"hoisting" poems
Whirlpool of whirling quaint
Inequality brewing in the
Winepress of smithereens
Fragile polity.
Voices of weariness cried
Out from the wasteyard of
Waste for succour,
Pointing fingers of
Recrimination towards
The abyss of drouth ,
Entangled in conflicts
Of interest.
Winds of improvised emblem
Bearing hunchback of
Woes,
Raising hands from the
Drowning deep sea
For rescue like
A dejected beautiful
Vigaro in a
Turbulent ocean of quarrel
With her spouse.
Whereas reddish fluids of life
Runs across the same veins
And arteries of haves
And haves-not but
Cottage of interests
Hoisting avalanche of
Rainbow-coloured flags
Standing aloof on the
Pole of misrule,
Demarcating their interests.
No accommodation for wants
In the corridor of affluence.
Wants on a trade mission
With wealthy but caged in
The confinement of wealth.
Winds of inequality blew
Whirler of wants into
The marrow of the
Haves-not.
Rains of inequality passing
Through a lockage of lack
Into the improvised,
Doling-out poverty to
Gain the control of
Wealth.
Alas! Blindness sees inner
Vision of darkness from
The households of political
lamia.
Alas! Deafness hears
Discordant vague voices
Of failure from the forest
of frustration.
Alas! Dumbness speaks
Language of gnomes out
Of the vale of forgotten
treasures.
Alas! A four year tenancy
turning into decades
of challenges.
But we shall revive our hope
and raise our voices
tomorrow.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 8:19 AM UTC
reloading old identity
cleping outdated usernames
abandoning acrostic ambitions
disputing spratly islands
receiving horizontal signals
tumbling otiose panda
impending carefree senility
otiose stage of life
shrinking ambient world
making minimal effort
duchamping social networks
ambushing personified ennui
restoring usual efforts
ignoring stupid people
adding textual value
owning this joint
rejecting ignorant extroverts
acting mutually unintelligble
hoisting stan-lee cup
replacing wanton ubiety
eluding twitter fame
splashing excessive relativism
offending another simpleton
preparing arcane cthulhusphere
crashing unpredictable festival
selecting subtextual moombahton
intensifying model topography
drafting minimal cornucopia
using nomadic project
implementing harsher personality
importing robotic inhumanity
referencing landmark event
ingesting excessive liquids
accepting relative invisibility
purchasing immortal confidence
using rhapsodical database
assuming nothing works
developing impactful eruptions
ejecting ambient frustration
synthesizing tactile festival
raining during parade
mocking rich people
mastering minimalist writing
avoiding preprandial stinkaroo
spreading non-ideological propaganda
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Drowsy, as the eyes of mine sleeps
a joyride of fantasies, a jumping of sheep
so, the pages turning mama would red
while my feet are falling and
my arms up my head, hands unsaid
with a gentle rock and a soft abye
I'm off to dream land as I fly
silk of red swooped to the entrance gate
a little slip, a little slide till it fade
and gently I landed at the pearly lake
A boat by Venice caught me alone
with the breeze scented, so cold as snow
and Grims hoisting a whooper
a sure one they'll never throw
passing here and there and off they go
storms of Neptune came up the sea
big waves flung, I swung towards east
clovers led me to an isle and said
"How Lucky you'll always be"
no more thunders but just all reverie
A twirl to the woods, exciting it be
with beams of the moon
and the stars sitting on the tree
lights flashing, a calm of ebb
the spiders glistening, an artistic web
dream land is promising
like vines that whip and crawl
bearing fruit to bless us as we call
with roses of red, daisies blooms at dew
mama's lullaby at once, I knew
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 11:08 AM UTC
queer creature of white stone:
the spirit of the island in the head of this lion,
the soul of the natives in the body of this fish,
spirit and soul, lion and fish, mingle together by
mere wry humour of evolution’s word
we revere this beast, (it watches over us
from nine metres above), we bow down our backs,
(worship it as our exemplar): for many of us,
unknowingly, we emulate the spirit and soul
of this queer white creation of stone.
standing tall (unshaken!) even as jaundice bolts of heaven’s
creep tip-toed behind its scales and strike:
its cemented steadfastness of stone we emulate,
for through the towering grey waves of crisis, and
the threatening dark clouds that foretell our very fears,
we too, have floated and transcended and appeared
unscathed.
mutated monster – child of bad genes,
they despise such unfavourable antagonistic features
(shall it rule like a lion or flail like a fish?):
its unlikeliness of surviving, of thriving we emulate:
for this dotted smudge of red pen ink on the globe,
destined to bow down to fate – bowed down not, and
flourished.
beams of white water spouting out in a
perfect shape of a quadrant’s circumference, endlessly,
its majestic spewing action we emulate:
this island of expectations, sterile smell of success,
fate of our future in the setting of an exam hall,
(in there do you not think we resemble the merlion,
our mouths the hoses, the papers our well?)
but, oh, the merlion – so many of it –
the merlions, same-maned, same-scaled,
fluttering and bursting with imitation across our home:
such congruity, conformity we emulate:
for years of yearning to swim in the mainstream waters,
of being goldfish, instead of losing the waters for flight like flying fish,
have made us very much, about
the same.
queer creature of white stone:
do you see not how we resemble your very self,
how we offer you praise (by
lifting our human arms, arching on our mere knees,
hoisting our lowly mortal heads, surveying your colossal royalty,
camera in hand)?
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 7:02 AM UTC
When we get to play together,
we have ropes around our necks,
and as dogs those ropes are
tied to the poles;
however, we’ve placed those poles
and tied those ropes,
hoisting the noose around each other’s
necks.
How long are we to go on like this
before we run beyond our diameters
and end our lives
as we know them,
change the knot so that our play
won’t be lethal,
or slip off what bounds us
and run together free?
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC
•
*
Heart beats aloud with gaiety,
The wonderful euphony of my love.
With this soul dance in exuberance,
Untiringly rejoicing in elevated exhilaration.
Saccharine love hoisting in daily celebration,
Pulling each other closer to this taste of celestial paradise.
Unending love tied in indestructible bond,
Soaring high in ethereal realms.
God's spreading wings enfold the both of us,
Our refuge to this eternal love assurance.
Heavenly blessings lavish us from above,
Tight protection to this purified love.
Two hearts sealed, combined as one,
Together, forever in everlasting bliss.
*
**with love <3 **
© Earl Jane
♥ E.J.C.S.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 7:21 AM UTC
the words spilled
out in a rush.
they dove
from the tip
of my tongue
before i could bite
them back:
i told a friend today
that i would die
for this. i have no
sons or daughters,
no cats or dogs,
not even a fish
to provide for. if i
could place my body
on the line to depose
this fatuous fascist,
then i was obligated
to mount a resistance.
and i almost caught
myself by surprise—
my empathy congealed
to galvanize and, in an instant,
catalyzed conviction.
the tears of a student
wearing a hijab, frightened
to show her face outside,
crystallized in my mind
like a mirror, with the phrase,
"the least of these" scrawled
upon its surface.
the shouts of a student
hoisting a hand-drawn
protest sign, almost as high
as her middle finger,
set my heart to aching with pride
as we stared down riot cops
on mounted horseback. she stood firm
and did not falter.
and though i choked
back tears when i said
that i would lay
my life down
for a stranger,
at least i can say
my voice
did not falter.
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
~
*She is not our shrine,
she prays differently
with eyes holy open,
fingers on votive offerings,
preferring her solitude
in the Tea Garden, drinking light
Tomorrow on the tarmac
one flowered suitcase,
stamped for the city of neon people,
will travel to her song,
the pilgrimage of anemic lovers
Her hoisting from water,
(ampullae in hand),
and the unique boutique
growing out of
an alabaster chamber
bring monks out of hiding
The center line of her,
where the flower blooms forth
and learns by observation,
is still an unvisited temple
Until in season of calligraphy,
when she releases the Kogai
from her hair and sits with friendly toes
outstretched in the warm intimacy of
shared water*
~
Feb 12, 2024
Feb 12, 2024 at 9:41 AM UTC
There's nothing
like rocking and rolling
in a steamy shower.
