"goners" poems
“what are we?” she asked
with despair, he replied, ”we’re nothing”
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 5:46 PM UTC
I look up at the chaos around me
and see.
I see people saying their last prayers,
Waiting for their fateful endings,
I hear the church bell toll in its last call,
I feel the suffocating heat from the burning buildings,
I smell the smoke from the ignited city,
I taste the desperation in the air and the bitterness of regrets.
But in the middle of this tumult,
One thing stands out;
One person.
A little boy stands there in a tan attire,
dark gray ash contrasting his almost-white hair
and tears stains on his ivory cheeks.
A grim expression marking his features,
He shakes as if freezing
and although the heat has almost become unbearable,
he stands in the middle of the flames
barefoot yet unharmed.
A scythe lays at his feet,
and a pale horse stands by his side,
making his small body look even smaller.
As if feeling my stare,
he locks eyes with me.
And as the world burns down,
the reflection of the cataclysm in his brown eyes
and the look of innocent incomprehension he wears
is the single most heartbreaking thing in the moment.
Suddenly, I do not care about the screams and cry of the despondent goners.
I do not feel the harsh scorch of the burnt remains under my bare feet.
I do not mind the tears welling up in my eyes due to the fumes.
They are but a distant reminder of the atrocity surrounding me.
I can only focus on the strange guilt reflected in his warm eyes.
From those same eyes, a tear rolls down his cheeks
And as it reaches his dimpled chin,
he raises a little hand to wipe it away
And then waves at me.
I do not wave back,
too stunned to move or react,
But I could tell he did not expect me to anyways.
With one last look,
he picks up the scythe with an unusual easiness
and turns to walk towards the flames,
the horse close behind him.
And soon, they are one with the flames.
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 8:47 PM UTC
Electricity is talking; we understand
losing interest in conversations. creating land.
droplets of ice define the day
August ends in the middle of May
intrepid peeling; scabs of the earth
the hands fail; a dumbed feeling
Eins, the seeing blind have never seen
on screen, a shape of many faces
in through the open windows outdoors
smoke dries the unseen. air dry.
so paragon goners repulse the cleaver
the system has failed
so much detail to attention
when pink isn’t even a color
time is wasted on time itself
unfortunate cookie
wires once made you. complete.
ask for the answer to the question is nothing
Zwei light birds on a wire
the happenstance, the fire
where hell listens, there sight is drawn
selfishly we glare and mourn
******* ice cubes yelling “Jesus may…”
cold as **** the cesspool lay.
So, maybe I’m over thinking this.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
She cried a single salty tear
all her hurt bound over the year
She realised she'd turned her hand
a footprint left behind in the sand
and all you goners, you left her from here
left her crying one salty tear
and she never left or walked away
she took each step, made it day by day
She took a hand and it was not yours
left your memory on distant shores
drowned your sorrow in sweat and blood
stayed a good girl, like all good girls should
and you took her more than she baragined for
left her naked and shivering on the floor
left her alone with her salted eyes
left her loving all she despised
no love song for you
and no glory be no more
she left your mercy washed up on the shore
no more are you here
no more i wonder or try in vain
no more should i let my love be my shame
She smiled a good smile and all was good
she stopped being a good girl
like all good girls should
she drank from her life and felt the burn
remembered all that she had to yearn
she lived a good life when all was said
left you lying there in your bed
and ****** on your sorrys and i wonder and what fors
didn't wait around for locked hidden doors
She fell full forwards and backwards a mile
she hit a battlefield when she saw your smile
but no alas, alack, you are no more
your love is like sand, washed upon the shore
good evening, good morning, good night
you lost me within the range of your sight
it took me 6 months and 6 months no more
to realise you are nothing, nothing no more
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 5:44 PM UTC
I disassociate to my "friends" lives scrolling by,
I don't need any spliff or fungus to reach
Peak apathetic non self congruence.
Watching years pass by in seconds
Is all the psychedelic room temperature
Mental priming for my primate mental
That I could ever hope for
Before being snapped back out
By the cubed carrot reward of
Internet interaction
Which keeps me salivating and searching
For ways to increase the amount of time
I don't have to associate with that guy inhabiting my body
For a while I can see my problems as goners
Being slowly erased from my mind like a magnet over a hard drive
Until a kindly panic attack reminds my of
My lack of lack of control
And the selfless self centered guilt keeps me
Wishing I were working instead of living
Who could be so audacious
As to propose a life out side
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 3:27 PM UTC
.
little Joey comes awake
Hopes he don't get killed today
Oh my god
He's off to school !!
Everybody kneel and pray !!
////
Oh
Poor Joey ... !!
///
Some say they hate him
he feels their curse
Some say they love him
Which is even worse !!!
•
The new meaning of the GOLDEN RULE
is to steal the Money while playin the fool
••
Everybody wants to feel safe
By being a part of the Master Race
They assure you that to be free
You've got to find the new Mussolini !!
•
Oh
Poor Joey !!
•
Little Joey off to school
little Mary cryin in the corner
Holds her hand looks deep on her eyes
Says : let's blow this joint or we're gonna be goners !
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC
Why are there gates into Heaven if it's never too late to be forgiven?
Can we not just fall to our knees and beg for mercy there at the entrance?
I just don't see the God that you preach as someone to say "too late".
I can't see how he can stand to watch his children burn in Hell.
For Heaven's sake.
I don't understand
how a man
with so much virtue and honor,
can be someone
who allows his children
to be accepted as goners.
