"headway" poems
The feds are making headway
(generously passing out their treats!)
*while the whistle blower
and his boon companion
hit the 22nd floor*
fiscal plans
are tidily falling into place
and the suits are all busy
chasing their dimes
dancing around the spire
full of wine and cheer
(seems the demand side imbalance
has got everyone doing the same old shimmy!)
they’re all studying their bollinger bands
MACD's, and treasuries
just like the good old days
santali would say
while capitol hill is busy
with its own pleasantries;
*repatriate that currency
hold those rates
bring the boys back home!*
the affirmations are robust
and filled with glee!
conspiracy thinkers
are busy in their own back rooms
initiating the trade
and building their counter claims
as pork bellies
and soybeans
continue to soar
(looks like eddy and the margin men
are at it again!)
what happened to that bear masquerade anyways?
they really were a band of brothers
colourful clowns
with big painted smiles
ready to lead in any parade
but they met with the resistance
a horned wall
satan’s horsemen riding high
with bags hung heavy
under dark squinting eyes
are we near an end?
the undertakers will say
it's only a blink of an eye
to the thin red line
where risk takers and front men
all jump ship
debt addiction is crippling
and hell breaks loose
when entitlements are out
and towels are thrown in
there’s a center piece here
those pugnacious statesmen
with invigorating tales
have had their place
time to clip them at the limbs
and pull the punch from the bowl
(sobriety has its merits you know!)
let’s head to the commission
and throw darts to the board ~
seems the moral blueprints are fading
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC
Barnacles begin their lives as free-swimming larvae, ebbing and flowing with the tide.
Most are eaten, some wash ashore, a few survive long enough to attach
with freakishly strong glue their minute larvae heads to a final rock- strewn home.
There they spend the rest of their lives with feathery feet poking out of a hardened shell, filtering the sea for whatever happens to come within reach.
Why the barnacle starts out free
and ends up bonded to some god-forsaken rock
to alternately dry out and be fed at the whim of the tide
is just one of life's many small mysteries.
While barnacles are meant to lead a primarily static life
human beings are not.
We are meant to flow
to settle and ground, uproot and travel
to seek
to speak well and listen better
to find meaningful answers.
We always have the choice to let go
of whatever safe, high ground we're frantically clinging to
though it will mean not knowing where we'll ultimately wash ashore.
Letting go can feel like being caught in a rip current.
What I know about rip currents:
They pluck hapless beachgoers from shore and pull them out to the ocean deep.
If you're caught in one and try swimming back to blessed land
you won't make any headway.
Eventually you'll grow tired and drown.
The only way to survive is to stroke like mad
in a totally counterintuitive direction
parallel to the solid ground you desperately want to reach
until you're out of the narrow river ******* you out to sea.
I've decided to unglue my little larvae head
from its rocky, self-imposed, falsely-safe perch.
Let the current carry me where my feet no longer touch the known.
It's up to me to swim in the right direction until I'm free.
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
if he is not made of them wholly, branches, he will be soon. they are everywhere, and he steps on them, and they are arms from hell. he wears a child’s football jersey, torn at his size and his sorrow. he reaches into it and pulls out his heart, a red balloon given the what for, inside of which he blows his nose. he returns the heart.
a yellow adherent hangs from both nostrils, as two ropes being cut at and then loosed from his brain. the first keeps an arm from heaven; the second he catches and loops twice to put on his neck. one is never out of the woods here, and he knows it, knows here is Baltimore, Ohio. he has watched the people, some of them, leave; their happiness would be better called remission.
he is giddy when he comes upon a man wearing only a barrel and he tips it with joy and makes better his headway home. the rolled over branches shriek and wake the man who nakedly bails. the branches up their shrieking.
his mother he has no dementia of his time in her womb. why for **** the despondent are given captions like ‘blank look’ he can’t say for in his mama naught but canvassing eyes. she’s what he calls ‘at grocery’, shaking a coffee can she’ll buy because a done melon can’t hold pennies. she often at the neck is saddled with two toddlers but in his projection now there is just one making miracle of not kicking the coffee can into another’s back.
any girl that occurs lets him take her with his tongue only as she seems to know he was circumcised and after that much paddled.
he starts thinking on dad and dad’s laughing when mother’d say boys be home before dog because that’s how it sounded from seizures and of course rock candy in the summer. the barrel splinters beneath him to be forgotten and his legs go to bleeding stilts.
his last things by his face are insufficient; rock candy, barrel, and twin. I talk on the barrel, I don’t need it, not anymore.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
*he says:
I want to hear the sun..
on me*
1.
cover the width of a personal compostela
the yellow-and-black bird
flitting
branch to branch
endless
square patterns of light
half-cut
into shades of green
and slant
oblique
2.
making headway now
companions on the path
passing by
auburn creature with lolling tongue
looks with such kind eyes
glittering diamonds
sun sits on tip of wet nose
he seems to be saying something...
some evanescent message
thoughts are ventilated
tones of silence seep in
wild flowers in amaranthine bloom
sway in nature's perpetual dance
always moving
3.
what happens to arboreal ghosts
when we prove efficiency by cutting the arms of living trees
and with it
extended family of foliage?
monk passes slow
nods in quiet greeting
a bare half-smile
enough to reach
yet just truncated enough
maybe
to prune
is needed /
4.
how many more steps to tread
before the why becomes clear?
trod so far
sought so wide
read so much
travelled so intense
this journey alone
proves so arduous
5.
alone...
struggled with hidden pain he discovered beneath the layers of happiness....
suffered hunger and thirst along the way....
washed in ***** rivers with no soap....
had to clean his **** with dusty leaves in the eve....
and remembering to eat
what to eat...but berries in the dark
and he cried, oh how he cried
from a place no man should see
such a dark place
demented and wicked souls at the doorstep
of hell
would shrink at
but first
in order to do all that
he had to wrestle with himself
and die inside
he could no longer fail to consent
no wistful little prayers
or wide-eyed flower-eyes
nor awe born in luxury
yet
for all that...
6.
in a little while
you will get what you want
if you give enough people
what they want
pray in secret
in the sun
*the boy with the Jesus sandals
walks on
his journey
has
begun*....
S T, (thursday:) 4 July 2013
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
Drift on silver moon
be an alluvion amongst the stars.
Float on silver moon
Hover above.
Fly on by, silver moon
Forget about the emotions below you.
Leave me, silver moon
Be with the stars you deserve.
Move away, silver moon
You don't need to see the stupidity of humanity.
Navigate me, silver moon
Take me to where you're going.
Reach towards me, silver moon
If only for a few moments.
Run away with me, silver moon
I'll sail the galaxies with you.
Shoot on, silver moon
Let me billow behind your coat tail.
Skim the clouds, silver moon
and hide behind them if you must.
I understand.
Soar on, silver moon
For the future needs your light at night.
Sweep me away, silver moon
and lay me down upon a different world.
Cast off, silver moon
You're the captain.
Make headway, silver moon
You'll always be the captain.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
A master magician at hiding
While running and gallantly striding
Your message is strong, you gallop along
With spirit continually guiding
Independent you move with the group
Making headway you learn to recoup
Ready to bolt, to rebel and revolt
If your light should get caught in a loop
Your harmony steadies in trouble
A clean break away from all struggle
Lessons are taught, even when you're distraught
As you truly embrace them and juggle
When problems arise in the east skies
You remember the sun also dies
And though it falls down, it comes back around
To greet us the next day with bright eyes
Spirit Zebra be with us to find
Let our strength and our courage unwind
Into all of the holes, deep in our souls
That we carry throughout our lifetime
Teach us patience to love every side
So that we may enjoy how we ride
Some days we will glow, some days will be low
Love will teach us to rise not subside
To see everything, just as it is
To live the truth of this regardless
Return stronger yet, from any upset
With a chance for new growth and progress
You teach us to seek balance and truth
Till the end of our days from our youth
Standing confidently, strong as can be
Building skills that will calm us and soothe
With every step forward we've taken
Your wisdom unfolds and awakens
All of our needs, teach us how to succeed
Good or bad, we shall not be mistaken
We are shifting between light and dark
We are always igniting the spark
A few steps gone back, will put us on track
With pure faith we will soon disembark
tHE tERRY tREE
Photo | Google Images | Poetic Form | Gwawdodyn
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
Tiger Wood's wins the Masters today
Another green jacket comes his way
Finally, his image stands large at the doorway
For it's been a knock and a hiatus of his cache
As the years after 2008 suffered from his play
No major championships one can say
Only gossip headlines, mugshots, and injuries in gray
Where once a phenom in his twenties on display
Such greatness and legend his star headway
His mid-thirties saw some of his luster fall in dismay
With mostly self-injury to his ego in disarray
It was hard watching a once proud man's fall and decay
Especially one that held his world at bay
With his swagger, swoosh, and shine turning to clay
And like a good drama of accents and descents convey
With the wait and weight on his shoulders belay
He turned the storybook pages of dismay today
The pressure of his swing, swing, and putt on display
And how he uncorked his demons is a pure bouquet
After 43 years of his years, he took the fairway
Running, running, today after his prey
It was great seeing his game not get away
Logan Robertson
4/14/2019
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 12:13 AM UTC
the other side of shatterbox's wall
is my room
stretch my hand out
feel the warmth of sun on bare skin
turn my closed eyes to the sky
and drink in the day like wine
intoxicating and bitter aftertastes
but cool and filling the senses
i slake souls thirst for essence of a gluttons bread and butter
taking the dreadlock girl to bed with me
she makes headway to her notions
of making a home here and finding a reason to stay
but i am wary of the fast female now that
i am so entangled within the gears of this past one
my lusts seep from her and soil the sheets
she laughs at this unconcerned
we go for dinner and we laugh and play
on the beach
she loves to be in love
she loves to whisper under the sheets long into the night
even when we are the only two there
i dont want another relationship
i dont want to repeat the last one
grapple with eachother till dawn
and smelling like fresh *** we dash out to the store
get doughnuts and coffee
she eats doughnuts the same way i do
i dont want a relationship
its the wine talking
but the shatterbox man next door
has reminded me that its too easy in this world to end
up alone in a room with nothing but your thoughts
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
we need a broom
to sweep away Sundays clowns
if failing that a noose
to make headway
Mondays so inclined in devilment
her cold chill has enthralled me
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
glitter mist and clouds of dust
tiger fur and wonderlust
hills and flowers and brand new land
feet of stone and sturdy hand
marchway path and headway cliff
eyes of purity and open myth
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
I sat hard-pressed against
the plastic seat on the Metro,
green line to Branch Ave,
feeling the heat
of all the dozens of bodies that surrounded me,
5:30 PM and everyone
making headway for home after a
long, hot work day.
The swampy humidity
clung to my arms like sticky tack.
I wiped my brow with the sleeve of my
blazer
and listened to some 90s
R & B on my iPod as I
c
o
u
n
t
e
d
d
o
w
n
the exits till I could
free myself from
the suffocating crowd.
It was no day that was even remotely extraordinary,
no life-changing series of events,
no incredible people I had met;
nope, just commuting back to the SE quadrant of
town as I had
every day that summer.
I looked up and took
a snapshot with my mind;
I remember exactly
how that sliver of time
felt to me,
how it looked,
smelledsoundedtasted
as I realized my days in D.C. had begun to feel
like the norm,
that I had grown accustomed to the
claustrophobic train cabins,
the repetitive street names,
and
10% sales tax.
So suddenly there was this
catastrophic
timeturning
momentous magnanimous monumental magic
of the most mundanely minuscule moment,
as ordinary crawled up my veins
and absorbed me in it.
Somehow
squeezed.in.between
the rush-hour,
the annoyance, impatience, and near-suffocation
felt like
home.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
In the illustrious pedway
I'll make my headway
Amor and peace today
Never to forget it- touch
And pet it because tommorrow
Just might not be here, I will
Throw away my fears, and forgive
Those who have caused me tears-
And make forgiveness my standard.
Ready always to give an answer
For what is my lively
Hope- giving Hello's and
Thanks to folks, on this splendid
Walking trail. Holding faith inside
My Grail, comfort in all detail- only
Arrives from heaven, and derives
From the sensitive cosmic sky's.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 11:07 AM UTC
Hope rarely flies straight;
it flutters and weaves
like a butterfly
in a stiff breeze,
sometimes making headway,
sometimes blown off course,
sometimes interrupted,
but never completely
disappearing;
always present,
always whispering:
maybe.
- mce
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:11 AM UTC
Sometimes thoughts of my own
seem able to imprison my words,
break them in half and try and become
someone’s fantasies.
They cast sleeping inspiration upon my morning
with a murmur falling by the side
of my heart’s mysteries.
All of my problems glance easily
off different sides of stones
placed in the dust
I tend to keep beneath my feet.
My eyes see them come undone
until they are no longer fit
to sail with me
or drink from my cup
where all beauty is sweet.
Shamed by care Fear smiles and flutters
behind every forceful word heard
through the translucency it retains.
All of my confidence that has separated
then faces itself to meditate
on all that is brightly lit,
here to remain.
The ground does not pass judgment
same as a soldier leaps to exhibit nobleness
throughout this hemisphere
full of thinking men.
However, greed can leave you
half-empty and ill prepared
for thoughts that will imprison
your words like the wind.
I make headway over the side of dominion
ruling the air of darkness
where fairness becomes one
among the living.
I find I am passing over
what has become sand
within a waterfall,
falling from on high,
due to my misgivings.
I am aware that beneath the taste of a last appearance
the deepest thoughts
can cover those minutes we use.
However, little do we see,
time and time again,
sometimes we tear the best there is
within a man, right in two.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 9:53 AM UTC
Entry ~
*By the pit of a black hole. That's how it'll happen. By the flick of a lighter, and a burnt up spoon tucked away in the corner. A half *** attempt to be discreet. It'll sit there. Staring at you, haunting you, taunting your very existence. By the death of a friend you called your family. A stupid, avoidable death at the hand of ***** needle. That's how it'll happen. You'll look up one day, at the bottom of a hole you can't remember falling into. You'll climb, and climb, clawing your way to the top. Desperately slipping back down every time you make headway. It's a hopelessly dark place. It's the kind of place that stays with you forever. Even if you're lucky enough to claw your way out for good. It's the kind of place that leaves you void of love. It's a place for broken down souls. For desperate addicts turning tricks just to get their fix. You'll find yourself there, alone. Cold. You'll find yourself wishing it all back. Wishing you never took that one little hit, never sniffed that innocent little line. You'll hate yourself for thinking just this one time, because you knew it was a lie the second it crossed your mind. You just didn't want to believe it. It was a choice. Falling to the bottom of this hole. You made it the second you chose to say yes that very first time. It was the moment you sold your soul to the devil. A signature scribbled half heartedly on a piece of charred up tinfoil. It was a choice, and you knew you were making it. It's the worst part about being this kind of addict. You know you'll die eventually. Just like that friend you called your family, but nothing is enough to make you stop. The opiates leave you hollow. A shell of a person that used to love. You'll find yourself so empty. You don't care about your family, or those friends still around that don't **** with what you're doing. You can remember a time when you were so close to them. So different. Still an addict, but just circling the rim of that hole you're in now. You weren't addicted to those drugs, but you were on your way. It was those friends that kept you in the light. That kept you from falling into those harder drugs. They were a lifeline. A silver string hanging from the stars. You held on for so long. Every time you looked down you got so scared. It was a long way to the bottom, but you had scissors in your hand the whole time you were hanging on. At a certain point, you got weak, and cut that silver cord. You fell so far down, and at the bottom of that hole, sitting in the corner to comfort you, a burnt up soon and a white bic lighter. You traded in your lifeline. It was no longer your friends that could bring you back to the light. It was a bag of tar, and a silver spoon. It was a choice, and when the day comes when you say you're getting clean, you'll reach for the hands that used to be there. Out spread, patiently hanging there waiting for you to grab them, and they won't be there*.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 1:47 AM UTC
Here I go again fallin',the rabbit hole calls
I'm a lost soul wandering through marble halls,
calls screams and doubts fill my mind like static
react uncontrolled rage flows automatic
*politics,religion,faith fate love/hate
lose pieces of my self they fall into the grate
of the cattle grid rat race place I face
every time I make some headway it gets erased
displaced into hate,a state of no grace
disgraced by my feelings for the human race
face headlong,trace my nobility's ghost,
in the human race we get pipped at the post*
**by the most with the boasts untrustworthy folks,
desire for votes,all handshakes and jokes,
like a piece on a chessboard board,moved for kicks,
time to get jacked in,reboot the check matrix**
*check matrix,ruler's like to play games,
time to send the whole board up in flames,
check matrix,the cycle ends and begins,
it's called a revolution,it spins round again* x2
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
When you want to learn something,
Learn it all the way;
And if something is worth doing,
Do it in the best way;
It isn't enough for wishful thinking,
And not just enough to pray;
Believing should always come first,
faith and work is also the way;
If success is what you admire,
There is a huge price to pay;
There might be difficulties as you go on,
Be resilient come what may;
Practice always makes perfect,
Keep practicing everyday;
But remember not to start a thing,
And eventually end up halfway;
Do not feel too comfortable on top,
Learn something new each day;
The end of growth as we know it,
Is the beginning of decay;
Do not despise others as you grow,
You might need them someday;
if a relationship intends to pull you down,
Do not hesitate to breakaway;
Remember also the contributions of others,
And be willing to repay;
Also do not rely solely on others,
Try making your own headway;
There are many who have so done,
But were led astray;
As you spend your time working hard,
Reserve a little time to play;
So that you don't loose loved ones,
And leaving your mind in disarray;
So get on with what you ought to do,
There is no time to delay;
Because ideas left under utilized,
Can quietly slip away.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
A new day
Rife with possibility
Insert some new tranquility
Into your mind
A new way
Of looking at the positive
Believing life is causative
A new lens we must find
Truth is
Difficult at times to discern
But even so down deep I yearn
Now to make headway
Love is.
So don this mask for now, shall I
And in the face of fear I’ll fly
For today's a new day
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 7:54 AM UTC
The drive is endless, perilous,
and being recorded for posterity,
because one planet
is no longer enough.
H.P. Lovecraft is at the wheel,
and we're looking at one thing
and not your mother.
That was a Freudian slip,
but not really surprising
since he's also along for the ride.
And when we get there
we'll scavenge for sovereignty
in the orange filter of hope.
Then a flag will mark
our demesne,
a spot defining both
pride & terror,
as it delivers a dose of ambition,
yet, reeks of future tyranny.
Pray our luck runs out along the way
or we run out of gas
or steam
or headway...
Then again, maybe we should
hope for the breast.
I mean best !
Freud's at it again.
Dec 3, 2019
Dec 3, 2019 at 5:27 PM UTC
We are sorry for the inconvenience.
While our project has made some headway- a new and improved venue coming soon!- there are a few impasses that have come to our attention.
Once we eradicate the hurt feelings, loneliness, and confusion from our work site, rest assured our progress shall continue.
We are sorry for the inconvenience.
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
eyes fall again as intuitive meteors
and it all heats up at alarming pace
this want grows strong over an ocean
that we just don't account for
you want something
something shocking
and I cannot see why
it's so important now
we gallop together across the moors of our land
never looking back
always forward into the waiting light
shining
shining
you say you love me so much
this reciprocal fount we drink from
unstoppable flow
we are making headway into the night
disregarding the long gone moon
who has tipped over to the other side of the firmaments
silent covenant in confusion
I want you so much
we stroke each other to madness
and whip each other to sweet and high want
you drive your missives very deep into me
you rush along so
I hold you back
I tell you
I want it
slow
very slow
you seem disheartened in the heart of your throb
I hold you tight
I take your hand and lead you back
from easily mired traps
we both know what we want
but time's a hapless passerby on a rickety scale
let's have fun and go slow
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
a wicked thought in some dark corner
of the illustrious mind
round and round it spins
in the the background of all the sunshine days
benith the surface of all the joyous times
for all thouse years
like a cancer of the soul
like an apocalypse of the madness inside the sane mind
i have walked to the edge of the abyss
i have looked the beast in his dead eye
felt his cold hand in my heart
and i knew him
iv seen this and know it holds nothing for me
she slips into the street
a shadow that walks in the bright sunlight
and prays as she walks for a happenstance of providence
but even to mortals
her lips are stained with a tiny traces of blood
she is seen as a culprit
she devolved into her separate parts
and she never was right afterwards
like a small doll stuck on broken
her every day
her everything is a razor blade to you
but she only hears a symphony of color
she only sees a tragedy of tears
all shes known was the rat race
she aspires to nothing more
a wicked thought in the darkness
and inspite of asking that it delay its maniacal desires
the illustrious mind bends in on itself
just because nobody can see
doesn't mean no-one knows
what is the hidden thing
of spirit and of mind
impossible nature of my being here
in this awful place
this dark harbor in shades of the unnatural misgivings
the crazy ones pace the room
in silent trek eyes nailed to floor
each step slowed by hungers of fortune
and the angst of regret
the impossible nature
of my being here is dictated by circumstance
by the romance of mistaking happenstance for providence
but i am making headway
at escaping
myself
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
HWilliams
Foot to sidewalk, cement to shoe
step to song beats or give beats to silence.
Step with feet tired from too much tread,
guess I'll walk on hands instead.
beat to song, gust to mast
sound of travel, its own song.
Foot to sidestep pitfalls or potholes,
skip steps get applause for pratfalls.
Step to pulse and make hearts skip beats.
Take bow, step outside, sidewalk to feet.
Door to frame
button to lock
ignition to key
motor noise, engine block.
Radio, radiator, radius, ulna
cylinders under hood
cylinders filled with soda
serpentine belt squeaks, fix it you should.
The car is no Chevelle,
but Chevelle's in my speakers
keep pace with traffic well
"learn to choose to breathe."
Stuck behind brake lights
as soon as headway is made.
Sigh as loud as music plays
click volume arrow upright.
Anger builds when traffic fills.
Stomp throttle or else you'll throttle someone.
Throw insults like a mime in summer,
lip service they might see in mirrors.
Can't point at points A or B
trace stress to line that traces in between
Between the 2 spaces where my car parks
mile markers, tail-gaiters, nail biters.
Foot to sidewalk, cement to shoe
step to song beats or give beats to silence.
Step with feet tired from too much tread,
guess I'll walk on hands instead.
Foot to sidestep pitfalls or potholes,
skip steps get applause for pratfalls.
Step to pulse and make hearts skip beats.
Take bow, step outside, sidewalk to feet.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC
Flap after flap, muscles straining,
Any headway immediately counteracted
By a fresh gust.
Every valiant effort proves fruitless;
Fixed firmly in place despite the strain
And frustration.
'Til at last, shifting slightly to the left,
You fly away, unimpeded,
To a new destination.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 9:57 AM UTC
How many shadows of
former selves
does it take to fall
from grace?
To wring out the lights
of rungs, scared to
death of heights.
To make headway in
time, is to fall out of it.
Planets are poor markers,
we create their surfaces
to prolong our search.
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 1:09 PM UTC