"ingot" poems
This is the grid a battle between you and yourself in your mind against time lets you know war isn't sublime but this is subliminal makes you think more critical about you, your hopes and dreams are yours narrow and straight like a beam or dose it twist and turn like a water stream shaping the world as it says fits remember greatness isn't a quick fix it's something you build every thing you Want is at your finger tips use them at will now soar nothing to something even the greatest mountain starter at the floor so when you can't it's all in your head think of it as a ingot your the blacksmith the best steel goes through the harshest fire that's what's been said only by beatin at it keep on keeping on till it's a fit To what you envisioned in your mind now refine and perfect it on the grind
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 3:23 PM UTC
Your face shows thee an illusion of the happiness long sought by tears
of retribution. A elusive traveller of contentment lost. That prominent
illustrator of false satisfaction and materialism. Proprietor of everything
yet possessor of nought.
Envied forever, pursued by the blindness of the ravenous follower. Yet
not for such trivialities as love or companionship. That one jewel that you
have always required, hunted for over a lifetime, yet never owned. Instead
they sprawl at your Midas touch.
You repulse now, exiled by your own commitment to fortune and
eminence. Words of greed and fortune once uttered became truth, your
own prayers answered and for this you now recoil. Ashamed at your own
self-indulgence and gluttony.
You have seen love, felt its breath. Wondered at its divine beauty, yet only
through imagination and dreams can you ever lay your hands upon it. Only
through delusion do you experience the exquisiteness of touch that lover
and love maker shall ever feel.
You have endeavored to grasp its finery, strived to gain such knowledge.
You have precious trophies, love laboured perfect sculptures of the
untouchable efforts you have made. Entire fortunes of love surround you,
mementos, untouchable memorials of your heart.
A lifetime as pursuer yet never as owner. You have everything yet nothing.
Your only certainty lurks around you, silently waiting for its payment, its
shadow almost upon you. It has followed you for millennia with hands only
now making grasp.
As you await your demise, wrapped in cloaks of golden flake and covered
in sheets of ingot, it appears to you. This long shadow calls to you, clad in
robes of blackened textile, awaiting its prize. So you breathe your last breath
as death exacts its toll.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
A face of gold greets the night,
unblinking, timeless eyes brimmed with down of galest wings.
Beneath her motherly gaze, a pavane fills the court,
Figures two by two by cloth of silken web.
Dispersing and immersing footsteps of the fae,
glimmering ingot gates spread their arms out wide
to rejoice the coming of the twilight.
Shadowed forms stirring in the brush
wish to coalesce the revelry.
And as the music dwindles into reticence,
the sighing ******* of lovers entangled and mother suckling babe,
that which goes unseen by fools
kisses the brows of those who look.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 2:21 AM UTC
Melt into me
Caramel and salt
Pine sap into quicksilver
Fog dissolving in volcanic lava
An alchemy discordant and electric
Makes an ore of iron sing into steel
A green copper ingot shine into bronze
But discarded I am left as detritus and debris, a cold abrasive ****
Among the twisted forms of the ideas never formed
Far away from the shaping hammer and anvil
The bellows there that only draws
Pulling away the last of the heat
And unidentifiable melted figures
Are each there somewhat me
But are incomplete alone
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 8:34 PM UTC
Forged through amalgamations of bravery, deepest indifferance and hunger, fluster formed a solid ingot of unimaginable tensile strength. Bought and chewed what she was fed, "Oh to be wed." She would have it melted in her mind, as if drilled through skull, and smoldered into a pithy membrane. This vow, this marriage, this perfunctory cause and reaction would be solid fortune of her life. As if what her mother, father, church and giddy peers always spoke was lost wax fulminating from her ears. Topped with encrustation, a sparkly rock, salt of some miner's sweat, this platinum bond formed and molded was then clamped on her finger. As we of confused instincts know ourselves, she came from a far worse place. This all the reasoning there need be, for institution. Most of her life, she would not miss that lost pithy wax, that mind of her own. For this was the method called "sacrament" and this was her sacrifice.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
I recall our glasses of hock under candle light
you smiled, casting the probable like an ingot,
knowing the way we could take it -
the alternation of life stories,
attachment or killing regret
by the whiskey wine route,
having graduated a step into remiss
slipping in an ex,
I only realised it takes nothing better to do
than missing things up
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
We spend our days watching, by the hour,
The Kardashians in their ivory tower
Fifty-one million one can make,
And yet from the poor we continue to take.
With another tape, they could make more
Here men are, paying, preaching; “she’s a *****
Punter, performer; why is only one disallowed?
Sexes sin equally; Mz Davidson would be so proud
But a role model she is! Some also bark.
What about Wu Zetian, Zenobia, Joan of Arc?
They are lost, not as important as ingot
Instead we’ll recall Weinstein, bigot.
Stories of their tweets dominate the BBC
But where is the plight of the LEDC?
Jun 22, 2020
Jun 22, 2020 at 3:39 PM UTC
(the smoker you are,
the drinker you get -
never vouchsafed by this
ill eagle non substance
nor amber liquids
of the dogs imbiber).
as a mathematical abbot
weeding thru bathroom rag
i.e. regular toilet tissue paper
prior to completing important
private business matter
on the sacred porcelain chamber ***
more revered than the king’s throne
molded from a gold ingot
which the heady Mary Jane
made more than hit token appearance
and quaffing
inxs of one hundred proof shot,
Nonetheless, boy gnome hatter
her inebriated state,
she still looked smoke kin hot
asking if I wanna marry
her attired in drag
at a joint where ****
banged on by the hands
of a phenomenal drummer
taut as a hemp knot
with music in his blood
while blowing fractal rings –
holy marcal scott
the immediate utterance
and rather creative bon mot
found me stock still
like stone wall Jackson,
who unfortunately got shot
unwittingly by his own
(confederate troops),
whose demise an awful blot
per the southern cause
during the civil war
and if anachronism
to receive medicinal aide
available instead
of primitive treatment he got
as well as other wounded soldiers
of misfortune on the battlefield
whose faith the any almighty
power could do little to save their lot,
yet availing my imagination
to twist time like that mobius strip
mortally wounded Rebels
and Yankees free from
facing death on a cot
might be successful hemp
entrepreneurs cultivating a little spot
of land hemp would outstrip
cotton as king as export to trot
back to lady gaga who
scorches throats yet delivers bagged
illicit goodies with bo diddly squat
narcotic as sweet
as savory kumquat
palliative that hits the spot.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 8:02 PM UTC
Molding plow from the sword
Glowing ingot, bright and red
Imbue forever more
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
each night be like can't wait to wake up
every day be like can't wait to wake up
from these explorations of these traces
of the past us
split fingertips and calloused hands
trace ingot memories & make me want
to peel off all my skin, excise, except
that's just the season and the cold
wet tissue origami bunny in my palm
you leap a pool of scrabble tiles floating
spelling out unwelcome, but you
smile at me unexpectedly and
bobbing wooden tiles don't have
letters only lines with which to read
these unexpected explorations of a
wake up
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC
Last night the Dream Gods came again
And told me of their secrets.
From their collective palm
They offered a golden ingot of truth
Blowing it to me with the
Gentleness of the first sigh
And the mightiness
Of the storm to end all storms.
Suspended before me in endless darkness
The nugget silently called.
I opened my mouth to swallow gold
And in its utter stillness
Truth lingered on the tip of my tongue.
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 4:53 AM UTC
the precipice reached
ingot underfoot
pick-ing the riches
return to surface
the deepest breath
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC