"grassless" poems
In the driest times of my life.
When the days were young
and the skies were clear,
You stood at the midst
of grassless plains and soulless trails,
of footprints made by one
who had none at all
but his void of a heart.
Sick, depressed;
waiting for his demise,
his very own destruction.
but,
You were like rain pouring
to quench a desert's thirst.
You were like wind blowing
upon still and quiet pastures.
You were like fire burning,
consuming until nothing -
was none at all.
You were something.
until
Your winds blew harder
and Your sails grew wider;
until the shine in Your eyes
could be seen no more.
I grew weary,
tired of being a vessel so empty.
I could not run away,
because at every end —
and at every stop —
I would always find myself
wanting for more of You.
I may not be your destination,
but I know that You are mine.
I will always find myself
coming back to You.
*The dreamer dreams
of nightmares too
of visions, so clear
so bright and blue
But we always know
that dreams end too
too late to say that*—
I Love You.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
"Cash, Grass or Ass-No One Rides Free!"
reads the bumper-sticker slapped on the ratty Harley.
Its black leather seat is cracked, tattered and torn,
the headlight is busted and there's no friggin' horn;
with mismatched saddlebags strapped to each side,
the panhead leaks like a sieve, but it's still quite a ride.
The gas-tank is dented, scratched and coated with muck,
the chrome no longer shines, but who gives a flyin' ****
Its tires are bald, the spokes are all rusted to ****
and the frame is off-kilter from a cage-driver's hit.
The biker just puffed the last hit from his pipe,
slammed down the rest of the J.D. from the bash last night;
then he hops on his hog, kicks the monster to start,
the muffler-pipes blast flames and roar like a ****
Together they roll down the road like old pals,'
with nowhere to go, just obnoxious and loud:
the tombstone tail-light flashes bright red on this mess,
'though Cashless, Grassless and Assless, they couldn't care less!
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 1:34 AM UTC
Mean Windows
Mean windows
Small light
Mean architect
Limited budget
& imagination
Half-light estate
Small curtains
Mean windows
Early dusk
No street-light
Glass broken
Doors boarded
Mean windows
Clint Eastwood eyes
Tagged & Flagged
Grassless
Concrete gardens
Brown and grey acres
Mean windows
Closed shops
Citizens Advice
Misery
With chips
And mean windows
With small curtains
Saving on glass
Costs light
Jul 22, 2010
Jul 22, 2010 at 9:14 AM UTC
Dimwitted cloves squashed before they developed four leaves.
Other foliage in the family constantly grieves.
Devoured and left sore
By a local herbivore
Cattle herded for the purpose of prolonged life
No more slaughtered at the point of a knife.
Living free in grassless fields
Farmland now hardly yields
Dietary concerns carefully balanced,
Finding you’re nutritionally challenged
Told its time to drop the meat
And pick up a steak made of beet.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
People ask why do I love them
And I ponder how to answer…
My love for thee is a tree:
I know not why I grow here.
I know only I found what I needed
For my roots to go deep,
My leaves to bolster in radiance;
I drink and am filled.
But not only for me do I grow
For now the deer have shade
And bark to muse during grassless winter
And homes for squirrels to run about.
Like Elves I am to
those small creatures:
Near timeless, near immortal,
Tall and Slender, ever reaching.
Yet I too must fall,
For I shall grow weary
Of stretching to the sky, and
Digging into the Depths of the Earth.
To the very earth that nurtured me
I bequeath my wealth
e’er morn someday I shall go hollow
When my love has fulfilled me whole.
So I say to thee
When she ask of me
Why I love her so
‘I am the tree
And she thee
Earth and Sun
That let me grow.’
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 4:46 PM UTC
Crescendo rising to torture the orchestral lull
Broke backed break beats, hound the exhumed hull
Waltzing off with the sounds of silver
Revoked in half measures by a cold sweat shiver
……………………………………………………………………………………
The aft bowed to its keel,
Scorpion shaped contorted steel.
It’s crescent figure draped on the horizon
Lulled to sleep by the house paid siren.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Sloppy soaked balsa kicks back reverence through the feed
Cracks in crackling, evident of disintegration in the reed.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Poppy poked ventricles provoke elegance through need
Rats in shackling, petulant for the absolution required to concede
……………………………………………………………………………………
Unbuckling at middays light
Caustically aware of approaching night
Collective need provokes a search for a scout
No one wants to leave their stash in the middle of a drought
……………………………………………………………………………………
Crashed and burned on grassless shoals
A boat full of users without goals
Left to withdrawal on barren land,
Hollow shores of endless sand
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
The rains came.
No matter.
The Irish kids with Hebrew names
still took to the lot behind the redbrick
apartments to play a close-quarters
game of baseball.
From home plate to first base
the distance was ten yards.
From first to second, fifteen.
Runners placed one hand
on a rusted iron pole, once
used as one half of a clothesline,
a makeshift third.
Their frequency of play
rendered the space between
bases grassless.
And in the rain on that September
day, the lines became sludge.
The muck claimed shoes
of earnest feet, badged the
legs of the best hitters.
Hey batta. Hey batta.
Thunder overhead and
all around.
A lean, blonde-haired
boy, all legs and arms,
got a piece of the ball
on his first pitch.
Upward into the clouds,
upward into the invisible.
He took first, started for
second.
The others kept waiting
for the ball to come back
down.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
Red tongues lap at the black expanse above
With such a solemn viciousness the embers dance skyward
Tiny blazing bodies fleeing to the Heavens
From molten veins through charred crusts crumbling
Dark smoke glows before the sky stumbling plumes and intricate ballet spirals
Engulfing more and more the flames and smoke
Choking the blackened skeleton dancing through the beams like bones
The body of the house
The innards reduced to dust
The scene is captured in unblinking eyes, two great fire filled suns
A sombre popping sound emits past the roaring heat static
Expensive couch, cheap cushions, hours wasted choosing
Burning and shrivelling items that they had afforded so much time
Destroyed and gone forever
Singed leaves drift from their life giver’s arms and crackle into the inferno -
High above the scorched earth
A grassless ash pile growing slowly
The blaze radiates an orange glow over the surrounding domiciles
Visible from a far, the smoke more absolute than the night sky.
Without bricks, wood, plaster, concrete
Out alone – self ejected into the world
Heavy feet dragging across the street with light steps
Creaking beams collapsing behind the way wolves bay from the trees
And from the end of the street the flames appear blood red
As if terra firma had been lashed open
Arteries of molten fire
Festering scabs of ash
Torched from under the flesh of air casting coal colour veins
Further and further the slowly diminishing frame fades
And the streets open up to dark distant sentinels
Flanking the road and watching densely and unflinching
There are flames in the night air
History burning with a bonfire smell
Sirens wailing a crescendo of blaring blue light to meet the hellish glow
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 2:39 AM UTC
And an enemy enemy's enemy transfers
from page to page. If people do not have an injury,
you should be able to reach the bone without smoking,
flowers, the things of the father or night,
without the leaves and the bushes,
if it is less than if it is not; You can put six ounces
in the first place. Inductive love, a loveless snare
in your garden with your fingers, fingers,
kisses, is an old manor property. In other words,
he will die in power
that has power. Death has no practice or death.
He was born. You can treat someone's soul as a helper
for six avatars. Tree bars for understanding
the IHI message. drinking. tourist. He was asleep
a few weeks after two weeks, but soon he saw his face.
Economists, all other jobs have been deleted,
people who can show all the colors
of the devastation of Reis or the ancient secret
of that priest that night, having the master's
shadow. Unfortunately, the result is enough to show
the behavior of girls and many practices
that bring thousands of events to fruition,
and they only remember two things.
He showed his feet in a cave and taught me
that he was the same
as he who was white and on the ground.
I changed the clothes.
I like your child's personality. Homer's service
does not need food.
One evening, I believe in the store. As you approach the kitchen,
someone will be honest. An enemy's enemies.
Transfer from page to page.
If people do not have an injury,
you should be able to reach the bones without cigars,
flowers, things of the father and night,
without the leaves and trees,
if you are less than if you can not eat it.
Dining at the moment. [Grassless innocence], the trap
of the garden within your garden
with your fingers, fingers, kisses,
is an ancient possession. In other words,
he will die in power. Death has no practice or death.
He was born. You can treat someone
as a helper for six incarnations. Wood tree
for understanding IHI
content. drinking. tourist. He had been sleeping
a few weeks after two weeks,
but soon he saw his face. The economists,
all other jobs have been deleted, are people
who can show all the devastating effects
of the raison; the ancient secret of the priest
that night, in the shadow of shadow.
Unfortunately, the result is enough to show girls'
behavior and many acts have led to thousands
of events, and they have remembered
two things. He showed his feet in a hole
and taught me that he was the same person
on the ground. I changed his clothes.
I like your baby's son. Home service does
not need food. One evening, I believed
in the store. As you approach the kitchen,
someone will be true. And enemy enemies.
Transfer from page to page.
If people are not vulnerable,
you should be able to reach the bones
without cigar, flowers, things of the father
and night, without the leaves and trees,
if you are less than you cannot eat yourself.
At the moment. Infinite light,
the trap of the garden
is in his garden with his fingers, fingers,
kisses was an ancient possession.
In other words,
he will die in power. Death has no practice or death.
He was born. You can treat someone as a helper
for six lifetimes. Wood tree to understand IHI content.
drinking. tourist.
He had been sleeping a few weeks after two weeks,
but soon he saw his face. Economics,
all other functions
having been deleted; | are people who can put all the endless
reestablishing of the material of the ancient ancient priesthood
and night, in shadow of shadow. Unfortunately,
the result is enough to show behavioral behavior
and many acts that have led to thousands of events,
and they have remembered two things.
He showed his feet in a hole and taught me
he was the same in the ground.
I changed his cloth.
I went to your grandson.
Home service does not need food.
One evening, I believe in the store.
As you approach the kitchen,
someone will be true. And enemies' enemies.
Transfer between pages.
In the absence of scratches,
people can reach the bones
without using cigars without cigars and trees,
flowers, fathers and evening.
This moment now. Infinite light, his garden
his fingers, fingers, kiss garden traps
were ancient possessions. In other words,
he is to die with power. Death has neither practice
nor death. He was born. You can handle people
with six assistants. A tree that understands the contents
of IHI. Drinking with a tourist.
He had been sleeping for several weeks
in two weeks, but he immediately saw his own face
In the shadow's shadow where all other functions
of economics are removed, people who are part
of the ancient priesthood and infinite reconstitution
of the material in the night. Unfortunately,
the results are sufficient to show behavioral behavior
and many activities that have caused thousands
of cases, and I remember two things.
He showed
his feet in the hole and told me he was on the ground.
I exchanged this cloth. I went to your grandchild.
Home service does not require food. One night,
I believed in the store.
| As you approach the kitchen,
| someone is the truth.|
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 2:52 AM UTC
What is it that the wail of our voice
has given us
in the stamp of days lurching forward
on the damp streets, eyes upon our feet,
omitting the faces
reflected in this glass grown in our hands
and thickened skies over the oceans clot
of war’s nectar, man’s squander,
while mountains give way to unconscious
machines; voices, wooden with a thick green-love?
What is it that the wail of our voice
has given us,
that the march of a grassless plain
or an iceless crest cannot sign;
we gauge their descent like a killer,
set to be forgiven sins we’ll soon commit
as pointed fingers wag at the surging breach
leaning its majesty over the dampened sun.
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 9:24 AM UTC
In 1988 we moved to a very small town in South Texas. It took us a while to get use to. My parents finally trusted my brother and I to venture out alone in this small town. So here we go! On our bikes we zipped down the dirt road and finally made it to a paved road. The road was fresh with new asphalt and gravel. I could see bubbles of tar expand in the heat. They would pop as we would run over them. We soon found ourselves at the town V.F.W building. Behind it was a small lake. My brother and I couldn't wait to explore all the new found trails. One Saturday morning we took it upon ourselves to do just that. At the back of the lake was a small water fall! It was so full of wonder! The water that fell formed a small clear pool below. A small clear stream ran slowly away from the pool. We went further into the woods where the trails no longer guided us. We discovered that this small lake was being fed by a creek that ran from the East side of town. We could see the fish below the clear water creek. We then came upon a grassless area filled with dead leaves. It reminded us of the fall in the youngest of summers. The trees seem to block out most of the sunlight. Only through the cracks in the dancing leaves would the sun dance under the shadow. Most all the trees look the same. All but one. At the center of all shadow was a huge, thick, dark barked tree that seem to be the overseer of this place. It was not very tall but rather very wide and thick. It look like something out of a haunted forest. It had very few leaves. The leaves themselves seem to almost glow in the shadow. We then saw strange animals that were not native to the area. They all seem to disappear within the tree almost becoming a part of it. We then hurried back home to show our Father what we had found. The next day we took him out only to discover the tree was gone. No sign of it whatsoever. My brother and I swore to him that we had found it! I am now a man myself and every now and again I venture out to that location. I think one day I will see it again.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
Were we split or shaken by qualms and quarrels,
Quaked from boughs in bushels no longer cherished;
Were we rocked from resting upon our laurels,
Laureates perished,
Sense would part from substance, go unattended,
Try to sense itself, but not sensing ever;
Substance lacking sense would be left unmended,
Parted forever:
Blue apart from sky, for the air was looted;
Red not rock nor flame nor a beating bloodline;
Grassless green, the sod and the seed uprooted;
Light without sunshine;
Heat without the sun's heavy tide of summer;
Sweet without a tongue nor a licking lapping;
Beat without the blow of the drum, nor drummer
Steadily clapping.
Could you bear to tear our ownselves asunder?
Rather, let us bend at the laurel lightly,
Quiver little to strain not the bough whereunder
Fasten us tightly.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
Why so many ignorant sheep
In this grassless land
Depression does not come cheap
It is not a joke or a tale
It is a fact that is uncontrollable
No matter how many
Meds or lonely whails
When all else fails
Don't you dare doubt my mental state
I do not fake
This burden
This demon
And don't you doubt
I've tried it all
And don't you compare
To those who didn't choose to fall
Because depression is out of your control
It takes ahold of your soul
Eats it's up and spits it out
I wouldn't lie about such a curse
Don't you dare look at me with doubt.
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 9:49 PM UTC
*I want to leave this
dreary cruel world behind.
Day by day
giving up another part
of its monuments.
Already I have lost its moon
Tonight the stars will fade one by one.
No more the pure white of its soul
as snow falls over meadow and dell.
Its purple blazed hills
in the desert distance
will fade into grassless plains.
For the world has given up on me
It has taken my mother and father
My brother and sister even my lover.
I now give it myself
Cell by cell of my body
It takes them in silence.
Like the scattered leaves
From an autumn tree
In the wind.
Leaving only a skeleton
of its summer beauty.
I now lie looking at the fading sky
As the world takes yet
another part of me.
Flowing its late autumn
sunshine nuzzling at my neck
with its tender warmth.
As if to try to make things
right between us.*
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
Whilst across the timeless seas to the bottom of the planet, incessant rain, snow and thrashing wind has rendered pugged cow paddocks, grassless.
Stored woodpiles, depleted due to wood fires burning continuously in hearths across the nation.
Small children, woolied up running for the morning school bus, white chilly faces and pink flushed cheeks.
Surf pounds the black sand dunes with foam flying in the gale, the marram grass howls and seagulls, flying in tortured formation, shriek their mutual rage.
Midwinter is upon us.
[email protected]
Jul 9, 2023
Jul 9, 2023 at 3:44 PM UTC
It has been many a week,
And void of the love I am sure you seek
Yet, I hadn’t the heart to visit,
Foolish am I! Leaving you alone,
It is I who must atone
And that is what I am here to do,
To tell you that my heart is true.
Aftermath of your discontent, wondering where the love went,
I never meant to upset and that leads me to this crushing regret.
I had fallen from grace
While I made the mistake of giving you space.
My desire for you,
It simply grew and grew and grew,
It has been many a week
And I am here to give you the love you seek.
Red rose! One of those you wanted all those months ago,
From watching your silly show,
Never knowing where you would disappear,
Fighting this sickening fear,
That you were to leave me.
If only you could see,
I simply wanted to show you my love which I know you need,
You would not take my lead.
Though I took time to think,
Allowing my feelings to sink
Marinate in a reflective state.
I thought of your warm smile and dazzling colors you put on your lips,
Those long amusing trips,
The wine that you would drink in small sips
All for not.
The sea of change and discontent already opening,
Shown in your quiet sighs,
Nightly lies which I finally caught with my own eyes,
I am sure that you are wondering why it was my heart and not voice thundering.
The nightly lie was becoming less and less sly,
I knew another had caught your eye,
I gave all the love I could. All that one should.
Yet you did as you would.
I took matters into my own hands,
Forming plan after plan,
How to take care of the problem
To permanently solve them.
Which I did successfully,
Given that I am standing on frozen grassless earth,
Placing a bright red rose, the one from the shows,
Underneath your gray stone,
Bearing an eternity alone.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 12:10 AM UTC