"grassed" poems
Looking at the clock, I struggle
Despair floating like an eye floaty thing
Get the hell out of here
Like cheese, I age, the more so the more I smell like a ****** old guy like god **** quit buying clothes from Dillard's
Like an onion, I make people cry because my face resembles a donkey getting ***** by an eagle that's ice skating and juggling
All at the same time.
Stuck in my socioeconomic class
My mom is getting harassed
My brain cells are getting grassed
I hate communists.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
Prologue
casual glance at my notifications while driving even though
I’m all ready a bad bad boy, cruising at a sedate,
cruise-controlled 70 mph vs. the bureaucrat bifocals 55,
a remnant regulation of the Eighties,
all the while humming with Gilligan
“a 3 hour tour,
2 passengers set sail that day”
then execute a four lane 180,
gotta get highway sideway grassed ,
cause i’m gassed...
by a Poem Breach
of the poems promised by me,
to write of thee,
you, my best inspiration,
the list grows longer, faster
than the hours provided
pull over fast emergency for my composure breached,
my vision wetted, my eyes hit by an unplanned unexpected,
sudden summer thunderstorm
<•>
The Poem Breach
***once more into the breach thy words breeze through my chest,
like on a flamed stick, night roasting, toasting beach summer marshmallows,
that cut direct to the ineffable sadness that resides resists within,
that sticky, white mess,
a human heart melting
a thank you message that I’ve read before,
many times more than once,
how my unasked poem, a sun unique,
arrived at the
precise time and place,
to lift and even save,
how could I’ve know?
I did not know
but these messages collect on my chest,
unsought words of purple ribbon metal that make a
less burdened cowardly lion,
grown man cry,
do crazy things for it is a possible solution to his
age old quest
Why do I exist, is this my purposed plan, don’t understand, all
but the answer peaked and peaceful accepted in the breach unreasoned,
my port of entry, a gateway to the scales, a bridge it is, over a time-life river styx and unstuck, yet certainly always confused...***
“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”
thank you so insufficient
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
Waltzing into the blanket of dusk.
A pawn escaping across the checkered board,
Out and inwards to the green grassed yard.
A sleeting figure, past-and-future,
Gone the way of the fearless noble rook.
Down-acrossed squares of black and white.
Into the field of endless battle.
This game we play, has become a tournament.
White against black, two players locked;
Locked in a battle of constant wits.
Who shall win?
The noble too afraid to capture the evil queen or,
The darkness plauging the board.
Check and mate.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 2:41 PM UTC
I entered my poem "last night I dreamed" in the Tallenge poetry competition for May 2014, which it won, it's now in the annual competition so I'd really appreciate your support by voting for it at - bit.ly/1pJ0N3z
You can find the poem down the line in my list of poems, but I'll paste it here again so you can check it out to see if it's worth a vote.
Last Night I dreamt
Of the Hagia Sophia.
Looking across
mighty Bosphorous.
In Istanbul, in Byzantium,
in Constantinople.
A prize of ages...........
In all her many's
real and imagined glory.
Man's desire,
God's gift.
Stone's testament
To my species' faith,
In eternity.
Though this Hagia,
My Sophia,
was one of my dreams
In a dream-city/state.
In a dream Macedon/Thrace,
Modern and ancient
Asian/Europe, European-Asia,
Turk and Greek
Jew and Russian
Balkan stars fall upon her'
Coloured light's
and bright vid-screens.
Amid stone and earth
Glass and concrete,
Granite and amythst
Huge, jewel-covered,
ancient beyond measure....
Not just Constantine's church,
though mighty church it was..
Or Mehmet's prize;
though great Mosque it became
Nor Theodosius's rock
Though he still fights for her
Somewhere in the past.
And no dry museum either,
Though museum she is..........
In reality.
Just an ancient place,
Euxine harbour
Cross-road of man and water,
Land and Gods
Magic and reality
Chozen by Hellas
Built and owned
by Christ's children
Subjects of St. Paul's
Holy empire.
Orthodox and sacred
To Greek and Rus.
No Latin hymns
We're sung in her walls.
Then won by Turk
In wars fierce and long -
So now Muhammed's shrine
Ottoman and Pasha
Jewel of a new kingdom
Built upon built
Myriad upon myriad
Pagan, Muslim, Jew, and Christian
And the Gods of Hellas
who dwell there still
Watch and wonder
at it all
But in my dream
She was made -
in the shape of a grassy mound
Many faceted, growing still
Amid structures, attached to her
spans and arches
Ancient wonder
Modern glory
Flowing and rising
Worshipped by all who
dwelt near her.
