"hurtles" poems
Volunteers, PSGs, Staffs
Executive Directors
And higher task allocators.
People pass by
Mic's were off
Facade was the banner of hope.
Voices all over the provinces
All with the same goal
Rightly urged with own reasons.
Two faces were present
Painted with grimace
Or with broaden smiles.
*The screening was stern and severe
Camera rolls on with Level 2
"Next," "Give me another song"
The voice sounds no roughs of plead
A voice pushing rivals
To their very own frontiers
I was startled
So this is how they do it
Selection, great screenings
There're expectators
There're hope hurtles
Dreams will sooner be pulled of.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
There goes Lady Fate,
donned in solar sparks
and her lace corset
whose overt promiscuity
catches the attention of
one unsuspecting astronaut–
his helm fogs as he exhales,
his breath crude and lascivious.
Even Neptune’s eyes themselves
glitter wetly with passion
as she struts towards Polaris in
her pinprick stilettos.
She adjusts her stance accordingly:
I. Purse lips into a smoulder
(might as well look
pretty while ya get the job done.)
II. Aim for the desired target
(that there’s the bull’s eye.)
III. Wreak havoc
just as any Fate is meant to do.
(But, of course.)
She picks up her staff and fires.
The universe tremors
in an unbridled spiral
of colour and chaos
as the planets
d a r t
about like billiards, * * *
colliding/|\with/|\ the/|\ stars
who, in the midst of the madness,
d i v e r g e and c* r* o* s s
for fear of being vanquished.
A cluster of mismatched constellations
and forsaken cosmic particles
settle into a state of
mutual negligence and destruction.
And, together, they liquefy into
a festering pool of molten silver.
Lady Fate grins–
yes, she has the stars right
where she wants them now–
and, in a final act of defiance,
she strikes against the earth
and watches with satisfaction as
it hurtles towards the silver
and sinks down into the molten
like an eight ball.
(And everyone knows it’s
Game Over
once you’ve sunk the eight ball).
From where she stands–
bent over Polaris
in seductive pretentiousness —
she relishes
in the screams
of some wretched lover–
the first to ever be
betrayed by the stars.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
This majestic mountain invites us up to play
Above the clouds and valley haze
We own it for a day
Rising in the gondola, cables taking strain
Bronzed faces still and quiet
Studying terrain
Alpine chough and ptarmigan are seen from time to time
But alpine buzz is really
What we have in mind
A pack of snowboards hurtles by doing what they dare
A whiff of marijuana
Lingers in the air
Some are here for night-life, drunk in bed by three
Not in search of apres
During's good for me
The weather's right, tons of snow
Come on, come on, we've got to go!
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 11:25 AM UTC
Ethereal and Base a harmony so diametric a solid.
Wisdom's forgiveness lands to the unyielding new,
white spray on black lava, merging
elemental minerals in salt water.
Life the mediator, yearns for compromise
algea harvests sunlight at the hard shore, grows into plants
fish munch coral creating sand washing up, a tree's foothold creating soil...
can rock become Earth any other way?
Mother's beauty, an unknowable generous smile
and confident grace from the sun.
Ages
sitting wrinkled and depleted to her waist,
beauty transforms
into unknowable generous laughter alighting graciously from wise eyes,
like a flock of Heaven's doves so close to home
stirred by her running children: daughter and son.
All the while all the yearning is unrequited.
For her children, Beauty is vertigo,
painful reality rooted to the shore.
Eyes long for the horizon, Vision Country
between sky holding its breath and water measuring out patience,
The heart spills out futile on the crystalline sea,
but Sadness, belonging to clear water,
lightly buoys lonely Ecstasy,
Completes the voyage.
The Vision pairs selfless love with unmet desire,
opposites' harmony the firmament,
but the sound breaks from tension and the echoes fade,
and the senses footing gives way;
vertigo with dove's wings tied shut.
Descending minuscule between dissipation
falling through molecules of bliss,
and diffusing atoms of despair,
to the last remaining positive and negative
and the tension's silver thin wire between.
It cuts tied wings free,
slingshots the dove's soul back up,
at the last second, the tension's iridescent thread tangles loosely on her foot.
She hurtles back up through the scales of size:
Microns, amoeba, minnows, birds, primates, people,
over trees, looking down at cities, mountains, yet higher
borderless nations, green and sand continents,
and again all the crystalline blue seas.
The silver filament draws taut, holds the dove's ascent,
wings slowing in awe as she views Mother Gaea
her intensely brilliant sphere accompanied by vivid tiny stars.
in a cold cold soundless night...
Grandmother teaching her children to fly;
Beauty's yearning realized complete.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
After the storm,
the spider fine tunes its web-
spiraling inward,
plucking at strands
strung lyre-like
between the apple branches.
