"loaders" poems
I don't recall the moment responsibility grew arms hugging
with gnarled fingers, while burdened skies wrap like a promise,
with its soft tenor of lies and seduction.
Disowned, I remember the drunk old lady who hung
over my shoulders puking responsibility, as if to discharge
toxic waste on a pre-mature baby struggling in labor, while death
chokes the innocent, lost in love's knowledge.
She could have warned me, even better, ridiculed me rather
than put my head on a bludgeoned block allowing me to become
a scapegoat for all the past, present and future mistakes:
Some, of which was manufactured in threads of innuendo
by off-loaders.
These bones of mine are exposed in the twilight of their naked
prejudice, and 'I swear I could hear clouds' curse my name, chanting
wrath, creating chaos through veins of pride, before darkness
fell feasting off my flames.
There is nothing like hollow skeletons of the dead rustling
around in graveyards alone. I stopped to think despite efforts
of going solo; how I miss the stony silence of that skull, bent
with anger seeking solace from my venomous touch.
It would be a blessing to retreat into silent reveries
where I am alone, I am alive, the dead are no more, to wrestle
ghosts with words spoken into the heavens asking,
"is there enough forgiveness left for me?"
I don't want to remember her dead face, how it looked
when her neck snapped while life drained from her stiffened eyes.
I want the abstracts of my life to fit.
So, I howl upon her bitter pill - release me...
7/11/2012
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
It's when your stomach
hurts
and you dont remember why you were sad and
nothing is really super important
except yourself
and you just laugh because you can and the sky is so pretty
and you can feel sunshine's essence exuding from the holes in your skin
and your bones are filled with electricity
but it's rubber
and you can do anything
ANYTHING
anything because you're you and nobody else can be you
and the world is there to look at, so full of pretty things
and it doesn't matter if there's somebody or nobody or everybody by your side
because it's just that perfect moment when the love in you body is a droplet
it hits the ground and wrenches itself into shapes
patterns that coalesce
you are enraptured, the sight is burning
into your retinas the perfectional bliss that is
being
the will'o'the'wisp that is your soul entangles with the white light and branches
the creature that is imagination and folly
folly with soft ears and kawaii smirks
*****
patches of grass
the birds are landing in your branches now
congregational hazards
social anxiety
disillusioned, giving in
but you don't mind the flocking free-loaders
YOU'RE A STAR
stellar beings never slow down
for a moment
unless they are enjoying the view
witness the retching as
spectrum slideshow
the colors spill out, tumbling
across the sidewalk
out of her veins
she is god
we are free
be happy
lift your arms
be happy
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
By Elizabeth & Arcassin
**by the gurgling stream
he fell into a deep dream
of a beautiful girl who
had eyes so pretty of gleam
how she did make
his heart sang with delight
as her image reflected
in the stream's
bright crystal light,**
What's darkest may come to light,
Fly from graduation or tutors,
Hurricanes ruin cities,
Mixed with high jackers,
Free loaders,
But in the dark,
Run to the light,
Trauma stricken,
In the foreseeable future we need to fight,
**the dreamer's perception
of beauty is wiped out
in the environs so broken
and torn horribly about
the shadowed lamp
of fantasy which offers unto
us the mired mirror
of malcontent which is
in this our abysmal society,**
If you come to a conclusion,
And have sense to maintain the illusion,
You can make it a reality,
Also to institutions,
Beautiful stages of goals to be made,
Grow a flower,
Open a door,
Influence the shade,
**we are capable of making
change
our purpose is to
bringing into existence
the mind of the dreamer
his purpose is to see
that by all humans
working together
they can solve the ills and inequities
which plague our earth,**
Success runs through the heart of people that are determined,
Trial and tribulations are sold separately,
Achieve,
Believe,
And don't a servant,
To people that don't wanna see you,
Give and succeed,
Your dreams.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
The ideosyncrasies of the cities are not
found in the small towns,
the dirt poor brown towns,
the twitching of curtains and dressing gown towns,
but the **** pulls us out of the towns and into the city where the
sewers are home to the rats and the mountains built up on
the streets are a home for the cats,the fat cats,the purring cats, the sharing caring who am I kidding cats,
they are the leeches
weekdays in suits and the weekends in knickerbockers,breech loaders,the feeding free loaders,the gum boot brigade,tea,toast and marmalade,raid the pension accounts and they get an accolade brigade.
The small town mentality will be the death of me,I can see this is wrong but go along with it,up to my neck in it,with paddles I row in it,
the city is full of ****
The cranes,
new age pterodactyls, chomping their way through the last of the daffodils,sending them downstream to a landfill in East Cheam,sometimes if I dream,I dream in black and white and the city then looks alright but in my heart I know it's crumbling,falling apart at the seams,held together by nightmares and more dreams from the townies,cub scouts and brownies,I don't dream a lot anymore.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
A scurry of munks
Are eating my garden;
To you they're cute,
But my heart's hardened.
They chirp at the trough
Of my labored crop;
Like double-dippers
They pouch and they run,
They sound like they're laughing,
Like they're having some fun.
I curse and complain,
But the munks keep returning,
Like a recurring refrain
Of free loaders and hoarders.
Should I feel such disdain?
After some thought,
We're much the same.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
Ever heard of Pandora?
No?
Then let me tell you about it
…
Care to survive?
Grab a gun
But which to choose
Since there are so many to choose
Maliwan
Burn them till they turn to ashes
Melt their bodies with nothing than Acid
Break their heart with a little Zap
…
But which class to play?
Axton as Commando
With a sentry for bae
And bullets to spray
Salvador as Gunzerker
Where one isn’t enough
But two to play
Maya as Siren
That kills with the power of the mind
By placing her foe in a sphere of despair
Zero as a Number
Slicing his foes with a katana
Whilst cloaking and preparing to strike
…
Now the foes aren’t that rare
Since there are plenty roaming around everywhere
From the cold-hearted bullymongs from the Frozen Shelf
To the bandits of the Dust
From the stalkers of the highlands
To the Loaders in Opportunity
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Carrier Picked Up the Package
The carrier picked up the package, this says
Whoever the poor carrier might be
This Sunday morning, at work before dawn
While I sit with a coffee and read the note
The world of packages is dark out there
Tired loaders and drivers hope for coffee too
It the schedules and supervisors permit
But otherwise, the bosses send them out
I am up early because I cannot sleep
Workers are up early - they have little choice
Oct 12, 2021
Oct 12, 2021 at 9:43 AM UTC