Grassed covered
Monument strewn
Stretching up to the dark -
Starry Sky
Arches
Domes
Butress'
Spires
Crosses
Cresents
Heart's desire
White rocks paved
And eternal grasses
Dewed by Hellene Gods
Whose light it saved
Last night I dreamed
Of the Hagia Sophia.......
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
A cider and a minder
Passing time as a reminder
Pink glow and songs flow
A waxy time erodes the mow
Renegades and perspiration responds
Swimming in winded seas of Jordan
Heated in space, evicted in their pace
Libido fails as the liquor dilutes in taste
Catch an esse as the moonlight smite
Hold another to fake a romantic right
Filter to the cards of ace as the one winks
Emotive intruders farm in fields of pastures
Imbued with alcoholic waterfalls
Molehills of termites condense lose soil
A lack of connection a taunt that apes
Future anthems triumph in hungered strums
Amused by the music erupting volcanoes
A morrow blows as the candle slows
To tow the tall grassed disused straw
A spring to summer that promises sun rays
A resolve to moderation to preserve modesty
A kiss stored forever peeping the awing stars
To guard a heart and hatch uniformity
Trembles justly forgotten in termed premises
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
Last Night I dreamt
Of the Hagia Sophia.
Looking across
mighty Bosphorous.
In Istanbul, in Byzantium,
in Constantinople.
A prize of ages...........
In all her many's
real and imagined glory.
Man's desire,
God's gift.
Stone's testament
To my species' faith,
In eternity.
Though this Hagia,
My Sophia,
was one of my dreams
In a dream-city/state.
In a dream Macedon/Thrace,
Modern and ancient
Asian/Europe, European-Asia,
Turk and Greek
Jew and Russian
Balkan stars fall upon her'
Coloured light's
and bright vid-screens.
Amid stone and earth
Glass and concrete,
Granite and amythst
Huge, jewel-covered,
ancient beyond measure....
Not just Constantine's church,
though mighty church it was..
Or Mehmet's prize;
though great Mosque it became
Nor Theodosius's rock
Though he still fights for her
Somewhere in the past.
And no dry museum either,
Though museum she is..........
In reality.
Just an ancient place,
Euxine harbour
Cross-road of man and water,
Land and Gods
Magic and reality
Chozen by Hellas
Built and owned
by Christ's children
Subjects of St. Paul's
Holy empire.
Orthodox and sacred
To Greek and Rus.
No Latin hymns
We're sung in her walls.
Then won by Turk
In wars fierce and long -
So now Muhammed's shrine
Ottoman and Pasha
Jewel of a new kingdom
Built upon built
Myriad upon myriad
Pagan, Muslim, Jew, and Christian
And the Gods of Hellas
who dwell there still
Watch and wonder
at it all
But in my dream
She was made -
in the shape of a grassy mound
Many faceted, growing still
Amid structures, attached to her
spans and arches
Ancient wonder
Modern glory
Flowing and rising
Worshipped by all who
dwelt near her.
Grassed covered
Monument strewn
Stretching up to the dark -
Starry Sky
Arches
Domes
Butress'
Spires
Crosses
Cresents
Heart's desire
White rocks paved
And eternal grasses
Dewed by Hellene Gods
Whose light it saved
Last night I dreamed
Of the Hagia Sophia.......
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
Lady Greene, maleficent in intent,
irrupted, casting pale blue shadows across
the stone walling which begged of freedom
willowy now in stance, plaid cloak
hanging loosely from her frame,
resembling a marsupial, with a gaping pouch
keeping her harness inside,
a typical crank, eccentric and
unduly zealous,
she would divulge those none benevolent feelings
frankly, without restraint
her sharpened tongue,
cut like a smashed glass plate
instinct told her now was the time
and as she rushed through the gate
of the enclosed garden,
the grassed open fields,
parted with fear, at Greene's
baleful stare
Able Master raced toward her
fitting the gear to his head
she mounted the saddle
darkness falling
at the first sign of movement.
© Sia Jane
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
did because i well jeez 10:23 farther steeper i'd was a outside 10:24 a junebug
is creaking on the well like a fine cylinder. it's because steeper or 10:27 clunking
a light of amiable is sort of. at 10:31 a common a cool the. into if.
a very sorry long is diacriticly loose with the scab of lunging trees
by the barn 10:31:53 is . it's was almost because i did i well jeez
the june is a crimped fine determined juice. did it seem because or and a breif
i s haloed somewhat or creaking a junebug is big for by the stalls shuffling with legs in the sort of barn by the 10:36 it's gabled a bit. or does it seem a because well did i and meyou. pm well it were 10:37 and longest brown is seemingly. otherwise unmarked a phonetic element. by a 10:39PM leafing softly
the scuttle a. unnerved little scraping. beneath or metatarsaled cadence a the grassed stripping earth went from the basest mouth of timbered certainly to the unskinniest blue. a vanity of wheels or because well did i jeez
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 12:19 PM UTC
In the bowels of the old post office
The printing press, like
a large rusted spider
makes a bed out of *****
yellow paper and
rotted cloth of postal bags.
It bides it’s time pondering
On how it was formed
and listening to the coyotes
at the moon’s apex over
a long stretch of prairie.
Resting in the post office
on a grassed plateau are black
iron machines that walk, crawl
and scurry but shouldn’t.
They spend their days
building nests and staring
into stagnant pools at
their own reflection.
Waiting for someone
to use them.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
Only yesterday that your glass blew
The flame was burning untouchable
The disk spinning fast, un-reversible
No home in a town so inhospitable
A world where questions are daft
Drafted to unravel an inbuilt psyche
I stand out in the jungle countryside
Strumming listening to “wild world”
Each rhythm a wavy walk on a path
Steps and strolls always sidetracked
The poppy field faded in sheen redness
When it turned cold and bled sourness
It was me who was left by the riverside
I sat by the bank and dreamed away
Then viewed my mirrored reflection
Melted in indecisions and intricacies
Extreme ongoing cognition appraisals
Silenced in the sound of the stillness
The flash of the grassed field called me
Embraced me as I paraded on the verge
A resolving embrace of a stab erased
I plead not to be understood or wanted
For these riffles are fixated on our heads
Bolted in our thoughts, wants and desires
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 9:30 AM UTC
I dreamt we were somewhere, I don’t know where, just far away from anywhere, on a soft-grassed singular hill amidst plains, rolling amongst forests and streams to distant mountains puncturing the crystal ocean of the sky at horizon. We sat on a thick blanket, with a picnic basket and no cares. A breeze ran along the carpeted grassfields and the sky blinked, washing the sparsely clouded above to a clutter of delicate stars in but an instant, hanging, two centimeters between stolen glances and the whispered fractions of my slowing heartbeat. I shuffled my lips to make words, but it was silent. Everything was silent, save for the distant murmur of twinkling lights, like drops of still water on the endless shoreline of morning, just waiting to fall once more.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
A mythical man you strung up high
Made him a crown and pierced his side
Nailed his feet and his wrists as well
Promising we'll burn in hell
Then took him down and wrapped him up
Weeped and wailed entombed him up
Then to your surprise out he popped
Hey I'm back believe it or not!
Judas you **** you grassed me up
Well I'm of to see my dad
All be good
Cos I'll be back
If he came now we'd lock him up
You couldn't make this **** up!!
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 8:34 AM UTC
High in the hills wends the road to your home
steeped and flowered by lupine towers
after long slumber, the waking hour - warmth of summer comes
our feet grassed and green, we wish on dandelion dreams
watch tiny parachutes glide into the sea
this place is wild resplendent music
we have become more than ourselves and slowed
have stopped to feel our breath grow
making a path cut from last year
we are slipped and sloped toward shore
silhouetted just before the end of sun
when the world sinks silent
but for the deeply toned
hum of whale song.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 9:35 AM UTC
Title-out of place- by meself. A boor I am to peasantry's sultry disgrace, cargo to be tended, I subsist unamended, how childish I play these games. Liquer buds, saltine love crumbles beneathe day room lock-outs! Eyes stare ablazed, the hued sunset repeadily turns masterpiece of horrid honeymoons idealistic and realistic to discussions seeming strange. Partial bodies secrete the grassed out hills, morning calling awaits.,,,,,
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
Doctored in genetic cauldrons
for wine seeking solace in perfection
engineered tactfully within testtubes
of formulae
extracted and compressed
its testicles removed
the grape rendered impotent.
how strange
that we surgically implant
and speak to inner workings
to consumerise
everything we need.
chickens battery farmed
cows turf grassed
pigs in poultry cages
men in monkey suits
playing god in the paddocks of doom.
maybe we should
just leave things alone
and nature will be fine.
Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 3:25 PM UTC
This nearly autumn time
and a field set aside,
grassed green and partly shadowed.
Late afternoon, evening almost:
a confluence, a convergence
there of nature’s diagonals.
A house and home
hide under a darkened wood,
in the light trees stand *****
with leaves for a while yet
before those September storms
and wet October’s mists arrive.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
Title-out of place- by meself. A boor I am to peasantry's sultry disgrace, cargo to be tended, I subsist unamended, how childish I play these games.
Liquer buds, saltine love crumbles beneathe day room lock-outs! Eyes stare ablazed, the hued sunset repeadily turns masterpiece of horrid honeymoons idealistic and realistic to discussions seeming strange.
Partial bodies secrete the grassed out hills, morning calling awaits.,,,,,
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
I could buy her a fortified castle that floats in water,
I could buy her a car that flies effortlessly in air,
I could buy her a dress that shines like the sun.
I could get a carriage pulled by snow white horses,
I could get a nursery full of toys for two babies,
I could get a crown of brilliant shining diamonds.
I could own shiny soft-grassed neat & clean lawns,
I could own a farmhouse surrounded by berries,
I could own the full-moonlight every other night.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 4:29 AM UTC
He took my hand,
And there we run together-
To the pink grassed field.
Where rainbow colors of roses grows,
Where unicorns were born,
Where people only talk no lies.
He took my hand,
And there we dance together-
Under the moonlight.
Ever so romantic.
I tripped a few times,
But he only smiles,
Saying, oh my pretty darling,
Your flaws are what makes you perfect.
He took my hand,
And sit mirroring me,
He took out his dusty old guitar-
That totally out of tune.
He serenaded to me.
Of how he feels towards me.
Of how he thinks about me.
Of what he planned to do together with me.
He took my hand,
And we walk down the aisle-
In the sky, amidst the stars.
He promised me,
That he'll be my half,
That he'll give his heart to me,
That he'll trade souls with me.
Then,
He slowly loosen the tight of our hand,
He let go of my hand.
Still wearing that smile,
Still having that shimmer in his eyes,
Backing away,
Ever so slowly,
And leave me alone, drowning in my own tears.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 4:52 AM UTC
The evening before the journey begins, the song of antiquity is sung into the wind to greet, diiyiin dine in the protection prayer ceremony. The elders speak of courage, bravery and the latest gossip. The clicks and nasalized sounds of the language, the oral history of the myth, the
creation, the deities to life. Black obsidian flint is adorned by those who sit center and begin the to prepare themselves for the journey ahead. It is told that the people of no minds, and that people of no heart, will be at the places where we will journey too. Southwest looped grassed is burnt to prepare the blackening, the color of those that survived the abyss, the land of the dead, the broken, old and uselessness from the world below. It is with reverence that is spoken into the left ear of the person, niłchi, little wind, and darkness that is spoken into the right ear, ancient memories begin a new, intuition.
Make your mind like the beams of this glittering world, dzil, mountains, make your will as divine and pure as the rainbow and then make yourself as fluid as wind upon water, as corn pollen moves with purpose and intent to the elegance of the wind.
As a child, a grand child of this world, I carry the sacred, the corn pollen, and with great care and respect
I yield the feirocious bear claw arrowhead,
I yield the zig zag energy of the giant serpent arrowhead
I yield the arrow head of the sun beam
I yield the arrow head of the rainbow
I am a child, a grand child of this world, the male child of the son
Monster Slayer,
With your black iron moccasins, protect me from the unknown
With your black iron socks, protect me from the unknown
With your black iron outfit, protect me from the unknown
With your black iron helmet, protect me from the unknown
With precision, in all four direction away from me lightning strikes
With zigzag, in all four direction away from the lightning strikes
To balance I am restored
In harmony I am restored
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
In spring morning haze,
out of a red brick council house
window a bothered standing hawk
borrows wide eyed Wonder from a radged lad who reaches upwards
with pudgy hands to grasp
her silver underside and blue head.
Wonder bawls as it arcs in her claws
over grassed over pit heaps of Finished
Work and Help's call centre natter
to a high perch in **** racked ruins of an Old Hall.
Wonder refuses warm carcasses
of mice and voles,
desperate feathered mam returns
with scavenged chips, naan bread and pizza.
In noon summer shimmer
she pushes Wonder to fly,
but it falls out the cup,
grasps stone wall in its drop.
Soon, a cuckoo, Wonder heaves
the other nippers, fat Loneliness and scrawny Grief, or is it scrawny Loneliness
and fat Grief, out their home,
into an autumn mid afternoon
of burnished fallen leaves,
or, bored at mam's twitter
Wonder cannot garner,
breaks its fellow fledglings bones,
ragged Hunger and blistered Wishes,
or is it ragged Wishes and blistered Hunger.
Soon too big for home,
Wonder falls to earth,
and snaps its spine.
Kestrel mam covers Wonder's face
with her wing in winter night
gust, then abandons it
to foxfood and worms.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
The infatuation begins, one thousand five hundred seventy three miles away from my folded futon mattress on an unfinished floor in a sideways run down house with a gravel driveway and a wonky mailbox, across from a little green-grassed pasture with yellow flowers and "dead end" street signs lining the ditches.
Twenty three hours.
That's not that long when you really think about it.
Twenty three hours.
It's pretty far when you really think about it.
It's only the sand in my hourglass trickling down
over and over
and over and over and over.
(I was going to write the word "over" twenty three times,
but then I thought it might get a little annoying...
**** it; I'm going to do it anyway).
and over and over and over
and over and over and over
and over and over and over
and over and over and over
and over and over and over
and over and over and just
one more time.
You probably haven't closed your eyes or slept even a grain of that sand. I wonder how many flipped figures found you wondering about me.
It's only the tap of a drumstick to an ongoing metronome left running overnight after the musicians were done with the fun of humming.
You probably daydreamed of me singing lullabies in snow covered trees while your professor went on about 3/4 and music theory.
How many paradiddles until we can finally dance to the beat?
An even better question:
How many more clever titled playlists,
how many more empty sheets,
can I accept before I accept that I could fall right on my feet?
How many grains of sand?
How many metronome beats?
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 4:38 AM UTC
In the sky
I see a woman
She’s smiling but her eyes
Oh, to gaze into her eyes
They cry down sallow cheeks
The creases fill with salt
And drop into the ocean
Each night it slowly fills up
When I was small
Looking out onto the grassed terrace
Seeing her tears flow
I cried too
And realised
She was like me
Me and the Moon
We’re never alone
We cry together
=
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 7:28 PM UTC
red halos around angel necks
tapping feet
cold ***** breath
sky dark maroon
no golden sun
sweet grassed licked by the devils tongue
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
i see in pictures
no really, real pictures.
i still remember what the piazza looks like in my family's home town
its been 7 years.
i remember the old church next to it where they got married
i remember the stained glass windows along the walls
i remember the coffee shop across from the street that served espressos in tiny ornamental cups
i see it all.
7 years on and now i see you
i see you in that first red dress.
that first night with locks of hair that made me melt into the floor.
i see you in a dark cinema where i took the best risk of my life
where everything changed and now months later i see you
in a dress walking down the staircase
like an angel walking down from heaven.
i see you in my bed surrounded by the darkness of the night
your breath on me heavy with mine.
lost without a care.
i see you. by my side.
and i cant help but think how lucky i am.
as i write i view each moment like a photograph in my mind, some are fuzzy and unfocused but some are as clear as sunshine.
bright like the sunshine you are to me.
but i know, things are hard.
someone is going around stealing photos.
stealing images.
but we're going to take them back.
because i havent only seen and see now.
i can see what the future holds.
i can see the dew on the winter window and our faces pierced with sunlight.
i can see the nervousness of our first days into a new uni or work
and see the moment we reconvene at the end of the day to tell each other all about it
on the grassed steps of a sunken garden staircase holding hands
to birds chirping. sun shining or clouds pouring.
i can see us holding cups of tea watching ****** netflix shows
talking about anything everything
ill tell you the secrets of the universe as ill discover them
and later in the night,
we'll discover the secrets of our own hearts and souls.
between sheets. where we fall asleep to the sound of our own heartbeats
steady
steady.
i can see all of it.
clear as day even on a rainy night that this time may be to us.
to you.
you.
you did this to me.
you changed everything.
i can see all of it.
the future we could have with some time and hard work
with some love.
without letting anyone stand in our way.
because baby I'm ready to fall in love with you again and again
every single day because
i can see the future sometimes.
because i see in pictures.
no really, real pictures.
real pictures with real people like me
and you.
and us.
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 6:38 AM UTC