"gravitron" poems
I got a job at the Carnival,
All the fun of the fair,
With its Carousels and its Wishing Wells
And The Ferris wheel up there,
With a Gyro Tower and a Gravitron
You could hear the squeals of glee,
As they whirled about, and one fell out,
Nothing to do with me!
My only job was to strap them in
And I went from ride to ride,
They told me to familiarise
Myself with every side,
I loved the whirling Octopus
And the Swinging Pirate Ship,
But of them all, the Matterhorn
Was the one I found most hip.
I ended up on the Enterprise
At the closing of the night,
‘Just two more rides,’ the man announced,
‘For a journey into fright!’
I strapped them into each Gondola
As the twenty patrons paid,
And heard their screams as they soared aloft,
I could tell they were dismayed.
The ride came down with a grinding halt
And I went to let them out,
But no-one sat in the Gondola’s
Then I heard the Barker shout,
‘Last ride, last ride in the Enterprise,’
And the twenty folk got in,
I said, ‘What happened to all the rest?’
But he cried, ‘Don’t fuss now, Tim.’
The Enterprise had begun to spin
And carry them all aloft,
Then disengaged from its base and floated
Over a farmer’s croft,
The sky was an inky black that night
And dotted with glittering stars,
And I swear today, I heard him say:
‘They’re heading on up to Mars!’
David Lewis Paget
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 7:45 PM UTC
dream weaver swinging a meat cleaver
sewing spells with stitches of fever
pitching fast ***** and low blows
to the sweating and eager
set the succubi on the nonbelievers
steal the dams and **** the beavers
heal the toe jam nightmare
with foot cream and elbow grease
press lilies into every open knee joint crease
call the landlord
sign the lease
the sole matron of the shopping mall
sifts flour in a sun dress
the screaming fire alarm goes off
breaking dishes
knocking down sprinklers
wreaking havoc
making a mess
let me jump down your throat
and swim in the abscess
infect your brain with chloroform and soda pop in excess
no manic pixie dream girl
no damsel in distress
a ferris wheel on turbo twirl
a gravitron programmed to make you hurl
your embarrassed lunch
pick me bunches of wild flowers
i'm open to sacrifice
scrape the back of your throat with a screwdriver
dutifully collect jars full of head lice
the meek mice of the holes in the wall
crawl out gleaming sweaty sheen
the expectant floorboards creak out mean greetings
the expectant backs preemptively remove their shirts to receive beatings
students scurry by
feet frantic
late for their meetings
through it all
the crows keep bleating
goddesses nestle in the clouds
and predators eat their young
rodents mumble songs unsung
and in branches where bodies once hung
dangle fruit and flower:
another season, come.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
Perched on the Gravitron he scans the terrain of treadmills, stairmasters, aerobicycles
His eyes searching out someone with whom to nest,
To share some warmth, some care
Before soaring high to travel to places unknown.
I am warmed by another fire, a consuming fire which leaves its object intact, yet burns out the impurities bit by painful bit
I long for the comfort of a companion, the sharing of places we've been, the people we've seen
But I hold true to the hearth of the divine fire which promises constancy.
From my vantage point on the Polaris
My eyes follow
His eyes scanning the terrain of aerobicycles and
Rowing machines, looking for somewhere to rest his weary soul
His eyes engaging the eyes of a fellow traveller
And I know...
Once more, before he continues his flight,
He will find shelter.
1995
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Leaf Fall
by Michael R. Burch
Whatever winds encountered soon resolved
to swirling fragments, till chaotic heaps
of leaves lay pulsing by the backyard wall.
In lieu of rakes, our fingers sorted each
dry leaf into its place and built a high,
soft bastion against earth's gravitron—
a patchwork quilt, a trampoline, a bright
impediment to fling ourselves upon.
And nothing in our laughter as we fell
into those leaves was like the autumn's cry
of also falling. Nothing meant to die
could be so bright as we, so colorful—
clad in our plaids, oblivious to pain
we'd feel today, should we leaf-fall again.
Originally published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea. Keywords/Tags: Fall, autumn, leaf, leaves, swirling heaps, piles, wind, rakes, laughter, backyard, play, playing, falling, children, bright, colorful, plaids
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 8:30 PM UTC
Whatever winds encountered soon resolved
to swirling fragments, till chaotic heaps
of leaves lay pulsing by the backyard wall.
In lieu of rakes, our fingers sorted each
dry leaf into its place and built a high,
soft bastion against earth’s gravitron—
a patchwork quilt, a trampoline, a bright
impediment to fling ourselves upon.
And nothing in our laughter as we fell
into those leaves was like the autumn’s cry
of also falling. Nothing meant to die
could be so bright as we, so colorful—
clad in our plaids, oblivious to pain
we’d feel today, should we leaf-fall again.
Published by The Raintown Review, Deronda Review, Jewish Letter (translated into Russian by Vera Zubarev), The Chimaera, Freshet, Contemporary Sonnet, Stremez (translated into Macedonian by Marija Girevska), The Eclectic Muse, Better Than Starbucks, Glass Facets of Poetry, Victorian Violet Press
Keywords/Tags: Childhood, autumn, wind, winds, fall, falling, leaves, backyard, heaps, piles, rakes, bastion, gravitron, patchwork, quilt, trampoline, laughter, cry, bright, colorful, plaid, plaids, pain, memory, recollection, remembrance, die, dying, death
Mar 1, 2020
Mar 1, 2020 at 4:22 AM UTC