"gavels" poems
Strumming the untuned strings, he stares drunkenly into the setting sun of yesteryears songs, sung of lost dreams and the birthed ambitions of the dark, dark days to be.
Happily, he tears up in the fortunate tragedies, of the reclamation in his dreams, as he seethes out the damnation of his steeds, galloping gallantly through his being.
All seeing, in the finite fleeting when he sings, of strummed dreams to the rhythms of heart beats lost, embossed on the epitaphs of kings.
Sad songs of dreams once had.
Be glad for that, which does not **** you, only to bestow upon you, the gratitude of the weirding ways, in passionate display for us all to play nice.
Shake these dice and jump aboard this bus of wandering poetry, from the porches of poets singing to the sun.
From the morning Moet, to the afternoon beer run.
we sing of dreams
of better things
we blaspheme
and spin the scenes
of our murdered dreams
and just clean the guilt away
I am so awesome as to be devoid of fault.
I am a god that cracks the asphalt.
I am the angel signing the clause, of deserved harm.
I am the indentured servant sounding the alarm, with the charm of a Trojan horse, forced to adhere to the most righteous path.
The first
The last
Laugh of inevitability
Honing in on the ability to capture the longevity of dream warriors, in the lock of predators, in the employ of a senator, from the center of the heart, to impart on you the fear from thieves caught in the plight of those fraught with the graces of an exterminator, exterminating the pro-creators of your world. Soldiers unraveled in the lavished gavels of real criminals drowning in their own subliminal theories of the self imposed heresies of intention.
Free will
A fragile blessing
I cracked, all so long ago, as i gently bestow my belligerence upon your innocence and **** it all away.
I'm the ******* son
Strumming for the only one.
Once.
Before the lore of the storm.
Born of the swoon of a gun.
More than one.
Once.
As the day faded into night, his strumming turned plucking, as he slightly eased from reprise to silence, in the whisper of nights words, easing him into the blur, of sleep.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
I often feel alone
even though I 'm reminded
that I have family
that loves me
but sometimes
Family is just a mirror that
chooses to reflect every bad decision
you've ever made in your life
while hiding behind the glass
Sometimes, conversations are held
on one way streets, where sin only comes
in black and white, and the ones that love you
hold gavels between clenched fists
Sometimes, love looks like scorn
and hugs feel a lot like straight jackets that
leave bruises in the shape of hearts
and I-told-you-sos
So I'm alone, and a sinner
tell me something I didn't already know.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
For Denis Joe
Alas, poor Pluto
I knew him slightly
Dangling out there
On the sun system's edge
Unsung by Holst
Who knew him not at all.
Furl browed tribunes smack their gavels
And in a nano - second
Planetary glory dashed to asteroids.
Mighty Pluto busted to dwarfhood!
[Brief moment of silence]
Well, the dwarves will have to have
Their own music now -
Nothing Earth shattering
like THE PLANETS.
A humbler essay, say a trio
For tuba, autoharp and cello.
Modest but catchy tunes
For little orbiters and shakers:
XENA (warrior princess)
CERES (goddess of grain)
PLUTO (mythical silver smith)
CHARON (underworld boat jockey)
Oops, almost missed the big send off.
There he goes now with Charon at the oars.
Arrivederci
little
fellow.
SNIFF!
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
All estuaries flow eastbound, and the subterranean rail tracks keep forcing against the estuaries’ grain and dust foundations perpendicularly to them.
How can a sane proposition -- a quantification of syntax execution (those squirming cuticles through bonds of regression)— an excessive reflection, reflexive inspection,
Prove its sanity through continued suggestion?
Deductive insurrections stirred in memory,
A rumble, causing sediments to crumble,
Wineglasses balanced atop countertops tumble.
Spilling contents upon the grained wooden, elitists' floors.
"Anesthetic, onsetting tuberculosis in breath patterns,
Gavels ringing on rigged tolling tongs in caverns,
Dark tolerances to Copernican astronomy in shadows,
And the handle grinds as boxcar wheels' flints and steels catch and spark in addled locks," I mumbled from a half-nap.
It was surgery, the smooth procedures on the moving trains,
The gains and plectrums scraped against the brains' spider veins,
To reorganize the sane, to bridge the broken definitions changed,
To prevent arguments' bone structure from fractures and sprains.
"Use gavels against the scalpels, sculpt with their judgment," a corona dream's habitant corrugated.
He pounded the gavel's end against the knife to chisel at the pituitary gland pulsing in his subject,
And her arms flailed like a horse's legs in heat-induced convulsion.
I thought it was done.
The Canson Merue train screamed in the night under earth to Yellowknife to meet Canadian soil as the Heavy Breather pounded his gavel.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
The people you meet and the experiences you've had
Those gavels that build up your pathway leading to a future
As bright as your accomplishments
As dark as your failures.
You may choose to be just another number
Or thrive to shine like thunder
To some you're a stop on the road;
A pebble in their vast sea of rocks
To others you're a destination;
An essential stone they place with rigid intention
You're their hero on the walk of fame
Or the outsider on the walk of shame
Thus, disappointment's the winner of this festive year
From your anger, losses to your biggest fear
It haunts your dreams
Steals away your sleep,
Here to degrade people from high above the clouds
To way down below
Rolling in the muddy hole
Made for our faded ashes
Alongside the endless mourns,
The trembling sounds of our murmuring voices
That hide a hint of joy
In tribute to all that's now long-gone
Insecurities, doubts, and all that once dragged us down
Making room for shinier stones
Full of life, reflecting hope
For a brighter future known for achieving goals
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 2:20 PM UTC
I heard someone whisper "he's such an arrogant ***** as I entered.
Those crooked sons of ******* don't have any idea,
I'm the kind you hardly ever come across except in winters,
when all the street rats are begging for heat.
I command attention at the head of the table,
I am the head of the table,
and sever the head to **** the municipal body.
The wigs and robes and gavels I accessorize command it too.
When I sign things I do it haughtily,
I carefully etch each and every ********* letter onto writs of demand.
I stand!
A hush lingers,
I catch the eyes of Walter Weiss, he lies with every breath
and did you know he is unfaithful to his wife? I heard.
the shudders are shut, my druthers. Oh, Walter!
notarize my forms of annexation, please.
and take down this:
To whom it may concern:
You have 7 days to remove yourself from the premises
as you are aware of the edict that preexists
and preempts your residence
and your squalor misrepresents
your laziness.
Signed: The holding powers, in eminence.
Oh Walter Weiss, address it to yourself!
I pride myself on tact.
And package with the writ this evidence form
sent to my office following a secret examination
conducted by the Department of Residential Safety and Heath.
Do not bother me with demoralizations, Walter!
Due to discourse with the Act of Discontinuation,
(which of course is subject to broad generalizations)
the lien sector of the Savings and Loan Association
have concluded you are found in violation of, through reasoning by generalization,
failing to pay duties on your mortgage issued by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation.
Oh, Walter, how distressing!
Don't falter, acquiescing
is always the way.
Just never, ever forget to pay.
Jun 27, 2010
Jun 27, 2010 at 4:43 PM UTC
Coming down, it all falls down.
let yourself fly away like free bird.
slow up your pace losing full speed,
lend your ears to things heard.
all gathered 'round please take heed.
Coming down, it all falls down.
trading this nightmare for a dream.
down on my knees eyes to sky,
carvings I read what do they mean?
I stare at the faces of passersby.
Coming down, it all falls down.
I'll move on to a place for only bards.
pushed 'n shoved idiots don't budge,
bang their gavels loud and hard.
people acting like a judge.
Coming down, it all falls down.
one day grins will turn to frowns.
hecklers claim seeds sowed,
in this clean shaven town.
no "X's" mark the spot or roads.
Coming down, it all falls down.
won't anybody put'em in place?
misplaced doubt and fear,
crooked smirk on face.
people stop and sneer.
Coming down, it all falls down.
you see won't rearrange?
that what you think
it never changes,
how can it be?
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 12:08 PM UTC
I survived y2k, the rapture and the Mayan apocalypse.
9/11, solar maximum, and the media blitz of my opinions.
An x citizen to the world with my finger in the swirls of the abyss.
Turn it on
Turn it off
It makes no indifference to my smidgens of resistance.
**** me
kiss me
**** me
Love me for my limits.
I'm gonna get it until i spin it to my grave.
Unraveling the collective gavels of my praise.
Raised by my love in a staving haze, to make a play for my place at empty tables with empty plates, with broken symbols over where their faces once were.
I have and shall endure.
