"hurtled" poems
Earth is rocking in space!
And the thunders crash up with a roar upon roar,
And the eddying lightnings flash fire in my face,
And the whirlwinds are whirling the dust round and round--
And the blasts of the winds universal leap free
And blow each other upon each, with a passion of sound,
And æther goes mingling in storm with the sea!
Such a curse on my head, in a manifest dread,
From the hand of your Zeus has been hurtled along!
O my mother's fair glory! O Æther, enringing
All eyes with the sweet common light of thy bringing,
Dost see how I suffer this wrong?
3.3k
i.
the Hibiscus is the paradisiacal
armistice of quagmire and wind:
leave it there anchored to Earth.
ii
when it rains, it bows to no one;
when it genuflects to no bird,
it trills on the red of the moseying hour—
nobody sees the Hibiscus.
only the children of the vandal.
iii.
last summer we had makeshift
bubble machines and in the high-rise
of the twilight's cradle, we ran
viciously against the humdrum town
blowing bushels of laughter at
the dreary populace — the brooms
to a sweeping rustle, unsettled dust
mounting the ether.
we hurtled across the
infantile roads like they owed us something finitely attributed
to our locomotives.
iv.
the Semana Santa had gone by
and the season, no matter how promisingly redolent with emollient brush
of wind and laboring silence, held
no reprise — the Hibiscus,
it is not alone in the quiet verdigris.
v.
somewhere amid the hubbub of city,
there is a pendulum of line biting
the shore of waiting repeatedly.
only steel scaffolds erected and no
flagrant scent aroused. peregrinating
in the haloed hour, the nascent furl of
belch from vociferous iron-clad beasts
in all of EDSA
and when i look at people around me
they look like gumamelas, finally,
yet i am
not coming home.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:15 AM UTC
*peace
please*
private property..
intruder hurtled over
seeking who knows what
screaming obscenities
perfect pitch..
find little solace
but by going within
hide well beneath veneers
possible perfection..
but with one
so very far away
loss near calamitous
pardon presumption..
get over discomfort
pick up sad face
work with it
passable poetry..
may reveal a layer or two
if the inner eye ready
shove preconceived away
puerile pretence..
try to prove points
only to efface the truth
lose bits of the light
petty prisons..
all just deadly excuses against living
get locked in by the self
unlock the cell, throw key away
*please..
peace*
S T, 12 June 2013
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 2:52 AM UTC
I set a paper rocket flyin', and it hurtled into space
breaking off gravity - all the way to Mars orbity!
Now everyone's surprised, coz a mere paper rag
flew up high and reached that rarefied lile where
only the costliest of junkets lounge leisurely by.
They said you're stupid, you got a paper twit to beg
and you've wampered even that away: how dares
a hungry haggard send missives down the skies?
I stand staring, starry eyed. This is an old squint,
that I got learning to look the other way as
my brothers starved and pottered on the streets
when cotton and coal funneled to Manchester leets.
But last heard, papa John's makin' paper boats
to swim by them snooty stars and there's a scramble
at my yards to get some ******* to the Moon.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
I see two green leaves breaking out of earth
After long years of dormancy
A chain reaction is starting
Cuffs are breaking lose
No more cages
This shark can dive to uncharted depths
No more shackles
This eagle can fly to uncharted heights
My weaknesses cower at my strengths
Now I smile through the pain
My positive principles
The umbrella through the rains
I hurt in the dark
My soul was hurtled and I was losing the fight
In ways so dreadful
Dreams turned to nightmares
I was tied up in my insignificance
Daily doubted the benefits of my existence
Now I take my steps with confidence
It is morning now and a flower is blooming
My night was gloomy
Now so brightly the sun shines
And heavens cannot resist my goodness
Even though the scars may remain forever
And my scarry past be forever disturbing
I rhyme to say thank you mama
For you helped me win
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 3:46 PM UTC
forgot i was able
forgoe the sugar cane
horse towed them over the edge
coarse hair
coerced into the trap
willing and able
are you able?
are you billing me?
is this thrilling?
have we been feeling
the same?
come over here
something else over there
i'm forgetful
i'm a disgrace to the top
upper crust societors
upper cut so much science
tons of honor
tons more scholarly journals
hurtled over the canyon wall
carried by the wind to those unlistening
wishing they could hear you
sifting thorugh the river for rocks
to deliver you
giver of too many
stories we already know
tore off all of our clothes
promised tonight would be
different than so many
others i laughed at
others i couldn't have
summer is ours to be
somewhat more into fear
someone to hold you dear
come one come all to hear
believer of something more
deliverer of sudden storms
of folk tail magic token
now open your eyes to your own faults
now look to the sky and know the hawks
are staring down with hungry eyes
they're bearing down they see you in the crowd
falling allover selfish rags
hagship tailors
flag waving tagless sleeve cutters
closing shutters in your mechanism
exposed to low level flash bulbs
just enough to imprint the entire night into something more
we would never remember if not for your loose grip
where you fell to the floor
and
saved another for
the last night you swore you wouldn't take a sip
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC
A few miles feels like we are oceans apart,
Battling against a tide of cars and trains
To reach your arms,
Even when we are beneath the same quilt,
It feels as if the rolling waves of creased bed sheets
Separates us from being connected,
I wait patiently, On the cliffs edge of a station platform,
For the sails to catch the fume stained wind of another train engine,
To be hurtled through fields that burn beneath the sun,
Past speeding cars and clouds that drift peacefully
Across the vast skies that echo adventure and longing,
Only to reach the final destination of your safety.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
Catapulted...
Over the moon.
Counted stars
as I hurtled through time and space.
I had tasted the sweetness.
The spellbinding grasp of weightlessness
as I crested upon the peak of my ascent.
Felt free and overwhelmed that moment
where the universe and I collided...
And birthed the second.
I only had that second.
*The second that spanned an eternity.
The second filled with abundant promise.
The second that unclenched my fist,
melted my heart,
and liberated my mind.*
But gravity takes control
and that second dissolves as
quickly as it came.
Reality beckons almost gentle...
Like swaying palms in the night sea breeze.
Assuring me that I'll be back in my rightful place.
In this time...
And this space...
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 11:19 AM UTC
You articulate in swift flight, confidence soaring,
plenitude of words, justly convincing.
Floating on breathless wind between here and there.
Fumbling with sense, coherence of purpose
between twisted bed sheets, whispering pillows;
In the freeze frame static of moonless nights.
I feel the yearning burn towards hoping truth
in a splintering fire against which I warm;
crackling up all your feathers, and concord.
In the daylight you scatter ordinance together,
recklessly aspiring to repair undoing damage:
Wings stunted irrevocably through flailing flighted dreams.
Unknown weighted obstacles glide courageously in hurtled silence,
sideways across the cool air of this post-nested room;
Waiting for gold and diamonds to appear, glorified.
The slightest movement uttered punctures you,
a soggy blown balloon squirting off these walls-
dexterity lays useless on this love-laden floor.
I stare at you spewed inanimately,
like splattered spaghetti in a fitting rage,
across the boards of our echoing abode.
Depths of sightlessness reveal tentatively:
There exists no place for a soul
on the unstable face of the dead.
Oct 25, 2009
Oct 25, 2009 at 2:29 PM UTC
Of place we'd been and things we had seen
Memories of a snowy day and a big white dog towing a sled
The sand dunes in the pine woods
When shreaks of joy rang forth
As we hurtled down the those slopes
Then came the saddest day when we said our last goodbyes
To that old white teddybear dog
Trips round Yorkshires lovely hills
Of you in a seat on the back of my bike
And the long haired highland cattle in Bedale park
A photograph I still posses of you sat by Richmond castle
A thousand memories remain
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
Parallel to you who finds comfort in the light,
I find peace where you flutter, in the depths of night.
You’re chased and swatted and hurtled outside,
I do hope you can find somewhere bright to hide.
For my darkness is my contentment, peaceful, serene
My mind falls absent, happily empty of the obscene.
Does the darkness outside, fill you with trouble and worry
Like the impending rising sun sets my mind a flurry?
Oh wise old moth, please stay as long as you need,
My bedside lamp can be your refuge, no need to plead.
You don’t have to tell me why you’re here, or open up to me,
Cause your presence here alone is a pleasure to see.
In twenty-four hours you’ll be looking for new lights to borrow
But please remember, wise moth,
I’ll be awake and lonely again tomorrow.
Sep 1, 2010
Sep 1, 2010 at 7:08 AM UTC
Hurtled through love,
Dark, robust, romantic
Violent memories
Tearing through a moonless night
Hooting and growling through a treatise
A spiritual rebirth, heaved into heartbreak
Ever revving metaphor
Shake it Out
I am done with my graceless heart,
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and restart
Melodrama vastly inflated
Turbulent ballads, booming drums
The wind chorales howling melodies
Hopeless romantic separating rapture from disaster
Love is a vast and violent force
Overflow of iconoclastic shamelessness
Leave my Body
Midnight-on-the-moors
Oh my love don't forget me
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
There's a meanie on the monkey bars
He's swinging to and fro
He's kicking at the other kids
and telling them to go,
He will not let them play here
it makes the others sad
that was until my brother
came a'crying to my Dad.
My Dad he is a Viking
eyes like oceans, hair of gold,
his shoulders are like boulders
and his glare could turn hell cold
Across the park he walked with Ephraim,
and the monkey bars did mount,
then hurtled straight toward this lad
with his loudest war-cry shout.
The meanie dropped and bolted,
didn't want to wait for more
from this crazy guy, with fury's eye,
feet an inch above the floor.
He made sure every kid was hung
like washing on the line
and then he hung there with them
that crazy Dad of mine.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 10:17 AM UTC
Aluminium ladders from the attic creak during forbidden midnight ventures, whilst auditory perceptions of Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy echo within the magical darkness.
Many times, Dolly stood at the edge of the platform and articulated prismatic pronouncements, as the train hurtled along the tracks.
We must permit our nostalgic souls to remain attached by silver chords, as we travail along the corridor of indiscernible planes towards twilight.
Therefore, my slippery soul of simplicity, we must hold up the lantern in this obscure existence. Joe, I have toasted bread by the coal fire within the flickering shadows of overwhelming anticipation. Your carriage awaits.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC
"Forever" is such a foolish word,
To its promise we're held like a slave,
Too often love is vowed forever
And then hurtled toward an early grave
Without shame, "forever" deceives us,
For what it vows, it can't deliver,
Like a stream that can't float a dried leaf,
Yet, it boasts like a mighty river
Yes, "forever" is a finite word
Eternity must find amusing,
Just a carelessly shared expression
We mortals delight in abusing
"Forever" derides reality
Even when spoken with good intent;
But only fools believe "forever,"
And soon discover its value spent
Yet, we need "forever" in our lives,
This word, uttered with bold endeavor,
This beacon that lights our darkest hours,
Can we just cast it aside? Never!
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 5:32 PM UTC
The news spread over the countryside
As a clatter from iron rails,
The ominous sound of clacketty-clack
From their intersecting trails,
The plodding Goods of the 0-4-0
To the proud Express from Cheam,
It muttered as it was going past,
‘They’re going to get rid of Steam!’
The sudden shock brought an answering hoot
From the stack of the proud Express,
That whispered by on its 4-6-2
But shuddered to draw its breath.
‘And what will they pull their Pullmans with?’
As it passed through an April shower,
A 4-6-0 on another track:
‘They’re moving to diesel power!’
