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Terry O'Leary Feb 2014
NOW

Well, GI Jack is welcome back, he left his legs in 'Nam.
He wakes at night in sweat and fright, then drinks another dram.
He doesn't know quite where to go, so seeks his uncle, Sam.


                           BEFORE

One can't ignore - his ma was poor, and seasons sometimes cruel,
yet Jack was brave and well behaved and surely no one's fool
so joined the ranks that man the tanks, as soon as he left school

He learned to **** our foes at will (ordained a sacred rite)
then packed his bag, unfurled his flag, when sent away to fight.
And yes, the tide was on our side (for, clearly, might makes right)

Through tangled days in jungles' maze, he sought the enemy
behind the trees where, ill at ease, he fought the Yellow sea -
upon the waves of gravelled graves he sailed a killing spree

The ****** dropped and cooked the crops, charred huts along the way
and tanks, with zest, erased the rest, their villages of clay.
(Yes, turret guns are loads of fun with roaring roundelay.)

While on the hunt with other grunts, he burned some babes alive
and wondered why frail things must die, while evil's phantoms thrive -
<When folly ends, he'll make amends if only he'll survive>

With ***** traps (sticks smeared with crap), yes, Charlie fought unfair.
He hid in holes with snakes and voles and snuck up everywhere
and like a mite within the night, caught Jackie unaware

At battle's end, Jack sought his friends - their souls were washed away
and only he and destiny were left in disarray -
with bed and pan, just half a man, the man of yesterday

When Jack awoke beyond the smoke, his frame no longer whole,
he found instead some suture thread neath wraps to hide the hole,
and realized a further prize: a chair on wheels to roll

His head felt light, as well it might, at Victory Day Parade
(across his chest, you've surely guessed, his medals shone, arrayed)
for when he rolled, while others strolled, his boots no longer weighed


                           AFTER

Well, Jack stayed home (no roads to Rome) to start his life anew
receiving dole which took its toll as largess went askew
for sure enough, when times got tough, his uncle, Sam, withdrew

To walk the streets with fine elites (or else some *** who begs)
or find a job (or even rob) requires both your legs.
And those who can't, are viewed askant like those we call the dregs.

For getting by he tried to ply and mine his medals' worth -
a wooden cup, a mangy pup, a smirk when miming mirth,
and best of all, at midnight’s call, beneath a bridge, a ‘berth’

He clutched a sign 'A dime to dine?', if anybody cared,
but soon he found, as time unwound, that victors seldom shared.
And Jackie's pride was slowly fried by vacant eyes that stared


                           ENLIGHTENMENT

He took to drink to break the link with thoughts of what he'd done
and threads of doubt began to flout the yarns Big Brother spun
of freedom's ring and other things, like what it was we'd won

His vague unease arrayed a breeze with words that chilled the air
and like the fogs above the bogs, they floated through the square
where people sat at tea to chat, and shrieked 'How could he dare?'

Yes, freedom's price is never nice: like storms before the flood
the Daily Rag was on a jag, was looking out for blood,
deemed Jackie's thoughts untamed and fraught, then dragged him through the mud

By hacking clues, they plucked his views like grapes upon the vine.
Big Brother came, blamed Jackie's name for thinking out of line,
shut Jack away from light of day, eclipsing freedom’s shine

The Junto Brass, with eyes of glass, were robed in fine array
to hear the words (though slightly slurred) the witness gasped to say,
while Justice snored (the waterboard awash with Perrier)

Well, Jack was charged with laws enlarged in secret dossiers
within the guise of spreading lies and leading thoughts astray -
The Jury's out... the rabble shout “well someone's gotta pay”

The Judge (who fears the mind’s frontiers) inclined his head to yawn
while making haste through courtroom waste, though slightly pale and wan.
(A voodoo Loon withdraws as soon as Night condemns the Dawn.)


                           ETERNITY

While in his cell, the verdict fell - the sighs of Silence, rife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the Reaper played a fife
While in his cell, the verdict fell - the price was Jackie's life


                           EPILOGUE

Well Jackie's ghost, unlike the most, still mused upon the praise
for misdeeds done in victories won when cruising in a craze,
and once again upon the sin of thinking, nowadays
where, cunningly, humanity’s served lies, and trust betrays.
Then, reconciled, it simply smiled at fortune's wanton ways.


                           EPITAPH

A mind was caught while thinking thoughts neath Sammy’s prying gaze
and forced to stop by concept cops, else join the castaways.
For now it's law to hold in awe the brave new world's malaise
and cerebrate with programmed pate, adorned with thorned bouquets,
then mimic mimes in troubled times - and no one disobeys.
With freedom’s death, truth holds its breath awaiting better days.
Too distracted to write
Or it can be called busy, right
Wish that was true too
Busy can be in the mind
On an overthinking overdrive

Losing the thoughts
Which are best kept
Wrapped in warm words
To be used for better days

Losing good thoughts
Is like losing a place
Where warmth is always safe
Losing many these days

Do words care
Do they know
What missing is like
Cause I miss words

Isn’t the written word
All that and more
The feeling
That fulfils
The writer within
Time to cerebrate
Yes
To celebrate
Wow this went public in one go
Thank you hello poetry
Shaurya Pal Jan 2014
Seasoned melancholia,
The wrath of life.
Levelled free will,
A dangerous strife.
Kissing this poison,
Drinking my pain.
Swallowing vermin,
Throwing up in vain.
It ends with you,
Take this to your grave.
My story for you,
Isn’t the hunger you crave.

In the dark,
There lay a corpse,
Dead as dead could be.
Covered in blood,
The body decayed.
The screaming had veered,
An eerie silence prevailed.
I was alone with him.
I bore witness to the event,
It unfolded when he had stretched out his hand,
Toward, stupefied by the beauty,
Pulled in by the magnanimity.
I saw it all, up, close and personal.
I felt nothing, no remorse no conscience,
It was strange, the man had no relevance.

But I cried nonetheless,
Wept at his foolishness,
The fatal attraction lead to his end.
His stubborn belief to relieve all,
To save a soul he himself would fall.
In the hands of a stranger,
The devil all along.

Mesmerized by the set of eyes,
He walked himself to a surprise,
Before I could even blink my eye,
A wave of thunder swept the sky.

I panicked, hid myself tight,
The stranger helpless, got struck by the light.
Ecstatic, in shock he imbibed a misconception,
The eyes being admired were of awry intention.

As I took refuge in the darkness,
Gawking at the scenery speechless.
The stranger losing his cool, nigh suicidal,
Gave up, and terminated his life cycle.

I came close to the cadaver,
And squeezed out his soul.
It couldn’t have lasted forever,
Ending up as the Devil’s finger bowl.

And I dragged, dragged it all along,
To a refuge safe from the devil’s own.
I brought him to my humble abode,
A cage small enough for one or two whole.
I placed the weightless spirit on the floor,
He woke up and saw me leaving through the door.
Shouted at the top of his mettle, “You! I know you!”.
“Hush” I proclaimed. “You need not worry,
There’s another soul I seek and need to carry,
And bring it here before it’s too late.
Till then you relax here, in your undead state.”


The Ethereal now confused and dumbfounded,
Quietened himself, feeling astounded.
One last time he gathered courage,
“You can’t leave me here, I have done nothing wrong!
This place scares me, I’m not that strong.”
“Oh but you have no choice,
You were brought here by your actions,
This IS where you belong.”

And with that I left him hopeless,
Opened the door and locked it with firmness.
The outside air smelled bitter,
The rusty surrounding was no better.
With disgust I set my path precise,
Avoiding the stranger’s delinquent cries.
Blasted myself off the ground,
Towards a place which reeks with chaotic freedom,
A hermitage, sane man’s Elysium.
Magnolia, the mental asylum.
There committed was a man,
Who had dared to escape with a sound plan.
His inner demons tortured and pestered him,
With psychological pain, detaching limb from limb.
I was his guide, his guardian angel.
As I approached the tortured male,
A creature so weak, color yellowish pale.
Locked in a room, a chance to unveil.
I woke him up with my sweet dreary voice,
“Rise, awaken my soul.”
And I opened the door with a loud crack,
“Hurry up, lest the guard will be back.”

With that it was enough for the man,
To take the hint in the small span.
He fled with the meagre chance he got,
He wouldn’t stand another day in this rot.
Believing in my words, he opened the door,
Only to get caught again, as before.

The doctor tied him to a work bench,
The man writhing away, repulsed by the stench.
“Don’t resist, the society cannot accept you,
You killed your wife and children, their ******’s on you.”
At this point I knew I had to step in, else I’d never acquire,
His soul, the sweet nectar, which I dearly desire.



I stood beside him, so that only he could hear my whisper,
“You’re no killer, don’t pay heed,
Your whole life was laden with good deeds.
Rebel, Cause chaos, never give a ****.”
And he obeyed, like a good little lamb.
They held him, prepared the equipment,
He moaned and groaned a denial indignant.
The stage for lobotomy was set,
For his beliefs stood virtually *****.
I placed my hand on his shoulders,
My unwavering touch, aiding his composure.
The doctor struck and I took his grace.
That was all, the seraphim now intact,
My purpose was served.

The stranger’s soul on the other hand,
Grew impatient in the demoniac land.
Bright light engulfed his thoughts and blinded him,
Shattered his notions, faltered his whim.
Appeared a man in straightjacket with bloodshot eyes,
A fierce expression adorned his face.
Was this my savior? Or was he the reaper’s prize?
Will I vanish from the face of the earth?
Or shall I die again tonight?
I was tired now, exhausted.
So I sat in front of them,
Both looking at each other,
Then at me.
The stranger cried,
“It was You! They were Your eyes!
The eyes that deceived me,
Lured me closer then tricked me!!
Either you’re the devil himself,
Or someone completely insane!”
“He’s not insane….” Said the crazy
“It’s a ‘She’ and a spirit so pure,
My good shepherd, an avenging angel,
Who saved me from my cure.
He’s the reason why I’m free now.”
I smiled, amused and amazed at the contrast,
I shall hold back a little and see how long it would last.

“You are to be blamed for my condition,
You brought me here to devour me,
It was your scheming leading to my damnation.”
“So untrue, she’s my path to redemption,
It was she, who believed me and cared for me,
When nobody in the world would help so easily.”
“You don’t realize, he took advantage of the darkness and stabbed me,
He broke my trust and attacked fiercely.”
The stranger had retrieved his long lost will,
Thought it was a battle he couldn’t sit still.
The man in the straightjacket too was fed up,
Hearing allegations about his angel, he stood up.
“You lie, she cannot be so cruel, it was God himself who had sent her
To aid me and put me out of my misery.”

It is the very nature of human so judging,
Faith in their instincts was far more than recurring.
How will mankind evolve?
If it cannot see beyond its own self,
How will mankind survive?
If we keep fighting amongst ourselves.

With a huge sigh I pitched in,
Else this would be a debate never finishing.
“Fools of darkness and insanity,
I speak for you and you only,
I am the result of your delusions,
I am what you want me to be.
I am your savior and your killer,
The factor you avoid so carelessly.
Do not blame me for your doings,
I never attacked you in the darkness,
Nor I opened the door for you,
My eyes were never that captivating,
My soft voice was never comforting.
I am your imagination,
Your brainchild.
Yet you mold me in the worst way possible.
True I was there when you were dying,
But you summoned me and begged for an answer,
All I am is fire to your fuel.

In front of you there is a choice,
Only one of you qualifies,
To get out of this purgatory.
One in heaven one in hell,
Decide amongst yourselves,
I’ll be ready when you choose to tell.”




Both now baffled and flummoxed,
The choice they had was a paradox.
The deserving shall win the argument,
The other shall be caged and boxed.
For me neither mattered,
I act as a silent observer,
From what I know they’d **** each other,
My faith in humanity can never be restored.

Strange however, they didn’t utter a word.
They were just silent, staring at each other,
Interesting, humans always amaze me.
But my job wasn’t done just yet,
I reached out my hand and prepared a pyre,
A hell for both if they choose to retire.
“Decide and push your friend in the fire,
The other shall inherit the Pearly Gates.”



They now were just struck dumb,
The fire in front had made them numb.
I stood amused smacking my tongue,
Waiting for the serenade to be sung.
For when the instincts kick in,
Only one would survive, the other will burn.
I stood anxiously, anticipating their turn.

Together now they held hands,
Approached the fire and stopped.
What a surprise! They both decided to off themselves,
Foolish again, the outcome had flopped.
The Stranger and the Crazy, looked straight at me,
“If you’re our imagination, you don’t decide our fate,
If you’re our creation, our lives you cannot dictate.
Foolish we were, not recognizing you,
Cowards we’re not, we now construe.
You lived many lives, the lives we give,
We don’t permit you to outlive
Beyond our hopes and imagination.
We’ve had enough, time to end this fantasy,
We no longer bow down to your indecency.”


And in a flash before I could cerebrate,
They pushed me hard, their spirits elate.
I fell into the flames, of the everlasting fire,
Who knew my own design would be my funeral pyre?

The basket case neared as I was torn asunder,
“Even though I believed you tried to help,
I knew somewhere I was to be blamed,
I was no longer the innocent whelp,
You had intended to be tamed.
Die now in peace as I choose to forget,
This is your punishment, bear no regret.”

The stranger too, had something to say,
“Listen to me before you decay,
I lived as a fool, blindly trusting you,
In the light of darkness, I believed you to be true.
I now realize, after my demise,
You’re just pathetic fragment of my life,
An actor, who played his part all along,
There’s no happy ending for you,
You must pay for what you did wrong.
Die in pain as I won’t forget,
This is your penalty, you corrupted silhouette.”
With these last words, I faded into oblivion,
Hell awaited me,
This is what I get, for being their progeny.
All this time I believed they were fools,
Honing their servility.
The calmness before the storm,
The levelling of free will,
No freedom of choice, no survival.
They are no fools, they just play dumb,
Nobody’s innocent, see what they’ve become.
They create demons and monsters,
And then take pride in slaying them.
A tiresome feat,
They enjoy mayhem.
With my end, others will rise,
Till they are done playing with lives.
Part 3 of The 'Karma' Trilogy
eclipso child Sep 2016
..add a word..
   ..add a sentence..

add a life were all this come's..
             ..so add a poem and you..

where do you write..heart..thoughts..
         ..cerebrate..

                        ..or..something else..

..sculpture's says that the figure is all ready there
                you just to give it it's freedom..

..me..

..hmmmm..
ConnectHook Mar 2017
Poetic Pyromania to prepare for NaPoWriMo 2017

Haunted by data, hounded by blog-bots, assailed by algorithms, poets have been reduced to human resources, fractionated, monetized and commodified like petrochemical residues of the antediluvian world. In keeping with that metaphor imposed upon us by ourselves, we await a mere spark to begin consuming our own fuel, flaming voraciously into poetic combustion. Through this incendiary process, we liberate the very energy that an unpoetic world seeks to label, quantify and merchandize. Flame, however, cannot be commodified—only intensified, suppressed, or extinguished. Elemental fire may be started by lightning, produced by physical friction, electro-chemical reaction, or started from a pre-existing blaze. Poetry is similar; whether sent from God as a bolt of epiphany, a spontaneous combustion, or as a transposed flame inspired by anterior works, April is our month for playing with metaphysical fire. It is thus that we, as elemental (or just mental ) poets, refuse, at all levels (lyrical, cultural, mercantile, geologic, celestial and infernal, etc.) to be co-opted, commodified, and/or in any way politically corrected.

We poetic oilmen and women are the active nihilists of a nihilistic era. We locate promising sites, then we draw up, from below the poetic bedrock, raw inspiration. NaPoWriMo allows us to drill deep into the sedimentary layers of poetry and tap into the deposits of lyrical fuel trapped within. Some gets pumped up, some comes gushing spontaneously to the surface in a crude form. It can then be refined to varying degrees of flammability and into differing types of fuel; think diesel versus jet fuel… one will take you further faster, but both are indeed fuel.

As oilmen and women, we pump our precious resource up in raw form from subterranean seas—the remains of lyric flora and fauna of a previous age buried under the silt of an inundation of data-driven global dullness. Through sheer creative will we set these deposits ablaze, to produce, out of the incoherent night that surrounds us, poetic illumination. In the light of our own flame, we cerebrate the utter uselessness of our artistic product—by continuing to create it, refine it, and then burn it up in a transcendent pyre of irrelevance. Thus, we wage uncompromising war against the powers and principalities of technoid global dominion. Our useless words, unread and unwanted, undermine the process of attempted global conquest by the unpoetic Enemy.
It's not a POEM really...
more a poetic screed. But sure was fun writing it !

Come over to my place soon:
https://connecthook.wordpress.com/


National Poetry Writing Month is almost here.
EmperorOfMine Dec 2019
Open your eyes, love
Remove the debris from the corners
The sun is always up above
Get out of the fantasy
Erase those borders.


Be more selfless
More loving
More caring
More of what you wish was there when you felt your worse...

Because adding to fire won't save the forest.
And without the trees, we all suffocate.
Restrict the fire and even if we save one tree, we've won.
Just because you don't save as much as you would like
It doesn't mean that saving any less is pointless.


It's a matter of perspective.
Change the world,
But to do that, you'll have to open YOUR mind
One tree can bring many
And many trees can disappear by one flame


One will leave you empty
One will fill you with life
The night,
Peaceful and calm,
A music in itself,
Moon aglow
Stars flicker.
Alas!
That’s the
Time to escape
And cerebrate.
Eternal Dreams Apr 2017
When you're yare, and find yourself
Please come and swipe me from the shelf
Afore it's too tardy
Afore I wither away to dust
Don't let this be your most astronomically immense regret
Take a leap of faith and trust
Please don't be apologetic
The damage is done
Crumpled, torn paper
There is no regalement
You may cerebrate your not right
But to me, your impeccable
Why can't things be different
Who do you forfend
I'm falling for you
I'll promise I'll be better
My heart you have too
I look up in the sky
I see a moon
Accompanied with million of stars,
I wonder the sky
Who binds them all.
The moon having
The most pock.
Is still so resplendent.
The stars that flicker
For like a zillion times
We still can’t get our eyes off them.
The most fine looking sky
Changes it colours
For the most often time of the day
Can anyone even miss that splendid time?
The pleasant beauty
They behold
By accompanying each other
Together for like ever.
Such peaceful ambiance it makes
To sit and cerebrate.
A romantic night for the lovers
And an opportunity for the poets.
I look up in the sky.
moments are like the lunar eclipse, a frozen aspect of time, that comes once in eighty years.
We should cerebrate in the rareness of the golden moments.
Its Gods message, we have no control of tomorrow, ours is today.

— The End —