With or without
Dec 22, 2012
Dec 22, 2012 at 9:45 PM UTC
L'heure verte
The mountains. The heaps of their bountiful gravels, and earth, and soil, large oversized masses of half-frozen water teetering on the precipice of subzero masculine ******* Francophilic cleavage jetting out of this deserted white pastoral dressing. The inaugural bawl, wanton fixations of putting the imperialist foot on every spot of tree, each and every shrub, until the limbs' cast reaches each dimple that foliage braves, where that blue eagle of patriotism dredges its claws to form every river, rill, estuary, creek, channel, flume, littoral, and waterway where the iron-rich gullies once brimmed in the interamnian basins, rich crimsony waters riffling through fruitful and extravagant aquifers. Beyond that, where an inexplicably feral wind rips vines from their dendritic housings, where barely an eye can see, this place of exsanguination and abysmal phytocide.
At the end of this lamentable torture, only a desert of human interest remains. There is no reason to laugh, or smile, or cheer, or put a leg up, to call on a friend, or to have ice cream. There will be no more ice cream. There is only the loathsome incredulousness and avarice in the semblances and familiarity of those with whom we thought we once knew. Little can ever be known, for there is much to gain in the absence of knowledge, and even greater that can be acquired in the alms of wisdom through patient examination and thorough silence. Here on the buttes and cornices, the thwacking gavels of evil power deities throw down their lust for more and soon become adjoined to these grand discrepancies greed mistakenly loses to a lack of awareness and to self-aggrandizement.
Power is the weapon of inexperienced wielders. Passion is the immortal frequency that is worn by artisans and artists, poets and painters, it is the business of quietness to learnedly evolve to protect our tomorrows from personal needs, but to instead preserve the integral parts of society. The words of languages, artifacts, and cultures, rather than the skeletons of ****** and the deeds of possession. Each who sleeps knows their bedfellows to equally be at peace. For no wealth can exceed that of comfortable pillows, soft quilts, and sheets. We are all the same while we sleep.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
Telephone poles
thrown in stitches
across the never-ending blanket
-- that you stopped following somewhere
after an indie rock concert. The pattern that gavels crusades
on segmented streets--loss balance
bookshelves. Times when tongue-tied families test the lengths
of rapture and abundance,
both mouths tired and one eye black--a sock monster. A dog outside barking
and lists,
and lists,
and lists,
and so on.
All this while you watch the tide fall and rise.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
*Verdicts flung out even without gavels in their hands
Justice's muse fumbles in the dark
Her scales tipping to one side
As partiality has become more burdensome
One failure makes a person
One flawed idea creates a prison of belief
Everyone acts as the jury
Playing criticism like a big survival game
No winners, all self-appointed judges*
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
“I conversed with you in a dream.”
Sappho’s fragment 134
"He said 'no worries,'" she said
when she hung up. "I love when people say that." quaint little town,
they say of us – quaint little smile, I
say of her.
"When you drink, i..." another plantative little contest the context
ringing and you can tell that the "i" is not a proper noun.
"Were you alone?" it surmounts up and climbs down the treacle gavels of sensibility
this question suggests concern.
and a boy who wants to have *** with me calls me kitten. His hair is brown.
Two conversations at the same time:
"Where I'm from, twenty a gram's a ripoff!"
Standard prices.
and
"Princess, if you were my girl, you'd always walk funny."
The ice is
thin under my oxfords
the murk of my conversational devices
Lake bottom:
vices.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
Church bells heard through sirens
Is all hope is dead
Or is it hiding
Modern society sickens me
Daughters being pushed and bruised
Mothers forgetting their babies
Fathers drinking till the pale world falls to pieces
What happened to honesty?
Poise and laughter
More gossip is read than gospel
Is this where I have to bring my children,
Into this unforgiving, unfair, unfortunate world
Gavels bang as widows weep
A gun fires as a child drops hopelessly to the ground
Will this ****** ever end?
Will peace ever be restored?
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC
If you take a chance and glance
Beyond that which is called
Extenuating circumstance.
You may see that the powers that be.
Seek justice ..but only for a system
That they rely on to maintain
. ......A status quo
A stagnant pool of nepotism
Slash latent schism
Where division...
....Trumps any decision
Where progress might find a foothold
Where justice demands they trust US
To control a destiny
Once promised on paper
That has been perverted
Diverted
Until it is now a point of such
Vehement derision
That stagnation seems so ingrained
That it's acceptance
Is as routine
As the gavels banging
Or the detention door clanging
That it should rattle
To the very core
Any citizen
Who believes in the idea of
Freedom ,human rights
And the pursuit of happiness
Reality is often a hard pill to swallow
Especially when the acidic water
Of the shrinking pool
That we all inhabit.. has...
...Stopped breathing
And is slowly dying
While some keep denying
That anything is wrong
No need to believe
That trouble looms
On the horizon
So choked with smoke
That the sun struggles to deliver
Any promise --dusk or dawn
And troubled waters rise up
In rebellious consternation
Spilling into unfamiliar places
As it chases
Destitution onto higher ground
Of desperation
And alienation
Revelations will soon dictate
Maybe way ..way ..too late
That hesitation is becoming as absolute
As inspired introspection is becoming obsolete
The status quo is all they know
Those who have the power
To pull the world together
But haven't got the will power
To do anything
That might cause them
To take a chance and glance
Beyond that which we call
An extenuating circumstance.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
They bang their golden gavels on the heads of the believers
In hopes the need for riches will awaken all the dreamers
I suppose there are good people, but most liars and deceivers
The irony? The good don't give a **** about you either
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
flaccid pacifists symbolizing sexism
single-mindedly corrupting hostile youth
ruining bullying and facilitating inbreeding
through top-down initiatives laced with bath salts
the pussify-ing of America has begun –
tear soaked cheeks distort with rage
at the blatant separatist ideals propagated
creating not one nation under rule of law,
but many angry independent states bent on torture laws
and privatized prison for profit
shareholders holding gavels and lives
in an unjust system of justification
……they deserve this –
broken-hearted mothers line razor-wire fences
defenseless against the tyrannical bureaucracy
beholden to the loved one wrongly incarcerated
banging bloodied fists against walls that hear no cries,
defeated, they slip into damaged Datsun’s disappearing
freeway anonymity is the course of the day –
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
Now just let this lime light focus
I've bore the bruises as they start to fall
So torn up and left for the hostess
I tasted glamor with a gavels call
But my collar ain't one for the taking
I'll lace this lens with what you call modern art
Abstract we're just pulling for meaning
amongst this feeling that cant be called to arms
Now fight this feeling that we're losing
I cant take it when it starts to fall apart
sides split while we're killing morning
hold me up as I inhale through the dark
We are monsters that devourer the healing
No confessions when we're all spitting tongues
We'll chew the fat as it starts its seeping
I'll bring the fire just give me the ******* arc.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
Through the times I travel
Through the skies I fly
I hear judges slam gavels
I watch men as they spy
I see wars as they take place
I travel through Space
I’m the one who carries mace
As the mystery take place
As the ****** unfolds
I’m the one who hunts for gold
I’m the legend untold
I am the slave that was sold
I’m the baker on the corner
The hairstylist down the street
I am my loved one’s mourner
I’m that stranger that you meet
I’m a Solder
An Explorer
A Frontiersman
A Spy
I’m a Witness
A Doctor
A Fairy
A Nymph
I’m a Queen
A ballerina
A child
A swan
I am a reader
Anyone I want to be
When I open up the pages of a book
Come with me, I’ll show you
Come take a look
Can’t you see the mountains
And the stream over there
I’m in the forest
A knife
My bow
One arrow
All that I’m armed with
A branch snaps
My arrow flies
The shot is true
And the deer is dead
My family will celebrate tonight
For we shall feed for many moons
Perhaps a different scene is more to your taste
Helmet on
Boots strapped tight
A gun is in my hand
The earth is shaking
Night is whistling
Bombs dropping all around
The world seems at its end
A blinding light
Then all goes silent
I hear my comrade calling
“Medic” “Medic”
Rushing to him
Kneeling at his side
I gather him in my arms
And run for shelter
Patched up now
He’s doing well
Or well as anyone can be expected to do here in this hell
It’s said you truly live
Only if you’ve faced death
This isn’t life
Life is
Being at home
Surrounded by the ones you love
Out here
The only thing that waits for us
Is death
The cold that creeps at night
Go to sleep
Not knowing if you’ll wake up
Or die during the night
Dreams of mothers
Of wives
And of kids
Dreams of brothers
And sisters
All of our kin
It’s how we survive
Through our dreams
Our imagination
It keeps us alive
It’s said the war
Will be over soon
I don’t see it
But I hope
I pray it’s true
Now the story is over
The journey is at it’s end
But I’ll travel again
Later tonight
I’ll open a book
A new adventure will begin
Question is,
Are you brave enough
To join me?
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
Sick, sick world
When pain is the wielded tool,
fear the bandage…
wounds heal never…never
Scarred existence, buried in dark confines
cracks in the frame, a thin hopeless terror
Splintered nightmares pierce,
streets aren’t to be paved in souls…are they?
Hatred blooms in thorned gardens of poisonous vines
Blind eyes seek misdemeanor violations,
powered wigs white as frail skin
slam gavels on chalkboard slander
and drink their toast, burned in tea…burned
Burn in hell…burn,
singed of your own disgusting disguise
It is a sick, sick world,
spinning for some, leering at others
Claiming lives like junk yard fenders,
rotting in weathered worries,
cut and welded into another’s idea of life,
painted pretty colors, enameled disgrace
that sicken the stomach…shatters my heart
And still a star shines, fractured but glowing
shedding light to textured canvas
Inspiring beauty in another’s ink
crying watercolor tears in brushstroke wonder
shading edges so the past sleeps in it’s own nightmare
pieced together by friendship,
so tell me…why does my heart still break?
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 8:05 PM UTC
Her stilettos bang like gavels
toga swathing her lithe torso
she holds the scales high:
ashtray and collection plate
amalgam
blood runs down her thighs
as she uses her white cane;
a sword that keeps the secret
of how she lost her eyes.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
you heard me correctly darling when i said i was
going camping in the witherness. look in this bag i’ve already
packed sun strokes, swill trunks, an array of emptying
books and a flashlight that projects white moving dogs.
in the witherness, we stack silent burning gavels, achieving
the balance of a permanent new moon. we are arriving
by cheap chernobyl trucks and we’ll know when we’re there when
the engine dies and we open the hood to find a blanket-less
girl. don’t worry, she is environmental. made of mist.
we stomp on her sisters, **** like holy anorexics,
steady our foreheads on the ancient bark of
the witherness (dark hallways in a house of leaves)
Quiet now. lay your spine on eggshells so that your joints
may hatch asterisk chirp double asterisk something
akin to what asteroids do, but with a murmuring whistle
the only noise you can hear at the edge of the witherness.
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 5:46 PM UTC
Do cars feel pain?
Is it possible
To look at a car,
And determine, based on how it sits
If it's aching?
Is it possible
To look at a person,
And determine, based on how they stand
If they're upset?
Cars hide emotion.
Some may see an angry face
When staring down a coupé,
But it never shows it's true colors.
People hide emotion.
Some may hear angry yelling
When walking past a garden,
But that person is truly broken.
Eventually, every car breaks down.
And after a while, it will show it's emotion
And it will open up to the elements
And the mercy of mother nature.
Eventually, every person breaks.
After a while, they will show their colors
And they will open up to someone
And their gavels of judgement.
Once a car is broken down,
It shows it's emotion
And is forever eternal in that way.
Once a person is broken,
They show their emotion
But may be nudged
The right way.
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
If you take a chance and glance
Beyond that which is called
Extenuating circumstance.
You may see that the powers that be.
Seek justice ..but only for a system
That they rely on to maintain
. ......A status quo
A stagnant pool of nepotism
Slash latent schism
Where division...
....Trumps any decision
Where progress might find a foothold
Where justice demands they trust US
To control a destiny
Once promised on paper
That has been perverted
Diverted
Until it is now a point of such
Vehement derision
That stagnation seems so ingrained
That it's acceptance
Is as routine
As the gavels banging
Or the detention door clanging
That it should rattle
To the very core
Any citizen
Who believes in the idea of
Freedom ,human rights
And the pursuit of happiness
Reality is often a hard pill to swallow
Especially when the acidic water
Of the shrinking pool
That we all inhabit.. has...
...Stopped breathing
And is slowly dying
While some keep denying
That anything is wrong
No need to believe
That trouble looms
On the horizon
So choked with smoke
That the sun struggles to deliver
Any promise --dusk or dawn
And troubled waters rise up
In rebellious consternation
Spilling into unfamiliar places
As it chases
Destitution onto higher ground
Of desperation
And alienation
Revelations will soon dictate
Maybe way ..way ..too late
That hesitation is becoming as absolute
As inspired introspection is becoming obsolete
The status quo is all they know
Those who have the power
To pull the world together
But haven't got the will power
To do anything
That might cause them
To take a chance and glance
Beyond that which we call
An extenuating circumstance.
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 9:51 AM UTC