"coalmine" poems - Hello Poetry

.*oh forget Disney H'america... technicolor H'america was the bomb... gentlemen prefer blondes... oh **** no... the seven year itch... the Rachmaninoff scene... bell, book & candle scene... whoever the genius was behind the technicolor project, outmatched the Disney in 1950s H'america... little town America... big little ******** worth of Europe... eddi reader...more like: keep the cats, a woman may desire luxury, but a man a freedom... keep the town, the summit, the fireplace... keep your luxury... just give me the shadow, the sun, the moon, and the road: perpetually greeting me.* oh forget looking for scapegoats these days... full blown schizophrenia, happening, all over the anglophone world... me? i'm just looking at the lampoons... sorry... lemmings... and the English? top the table in western world... they thought they'd be bailed out by the H'americans... good luck rolling that pin-ball... not gonna happen... they have their own **** to deal with... it could have... but now it will never work out, no anglophone alliance bail-out plan... it's a ******* farce... it's a bogus in the bogie in the ******* coalmine... forget the canary... **** i'm seriously flipping the coin on phrases... FDR contra DJT? magic! no... the politicians were always going to place the card... the joker... free-fall dance-loose feet... my bet is... it'll fall flat on its face... the eastern European Achilles heel of the europhiles... that's a supposition, not a proposition... or thereby, pre-.... but i do love being a spectator of rare sport... en masse schizophrenia... a nation, divided... what a load of ******** the English thought that their anglophone alliances would last, would encrust them in a new globalization mechanism... even the ******* Icelandic people think they're European... what did the English think? just east of Las Vegas?! an island surrounded by a massive prehistorical lake "facility"?! no one is looking for scapegoats these days, there's no one to blame... mea culpa, mea culpa... these days?! everyone is looking for the lampoon brigade! - and let me tell you... mea culpa mea culpa... no one is looking for a scapegoat worth kristallnacht; people are looking for a lampoon... or... karmesinrotherznacht, the night of... broken hearts; broken, crimson hearts.

0

Oct 22, 2018

Oct 22, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

FDR contra DJT times

.*oh forget Disney H'america... technicolor H'america was the bomb... gentlemen prefer blondes... oh **** no... the seven year itch... the Rachmaninoff scene... bell, book & candle scene... whoever the genius was behind the technicolor project, outmatched the Disney in 1950s H'america... little town America... big little ******** worth of Europe... eddi reader...more like: keep the cats, a woman may desire luxury, but a man a freedom... keep the town, the summit, the fireplace... keep your luxury... just give me the shadow, the sun, the moon, and the road: perpetually greeting me.* oh forget looking for scapegoats these days... full blown schizophrenia, happening, all over the anglophone world... me? i'm just looking at the lampoons... sorry... lemmings... and the English? top the table in western world... they thought they'd be bailed out by the H'americans... good luck rolling that pin-ball... not gonna happen... they have their own **** to deal with... it could have... but now it will never work out, no anglophone alliance bail-out plan... it's a ******* farce... it's a bogus in the bogie in the ******* coalmine... forget the canary... **** i'm seriously flipping the coin on phrases... FDR contra DJT? magic! no... the politicians were always going to place the card... the joker... free-fall dance-loose feet... my bet is... it'll fall flat on its face... the eastern European Achilles heel of the europhiles... that's a supposition, not a proposition... or thereby, pre-.... but i do love being a spectator of rare sport... en masse schizophrenia... a nation, divided... what a load of ******** the English thought that their anglophone alliances would last, would encrust them in a new globalization mechanism... even the ******* Icelandic people think they're European... what did the English think? just east of Las Vegas?! an island surrounded by a massive prehistorical lake "facility"?! no one is looking for scapegoats these days, there's no one to blame... mea culpa, mea culpa... these days?! everyone is looking for the lampoon brigade! - and let me tell you... mea culpa mea culpa... no one is looking for a scapegoat worth kristallnacht; people are looking for a lampoon... or... karmesinrotherznacht, the night of... broken hearts; broken, crimson hearts.

80

^¡^ everyone has a voice here every note will flow some of us are nightingales some of us are crows some of us are magpies collecting shiny things some of us canaries which in the coalmine sing some of us are larks singing in the copse some of us are ravens gathered 'round a corpse some are Laughing ******* who scream to beat the band some of us are ostrich with our heads in sand some of us can "Twitter" how we love our "tweets"! some of us are silly coots with funny orange feet! some of us are toucan with beaks that are outgrown some of us are parrots with a beak that's not our own some of us are robins hopping on the lawn some of us are lovely angelic, graceful swans some of us are mockingbirds yes, you could fit that bill some are birds with feathers which make a lovely quill some of us are peacocks great beauties, but a bore some of us are hawks which o'r deep canyons soar some of us are eagles symbols of our call I welcome you to birdland where we are poets ALL SoulSurvivor (C) 2/4/2016

0

Feb 4, 2016

Feb 4, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC

SoulSurvivor

birdland

^¡^ everyone has a voice here every note will flow some of us are nightingales some of us are crows some of us are magpies collecting shiny things some of us canaries which in the coalmine sing some of us are larks singing in the copse some of us are ravens gathered 'round a corpse some are Laughing ******* who scream to beat the band some of us are ostrich with our heads in sand some of us can "Twitter" how we love our "tweets"! some of us are silly coots with funny orange feet! some of us are toucan with beaks that are outgrown some of us are parrots with a beak that's not our own some of us are robins hopping on the lawn some of us are lovely angelic, graceful swans some of us are mockingbirds yes, you could fit that bill some are birds with feathers which make a lovely quill some of us are peacocks great beauties, but a bore some of us are hawks which o'r deep canyons soar some of us are eagles symbols of our call I welcome you to birdland where we are poets ALL SoulSurvivor (C) 2/4/2016

45

inside my chest is a coalmine. you have the raddest eyes I’ve ever seen & you hair smells like rain. I want to call you on the telephone & tell you a secret about your freckles. I wanna call you shakedown. I wanna call you shotgun. do you want to make a movie? I got this camera, see, & a backyard like forever, & when it snows it’s like the whole world is one giant pickup line. my body in a wooden box & you just like holes for breathing. if I’m lying my neck is a bird. free. the truth is skin & skin. your red and grey beanies. a stick of dynamite between my teeth.

0

Dec 18, 2012

Dec 18, 2012 at 10:58 AM UTC

tru-baker

you are ohio

inside my chest is a coalmine. you have the raddest eyes I’ve ever seen & you hair smells like rain. I want to call you on the telephone & tell you a secret about your freckles. I wanna call you shakedown. I wanna call you shotgun. do you want to make a movie? I got this camera, see, & a backyard like forever, & when it snows it’s like the whole world is one giant pickup line. my body in a wooden box & you just like holes for breathing. if I’m lying my neck is a bird. free. the truth is skin & skin. your red and grey beanies. a stick of dynamite between my teeth.

1

The air is incredibly thin. I can’t breathe, and my hands are shaking. When I was a boy, a playmate hit me in the head with a glass ashtray. In an instant, my father had snatched the boy up and carried him ****** outside, suspended by one ankle. I’ve heard also, stories of my great-uncles two brothers, run out of Saint Louis County because they’d fought in and been banned from every tavern on both sides of every main drag, of every township therein. Maybe that’s where this comes from. There is a fire inside that most days is only embers, but stokes far too easily into infernal inferno. The grey mush in my skull is jacked into some electricity with jumper-cables made from too many sour thoughts, a fierce depression, and huge piles of self-doubt. Gladness, contentedness, feels like fraud, like failure, like not leaning into it sturdily enough. Like not staring into The Abyss hard enough. It feels like obscenity to not see conflict, to not rail against some dark thing, some enemy. In doing so is found the ability to feel like enough. But, what is enough? *** -JBClaywell ©P&ZPublications; 2016

