"helmet" poems
threads of salt
drowned land
and sea
brisk on the shore
to the vine
of the tree
not fruit
not sweet
but
check beauty
check redolent
check dog named after
and sea urchin-robbed
the steps taken
through the pink
the sunken ships
the little women
with big hair
the jewelry that
weighed them down
to drown
drown
drown
the flower
floats like
a headstone
from the hand of
a daughter
to the mouth of
the sea
where God still
reigns
with a crooked shaft
and a helmet
long struck
by the sky
pink
the ocean loses its way
through the flowers
thorns and
all
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 8:24 PM UTC
Turn the corner
Hand tenses
Looking down the iron sights I see an object fall
"Tango down" I call over the radio
what was his name? Tango, Threat, Terrorist, doesn't matter.
Explosion
Mud brick wall vaporized into dust
Keep going
Out of breathe
Keep going
Hand tenses
"Tango down"
Does it have kids? A Family? Threat eliminated
Round the corner
Hand tenses
"Three tangos on west building roof top"
Bullets from my brothers **** by my helmet
Return fire
"Take Cover!"
Sweat drenched face fogs up my goggles
Explosion
Brick pieces pummel my back
Ears ringing, faintly hearing
"Alpha down, Medic!"
Blurred vision, equilibrium thrown off
Raise my rifle
Hand tenses
Silhouette falls
"Medic!" heard faintly
Hand tenses
"Are you okay?" sounds distant
Hand tenses
"babe?" getting louder
Hand tenses
Hand tenses
Wake up
Sheets heavy with sweat
"Babe, are you ok?"
Throwing the blankets I jump back to the edge of the bed
Her frightened face
I've seen before
I look down
Hands tense
Same look, no tangos
No threats
Just Ghosts
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
Crash
Amnesia blaring in your ears.
Piano running through its arpeggio
as you hear muffled questions being
shouted from a distance.
Take off your helmet.
Remove your ear buds.
Open your eyes to a disgusting amount of dead valley sky.
It's time for you to sit up.
Engine still puttering like a champ.
The stranger mutters something like,
"That's a lot of blood. Are you ok?"
Stifling ***** and a laugh you reply,
"Feelin' fine. Never better."
You notice that he's still in his car.
He didn't even roll down his window fully. This is the extent of help or empathy you've come to expect.
The taste of iron fills your mouth.
You spit. Crimson.
You smile. Fake.
You wave him on.
It's time to work. It's a process.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
A final inhalation, farewell to oxygen
submitting to oblivion
a conscious lack of everything.
The very absence of air, sickening and
desolate, destitute, despairing
tearing at my aching lungs,
my vacant mind.
Call me a vagabond, a wanderer
entrapped in the extrasensory.
My breath escapes.
The empty core within myself rings in tune with the extant and extinct.
Neck arching, mouth agape
a single note transcends my lips of stone
unadulterated, unwavering, a melodious sound
building and joining in harmony to create a symphony of
life, of
death, of
everything we cannot comprehend.
Sonorous and assonant
my soul cries out
at ever-growing volumes.
My eyes begin to flicker and fade away.
God, can You hear my screams in space
in this vacuum, void of sound?
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
If it weren't for the consistent badgering of radical america your roots your nourishment would enrich the very soil our ancestors turned,
but pests and pesticides alike have yet
to be relinquished,
"autumn" has consumed us as smiles fall-- the hazmat suits leave us bare to the weathered reality,
except you,
umbrellas and storm sheltered words nurture loved ones -- you are worth the wait,
with conflict resolve you take off your helmet and gear we are not prepared for such violence -- shielded eyes from falsified truths you bloom and blush,
you are beautiful,
a perfect storm your wrath the 5th element -- uncontrollable you are free as "winter" resides on your shoulder,
she is awakened and unapologetic,
a God among us,
frightfully we are safe we have waited for your wine to runneth and pop goes the cork,
as the war begins your throne you sit with confidence.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
Clothe yourself in the full armor of God
and be able to withstand the Devil’s schemes;
know that he’s only the father of lies,
looking to destroy your earthly dreams.
Cover yourself with Christ’s Breastplate
of Righteousness and protect your torn heart;
your essence has been purchased for His Kingdom,
meaning that you’re meant… to be set apart.
Gird your waist with the Belt of Truth
and stand firm with integrity and honesty;
don’t allow your flesh’s nature to interfere
with conditions that you need observe and see.
Shod your feet with the Gospel’s peace;
keep from searching for earthly trouble;
instead congregate with the Body of Christ
and focus on your faith becoming redoubled.
The ongoing battle is not with flesh and blood;
wield Faith’s Shield to quench life’s fiery darts.
Remember that the wiles of Satan are limited!
So outmaneuver him with your spiritual smarts.
Put on your Helmet of Salvation,
for the battles are within one’s mind.
Allow the Divine knowledge of The Word
to resonate with your spirit and find…
yourself continually praying in the spirit
and with understanding on all occasions.
Be alert to His transformational messages,
for upholding Godly principles and persuasions.
Resist the Devil now and he will flee;
endeavor to thwart the enemy’s attack;
be strong in the Lord with power of His might;
promises of victory have been already stacked.
For we don’t wage war with human methods and plans.
We use mighty weapons to knock down evil strongholds
and breakdown every proud argument that keeps people
from knowing God… as His Kingdom, continues to unfold.
.
.
.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Eph 2:2, 6:10-20; 1 Thes 5:5-8; Joel 2:12-13; Rom 4:5;
Jam 4:7; 2 Cor 10:3-5
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.amazon.com/Reaching-Towards-His-Unbounded-Glory/dp/1419650513/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie;=UTF8&qid;=1388058560&sr;=1-1&keywords;=reaching+towards+his+unbounded+glory
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
A rugged sidewalk cried hard by the way-side;
Its fissures could not hold their tears anymore.
A puny man pushed a red cart in the tide
Down a darkling, narrow street in Salammbô.*
He mumbled to the waves on his way to the market
As he gasped behind his laden chariot.
His merkabah bore many a lost things
Which he had found buried in the quicksand.
Among them a fountain pen and a helmet,
A pair of eyeglasses, and a trumpet.
I wondered, gazing at the old man’s washed face:
"Will this worn-out scene ever reach the marketplace?"
© LazharBouazzi
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
The artichoke
With a tender heart
Dressed up like a warrior,
Standing at attention, it built
A small helmet
Under its scales
It remained
Unshakeable,
By its side
The crazy vegetables
Uncurled
Their tendrills and leaf-crowns,
Throbbing bulbs,
In the sub-soil
The carrot
With its red mustaches
Was sleeping,
The grapevine
Hung out to dry its branches
Through which the wine will rise,
The cabbage
Dedicated itself
To trying on skirts,
The oregano
To perfuming the world,
And the sweet
Artichoke
There in the garden,
Dressed like a warrior,
Burnished
Like a proud
Pomegrante.
And one day
Side by side
In big wicker baskets
Walking through the market
To realize their dream
The artichoke army
In formation.
Never was it so military
Like on parade.
The men
In their white shirts
Among the vegetables
Were
The Marshals
Of the artichokes
Lines in close order
Command voices,
And the bang
Of a falling box.
But
Then
Maria
Comes
With her basket
She chooses
An artichoke,
She's not afraid of it.
She examines it, she observes it
Up against the light like it was an egg,
She buys it,
She mixes it up
In her handbag
With a pair of shoes
With a cabbage head and a
Bottle
Of vinegar
Until
She enters the kitchen
And submerges it in a ***
Thus ends
In peace
This career
Of the armed vegetable
Which is called an artichoke,
Then
Scale by scale,
We strip off
The delicacy
And eat
The peaceful mush
Of its green heart.
7.2k
I'm looking down watching what you do
As if i'm Uatu the Watcher
Or maybe I'm controlling you
Like the evil Puppet Master
See you have no control in life
This is my world and I'm just allowin you to live in it
It's like I'm eating up planets with Galactus
And creating chaos with Apocalypse
I'm in control of my actions
Choosing to do wrong
Only to wait until my redemption by the hands of the worthy
You're inside my head like Charles Xavier
Trying to find out my secrets
Only to discover that I keep my mental barriers on lock
With no key or code to unlock
Said passageway into my subconsious
Because I can block you without a helmet
Unlike Juggernaut or Magneto
I'm free to swing around with the good wall crawler known as
Scarlet Spider
Hah
And write up my own unique flows with no worries
I don't need the X-men or Avengers
Or my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man
To know that I have some great repsonsibilities on my shoulders
Weighing me down like a ton of bricks
And I don't need someone like Doom
Telling me how to be a leader
When we all know his leadership skills could use some attention
I'm an enigma
Close to what Deadpool would say is
Very unique
Before muttering towards the wall
As if it were his faithful audience
I know who I am
I know what I do
So simply put
I'm freaking awesome
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 11:19 PM UTC
I met someone today and he was awesome.
He wore a leather jacket, almost the same as yours.
He had a neat haircut but a funny beard.
Do you remember when
I used to always pester you
About trimming yours?
I did it all the time and you never listened.
Anyway, he told me a joke;
One that I've heard before and that still
Made me laugh like the world was about to end.
I think I know where I heard it the first time.
He also ordered your milkshake, I mean ours.
And smoked the same brand of cigarettes
You always did.
He was awesome because he took me for a ride
On his Harley Davidson and gave me his helmet
The way you always did.
He was awesome because he winked
At random girls and smiled at me
The way you always did.
He was awesome because he listened to the blues
The way you always did.
He was awesome because he reminded me of you.
Baby I think I still love you.
F.Z.N
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!*i'm not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!'m not moralising, i see the toilet as the throne for the trinity of my excavations, like a coal-miner, i have my **** (the helmet and light bulb), i have my urinary duct (my chisel)... and i have my testicular duct (my shovel)... well... can't miss out on all the fun you peeps are having and not join in.*
verboclasm is real,
in england it's basically
f@!& etc., and in america
it's ****** (n@!&#£
if you prefer political
sensitivity and a blanket
and a ***** and a nanny);
unlike germ- -any (+)-
where they love to **** on each
other in the shadow
of the crucifix procreating for films,
while in england they're
into children;
owning a use of a word,
venerating its usage:
where's the Schengen vocabulary?
i want to be there -
free flow of words like spotting
a kestrel in my garden one time,
while the traffic shovels hours
into comparison with sea waves
and a traffic-jam becomes a static tsunami
for the eyes.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
Bike
tryke
unicycle
Pedalling
with both feet
and no hands
-gaudy helmet
for safety-
Still inevitable
the blackness and
scratches of
pavement
Ride or die
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 9:40 PM UTC
There is a boy walking, maybe ten or eleven,
a skateboard under one arm,
his shirt branded with
THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID.
And I wonder, what did she say?
Did she say she liked his tricks
or his ratty sweatshirt?
Did he blush,
swishing his hair in response,
exuding confidence and cockiness, in the mean time remembering his mother,
calling out to him before he left the house.
Did she say “Son,
don’t forget your helmet!”
Even though he was already gone—
Or was she really a he,
who sat him down a few months ago and said
he’d be gone for awhile
that he’d see him soon—
it’s been six months—
and maybe, when the boy heard this, he ran out.
And maybe when he gets older maybe he will run out more often,
to hang out with those who are deemed to be
“the wrong crowd”
and he will be drunk and high,
stumbling under the streets,
above the lights,
hearing-but-not-hearing everything that she is telling him.
She is telling him the secrets of the universe.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
On the night
I learn about Demitri Allison I smoke and I cry
And I drink
And I try
And I talk
And I laugh
Like I ain’t me
I look in the mirror
And I look in the mirror
And I see
And I look
Again
I reflect
And I respect
This shell that leaves me without helmet
Exposed
To the elements
Prison
Statistics
Poor
Health
And I wanna go home
Let my family know I am not
A brown boy falling from
3000 miles up
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
always take your shoes off before you cross a threshold
you've been carrying your dirt around with you
leave it at the door
wear your face mask
wash your neck
ask for no sugar
hold yourself center
this city's crazy, child
be grateful for the sun, and getting to be outside
buildings do not satiate the wild within
when the sun kisses your face, feel loved
don't drink the tap
try to keep your bones intact
keep your eyes open
wear a helmet
this city's crazy, child
speak and laugh as loudly as you want
set the bar high, so that growing up doesn't make you silent
the world should know that you are here
you're so beautiful
wash your dishes
sweep your floors
grant your own wishes
lock the door
this city's crazy, child
try not to breathe in the fumes
don't go to school for something you don't love! ....
or do
who am i to say
but from what i can see,
you have patience for your elders, child
i wish they had patience for you
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 2:44 AM UTC
It's the lights, the crowd,
the fight, the brave,
the proud.
The two a day practices in pads in the heat without a single cloud.
Its the lines, the grass, end zones, and the field.
The offense, the defense,
The sword and the shield.
The heart, the hard work, determination, the glory.
The present that will become your kids' bedtime stories.
The storm, the during.
The euphoria after,
The before with the fear, practices and learning.
The sacred flag you wear on that helmet,
It's your cleats, your pads, and the gloves.
The tackles, the picks, the runs, TD's and the hugs.
That air that you inhale and the h2O in your cup.
That feeling of pride, knowing you'll never give up.
Cause you came to do work, and get a taste of that winning heaven,
We'll see the conclusion,
Bring out your 11.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:07 AM UTC
24 hours and counting,
the thought of seeing you makes me so happy.
My heart about to explode
and these butterflies, they are out of control.
I try to stay calm,
but it´s like queting an alarm.
Warning: bring a helmet,
I think I might tackle you,
sorry I can´t help it.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
A woman with **** written on her navel
Smokes a cigar and raps on the rim of her helmet
With fat silver rings she wears on her fingers
She’s painted with red and black stripes
And is wearing a torn Mickey Mouse t-shirt
With a rifle strapped across her shoulders
She is a painting and she moves
When she was seven years old her father ***** her
She only sleeps with men bathed in whiskey
And coughs up ***** of cancer
Shaped like tiny
Ripe apples
Nov 22, 2010
Nov 22, 2010 at 10:37 AM UTC
THE FLAMES EAT THE PSEUDO-GOTHIC HOUSE
He was an Action Man
minus a left arm and trousers.
A dog had chewed his head
almost off.
But - he still had thought.
She was a Lego Lady,
Built of red and blue blocks.
She was forever coming apart
trying to keep body and soul together.
She had only one eye
and no mouth to speak off.
Same dog who had a passion
for the chewing of toys.
But - she still had thought.
They met one night when
thrown together in the toy box.
A giantess' voice had screamed
"YOU TIDY UP THIS ROOM RIGHT NOW!"
He loved the Lego Lady's yellow block hair.
It was like a helmet...suited her face.
And oh that one little eye
and the way it would look at you!
She saw at once that he had no genitals/
but then - neither had she.
It was a purely platonic affair.
They thought and thought at one another for hours.
They got on like a house
on fire but
one night the house
went on fire.
They held on to each other
both melting into a final embrace.
Mother always told me
"You shouldn't play with matches!"
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 5:59 PM UTC
Mother must have said it a thousand times,
Look with your eyes, not with your hands
But I was careless, full of youth
I wasn't the most privileged coming up
I respected things though, knew the meaning of money
But I was careless, full of energy
The Squirrels Nest, oddities and antiques
Mom loved that place, pricey as it was
But I was careless, full of curiosity
She used to take me there, that odd corner store
Mom would browse while I explored the wonders within
But I was careless, full of nerves
I remember just how it felt when she slapped me,
Large Minoan vase, my helmet, shattered on the floor
But I was careless, full of destruction
Mother said it a thousand and one times,
Look with your eyes, not with your hands
And finally, I had learned
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 4:16 AM UTC
Standing outside the coliseum
He wipes his tattered brow
As he waits in chains
And what remains
Of a worn and used nightgown
The oak doors creak as they slowly bow
He walks the axis road
The dogs at his heels, he knows, he feels
Pains that have been bestowed
A table is set upon which blades rest
The choice of which he makes
He reaches forward, picks up the sword
No room here for mistakes
The helmet is hot, he feels his breath
As he walks upon the field
He is a trapped snake inside a crate
He raises up his shield
His adversary stood there watching
With a shaking fretful eye
They prepared to fight until deaths bite
Took and run them dry
With one fell swing of the sword
He brings his foe down
The steel glistens in the sunlight
Enhanced with the smell of blood
The crowd cheers and roars
What do they know of it?
The life he has taken
It cannot be replaced
He is trapped inside
He cries for freedom inside
Slowly he dies inside
Inside himself.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
I am naked and wearing a football helmet. in many ways, I am the memory my son has of taking a bath. a picture doesn’t last any longer than it takes me to look at it. when it’s my sister I can hear her pointing out
assaulted
places. poor places, poor puppy. I don’t know why I am a child. my sister has no problem listening to herself. her last blank book had only a title, a running joke she quoted from and called shower days. to date, my son has had one seizure. he shook the provided angel. my body was at a press conference.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Right now, loving you feels
the way my toes do when stepping on pebbles
(the stones they put on your back in physical therapy)
or mining ore -
supposed to be cold, but extremely hot to touch.
A copper meadow
shimmy into a tree so you can look up my dress
and catch me like gold armor when I tumble, tumble.
One defense, two defense, three defense, four
worms with spines as soft as hair
try to spindle cobwebs where we skip and hopscotch
skeletons dunk our heads in some sea
but pickaxes
make air pockets, iron is a pillow for us to sleep.
The lights cease when you leave
no longer nearby is the helmet that exudes site -
I think I could mine meteorite from your soul, there’s
only demonite in my own.
Let’s build a house with it
then wait for the bad men to leave, it is night again
perhaps they shall be burned by my evil.
Shrouded in wood, tucked into a golden chest
the walls are a deep purple
amethyst, aubergine, build our ceiling some citrine -
bunnies swallow the window frame
and I cry because somehow it is my fault,
I try to jump but I fall. And you open the door, you let
in some monsters, how I hate you for a moment.
But no bad man can get you
even ones who have skin sunken like a dead spider
pull out an archery kit
seventy-seven arrows, I put them all in hearts
leaving one special hook for you Cupid gave to me.
We make a great team
demonite meteorite silver copper topaz gold-tipped
and sterling the vultures listen in jealously
knowing this is what love can feel like right now.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
XXXI. TO HELIOS (20 lines)
(ll. 1-16) (34) And now, O Muse Calliope, daughter of Zeus, begin
to sing of glowing Helios whom mild-eyed Euryphaessa, the far-
shining one, bare to the Son of Earth and starry Heaven. For
Hyperion wedded glorious Euryphaessa, his own sister, who bare
him lovely children, rosy-armed Eos and rich-tressed Selene and
tireless Helios who is like the deathless gods. As he rides in
his chariot, he shines upon men and deathless gods, and
piercingly he gazes with his eyes from his golden helmet. Bright
rays beam dazzlingly from him, and his bright locks streaming
form the temples of his head gracefully enclose his far-seen
face: a rich, fine-spun garment glows upon his body and flutters
in the wind: and stallions carry him. Then, when he has stayed
his golden-yoked chariot and horses, he rests there upon the
highest point of heaven, until he marvellously drives them down
again through heaven to Ocean.
(ll. 17-19) Hail to you, lord! Freely bestow on me substance
that cheers the heart. And now that I have begun with you, I
will celebrate the race of mortal men half-divine whose deeds the
Muses have showed to mankind.
4.5k