Shrinking fingers of light
slip from the underbellies
of low slung clouds
that stream by
nearly snagging the tree tops.
The wind fills the web
like a jib stretched out
before the slapping bow of a ship.
Meanwhile, our small planet
hurtles forward, circling
on strands of patient gravity
spun by God knows who or what.
Satisfied with her spinning,
the spider finally
settles into place
at the center of a billowing universe,
waiting for some small
something to come sailing by.
Tom Spencer © 2017
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
Ol’ Long and Tall sits
uncomfortably in the
seat next to mine.
It is obvious that his
back is bothering him
this morning.
‘Hey, dad…”
This is how it always starts.
Anytime he wants to talk,
he opens with this salvo.
I think it’s like using a turn signal
when changing lanes or something,
and who really knows what lane my boy
is in as he hurtles down his own highway?
It’s not that I don’t know him,
or care what’s on his mind, not
at all.
We’re both thinkers,
Alex and I, it’s just that
he gets a little bit tangled up
now and then, and just goes blank,
but never dull.
I think “Hey, dad…” offers a bit of a reset;
just a moment’s pause for organization,
such as it is in Alex’s case.
“Hey dad…” he starts.
“Did you know…?”
He goes on to tell me
some facts, which I forget
now,
about Hawaii.
Soon, that folder is empty
so he begins telling me tidbits
about the migratory process
of monarch butterflies.
“Where did you learn this stuff?”
I ask.
“At school.”
“On the internet.”
he states.
“Good.”
“That’s good.”
I assure him.
“There’s more to the internet
than You Tube and Minecraft;
and you found it. I’m glad”
“Yup.” he says and grins his squinty grin
at me.
I nod and keep driving,
it is a school day and we’re on
the highway.
No radio this morning,
just talk.
I wait.
5 seconds
10 seconds
15 seconds
“Hey dad…”
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
First period is always the worst.
After hours of perfect, statuesque silence
I am poked, prodded, abused
Why is he always so angry
So hateful
His fingers claw at me
His feet collide into my legs
And sometimes,
He loses his temper all together
And in a furious rage
He hurtles me against the wall
As if destroying a mere chair
Will solve all problems
Finally he leaves as second period begins
And I am filled with blandness
A person trying to blend
Never lifting a finger or muttering a word
It suffocates me with its nothingness
I force myself to get lost in time
But it always seems like eternity
It's not at all like when she sits in me
Sixth hour is always the best
She comes in with a soft step
Quietly settling herself in
She seems solemn most days
As if filled with disappointment
I wish I could embrace her
Let her know she is loved
But I can't
No chair can
It's a shame,
Next year, she'll be gone
And all be left with pokes, prods, and unhappiness.
I am just a chair after all.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC
You know why time flies?
Because it never slows to stop.
When time hits you, it does so with a crash.
It hurtles into you with violent awareness.
Time doesn’t crawl.
It doesn’t walk. Or even run.
Time doesn’t unfold methodically, or slowly.
Time is an event. And another.
The arrow of time is a broken spear.
It’s not straight and not constant.
The present announces itself, out of nowhere.
Time is a measure of suddenness.
Time is revelation.
It is darkness speckled with epiphany.
Time passes only when change happens.
There are no small changes in life.
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 8:10 AM UTC
Have you met the Saddest Turtle?
The one who always cries?
The one who's life is full of hurtles?
The one that hopes he'd die?
If you see the Saddest Turtle, tell him I said hello.
Tell him I'm sorry for his party to which i did not show.
The saddest Turtle has a friend, Jolly Octopus,
A loud Friend, one who contends himself as life's Magnum Opus
Oh what a friend destined to mend the Turtle's broken heart,
if only that is the octopus did in the Turtle's life take part.
So if you see the Saddest Turtle
Tell him I said I'm "Sorry",
Sorry for the misfortunes in life
That made him so chary.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
it's elon musk
his stiff, frozen corpse hurtling toward the earth
looks like space flight wasn't as grand as an idea as previously thought
the virgins have gone galactic
branson's body as cold as his icy heart
and eyes to match his lifelessness
the bald headed freak's gone bug-eyed!
clearly unprepared for the speed his amazon basic space shuttle hurtles at
as shoddily made as the rest of their **** the cabinet begins decompressing
why go to the stars
what do you think it is you'll find up there
peace or contentment
are you trying to prove something
you'd think if you'd really want to help humanity you might start on this rock before trying to jump to the next
oh you'll succeed
while the planet you so desperately sought to escape is in the throws of death's spiral
i'm sure it stings your pride to know you'll die before that though
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 1:43 AM UTC
everything is beautiful
and nobody is happy.
the earth hurtles round the sun
just for us
and we still complain
that nothing goes right for us.
the chances of us existing
were so minuscule
but we are here now.
isn't that amazing?
