"hawke" poems
7/23/2014
the plane rolls over the california mountains
we pass over homes,
and stores,
and jails
we pass over the bars,
where bitter old men go
to remind them of their sorrows
we pass the **********
where 20 year old men go
to feel like lions
we pass the cloudy river,
where a man sits fishing for not fish,
but love
we pass the jail,
where a ***** woman sits
and prays for heaven to take her
we pass the hills,
where couples go to ****
and die
we pass the roads,
full of insensitive men,
crying women,
vomiting kids,
and clueless elders
we pass the land
which has witnessed the
genocide of a people
we pass over a thousand murderers,
and a thousand molesters,
and a thousand arsonists,
and a thousand lunatics
we pass over a land
founded on the color of white
and *** we pass over this hell,
I look towards the man on my left
a 40 something year old
business man,
reading a mag,
drinking a coke,
and sipping up his cluelessness
then there are the people behind me
indian
2 women, and a child
a mother,
daughter,
and grandchild
who must know all too well
how much of a hell we're in,
but they do not bite their thumb
for maybe this is meant to be,
maybe there is no way to escape this,
maybe there is no way to fix this
yet,
I do bite my tongue at the world
I do bite my tongue at humanity,
at society,
at love,
at loneliness
yes,
I bite my tongue at people
but as we pass above the clouds,
and hell slowly vanishes
beneath a film of illusion,
my thoughts do vanish,
and I no longer
am reminded of hell
© 2014 Rembrin Hawke
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC
Seven Scythed Fathers split this Growing Bond
Yet befriended by Common Dives respect
For Growth the Appled Fortunates abscond
And reap your Good Harvest in circumspect
Such Loyalty though Honest in its brew
Hoping for his time may notice and drink
I in my Honour base mixtures in stew
Never up-polled to what he may re-think
Bless, specially, the Welsh in Cat's Charm
And slap my Donkey to walk-up and run
I found the Barter; Whose tweet's harness farm
Smiles of the Tanner and revive his fun.
Although, it would be nice to just confess
And sharpen your Profile to know at best.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 2:15 AM UTC
I should heed the Wild Warning posted since
That which those picknicked Sponsors egg so grave
As you - Sturdy **** - hem the River-Prince
And Sport his Leisure to uphold so Brave
This Friend I see - with Investitude born
Whose Alliance he knew be owned with Tact
For the Son's own Good; To clamour the Morn
And take his Rightful Inheritance back
That in Post-Episodes we Realise
To the Common Ground beheld our Intent
Our own Softened Forces we Advertise
With his Stars flare brighter by his Consent.
All the whilst, bend your Muscles in the Gym
To feel Refreshed; In accordance of him.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 6:32 AM UTC
Things are starting to look up a bit.
Or rather,
I'm,
starting to look up a bit.
Things are still bad,
there's no changing that.
But I'm beginning to realize that not all the world is filled with such chaos.
I mean,
I suppose I've always believed that there was good out there.
But I've never truly believed that there was good here.
In this town,
in these walls,
in me.
However,
now I see that I've got potential.
But that's it.
For now.
Potential.
I just,
I want,
so badly,
to paint like Millais.
I want,
so badly,
to write like Sylvia Plath.
I want,
so badly,
to be ever so determined and inspired as Darwin.
I want,
so badly,
to sing and dance across the stage like Hayworth and Astaire.
But alas,
I can do none of those things.
I am just a girl.
Nothing special.
Least not to anyone else.
I cannot paint,
or dance,
or sing.
But I can live,
and breathe,
and write!
Though maybe no good at all,
by God,
I will write.
For nothing stirs my soul like the dragging of my pen across the page.
And by God nothing stirs my soul like the heat of those stage lights,
and 50 eyes upon me.
I may not be who I dream to be,
but ******
I will continue to be,
until the stars pluck me from this Earth and dance with me.
Until my feet are lifted off the ground,
and I'm carried on clouds to Jupiter,
or Venus,
or Saturn.
And there,
there,
I shall sing with Cobain and Strummer.
And I shall laugh with Monroe and Hepburn.
And I shall write with Bukowski and Thompson.
And I shall dance with Charisse and Gene Kelly.
And I shall dine with a thousand queens,
and lay in the silkiest of sheets!
But until then,
I shall simply live.
I shall live a life devoted to words,
and I promise to write whenever inspired,
and dance whenever music plays,
and sing as loudly as I please,
simply because I can.
And I promise to be kind to the universe,
and I promise to never promptly believe unknown truths.
And above all,
I promise to live.
And breathe.
And be.
Because,
well.
The universe does indeed have plans for me.
© 2014 Rembrin Hawke
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
There was the backfield tandem of Doc Blanchard and Glenn Davies on several West Point football teams of the UOS.
There is that power hitting duo of the modern day Yankees - Gary Sanchez and Aaron Judge.
There were those great power hitters of the 70s, I believe, that seemed to come in clusters like Mike Schmidt, Breen Downing, and yes, I believe, John Milner.
There was, of course, Ruth and Gehrig that stood out on the 1927 Yankees.
There's Hawke Leonard and James Harden, an unsung pair of the San Antonia Spurs and the Houston Rockets, respectively, in pro basketball that stand out.
There's Stephan Curry and Kevin Durant, a Mutt and Jeff combination in the Golden State Warriors.
There was a couple of gifted first to play on a University of Illinois basketball team African Americans that were tantalizing good at that time - Mannie Jackson and Governor Vaughn.
There was those 4 great old time Boston Celtics guards; Bob Cousy, Bill Sharman, K.C. Jones, and Sam Jones.
There was Bill Bradley and Dave Debusschere manning the wings of the New York Knickerbockers pro basketball teams of the late sixties, I believe.
There was Ron Kissinger and Glenn Becker, the keystone duo on the Chicago Cubs of the sixties, I believe.
There was Mainstay, reliable pitcher for the Casey Stengal dynasty teams - Vic Raschi and Allie Reynolds and there were great teamsmen of Vince Lombardi's pro football Green Bay Packers Super Bowl team like Dave Hammer, Forrest Gregg, and Boyd Dowler.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC