"charter" poems
#*'Twas a time I deemed thee love;
the echoes lacked contraire
Sea moon shadows dance across
this isle of despair
Entwined flesh eyes doth ne'er perceive,
outside the mortal's scope
No sole charter giveth passage
through salty waves unknown
'Tis what I think to see thee there
on pedestals of gold
Forevermore you place thyself
on stalwart shores alone
Unfurl thy sails for distant lands;
the lighthouse shines once more
Praying to gods that long lost ship
will find its way to port.*#
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
Dear diary,
I just can't explain the amount of thoughts that I have daily!,
that continuous mind charter that I have daily....!
I'm filled with thoughts, every minute, and every second of my life.
My mind just keeps switching from one thought to another,
& The amount of day dreaming....
well!!!
you know my silly screaming ??!!!
Sometimes, they are really funny!
And they keep making me smile,
so that I keep glowing!
But some thoughts...,,,
They are really too dark,
That ,when I confront them,
it breaks my heart apart!!
I'm like a confused soul,
who's in search of meaning of life...
Who's in search of peace ,
Who's in search of shine!
But the moment I start thinking,
ugh!!!My head starts cracking!!
I just can't concentrate on one particular thing !
Today, if I feel like being a doctor,
Tomorrow I might think of being an engineer,
& If today I feel like being an accountant,
Tomorrow I might feel like,
" I just need an Oscar...!"
An Oscar for what??
I don't know ...!!!
It's sounds too cool and looks good to show !
Will I work for that award?...
honestly, I don't know !
I'm so lazy,
I don't even get up to "shoo" a crow !
But hey!...there's one amazing part about me,
Guess what ?
"Anyone can come and speak to me."
Being an overthinker,
has also opened up my mind,
I don't form immediate opinions,
till I get a clear sight !
I really don't know this journey of thoughts well??!!!
Will it ever be stable ?
Will it ever end ?
But ...If it ends,
I'll die for sure,
But hey!,
I'm sure there is some way to cure!
Which way?
Hey !...I don't know again !
Is that way gonna be simple
or another amazing pain!
But hey hey hey!!! I don't know why did I write this ?!
Was I trying to find a solution
or was encouraging my thoughts already in a continuous motion?!
But hey!,
it's ok if you're an overthinker,
Try to be amazing my friend,
even if nothing is clear!
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 5:28 AM UTC
I wander thro’ each charter’d street.
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow
A mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man.
In every Infants cry of fear.
In every voice; in every ban.
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear
How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackening Church appalls.
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls
But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse
5.7k
For love to flourish
Some ideas on life we need to punish
And for unity to feel unified
Some old philosophies should be denied
A universal charter of peace
One that imprisons any aggressor with no signs of an early release
Third world or new world, rich and poor
Eternally searching for so much more
At breaking point and primed for implosion
Standing at the towns gates and cheering totalitarianism on its arduous march into expulsion
As masses we move in uncertain terms
Living to absorb , to almost defend the disease, the genetic germs
The crowd ask questions, seek answers of clarity
Settling no more for the disgust of others impunity
Maybe the balance will tilt
And the toxic flowers of the current state of affairs begin to wilt
Global humanity free to exist and have an honest future of preservation
Not just confined to a future in some wildlife conservation
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
If I could simply overcome
Possessive nouns and vowel sounds
I would not need to study ******
Heavy lies’ beheaded crowns
But you make martyrs with your charter
School exclusive service sector
To systemically condemn me
To the destitution nectar
Of the corner story ******
Potential Cinderella caged in
The statistics of the mathematic
Overdose equation
Comatose’n like a Holy Ghost
Of tranquil ranking party skanks
Whose tanks plan out the projects
For the boys still shootin’ blanks
And then the slavers liberate
Some nation-state of god forsaken
Oil barons salivate
To taste the poison Apple’s stake in
Stock in stuffer markets takin’
All the products people makin’
Privatizing profit-docket lawless
Mother Nature rapin’
For some scarcity disparities
In wealth I can’t attain
You keep me feeding on the bottom
From the top, you make it rain
So as the brains continue drainin’
In amenity dependency
I tinker with the inner-machinations
Now the enemy
You’ve made me out to be you see
My generation’s future’s bleaker
Than the past in full HD
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
528
Mine—by the Right of the White Election!
Mine—by the Royal Seal!
Mine—by the Sign in the Scarlet prison—
Bars—cannot conceal!
Mine—here—in Vision—and in Veto!
Mine—by the Grave’s Repeal—
Tilted—Confirmed—
Delirious Charter!
Mine—long as Ages steal!
2.7k
~
*Storms make grey the sea
And erode the surface of the shore
Cold resentful icebergs
Outside my window
A field of sinking liquid caskets
Closing in on me
I hear the sound
Of toy pianos underwater
Remnants of their music keep
Washing up on achromatic beaches
Songs that made love shine
Have fallen into shipwreck
A missing charter's rusted hull
Casts the one color heaven allows
Storms make grey the sea
And erode the stages of the sun*
~
Oct 20, 2022
Oct 20, 2022 at 9:19 AM UTC
You are the petal that breaks free from the flower.
You are the last fluorescent string of sunshine before dusk.
You are the ripped wings of an insect.
Your "love" was cancerous
Your intent was murderous,
Your opinions, over zealous
And your range always jealous.
You are the last wave of the night tide.
You are the meteor to the moon.
You are Nothing,
Yet something,
Without good;
Just rotting.
You are the "darkest before the dawn."
You are the winter that killed the rose.
You are the nuclear holocaust,
That burned each bridge
And broke each road.
You are Loneliness in company,
You are a sunken charter.
You are a skipping record,
On the wrong part of the song.
You are famine with emotion,
You are the feign of hope.
You are my epitome of hatred,
You are the birdsong that is but a croak.
You are weakness and decay,
You are a fatal wound.
You are terminal illness.
You are not worth a breath,
You are what I can not accept.
You Are ******* Revolting.
You ******* Disgust Me.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
montana yellow dress, the highway looked bitter sunday fit.
she knew the land given,
land taken,
thunder walking west.
met a friend. stopped to talk.
he was a holy kid or dog, both songs of kindness.
trickster cool mountain calf
waiting for the water promenade.
deep creek good old boy swimming smiles,
rose up
and shot like bang with the buzzard sioux feathers.
truth is low clouds flashing, dreams burst
in the earth room.
doused sheets of chaparral and canyon grass
a pretty laughing bird.
wet things watch the water-log, and a frog spits whiskey.
charter bus barefoot leather and a father says kids, smell the hammer,
see the hammer touch its words into the world.
work-tale living, fools bled.
river gal cut, oh
fishing.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
(Went out today,
Charter boat
Trinidad Bay
Limited out on rock fish
in two hours
Watching Elks Head
from the ocean,
Grandpa)
Isadore
Called him Izzy
Chewing all day
on a fat cigar
Looked at lot like Jimmy Durante
His father stowed away on a ship
Wasn't going to be a Russian military conscript
Genocidal pogroms were coming
how he knew
we'll never know.
Ended up in Philadelphia town,
Scranton Pennsylvania
Moved along to Brooklyn
Stubby Izzy
fighting it out with the Irish immigrants
Dreaming of having a chicken farm
over there in New Jersey
Izzy met Grandma Sarah at the family clothing store
they fought it out for 70 years
The 60's book
Games People Play
They were the star attraction
The friction was the glue
that kept them together
The friction was the match
that lit their passion.
Grandpa Izzy
funniest man I ever met
Drove an old 48 Ford
selling housewares in the Southern route.
In the morning far too early
Sneaking into his room
tickling his feet to the sounds
of ohhs and hoho's
At five years old
Grandpa Izzy
took me fishing
on some New Jersey pond -
Afternoon sun with yellow colors
bringing all the foliage alive
Sun setting
fish rising
a hand held in mine
defined the peace
I seek
in reoccurring dreams through out a lifetime
A troubled teen
all suicidal
the drive in the 48 Ford
with Grandpa Izzy
running down the Malibu pier
catching the half day boat before it
disappeared
Grandpa Izzy
never lived far from a race track
I don't know about those losing days
but the secret he said
Was to never lose your sense of humor
Always be able to laugh at yourself
Izzy smoked those big old chewed cigars
lived until he was 94
Ended up not knowing
Who or where he was
Maybe we all
end up
that way too
But in my memory
there is sharp focus
he remains alive in me
If heaven is there
I know I'll find
Izzy and I
on that New Jersey pond,
a fishing line
and
peace inside.
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
I. Prologue
Splash words across: images on canvas.
Before Abraham was, I am:
the cubist of poets. Mangled and tangled;
Here thoughts emerge, in reverent perspectives.
The real world: how many dimensions,
depends on who you ask; Monotone
in my unidimensions. Filter. Baritone.
Coffee-brown is the best colour around.
II. Love
Here we sit by two-arms distance. To north,
to south. Facing opposing poles.
There is an attraction.
Here are images from the industrial world
gone post-industrial. Broken commodes.
Outsource your misery here. The sky can afford
a hole from on here. As long as
there's none in my shoe.
Sometimes, I roll over in waves.
Sometimes, you wave over.
Questions still hidden in the corners.
III. Peace
All that's passed remains flickering
green like the wireless router
silently at nights: recover, play it over.
Flush it all up. Splash it all around. Cubism.
Art nouveau. Portmanteau. Now fruck the world.
Neon shades rippling through the smoke
riding out dancing to metal clang;
Crazy laughter like that of an empty skull:
smoke the pipe, brother,
spread the peace around. 2013, stupid.
Idealism died in 1967. And many times since.
Repeats always a farce.
IV. Spirit
Only one man died for the poor.
Who called the dead to life.
All other stories are about barons and hedgehats:
while the millions were ground over
to oil the world. While they roiled the world.
How the poor die under the heels
of those that claim to love that man?
Disagree? Drone. Agree? The throne.
Yes, we can, brother, we can defeat this
****** corruption. Brother,
be not corrupt.
V. Prospect
A sigh of disapproval, soft in sleep.
I come and lie, back to your back,
waiting for love to seep over.
Yes, we can, brother, we can overcome
bigotry vile. Brother,
say not, mine, the only way ever.
Happy lovers day. Shout out aloud,
peans more to the meek women's rights.
Forget not, there's some in your sights.
Two arms' distance is about the right in the day.
There are two faces seen in this bubble,
formed at the mouth of the tooth paste tube.
Peace to the world, every morning after.
Every little home by home.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
In this cruel,savage world every one hurts
But we have to find the worth suffering far
Every beautiful chick just desires and flirts
Hence portray themselves like northern star
Pain surpasses pleasure in a way so strange
All want to play with love in Satanic mood
Credence is to play part out of its given range
Facade seems innocent but mean and shrewd
Barter is the game and portray it as a charter
Just extend your love in exchange to hatred
Man is the real victim man is the silly starter
All is scattered and nothing is aligned to grid
Col Muhammad Khalid khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 2:55 AM UTC
trip me up
get my attention
and I will take you
where you would rather not go
the juxtaposition of communication
a looters charter of the innocent mind
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
WE CONSIDER THEM VERMIN--
these visitors
to the rotting corpses of our loved ones.
But what if
they’re only there to say
hello?
And when’s the last time you paid them a visit,
anyway?
Well let me tell you something:
the maggots and
worms
know where we're going.
Billions of years, billions of ancestors,
busily moving
through their lives in
isolated
blips--
They’re just data now.
And did John the Amoeba, feeding on sunlight, ever think
that somewhere down the line
his great-something-grandson
would be a poet?
A doctor?
A teacher?
A football player?
Did he ever think that his great-something-grandson would
sit in his room
and listen to
the Mountain Goats?
To be honest, probably not.
Grandpa’s a stranger.
He got sick when you were young, but you
could never
remember
the name of the disease.
But it all came down to the fact that he never recognized his own grandchild—
he was an ancient basket case whom you loved
because
that’s what
you were told
to do.
You were 13 when he died,
and his passing gave you an excuse
to be sad,
which worked out pretty well because
sadness
was the most stylish emotion
at Marblehead Charter
in 2007.
Grandpa won’t be there on your wedding day.
He’ll be with the vermin,
saying hello.
But you won’t mind—
you still love him anyway.
Because one day
you'll be in his place
and your grandson will be getting married
and you won’t be there,
but he'll still love you anyway.
And somewhere down the line,
you’ll be someone’s—something’s—John the Amoeba.
And you know you would be proud.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
saying **** off* seems so much more
easier when you're petting cats....
they just say it for you...
there he is, Quarus,
the operatic singer nearing sunset,
200 variations of a mulling of meow,
i end up calling him Orbison Rufus,
the ginger Roy of Peckham -
he basically meows lazily like Roy
singing... as said / i.d. (id est): the umbras
or umbrellas - counting the shadows'
version of Apache's yawn: ah-woo ah-woo
ah-woo nagging the reflex...
gave them the yawn and gave them 1950s
America... Billy the Kid talking to the king of
Specs... hank marvin.... cheese grater
with those teeth... dozen cows buckling with
the herding in while the dog carved a feel
for religion in the translation of the Vatican
from coliseum into football requirements...
the movies were great in the 1950s, just after
the technicolour... petting cats was never such a thrill...
the operatic meow, onomatopoeia from echo
in a cave to knock-on-wood...
200 variations of the knock
and 12 whiskey shots downed
while playing poker... 12 cowboys
1 Milwaukee and 30 Turks... classic Tarantino...
i said the Apache yawn... i never said giving
out smoke signals...
Quarus my ginger is demanded as having laughed...
he's Roy Orbison with the meow,
pretty much lazy...
looks like a murmur when he tries singing,
pretty woman, trolling down the street,
Gucci, Chanel, and everything in the scrapheap of lobotomy,
as is Paris necessarily mentioned: chiselled
white collars... Roy knew before Elvis...
the trick came with sunglasses,
and the gluttonous slur of the half-opened mouthing
for subsequent mouthing it off...
no amount of cheese in French could ever
charter the success of the cheeses added to cheeseburgers
with the milkshakes, which were plainly Dutch
laughing cows named Novices....
quick-melts and some said:
dreadlocks of string-yellow Gouda pulled
for a hippies' worth of Chinese chugging down
a pint or two, for worth of gag and the slim mascot;
the Chinese never taught Cannes arithmetic
of the thumb through to pinky...
i don't know how they taught counting
with their complex ideograms, they never taught
arithmetic give their encoding...
they taught pure math.. they never taught the simplest
of assurances... meaning so few of them became bankers.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
1283
Could Hope inspect her Basis
Her Craft were done—
Has a fictitious Charter
Or it has none—
Balked in the vastest instance
But to renew—
Felled by but one assassin—
Prosperity—
1.6k
Jump on the boat and take is real slow
Throw the canvas and splash that oil
Squash the duck feathers and fill the mill
As the harmonica cruises craft the talk real slow
A touch of the knee and the spark shatters
A charter of recklessness heckled in two-tone composition
Not a monochrome but a jest of kaleidoscope cores
A fearless horizon of sirens and chaotic applause
A sate of pureness, meekness;widely see this woman words
The worth of how she works, the sweat in her sincerity
Spot the little life that she holds, clutch her lifetime ascensions
The silhouette that shows and fades away,chase her palm
Stroke her freedom, take her high to the clouds and show her
Ask her to sing her sweetest prescribed proscriptions
Be the operator that jerks her stringed rhythmic blues
Shine ohh diamond, Strike ohh as you expand…… touch the sentiment
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
#*Friendships are common
Friends everywhere
But the true ones, oh so rare
The ones who deeply care
Stand by you
In times of despair
Age no bar
There can be many
Whoever they are
Gender no ******
Seasons there are many
Weathering all, no wonder
Distance does not matter
To meet, need not fly charter
All are neighbours in the heart
True friends are a treasure
In words
One need not measure
Friends that life chose
Hold them aloft , in the heart
Like the fragrance of a Rose*#
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 8:05 AM UTC
Toes twiddling, fingers fiddling,
the wait goes on,
and on,
and on.
People passing, mind lapsing,
I wait,
and wait,
…and wait.
Bags surround me, how long will they be?
Seconds slowly tick
tock,
tick
tock.
Night falls, time crawls, in it for the long haul.
Bag carrier, hero warrior.
Shop to shop - it never stops.
True martyr, it’s in the charter.
Next week, same again? Can’t wait, glad I came.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
I feel the call from the oceans,
the voices whisper from its breeze.
Snow and satire can't label the mindfulness of
memories slowly coming back to me.
My mountains have missed you so much,
my legs miss the warmth of your thermos,
I miss your gentleness and subtlety.
Priority one. If you don't think you will make it by Tuesday,
I'll travel back in time before we were forty degrees,
you can read the seraphs on my signature
if I can lay in your sheets for a week.
Chrysanthemums all over the hallways, Irises in azurean hues.
The charter won't take us all the way to the break wall,
I'm at the airport trying to reach you by phone.
I'd take the flavor of your spirit,
over the sweet coolness of truth,
Slide my fingers into the holes in the jeans you always wear for me when I come home.
The only thing I write off are pages,
Tables marked with the ends of so many words.
Who are you to know what you can do without
The more I've learned, I realize I'm happier with the less I know.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
It was threatening rain for a week or more
It was always threatening rain,
The Weather Bureau was always sore
When the threatening rain never came.
We’d hold an open air barbecue
Each time they said it would come,
‘Hey it’s gonna rain,’ said Oliver Payne,
‘What do they think, we’re dumb?’
But the Bureau Chief, one Adrian Reef
Said he was sick to the core,
Why wouldn’t the weather behave itself
Like it had done before,
‘It’s making us look like a laughing stock,’
He bitterly said to Jane,
‘I want you to ring up the airport now
And charter a small, light plane,’
He loaded the plane up with dry ice
And a generous load of salt,
And lugged along an elephant gun,
The plane took off with a jolt,
He peppered the clouds with ice that day,
He put his job on the line,
The last thing he wanted to have to say:
‘The weather is going to be fine.’
And down on the ground at the barbecue
We were sizzling snags and steak,
Having an ice cold beer or two
And trying to stay awake.
The sultry weather was drowsy then
We’d heard the report, in vain,
But just when the steaks were nicely done
It came down, bucketing rain.
We didn’t have time to pack it up,
We couldn’t save snags or steak,
In only a couple of minutes there
We were staggering round in a lake,
And Oliver’s esky floated away
With the rest of the beer we’d bought,
While we took shelter as best we could
Under cover of Maggie’s porch.
The water rose right up to our knees,
Our cars were afloat that day,
The chickens drowned and the old hearth hound
Was found seven miles away,
While on the Teev was the Bureau Chief
With a grin that was not quite sane,
He knew he’d won with his elephant gun,
‘The sky is threatening rain!’
David Lewis Paget
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
My friends,
We try to stay safe through doing what is familiar
By avoiding those places of pain and discomfort within ourselves.
And we may stay safe...
Safe within the walls of our self constructed prison
Safe in our loneliness and isolation
Safe in the same old patterns which keep us narrow, small...
But safe.
And in this place we fear to open the unlocked door to our own liberation...
We fear to step out into the light
Because we know that to find our glorious presence
We must travel through some dark corridors in our minds
Through some fearful rooms within our soul.
Confront places of pain in our hearts
And release the tears which are trapped there.
Lean into the mystery
my friends.
Lean into the discomfort...
It may be that there is a force there to support you
That you will remain buoyant as the winds of life flows past around and through you.
But it may be that as you lean... you fall....
You may fall into the abyss of mystery and unknowing.
Fall into a new and unknown space,
Where you do not know who you are
Or what to do next...
And in that dark obscured space you must feel you way forward with your heart,
Step into your wholeness and be guided by that deep ancient force with in you
Your old familiar ways will not work here.
What will you find there?
Deep in that space of mystery
That none may charter except for yourself
What new wonders will be uncovered?
What new gifts are waiting?
If we only have the courage to abide with our selves
If even for a moment?
How will you know unless you take a deep breath.
Still your mind
And lean forward into that Abyss...
Lean my friends and find out...
Feb 19, 2023
Feb 19, 2023 at 5:41 AM UTC