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 10:30 PM UTC
We’re stuck in a web
Inter-connected
Hyper-connected
But sometimes some get lost
They become a diaspora
Of goners.
Once here
And now
Disappear
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 11:46 AM UTC
I awoke with a need,
with presentiments from bad dreams;
detached from feeling, I hear it sing:
a grandfather’s clock, untimely,
boxes and a piano with no tuning.
a walk through high hills and chalk walls,
towards a fervid green memory -
no ash to see and no burnt bodies.
now, with this perturbed heartbeat,
the ghosts and
goners will
meet
Aug 17, 2021
Aug 17, 2021 at 6:37 PM UTC
Kingdoms more,
Kingdoms sore
Passing the guards—
Like busting bars
Riddles compact— From the numbers,— Etched in Hollow Blocks
The fact of goners—
Hit the doors,— and punch the backs— In hied, to navigate the tracks—
To boost out— Parts.
Steep lands embed this twisted wanderer—
Aches the leaves and humps— Pushing to slouch
As I beg the ground— Not to pound—
For the planes to switch rounds.
Offsprings declined the measures— of luxuriant wands
The caverns feed the infant's boredom
Does hold the dome—
For loitering dogs
An insatiable ****
That climbs for ripe fruits—
And wildly shouts— The beggar's principles
Here and there— Values— Then eats apples.
The weathering turned the rocks to dust
I must— crumple my tasks
Ah, the shallows..
On search for walloped hearts— Of shortened wage;— Of weak grips
Oh, I thirst for distance
Lay down barks! Lay down!
**** the shallows!
God, oh God,—
Is this the penalty for swindling clemency?—
Just crumbs..
Just crumbs..
For open mouths..
Oh, why they broke it?
Face down,— I crawl to this warmth
They fade..
So I kneel for a while— With curved points— To the unknown shore
What beauty relies from there?
I am bandaged by whipped words
Tell the pending men— Of my bare tense..
Sigh and sigh..
The sand and seaweeds
Caressing the voyager's rest
Refresh the bonds of East and West—
From the rise and fall— Of Sailors' flow
Collide the surfers— With tentacles of Immortality!
The commands of Tides—
Emerge a Hurricane— to blow its treasures— with the Strakes!
Alas, the whales jump—
Splashing with the crystals
I know now..
The vast,— This is my Wealth— My True Luxury
My Kingdom calls me..
I shall embrace my prize..
I swim the bottomless Abyss..
They landed on my spot—
With only slacks on sand—
And the surface reads—
"Hah, I'm Rich Now!"
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 3:16 AM UTC
Two teens, truly smitten.
Within minutes of realizing that they did indeed harbour mutual feeling. So cruelly bitten.
We're both goners! They did assume.
Two futures predetermined, written.
At the time neither knew that Ellie was immune.
In forty-eight hours, Riley's body the virus would fully consume.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
I know it’s all-encompassing, but you know something?
it’ll pass, and we’ll move on
and we’ll try to forget the moments when we thought we could all be goners.
We’ll look forward, quote verses about new things and we’ll be assertive
and we’ll trust God for the future, post memes on our computers
and it is right that we do this with honest good humour
but let’s not waste this season by simply surviving,
simply grinning and bearing, and us hiding our crying.
Let’s not miss these moments, these weeks and months
when it's more honest to pray with tears and sobs,
asking for answers to our cries for life,
for the lives around us,
- for those who have died,
for our sanity cooped up and us barely coping,
our routine getting worn with daily repeating
without much needed hugs and with limited ways
to meet and to sing and to share our long days
with more than these same four walls
Pause
– don’t forget how this felt for you,
cos that's the way we seek his truth
and be better able to rely on him
next time our lives lose their rhyme and rhythm,
when (let’s be honest) our faith gets wonky,
and each one of us alone can be tempted to worry
and sink inside.
Let’s be honest with him and next time
our vision may be better aligned
and we’ll look to him and rather than hide,
we’ll stand that much straighter, knowing our God is so much greater,
our God is wider and higher and untold deeper
and he has this frail life in his two pierced hands that are so much bigger.
I know it's all-encompassing,
but you know something,
he is all Father,
all Creator, all Redeemer
and the all-encompassing more Grace-giver
He is the one holding it all together
and he wants to walk through this grief together
with you.
So, turn down the news,
make some space, seek his face
and let’s pray.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 4:14 AM UTC
an overdressed succession
to the painted infatuations
pondering stand still in front of canvases
as the mind toils with suspension
beginning to peel back those layers
those brisk moments
subscriptions in distaste
the same faces repeatedly
beaten to templates
catch a breath
smoke a little
keep those goners sustained
keep a smile
before it slips away
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 11:36 AM UTC
I'm living in a house without electricity-
This city could have been so pretty,
Grass and trees and leaves and bees-
Now it's become gritty,
Concrete dreams and pipes and steam-
Steel beams: at night they gleam,
And a scream, what could it mean-
Another life torn apart at the seams,
A body, broadly speaking-
Left to rot and reeking,
The people peaking out their curtains, meek and-
The police chief got no sleep this weekend,
I'm living in a house without water-
My daughter's missing- 6 o'clock news fodder,
Dead and cold maggots and mold-
She was just a toddler,
Blood, dirt and mud-
Not soap nor suds, I'll need a flood,
To wash way this god-
Forsaken rug before my ****** mug,
A family- no longer,
Leave the song here,
We're gone or goners-
Born in April, now May is dawning.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 12:12 AM UTC