and didn't anyone ever tell you?
we have superpowers.
the power to love
the power to laugh
the power to save.
you are a superhero
merely because you are living.
recognise the beauty of the universe
and be happy
because i love you.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 6:13 AM UTC
Storm— rain drips, water ripples- thundering through
Seize shelter for overhead the skies darkest nature glooms
The wind hurtles, leaves blowing over the ground
till midnight, the storm surges —
Unrelenting, not a pause to be found
Grasp tight onto the bars, the winds blowing is breaking natures ground
The storm is a beast, it sounds it’s booming growls
The horns, they sound too, but deafened by nature’s loud sounds
The storm will pass through, no more creatures to bear a sight, no more shaking, trembling in fright
So on, Carry the nature
sounding it’s menacing cries aloud
till then, wait until it parts it’s wars and the skies goes clear and restless nights be eased
as the storms
do not sound no more
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 2:21 AM UTC
tenuous thin line
connects earth and heaven
kite pulls in the moving air
tugs to run across the sky
fights ignorantly for freedom
one thin line tethers a rebel
to here and now
to past and present
to futures connected
past connects the far reaching kite
unknowing of its need for tension
for the saving pull
grounding
maintaining
the lifting angle
into pulling air
when severed
the kite screams
joyous freedom
until
caught by wind
hurtles
end over end over end
tail clotting
only the wind rules
direction sideways down
plummeting to crash
directionless
free
untethered
broken upon rocks
or strangle-held in trees
Jan 29, 2021
Jan 29, 2021 at 12:19 PM UTC
To Garryowen upon an ***** ground
Two girls are jigging. Riotously they trip,
With eyes aflame, quick bosoms, hand on hip,
As in the tumult of a witches' round.
Youngsters and youngsters round them prance and bound.
Two solemn babes twirl ponderously, and skip.
The artist's teeth gleam from his bearded lip.
High from the kennel howls a tortured hound.
The music reels and hurtles, and the night
Is full of stinks and cries; a naphtha-light
Flares from a barrow; battered and obtused
With vices, wrinkles, life and work and rags,
Each with her inch of clay, two loitering hags
Look on dispassionate--critical--something 'mused.
***
The gods are dead? Perhaps they are! Who knows?
Living at least in Lempriere undeleted,
The wise, the fair, the awful, the jocose,
Are one and all, I like to think, retreated
In some still land of lilacs and the rose.
Once high they sat, and high o'er earthly shows
With sacrificial dance and song were greeted.
Once . . . long ago. But now, the story goes,
The gods are dead.
It must be true. The world, a world of prose,
Full-crammed with facts, in science swathed and sheeted,
Nods in a stertorous after-dinner doze!
Plangent and sad, in every wind that blows
Who will may hear the sorry words repeated:--
'The Gods are Dead!'
994
Knowledge is such: even
if you know that
something is true it will
hurt nonetheless. Acceptance is not
freedom
from hurt. It is
something else that hurtles in the sky,
something else completely.
I love myself.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 4:53 AM UTC
All aboard the crazy train
were going for a ride
tickets out! bags are packed
let's see the countryside
No stops until we get there
a day trip to remember
Still a passenger in spring
though I boarded in September
I pull the cord to stop the ride
This wasn't mentioned in the brochure
'Hang on tight!!' the driver calls
'It's a crazy, mad adventure!'
Corners that just twist and turn
slamming baggage, luggage flies
hanging on for dear life
'Ain't this fun!' the driver cries
Speeding past the stations
never stopping, never slowing
passengers are screaming
drivers eyes are red and glowing
The devil rides beside me
holds my hand and screams my name
the ride, a rolling death trap
and drives me fearfully insane
This was not what I signed up for
The train hurtles off the track
wreckage, twisted metal
I want my money back
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
I don't latch onto other or use ppl
If I really want it I go all out
Not afraid to try failure becomes less
Overcome many obstacles
Not afraid to come up short
Pushing forward to break through
Overcome tough times pursuing glory
Be a better person even when others are goin wrong
Be more for yourself instead of impressing others
Dare to be different and great change what you dislike
One thing leads to another keep working through the pain
Overcome the shame soetimes you have no control or say
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
Your love for me despite the nicks and flaws
lifts me from the pits and the claws of darkness
heaves me over hurtles to the fledgling light
Jan 17, 2022
Jan 17, 2022 at 1:16 PM UTC
I swim through a room with a dizzy glow
Where my feet are taking me i have no clue
I know what is about to happen but at the same time i cannot predict the future
My energy is off
My body is sick
My mind is a robot whos settings are stuck on sad
I try to get past these lunatics
Because their time goes
Click... click... click...
I am...bombarded with only 3 other bodies
Friends i do not know
A mosh pit filled 9 feet high with their words now known as snow
To that closet i will go
...And i will wait
Click... click... click...
There are two lower holes
I hold the door in place
My ears hear a sound
My heart raises its pace
POP
a balloon is set off
And the drunk people off of soft drinks sober up
Why am i the only responsible alcoholic here
Perhaps its because my beverages are clear
And clearly these mud drinkers didn't know that the kid named nooses head was about to blow
I grip the door because i can feel the thick hot blood on my hands
Its even thicker than the beaches sand
Horror stories and popcorn do not prepare you for an experience with death
I do not move because i know that he is dead
My body is limp
I am deaf
My eyes have no meaning
But i try to take a step
They (the donut eaters and hot coffee drinkers) have collected the glitter that was once his head
His pretty mind was broken
Before he went he at least wanted it to look its best
I step out from my new home named cold closet and see these boys playing with eyeballs
"Angaurd" they smile as the red that belongs in our veins hurtles towards the ground
They do not see what i see
Suicide is what some would call it
But no... to them its a playground.
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC
First thing every morning
As I'm getting up
I get myself ready
With the Armor of God
I fasten tight
The belt of truth
On all of the lies
That are passed off as true
I slip over my breast
The plate of righteousness
With the world like it is
It's not wise to wear less
As I ready the shoes
That I place on my feet
So I may walk strong
In the gospel of peace
After my shoes I take up
The shield of my faith
To extinguish all flaming darts
The evil one hurtles my way
The helmet of salvation
I place on my head
Gives me the added protection
From whatever is left
And the sword of the Spirit
Which is the Word of God
Is the creme de la creme
To finish the armor off
This all helps in the battle
That I fight out of love
For there is strength in the armor
Of Almighty God
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
Standing still
Looking to your fill
As life hurtles around
Change the only thing profound
Every minute
Every moment
Something is different
Yet everything so very same
Set in bronze
The sitting man gathers dust
Staring through unblinking eyes
Changing as he rusts
One day
So different from the other
Changes bursting at the seams
Dreaming different dreams
Experiencing the high
And the very low
Understanding our bond
That everyday grows
Change is unpredictable
It is inevitable
It creeps into the life with a snug fit
There is something just unchangeable about it.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
sitting cross-legged
on the floor
bare right foot over
left knee, tilting
the controls like
that will give you
more control as a
kart hurtles down
rainbow road—
ever the hardest track,
but the one to which
every child comes back
time and again—and
to think some of us
will live there, will love
in prisms of light with
no railings, sit
among the stars and fold
paper cranes when
people ask us to explain
our pride
as if they have never
heard of love.
when you fall off the edge
everything goes dark
but in this life the ghosts
don't float you above
it all to get your
bearings back; somehow
you have to do it without
the benefit of afar; the stars
don't spin around your
head while you count
your scars; in
this life the ghosts
are dead.
I turned off the TV,
I watched a bird cross
the street, scurrying
on its little feet
and hopping onto the curb.
It did not use its wings
once. It does not need
to see things
from far away
like I do.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
Stumbled right on through my crooked door-frame,
Took your jacket off and put in that thing.
You could not reply when I asked your name,
Knew your name was Harry without asking.
Laid with me, your head was in my blanket,
Helped you and you didn't even hear it.
Left you with a chrome and crystal trinket,
Pins and needles meant to ***** the spirit.
You fell into me just with a mention.
Bubbling lava meant a sure transgression.
Your eyes never fully paid attention.
These white walls they channeled your aggression.
Love you say, it slept beneath my ceiling.
All I saw was lust without the passion.
She left you, your bleeding heart was reeling,
Then you asked me for another ration.
Where did all the time we spent together?
Why do all the moments run in circles?
Did I tell you I was there whenever?
Who could ever help you cross those hurtles?
Since I've crumbled you don't even notice,
Even when I saw you standing right there.
Dreamed I was your dream, I was your lotus,
Now I see I'm nothing but a nightmare.
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 8:00 PM UTC
Days pass effortlessly
I jump through them like hoops;
like hurtles,
like thoughts,
like water.
The question of the century:
will I ever see that facet of myself again?
To see your flesh.
Only way is to time travel forward so that I may
witness a flashback from the past.
The days pass effortlessly
but many moments I sit still struggling.
My body is moving around but does not know
what it is doing.
You flicker and float in my conscious
like a warning,
like a nuisance,
like a red balloon rising in the sky.
Can't help but notice as it passes by.
Attempting to peer through clouds beyond the sun
and out onto the galaxy, I pray to the cosmic forces
to align you and me.
Days pass effortlessly.
Planes glide elegantly.
Your spirit is found where I am not.
And in that lonesome dwelling place where I reside,
I wonder if our energies will ever get the chance to collide.
Days pass effortlessly
and my question lingers persistently.
To see your flesh.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC