by the clockworks of a blueprint,
Chiseled in with details and a little bit of hubris.
Pistons Positioned to pivot, pin, - all inclusive,
Grinding on the causeways of abusive truths in future,
Joints cracking, hinges at their thresholds,
Attention to the details, a trend to tend to tenfold.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 5:36 AM UTC
Do not let them
press your pain
against the fence,
scraping your
thin skin veins
against its sharp
metal parts.
Do not let them
mutilate your heart.
It is not their part
to play an
integral roll
in how you grow.
You will rise
despite them.
Do not let go;
Know that though
you are only
passing familiars
that tread
the creeping causeways
driving in, around,
and eventually
all the way out
of this living town,
I love you all.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 8:49 AM UTC
there is but one
precise precision
coming when not known
or in glancing
past mirrors
eternal cry
smacked into the middle of it all
all
ready
steamy
unknown
soothed by
a warmed wrapped universe
stand you there now
you
a man of men
a progenitor of your time to be a sympathetic highly
regarded dully appointed
soon more gesturing
world commanding demanding
expanding
steady to the heed and call
of realms and vibrations of
expectations
and grounding on anchored sea bottoms
tethered to the darkest of
nights causeways
in finger tipped grasps
and tip-toed acquaintances
all shine to cheers afloat on the seas joyously
released then found, then gone
arrived here now
dad I’m home
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 8:24 AM UTC