0

Apr 6, 2016

Apr 6, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC

jay-claywell

There Is No Canary Inside This Coalmine

The air is incredibly thin. I can’t breathe, and my hands are shaking. When I was a boy, a playmate hit me in the head with a glass ashtray. In an instant, my father had snatched the boy up and carried him ****** outside, suspended by one ankle. I’ve heard also, stories of my great-uncles two brothers, run out of Saint Louis County because they’d fought in and been banned from every tavern on both sides of every main drag, of every township therein. Maybe that’s where this comes from. There is a fire inside that most days is only embers, but stokes far too easily into infernal inferno. The grey mush in my skull is jacked into some electricity with jumper-cables made from too many sour thoughts, a fierce depression, and huge piles of self-doubt. Gladness, contentedness, feels like fraud, like failure, like not leaning into it sturdily enough. Like not staring into The Abyss hard enough. It feels like obscenity to not see conflict, to not rail against some dark thing, some enemy. In doing so is found the ability to feel like enough. But, what is enough? *** -JBClaywell ©P&ZPublications; 2016

54

Marley Brando So many options, can’t say too many options, but honestly what do you do, when even too much is not enough, “What?”, “Were you saying something?, I feel like I’m in a dream, I’m asking for affirming, because I don’t feel a thing…”, You stare at me with those infinite eyes, “I feel exactly the same way.”, then you shift your gaze, and stare off for eternity, as that fire inside keeps burning me, something simmering inside is burning me, anxious and pacing, all out of patience, feeling like a Patient in a Psycho-Ward society, yes I’m fine so please don’t bother me, I won’t sign over royalties and no I don’t need notoriety, I’ll leave that for the words, and all the flabby flack from the flock of ruffle feathered haters, waiting in the wings I fly by & leave that for the Birds, word word word, words are what we scribe as a Writer of The Times, words to explain when I’m gone, words to explain when we’re gone, when the memories have all faded, because unless a Tyrant burns the books, we’ll have our history scribed onto these pages, lopsided but liberated, feeling like a rat in a cage, or a canary in a coalmine, consumed with the thought to “Just get way.”, just get away, I’m already gone anyways, don’t be fooled by this shell of a body, I’ve been through Hell so now I’m in The Hills where I party, Heaven can wait I’m on the Guest-List anyways so I won’t have to waste time at The Gate, ready to party, with Jim Morrison and Bob Marley, and Brando but no Commando, yeah I’m talking to you Sylvester sorry, Charlie, Chaplin for certain, Sheen well we’ll see, Janis, Jackson, Kurt and, Pac and it don’t stop, does it, what’s in, your wallet, Rest In Peace, Christopher Wallace, smoking a chalice, on Cloud 9 with Marley Brando, cool as an Ice Cream Sundae, relaxing watching the world go bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S, shout out to Gwen, Steph, I spin around and ask, “What is this, I meanI know it sounds cliche, but does any of this really exist?”, “Oh and where’d my mind go?”, So many options, won’t say too many though, but honestly what do you do, when even too much is not enough?, “What?”, “Were you saying something?, I feel like I’m in a dream, I’m asking for affirming, because I don’t feel a thing…”… ∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆ author of 3 #1 Best Sellers, & The Poetry Trilogy ∆

0

Mar 2, 2017

Mar 2, 2017 at 6:03 AM UTC

aaronlalux

∆ Marley Brando ∆

Marley Brando So many options, can’t say too many options, but honestly what do you do, when even too much is not enough, “What?”, “Were you saying something?, I feel like I’m in a dream, I’m asking for affirming, because I don’t feel a thing…”, You stare at me with those infinite eyes, “I feel exactly the same way.”, then you shift your gaze, and stare off for eternity, as that fire inside keeps burning me, something simmering inside is burning me, anxious and pacing, all out of patience, feeling like a Patient in a Psycho-Ward society, yes I’m fine so please don’t bother me, I won’t sign over royalties and no I don’t need notoriety, I’ll leave that for the words, and all the flabby flack from the flock of ruffle feathered haters, waiting in the wings I fly by & leave that for the Birds, word word word, words are what we scribe as a Writer of The Times, words to explain when I’m gone, words to explain when we’re gone, when the memories have all faded, because unless a Tyrant burns the books, we’ll have our history scribed onto these pages, lopsided but liberated, feeling like a rat in a cage, or a canary in a coalmine, consumed with the thought to “Just get way.”, just get away, I’m already gone anyways, don’t be fooled by this shell of a body, I’ve been through Hell so now I’m in The Hills where I party, Heaven can wait I’m on the Guest-List anyways so I won’t have to waste time at The Gate, ready to party, with Jim Morrison and Bob Marley, and Brando but no Commando, yeah I’m talking to you Sylvester sorry, Charlie, Chaplin for certain, Sheen well we’ll see, Janis, Jackson, Kurt and, Pac and it don’t stop, does it, what’s in, your wallet, Rest In Peace, Christopher Wallace, smoking a chalice, on Cloud 9 with Marley Brando, cool as an Ice Cream Sundae, relaxing watching the world go bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S, shout out to Gwen, Steph, I spin around and ask, “What is this, I meanI know it sounds cliche, but does any of this really exist?”, “Oh and where’d my mind go?”, So many options, won’t say too many though, but honestly what do you do, when even too much is not enough?, “What?”, “Were you saying something?, I feel like I’m in a dream, I’m asking for affirming, because I don’t feel a thing…”… ∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆ author of 3 #1 Best Sellers, & The Poetry Trilogy ∆

79

Let's say love is a mirage Once you get there it's vaporized A blanket full of sand Three containers at sunrise Stacked up waiting for more massiveness of spice The penalty pointed spokesman said defined Example, the olive baked snacker that slipped out of the coalmine He had a plastic burned hand with two blisters on the side But is it a mirage? Tobacco sunset A cotton carpet with table topped wine All vaporized

0

May 14, 2015

May 14, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC

robbert-van-nispen

Mirage

Let's say love is a mirage Once you get there it's vaporized A blanket full of sand Three containers at sunrise Stacked up waiting for more massiveness of spice The penalty pointed spokesman said defined Example, the olive baked snacker that slipped out of the coalmine He had a plastic burned hand with two blisters on the side But is it a mirage? Tobacco sunset A cotton carpet with table topped wine All vaporized

14

SLEEP, OH, SLEEP Too late to sleep Too early to be awake Doomed in sleep’s convoluted tapestry Sleep, oh, sleep I swoon over you nightly But like a glamorous young lady You continually play hard to get Leonard Cohen’s “deeper than a Siberian coalmine” voice didn’t sway you The boringness of my Epidemiology lecture notes didn’t persuade you Sleep, oh, sleep Why hast thou forsaken me? Drowsiness, red eyes and a face bereft of cheerfulness Are all that I’m left with On this long torturous day Many gulps of coffee won’t ensure wakefulness An hour-long bath in hot steam won’t alleviate the lethargy Only serene slumbers will be the panacea to the cephalalgy Sleep,oh,sleep Why hast thou forsaken me?

0

Oct 11, 2018

Oct 11, 2018 at 1:50 AM UTC

d-angelo-eden

SLEEP, OH, SLEEP

SLEEP, OH, SLEEP Too late to sleep Too early to be awake Doomed in sleep’s convoluted tapestry Sleep, oh, sleep I swoon over you nightly But like a glamorous young lady You continually play hard to get Leonard Cohen’s “deeper than a Siberian coalmine” voice didn’t sway you The boringness of my Epidemiology lecture notes didn’t persuade you Sleep, oh, sleep Why hast thou forsaken me? Drowsiness, red eyes and a face bereft of cheerfulness Are all that I’m left with On this long torturous day Many gulps of coffee won’t ensure wakefulness An hour-long bath in hot steam won’t alleviate the lethargy Only serene slumbers will be the panacea to the cephalalgy Sleep,oh,sleep Why hast thou forsaken me?

21

Your way body entwined in mine Makes me feel like everything is alright That you and I will tow the line Not live in constant fright Serve the present Leave the past Forgive not resent Then love will last A canary in a coalmine Has a dire fate Love that's turned bitter Must be saved before it's too late Make love feel heaven sent Send it too all of them fast Let it linger like a scent And cover area vast

0

Dec 10, 2015

Dec 10, 2015 at 5:24 AM UTC

Goldfinch

5am poetry

Your way body entwined in mine Makes me feel like everything is alright That you and I will tow the line Not live in constant fright Serve the present Leave the past Forgive not resent Then love will last A canary in a coalmine Has a dire fate Love that's turned bitter Must be saved before it's too late Make love feel heaven sent Send it too all of them fast Let it linger like a scent And cover area vast

16

she had eyes like diamond i kissed her lips and she sighed it echoed in the coalmine

0

Nov 25, 2014

Nov 25, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC

september

coalmine diamonds

she had eyes like diamond i kissed her lips and she sighed it echoed in the coalmine

5

everyone has a voice here every note will flow some of us are nightingales some of us are crows some of us are magpies collecting shiny things some of us canaries which in the coalmine sing some of us are larks singing in the copse some of us are ravens gathered 'round a corpse some are Laughing ******* who scream to beat the band some of us are ostrich with our heads in sand some of us can "Twitter" how we love our "tweets"! some of us are silly coots with funny orange feet! some of us are toucan with beaks that are outgrown some of us are parrots with a beak that's not our own some of us are robins hopping on the lawn some of us are lovely angelic, graceful swans some of us are mockingbirds yes, you could fit that bill some are birds with feathers which make a lovely quill some of us are peacocks great beauties, but a bore some of us are hawks which o'r deep canyons soar some of us are eagles symbols of our call I welcome you to birdland where we are poets ALL SoulSurvivor (C) 2/4/2016 All except for the parrots. They need to be plucked! What kind of bird are YOU? SoulSurvivor Catherine Jarvis

0

Sep 7, 2020

Sep 7, 2020 at 1:39 PM UTC

SoulSurvivor

birdland

everyone has a voice here every note will flow some of us are nightingales some of us are crows some of us are magpies collecting shiny things some of us canaries which in the coalmine sing some of us are larks singing in the copse some of us are ravens gathered 'round a corpse some are Laughing ******* who scream to beat the band some of us are ostrich with our heads in sand some of us can "Twitter" how we love our "tweets"! some of us are silly coots with funny orange feet! some of us are toucan with beaks that are outgrown some of us are parrots with a beak that's not our own some of us are robins hopping on the lawn some of us are lovely angelic, graceful swans some of us are mockingbirds yes, you could fit that bill some are birds with feathers which make a lovely quill some of us are peacocks great beauties, but a bore some of us are hawks which o'r deep canyons soar some of us are eagles symbols of our call I welcome you to birdland where we are poets ALL SoulSurvivor (C) 2/4/2016 All except for the parrots. They need to be plucked! What kind of bird are YOU? SoulSurvivor Catherine Jarvis

49

I felt ***** worm down. but I stepped into the rain. Every droplet had a meaning, erasing, cleansing moments that clung onto me. Some were easy to dislodge, washing away before me. Others were like soot, coalmine deep. Only the deluge before the pause, awoke my life. Something's never really clean away, but are dulled, only to await the next deluge to cleanse me that little bit more.

0

Sep 14, 2019

Sep 14, 2019 at 2:31 PM UTC

poetic-t

I Washed Away...

I felt ***** worm down. but I stepped into the rain. Every droplet had a meaning, erasing, cleansing moments that clung onto me. Some were easy to dislodge, washing away before me. Others were like soot, coalmine deep. Only the deluge before the pause, awoke my life. Something's never really clean away, but are dulled, only to await the next deluge to cleanse me that little bit more.

16