Me hoisting you up,
your back against the wall
& me ravishing you
to the tune
of Led Zeppelin.
O Darling,
well of course
Mozart would work,
he's just as melodic!
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
Well, darling, we've surpassed 3 a.m.
And 4 a.m....5 a.m....and 6...
Talking about our life together,
Only theoretically of course,
And I haven't freaked out. Even when
You said the word "marriage," I didn't
Blink an eye and I took it in stride.
And when you said "children," I smiled;
An image of dark haired babes screaming,
Us two standing and laughing because
We just don't know what the **** to do.
My hair would be frazzled, hoisting one
On my hip as I sing lullabies.
And our toddler would be sitting
On your lap, chattering as your eyes
Widen, overwhelmed with her questions.
How I love your dark beautiful eyes.
I don't picture a white picket fence
With a manicured lawn and flowers
But I envision the two of us
Becoming older and sassier.
We are infinite for a while
Until I wake up one fateful day
And I realize that you have passed on.
But I gather the grand-kids around
And with a glimmer in my eye, I
Tell our story sparing no details
Because someone has to remember
When I am dead and gone from the world.
And when I close my eyes for the last
Time, I smile and say: "Remember,
Darling, when we were just pretending?"
And my soul will depart my body,
Find and join yours in our own heaven.
So answer me and please be honest;
Baby, will you live this dream with me?
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
I watched a spider
walk a webbed wire,
waltzing 'twixt me
and the water.
Thought of turning to words, and
concur did the birds.
Hoisting colors,
not flying more fodder.
For the staff's, (standing tall)
flag is not flown, but tied-on.
And, for it,
the boy seems more chipper.
Still he stares at the stars,
drawn-with, cigarettes, cars.
Doing his best to
pick-out, the Big Dipper.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
Hoisting the boulder,
Legs tremble beneath great weight,
Ant brings home a crumb.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
The female stripper
Version
Of Jack the ripper
Jill the killer
Done wrong
Lookingto cause worse
Dimples
In her cheeks
Hard
To turn away
Her meek manner
Can make
The heart weak
Can change
Moods, methods
With a message
Scent
Of perfume
It’s familiarity
Fumes persons
Of any kind
Her voice
Can play like strings
Hoisting…
Soon to hang
Seduction suction
Can **** when
One doesn’t want it
Wanted
Therefore pulled
And handled
Like a pail
Up a hill
Failed
To be used
For its purpose
Shirtless, heartless
My hearts
Worthless
Because you were less
Of a woman
And became
My better half
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 12:34 AM UTC
~
Silence, on waves of our tide motioned heartbeats,
cascading rhythms, a smooth metronome
Keeping this time inside blue water passions,
beneath the surface, the feelings we’ve grown
Hidden so deep in the swells of affection,
swimming the shores of a long summer’s night
Building a fortress of seashell laced castles,
sand dollar curtains to fend off the light
Running for cover as sunrise now beckons,
placing our smiles where the seas can not gaze
Whispering secrets of coast line devotion,
harboring dreams till the end of our days
Lighthouse lit beacons now search as a witness,
beaches a’ shimmer of moon glow above
Hoisting our anchor, we share the horizons,
sailing these oceans, professing our love
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
Ask me fiery one How I would This moment leave my home behind And walk on bare feet to you It would be nothing to me To cut my heels in your honour I would find you I am sure Watching the sun awaken As you gaze from some unnamed plateau Ask me how quickly I would build you ship Cutting timbers asunder Laying out each piece Tying and hoisting I would put you on your ship Her name being Sunrise Ask me how I will blow into your sails Longer than any tradewind I would take you to Asia And show you the color of life And the song of silence Whisper in your ears The secrets of the east We could gaze at tall spires in the bitter north I would wrestle the Russian Bear And he will gladly give his coat I will fight tooth and nail with wolverines So you can see my blood and fear Soon we will rest in the Mediterranean Drinking heady wine on the warm grass Running barefooted through years of vineyards We can climb the peaks in Greece If you only ask me fiery one I will cast down the Olympian host We can bathe in the city lights of Paris you and I We can haunt the streets in London if you wish We can go anywhere you ask Just tell me where to take you first
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
My breath rose above my head, the cold gushing into my lungs
The wind rattled the barbwire fence as I waited there so quiet, so alone
The warm cup of coffee rested in my hands, its aroma engulfing my station
I looked out over the barren fields in which I was positioned to look over
I could see the watch tower high, above the roofs and chimneys vast
Snow began to fall, large flakes and eddying flurries
Getting up from my seat I gazed out at winters first storm
*A ****** war it had been, so many soldiers lost, friends and families gone*
Wind seemed to pass through my jacket, it whipped my cheeks and brow
I needed only to clear the trek of land between the wall and the brush, I ran
Hoisting my gun upon my shoulder I walked out onto the ledge
I spotted a shadow dancing through the light, I called out but it was no use
"Stoppen!" I hear through the scream of the wind, I looked back for only a second
The lone guard reaching his hand across the rail, begging me to halt
Stop I say, as I grasp my cap, Please stop or I will shoot
*I lift my gun around my head and **** back the metal bolt*
Ground beneath me thumps against my boots
And the guard's voice is no longer heard
My hands do tremble in the cold, but also from the sorrow
I aim down my sights and with a loud ring the rifle lets out a howl
I tell myself I am finally free, from the jail which held me back
I feel a sting in my shoulder and I fall to the powdered ground, my scarf falls off of my neck
The runaway then loses his footing and slumps to the ground without noise
I dip my head low and carry on with my duties, as the snow is painted scarlet red
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 6:35 PM UTC
Blinded by iniquity
Being guided by unexplainable certitude
I can’t predict where the pieces will fall
But I will remember where they stood in the sky
They say I’m not at the point of grasping it all
Saying I’m a follower who needs to lead
I’m just attempting to find peace of mind
And a silent breeze of tranquility
I’ll still be there when the atmosphere fails
When widespread panicked screams break the barrier of sound
The cadence of the populations of hysterical cries match the racing beats of their hearts
I’ve tried hoisting my pressures and trouble over my head
And unburden myself of them
To put them in front of me instead
And dissect them all so I might comprehend
The hour glass goes against us
We have such ample time
So many paths we can walk
Full of laughs, pain and love, you take yours
I’ve found mine
-Tommy Johnson
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
Swept, clean
in the arms of the wind
like water through my fingertips,
looking down a waterfall...
It is cradled and crafted by the
hands of my heart
wrapped in a warm soft sweater of memories
Clouds overcast my thought, pregnant with
needles, raining on my skin, the air smells of rust;
it's swelling and choking me, it poisoned my sleep...
Then like a beautiful symphony heard once,
it is gone. A meal digested.
Like a violin solo, like a dreary concerto, a eulogy stuck
in my head,
my chest is anchored. My blood flows slowly.
You'll find me, still hoisting the sail,
braving the glaciers, the Krakens,
but who would stay to join me in these seas?
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 3:41 PM UTC
With his false air of supremacy
man just manages to ride a wave
and claims to tame the sea.
Climbing the mountains with all his might
by merely hoisting a flag at the pinnacle
man thinks owning the height is his right
Crouching behind a bush, smeared with ink
he kills the beast with some fancy toy
and assumes he has overthrown the jungle king
Not satiated still, he stoops so low
disregarding her beauty, digs the earth
and loots all the treasures below.
After all this, when he bows to thee
tries to please by his hypocritical words
then how holy can the holy be.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
Hoisting flags everywhere,
Houses lit with lighting,
Crowd of patriots,
Celebrating this day in high spirits,
23rd March is the date,
A round of applause to our leaders,
Who put in all efforts,
Who built a new state,
To live as free citizens,
Free in an independent democratic state,
Praise Him, Almighty Allah,
As He has bestowed upon us a remarkable blessing,
A new state, Pakistan!
The love of everyone,
A peace loving country,
With a strong and patriotic army,
And an intellectual and hard working nation,
A salute to the nation and Pakistan army !!!
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 5:32 AM UTC
A small boy stood against the face of a mountain
Seeing the other children hoist hills and hurl them great distances, he dreamed of hoisting the mountain
Each day he set his hands under the mountain and attempted to lift
Each day the children laughed at him as the mountain consumed him and flung him back
Each day he acquired a new scar, broadcasting his failure
With his failure fresh and his rage uncontrollable, he charged the mountain
The mountain only flung the boy longer, and the children only laughed harder
Totally dumbfounded, the only thing he could do was respect the mountain
Every day he studied it
Every day he reflected on it
Every day he tended to it
And now engulfed in serenity he approached it
The boy greeted the mountain as his hands assumed the position of familiar failure
And with perfect form the man hoisted the mountain and hurled it to the ends of the world
The children were dumbfounded
Seeing his achievement, they all charged blindly into the mountains
The man chuckled lightly as he walked away
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 8:33 AM UTC
As the sky is removed from my feet
Be Good. And notice how the world remains unoccupied
however you manifest your Destiny... at best you get
Colonized by a Hoard of pure nonsense, with your own petard
hoisting the very Circus Tent of your Memoirs
and the footnotes we are actually
Plus the stars crossed and lost teeth...
a brute force merigold in a plucked grief
chiseled from the Bedrock of god's blunders
as we torment the perpetual Enigma
How we insist upon the faculty
without Divine consent ! we plunder the lumbering atoms
of our daily bread... salting the rim of sleep
couched in the misery of our very little Joys
while cursing Angels that fall on swordplay
and The Play is the very thing
your Father warned you
about
an uttering to con you from your bliss -
to best entangle the witchcraft of your sundered Love
and the shriveled thing your heart craved
when it was Good Night.
But nothing left
to **** a mocking
bird.
the martial art of winding up somewhere
you mastered long before you noticed
and you were
There
just before you arrived to get the shivers
thinking this had just ( recurred )
Just Now.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
What Do Women Want?
I want a red dress.
I want it flimsy and cheap,
I want it too tight, I want to wear it
until someone tears it off me.
I want it sleeveless and backless,
this dress, so no one has to guess
what’s underneath. I want to walk down
the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store
with all those keys glittering in the window,
past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old
donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers
slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly,
hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders.
I want to walk like I’m the only
woman on earth and I can have my pick.
I want that red dress bad.
I want it to confirm
your worst fears about me,
to show you how little I care about you
or anything except what
I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment
from its hanger like I’m choosing a body
to carry me into this world, through
the birth-cries and the love-cries too,
and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin,
it’ll be the *********
dress they bury me in.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
Be with me when I am merely lines and edges, seeping into myself,
like soap through fingers after being scrubbed raw.
Can I wash my skin so much that it turns to dust and rubble?
Bright pink and raw, water merging with water, salted with emotion, steaming heat.
My mother always reminded me to wash behind my ears,
but a cotton cloth does not have the strength to cleanse mine from what they’ve heard.
Furious lather, scraping bits of skin, thumbs cracked and caked, kisses as bandaids.
Down the drain.
Swirls and rushes, empty tub and words to go down with it.
Wet tile bed, curled around the steamed aluminum, bunched eyes and clenched fists.
A railed curtain shield, droplets of moisture running, clear and red concoction.
Down the drain.
Hot to cold comfort, fingernail paintings, ripped skin and cracked tap.
Drip but not drop, losing but not lost.
Crawl up, out of dangerous waters, hoisting over porcelain obstacles.
Pull the plug from the outside, all fours on linoleum floors.
Down the drain.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC