"hasted" poems
Globalism
The winter after war was not jubilant
the snow was slushy like the beginning of spring.
A poor street, houses had not been painted
not much food and the ice was reluctant to let
go of its deadly grip.
I saw it along a wall of flaking cement
a small solitary, yellow flower the colour so bright
it blinded me it was like I had a moment of clarity
I understood and saw it all.
In the windows of old houses’ on sills
flower in pots in tins, humanities need for beauty.
I must not forget hasted home find a piece of paper and write it down.
But I didn’t get it down on paper my thoughts that were influenced
by beautiful minds.
So long ago now,
it was 1950 and people were friendly
we had suffered together and survived.
We are not the people of the world we are tribe, however modern,
it is our group's survival that counts.
Tribalism is much stronger than globalism it can never speak our language.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 6:08 AM UTC
****** again,
Post-hasted doubting and raving,
Confused why I torture myself so –
Truer words never spoken as lies,
The dull, pumpkin-glow of the broken lamp casting ghosts,
Filling my visions with demons I’d thought excised.
****** again,
Alone in its tendrils again,
I travel –
Travel through ideas shattered and plexiglass melting,
Singing and burning as it covers my senses like a myelin sheath,
Conducting protons-only,
But my brain is slow and the receptors dull,
And the raw input manifests only as trails of spirits.
****** again,
The madness thick as bog sludge,
Stinking of scorched sulfur,
It kicks corroded and dead gears into spin,
Generating false ideas and wild delusions
That I know aren’t real but –
Nothing else here is, either, especially not you,
Disembodied you, listener.
****** again,
But not alone this time no,
Her idea ghosting simulacra,
Taunting me with her shortcomings and spitting like venom
Those thousands of details I’d always hated while
Refusing acknowledgment, but
Like a brick golem she’s got a core,
A conduit of last-year’s hopes, and I flee, panicked –
****** again,
The clouds high above the ruined October grass,
Laughing like spaceships, and returning me to boyhood fancy:
I’ll never be an astronaut.
Jul 4, 2010
Jul 4, 2010 at 12:25 PM UTC
I remember how you
pushed me against the wall
and in a way I would never fall
pressed your body onto mine
Your arms gripped tight like a vine
You closed your eyes
To mask your want in disguise
Then hasted to kiss me
My lips parted as to agree
Your pin so firm,so strong
There was no way I could've escaped even if it felt wrong
But honestly I just wanted that too
My heart beat as if wild animals were at the zoo
It was weird yet right
Unknown and light
Perfect and flawed
Bound to make us awed
Now I hate how it ended
Its not like I wanted
Now I have to bear this feeling
Of something missing
To avoid the temptation
Of your lips filled with flirtation
So cold yet soft
Bow shaped and liked most
I hate how I close my eyes and think of you and what happened
My heart saddened
Knowing I shouldn't and I couldn't do it anymore
Hanging by those word to which you swore.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 6:36 AM UTC
Angel dust
And angel lust
Sleeping with false hopes
Of trust
Like coming down
From ecstasy
While the mother
Fades off next to me.
Finger nails
And powder trails
Forgetting about Larry's
Cautionary tails,
Of summers of bare chests
And teenage ***
Of young flowers
Hung around our necks.
Getting wasted
Being tasted
Growing up so rushed
And hasted.
Like selling out
Our souls to space
Innocence gone
Without a trace.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC
A true lover is proved such by his pain of heart;
No sickness is there like sickness of heart.
The lover's ailment is different from all ailments;
Love is the astrolabe of God's mysteries.
A lover may hanker after this love or that love,
But at last he is drawn to the King of love.
However much we describe and explain love,
when we fall in love we are ashamed of our words.
Explanation by the tongue makes most things clear,
but love unexplained is clearer.
When pen hasted to write.
On reaching the subject of love, it split in twain.
When the discourse touched on the matter of love,
pen was broken and paper torn.
In explaining its reason, one sticks fast as an *** in mire;
Naught but Love itself can explain love and lovers!
None but the sun can display the sun.
If you would see it displayed,
turn not away from it.
Shadows may indicate the sun's presence,
But only the sun displays the light of life.
Shadows induce slumber like evening talks,
but when the sun asrises the moon is split asunder.
In the world there is naught so wondrous as the sun,
but the sun of the soul sets not and has no yesterday.
Through the material sun is unique and single,
we can conceive similar suns like it.
But the Sun of the soul,
beyond this firmament,
no like there is seen in concrete or abstract.
Where is the room in conception for His essence,
so that similitudes of Him should be conceivable?
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 1:08 PM UTC
A friend told me,
‘Silence replaces the roar,
like the wind blowing abhor.’
To declare such notion
he disregarded there hasted a faction
for which I was included.
A response came earlier,
“Tame the Lion,
Silence will replace the roar.”
I stopped to think,
Is this a procastination?
I shuddered a wink.
A heresy of a character borned,
An attack in subtlety had retorted..
Flesh and bone had gone torn.
I relegated the fact the once lost,
replaced by the firm hand that declared,
“Defeat is not the end of you, my son…”
“Wounds heal, scars remain but never
the dismay can keep you from Me.
For I have won it for your share…”
“Brought restoration in thy soul,
never should you back away nor cower in a hole.
Face thy forward for My promises are true.”
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:37 AM UTC
What to write?
What to write?
What to write?
On this piece of white,
A spot where my pen glides,
Under a shower of light,
I feel the need to fight,
For these temptations that I have inside,
So that they'll fly like a kite,
Secured by ropes that tight,
So that I have the vivid sense of wrong and right,
After all, it's all about balance right?
What to write?
What to write?
What to write?
About my foolishness that was striped bare into the lights,
The one that totally has no sense of what's right,
It just follows my greed that ignites,
Without thinking twice,
In a split second, it was already on sight.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 5:17 AM UTC
Bundled flakes of frozen tears
Came from the sky to greet the ground
The frost races the wind as sound
Silences in the world snow-bound
A whisper from a will-o-wisp
Guiding the cold warmer places
Snuffing the fast pacing of time
The snow is not to be hasted
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 10:50 AM UTC
A planned happening from the past
Set to be at a predetermined date
Two people would look up at the same thing
More than a thousand miles away
I, the romantic, and
You, the orchestrator
Set out in the chartered dark night
At different hours but still the same time
Frantic feet down stairs
Scuffling movements through sand
I open a creaky door with hasted hands
And we both look
Up
And above us both
Is a clear night sky
Lucky conditions yet
Not the right time
The moon
Sailed quietly
In another plot’s
Seeking eyes
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 8:02 PM UTC