The steam from the Earl of Erin laid
A trail through the valley floor,
Its coals glowed red from the firebox grid
As the fireman shovelled more,
A Day Excursion that quietly sat
To wait for the train to pass,
Had whispered, ‘Sorry to see you go,
You’re King of the Master Class.’
The smoke that billowed from out the stack
Had turned from white to black,
The footplate shuddered, the furnace roared
As it raced along the track,
‘They say they’re moving to diesel power
And they’re getting rid of steam,’
The Earl of Erin had hurtled by
As a Tank Engine had screamed!
The driver, checking the frantic pace
Was trying to slow it down,
But nothing worked, not even the brakes,
‘We’re headed for Hampton Town!
We shouldn’t be doing sixty-five
We’re twenty over the top,
He slammed the door of the firebox shut
And the fireman’s shovel dropped.
The tender’s couplings opened up
And the Pullmans fell away,
The Earl of Erin had surged ahead
With a new found power that day,
It passed a struggling 0-4-0
As it headed toward the sea,
Gave one long blast on its whistle then
To say, ‘I’m finally free!’
The fireman jumped at the water tower,
The glass was going down,
The driver jumped when it hurtled through
The Halt at Hampton Town,
The Earl of Erin went racing on
When the sea came into view,
But locked the brakes at the water’s edge
Just as the boiler blew.
The Earl of Erin’s a rusted wreck
That still sits there on the line,
And children crawl on its footplate there
And dream of another time,
A time of dragons, a time of trains
A time they can only dream,
The age of romance, gone at last,
It died with the age of steam!
David Lewis Paget
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
And we showered in prison sized cells,
white tiled and PVC clad,
the B&Q; recommends it!-
hells.
And we died in those showers
that were prison sized cells,
white tiled and PVC clad,
doors-are-broken-again-
hells.
And we were saved by the
eat again yellow doors,
peering through blind black windows
into the clear streets at dawn.
And they yelled with a siren mouth
***** blue profanity and
you left your mark with a ****** white tee,
wet with the water that
hurtled down from the
shower head, unclean and *****
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 12:26 PM UTC
He had no idea if he would...
If he could actually do it...
When the time came,
When his sergeant gave the nod,
Let slip the dogs of war,
Unleash the copper bees,
Send missiles hurtling up or down
At targets moving now...
On men who may be wondering
If they could fire the same,
When the time came....
"Steady, men!"
"On my command."
He lay there,
On a roof,
In a ditch,
On an open field,
Crouched inside a turret,
Bellied down in a plexiglass ball,
Hurtled above a world mostly covered in cloud,
Standing far below the earth in silo'd steel,
Seeing still, through satellite eyes....
Peered into the mil dot scope,
Ignored the cross
To see through the center,
Found the circled aperture,
Punched coordinates into a seeing machine,
Saw green circles on the screen...
Aligned the circles....
Tried to breathe.
So that was how it was
For farm boys, Mowers of hay,
Grocers' sons, smashers of ants,
Carpenters, hammerers of nails,
And bakers' boys, cutters of bread,
Just in from shooting marbles and BB guns,
Transported into war,
Fed soldiers' ration:
meat and bread and beans,
Five cigarettes apiece in boxed MREs,
Sent off to **** and to be killed
With mothers' tears still fresh upon their cheeks,
With lovers' ache still glowing embered heat.
Training fresh,
Waiting command
To fire only when the order came...
To remain firing til the order came...
To hold the breath and squeeze...
To hold the sight just so...
To squeeze...
And to reload
Keeping head low,
Eyes on target...
To ignore all but the sergeant's yell,
To think of squeezing on new targets,
To wait awhile to process coming hell....
And when the time came,
He squeezed,
Felt the sudden life,
Heard little but the sound of
Clean ejection ...
Saw his bullet,
Saw his missile,
Saw his target meet,
And in the meeting,
Red,
And in the meeting ,
Fire and smoke,
And in the meeting
Knew that he could do
What soldiers do.
This boy
Now cutting hay,
Now stomping ants,
Hammering nails,
Cutting loaves of cooling bread...
Caught in the maelstrom of war
With no moment left but now,
No possible tomorrow...
Only targets,
Only targeted
In ferocious winds
Of battle.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 6:52 AM UTC
The nebulas danced a twisted waltz, leaving a dusting of themselves behind after every step. White painted onto black, and then green, and purple, and all the colors of the rainbow into the sky, and the ballad wailed out its long notes as the song crescendoed into oblivion. Notes jumped up, adding brush strokes of stardust onto the azure of the absent canvas. A celestial battle was beginning, varnishing the open vault with beautifully broken carcasses and fingerprints forever to be seen. Each movement, every fractional breath, leaving a trail of stars and color and galaxies for worlds to gaze upon in wonder. Swords unsheathe and blood is finally drawn, dripping into elliptical formations, and hardening over stars. Asteroids are hurtled through the expanse in a way of symphony, in a way of ballet. The horrifying back and forth blending to something magical, creating an order from chaos, forming patterns in the dark. And suddenly the anthem comes to a ****** and stars are expanding and dissipating, leaving nothing in its place. And instead of new cruel masterpieces being added to what was once there, everything around gets pulled in, into the nothing until nothing becomes everything. The symphony swirls around in circles, adding bits of blackness between the blinding light, and soon the universe is following suit. As the closing notes ring out, the cosmos revolve and whirl and dance, they simply dance to the crestfallen fantasia as it cries out its call for help one final time.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
From his glassed verandah
he stared in wonder at the motionless sky
with not a star twinkling,
he felt sadly amused,
the little stars don’t twinkle here
and he was so far away from the land
he had known all along as his home.
suddenly it dawned on him
that it wasn’t for no reason
that he felt rootless and homeless
in what was so long his abode
the same way he’s feeling now
in this glassed verandah
one fifty million miles away
from the place he calls home.
he shivered in this thought
looking at the vast frigid sky
where hurtled the ghost of phobos
whose pale orb he found too dimmed
to spin webs of dreams
he did with the silvery disc
in his once familiar sky.
at the sight of that desert terrain
exposed yet bereft of the wind’s ravage
where time stood timelessly frozen,
he felt lost in a massive alienness
listlessly searching for a way out
to come back to a tranquil equilibrium.
then his eyes fell on the ocean water blue
and he couldn’t hold back his tears.
like a man possessed
he started tapping the keys….
The first flower blossomed on that lifeless world.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
...and I was running,
out of breath,
out of time,
nearly dead
my footsteps in perfect sync
with racing beats of my heart
His panting
amplified
over my
shortness of air
within reach, one attempt
to halt me in full stride
I **** left
into an ally
that I was sure
had two ways out
a near miss yet determined
to harvest from his prey
There were
cans dodged,
tramps hurtled
on every hasty turn
then a dead end, I slow
recuperating to inhale
“Was it left,
left then right?
Right, left
then right?”
As I turned to race once more
but, darkness had caught up
His breath
on me familiar
as I couldn’t
catch my own
and to no avail I struggled
growing limp in my attempts
I was his
for feeding,
subtly anguished
yet captivated
as he softly laid me back
exposing all that he was after
Madness rushes
through me
as his fangs
perforated lust
a cool hand neath my neck
draws me closer rhythmically
I’ve lost all strength
though want
to whisper
as he carries me away
“Please, do with me what you will.”
And I fade.
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 6:51 PM UTC
notes,
when we walk easily and lowly
on an avenue, with a camera, with two hearts
we see and we have seen it
we breaststroke through a night so
dark and slovenly as to turn a sunrise purple
to red, ashamed
books,
when we love properly
when we speak slowly to better hear
the dripping of a warm and raining noon
there was nowhere left to go for us
coolly dryly, bookish we sat
and to a boyish morning, hurtled
will we sit again, as we walk
will we again open those books and laugh
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
Stuttered breathing but no ribs broken. All limbs still intact-
Could I stand? Yes.
All motion functions seemed to be in order-all in place-all as they had always been in this unique vessel he had chosen as his own.
But then it hit him-like a silver knife to the chest-
he was falling,
falling,
falling.
Spiraling out of control with no way to halt-all the pressure of his divine being-stripped with a waxen blade-he was a shell…he was nothing now.
Snapping out of his spasm, Castiel attempted to take in his surroundings again-the realization not yet hitting his aching chest. Aching… Well that was a new feeling.
It was as if his bones were weak from all the pressure he had never felt in all his being since he sprung from existence, at the beginning of the world itself. Mind racing yet numbing, he stumbled, trying to heal his aching, his aching what? He could no longer pinpoint the pain-it was new and fresh like a wound but deceased as well-as if it had long been dead inside with daffodils tossed casually by the grave.
Was this what it was like?
To be human? To no longer feel the rush and pressure of his wings upon his back, never visible unless he chose so; the ache of a human heart pounding in his chest cavity, unnerving and rattling; and the silence-no more of the noise of his divine celestial being; no more being able to answer his friends…
He snapped then and there from his newfound musings of what humanity felt like-
Dean.
Sam.
He could no longer hear their call. Attempting to summon all the remnants of what little remained of his grace-he rose to his feet-he had to find them-he had to find his friends.
Yet silence was the only call that answered him, ringing with the final yell of "CASTIEL!" as the final sound he had heard as he hurtled to the rocky hard earth.
*Dean had been calling but he had no way to answer now-
and…
it was useless.
He was branded with the absolute of nothing now.*
He was nothing without his grace-nothing…and who could ever want such a monster as he had become anyway?
His grace had been his final stand, his anchor-and all was now lost as he had fallen.
But now-now something just remained-as tears pulled at his eyes-guiding him unwillingly to stare up at the midnight indigo sky.
Falling-all were falling-as if shooting stars had all been drawn to this one night.
There, there was the final proof as he stared up at the sky, the misery now fully realized. His family-all of them-were dying right before his eyes.
*And it was again-
as it always was
and always will be-*
all. his. fault.
----------
*What a heavy burden
his new heart would have to bear-
Knowing it was
in his name
that all the angels
were stripped bare.*
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
I do not know for how long
I am standing here,
alone all by myself
All are shamelessly coming and going
just in my front, to and fro and fro and to
I can not help
It is their fault.
At times somebody stops
Looks at me
askingly,perplexed,
and casts a giddy frown
nose curled eye brow upped?
I can not help
It is their fault
I can not understand
The passersby's wantonness
the scandalous carelessness
their sheer idiocy
What to me that's their fault
Finally some vagabond
hurtled to me with impunity
asked me why my dress is no more
my body is bare
the hair disheveled
the chest bone is nakedly visible
I exclaimed,
looked to me
more closely, intimately
Is it to be ashamed of?
After all it is not me
Not at all I swear
It is their fault
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 6:13 AM UTC
Vines creep up the old church downtown.
No one goes there, and no one cares.
The city mows the very edge of the property,
and posts a sign saying,
“KEEP OUT, DANGEROUS!”
but only because they have to.
The kids mock the crumbling building,
as the foundation cracks,
the ceiling sags,
and water trickles in through the broken windows.
Everyone ignored the tragically beautiful building
until the day it collapsed.
With a groan,
the building hurtled thousands of miles an hour
in the opposite direction of the other buildings around town.
It’s neighbors cried,
as they mourned the building they did so little to help.
The town buzzed with the news for a few days,
and crews hauled away the wreckage.
And not too long after,
everyone forgot about the beautiful church downtown.
Now think of this, listener.
This building wasn’t a building at all,
but a young girl.
Who took her life,
because no one cared until it was
too late.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC