"lockstep" poems
In a strange mood - see/write art
in a strange way, disorganized but straight on,
light tinted magenta, issuing, in frothy large pours, from my mouth,
knowing what to say, and the meaning too,
I can more than walk, can write, on water,
where all can read weeping, Mary-miracles of seeing, living words,
themselves, on light waves lapping in a
shifting rotunda vision, color reorienting spatial senses.^
in a strange, strange stitch, seasonal spirits and witches,
Chagall, Baez, Dylan Thomas, Donovan, Richie Havens
doing their knitting in my brain, from Montmartre to the Midwest to Monterey,
painters and poets in lockstep head-messing with me,
imperfect clarity but still one voice,
see/write art,
so went and caught the wind, going gently into night
to banish the hodgepodge of uncertainty from inside out.
knowing well you don't understand fully, but jumbling tumbling
verses are sliding off my rusted tongue as fiddlers fly above,
roughened words, hewn from a paper cup, spilling diamonds uncut, imported from Sarajevo, Montparnasse, the Lower East Side.
wretched me, in the hour I first believed, this amalgamated conception conceded,
seceded from my mind into your palate for a tasting,
tho neither drugged, nor deaf and dumb, just slammed poetical-like, this write is
all I have to portend is your affections, your attentions, to yours, am beholden.
a ***** well respected man in daylight,
the hidden references accuse,
woke up to see Wednes-day Caesarian born,
askance glanced at the prior passages of the night before,
when my palate clefted,
when eyes chose not to distinguish
between right and lefted,
in the nightlight,
a ***** man disrespects language convection/convention,
and lays before you activating stanzas and his mind, prone,
but always the truth, speaking,
the visions, leaking, mind to eye,
recombinant, into our minds eye.
^ http://www.guggenheim.org/new-york/exhibitions/on-view/james-turrell
Rather than write extensive notes on the many references, inspirations in this poem, if there is a line that intrigues, ask me
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
~
*solstice = sun stopped; in the case of winter solstice,
the moment when the sun ceases its journey northward
from the earth’s equator and turns southward toward
longer days; much like the journey our sun takes,
love solstice then is that moment of
arrest and redirect for one’s direction of travel
in life... and in this, the moment
a Sagittarian and Capricornian
separated on two sides of the solstice,
turn, collide and coalesce.*
~
hers,
the waning side,
winter's reprise,
calls to the night,
at height of eventide.
his,
on ebbing turn,
the sun's reverse,
together rise to step
as one at winter's ball.
their dance across the sky
'neath moonlit nights.
two in love,
in lockstep of
the stars above,
collide and coalesce,
their waltz amidst
the delicate pearls of
a Milky Way stage!
no more his lonely
path among the stars;
his heart she's swept,
to never dance alone;
her arrow sent with bow,
piercing to the marrow,
holds his life,
his very soul.
bold and daring,
her voice of caring,
soothes his troubled heart.
he, her promise, calls
to her adven’trous heart,
two stepping toward
a rising warming sun,
in birth that spans
the space and time between,
forever now as one;
this their solstice of love!
~
post script.
*she (late Sagittarian) is the setting-sun-kissed, rain-misted huntress,
he (early Capricornian) is the rising sun's icicled traveler.
mere days separating their arrival, though theirs could not be
more varied. their births under different signs; his in the wintry
heartland, hers in the sun-kissed southwest; individually they are fire
and ice, huntress and wanderer who together have captured,
captivated each the other’s heart. you’re not likely to see them
separately, but when you do, it’s only briefly when resupplying
their home, their hearth, their hearts. two making a most unlikely one,
but oh so surprisingly, so beautifully passionate!*
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
somewhere between the
first date and the last date
Joni Mitchell,
she, me
encapsulates
I'm remembering well,
pounding the dashboard of a red Jag,
laughable now, mocking this fool's need
for a middle age conceit,
his heart to restart,
reactivate
in enthusiastic lockstep with the voice of the
Joni, the blonde goddess of his youth,
foot falling in love, with the accelerator,
speeding along
at a
joyous sixty five,
in places where the signs said,
"thirty five to stay alive"
this aged Rip Van Winkle teenager,
in reverse osmosis of Big,
an old buck, come back to antlered life,
singing along to the CD disc
set on
backdate
*I could drink case of you,
and still be on my feet*
and he could
rediscovering the champagne taste
of a great first date,
feeling the heated blood and fevered mind,
symptoms of the pleasures of a robust
anticipate
thinking she's the one
who will make him great,
happy greater, greater happy
than that one ever, ever,
he thought was roulette~wheel possible,
landing on the red of hopeful for a
floodgate
overture spilling
months, days, minute minute moments (tiny time intervals),
of the fated faded last date later, the next eve, next day
or the next of never,
comes the
deflate
but then,
Joni singing comfort words,
reminding him that he would be,
wisely, sadly seeing, feeling,
both sides now, and yet again,
getting his mind back to
straight
*I've looked at love that way,
but now it's just another show.
you leave 'em laughing when you go,
and if you care, don't let them know,
don't give yourself away*
a grown man punk'd, blasted,
dumb and dumber, dumped,
a feeling sorry sad sack self,
until he himself
reflates,
drink another case,
onto yet another
magical mystery first
date
pounding that dashboard once again,
believing it's not too late
that perfect roommate heart's to find and
captivate,
to attain, invade, acquaint and laughingly...
serenade
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
Misty invisible
Phantasm
Behind me in
Lockstep
Where I have been
It follows
I only recognize
It's shadow
I am not my own
I belong to time's
Click click
Step step
What was done
What was said
Ear ringing bellows
Of yesterday's defeat
Drown out
Anyone near me
Who could remind me
Of my name
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
through shattered glass a broken mind
in one lone voice terse and cleansed
speaks unspoken thoughts of rusty will
nestled in spirit's brawny grasp
winged notions lay in wait
on woodless edges of fate's forest
relenting for relent's sake
heart-shaped clouds bleed sorrowed sheets
blanketing a clown of shame
huddled atop nervy stilts
embedded in the muck of mourn
furious fields forge fires of rage
a sweltering stench stands tall
in lockstep a ghosts parade
foggy silhouettes stop and gaze
watching, waiting, wanting
to rob future's grave of treasures past
scratched and bruised and battered lands
tattered bands of dreamscape caravans
timeless sands, spineless hands, heartless clans
among these, fate is planned
a distant city stands to fall
infidels shall cringe and crawl
brotherhood of hate begun
redemption of man undone
©Jason Cole
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC
shuffled quietly into the busy day
transit thru layers of faces
and the thousand random sounds
meant to distract
but i keep pen to page till image surfaces
and words flow however uneven
almost seems like my poems are crossing roads
only every other phrase survives to the page
the rest lay unadorned baking in some
unrelenting internal sun
like roadkill my thoughts
strange and laughing
like prussian soldiers aligned wait for
the drunken magician to send
them charging into battle marching
lockstep backwards
they are sure to be slain
but they know they will be resurrected
later in my life as some odd little ditty
about some random babylon nubile kitten
**** and sweating at the door
looking for a fresh spike
perpetual motion in this silent sky
the clouds form up white grey along the east
and in slow parade move thru my vision
'brisk eastern wind says rain' whispers a companion
'best be done with your writing friend'
the boat rocks slowly in the waves
and there on this un-named atoll lay the wreck of
some long beached sloop
her mast snapped in some long forgotten storm
and the poem i labored to give birth to
surrenders to such an image
of loss and forlorn dreams
goodnight my love
goodnight and sleep well iv got the watch
and nothing shall disturb
no storm nor pirate shall approach unheeded
lay back and dream of my poems to you
perpetual motion in this silent sky
the clouds form up white grey along the east
and in slow parade move thru my vision
'brisk eastern wind says rain' whispers a companion
'best be done with your writing friend'
so i close my book and put aside my worn pen
for the night
take the tiller
and make haste for open sea
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
the quiet engine of passing time
produces gremlins in the shadows of morning
they steal the warmth from his cup of coffee
they place landmines on his daily road to perdition
'this is what madness must be like'
he said to himself as the dawn seeped into the room
one tear stained ray of sunshine at a time
because each added moment lighted reveals
more of her damaged face
more of her impossible eyes
her words hurt his ears as she bleeds his strength
she is a peddler of perils
whats your fantasy she cries out
tied to the railroad tracks like a maiden
or walking the long mile with the skeleton key in hand
the key opens all enduring keepsakes
and releases them to crawling thieves
you cannot retain your world for more than
a flickering moment
so you loose faith that it can ever be done
i miss her
and i miss my daughter
but she is a peddler of perils
and she now comes grinning and fast *********
my head full of noise
so my thoughts gather round
like they are at the Battle Of The Alamo
to the necessity of self preservation
and the warm comforting blanket of self interest
manufacture reasons to do what the ***** dictate
but its her goal to see such endeavor
fold under the weight
of her guilt trip
back in the echo box
she quietly shouts into
the acoustic confusion
madly laughing and the ensuing army
of echoes marching in lockstep to her mad mad laugh
of her mad mad laugh
of her mad mad laugh
we spend the day between the
sheets wrestling each others sweaty forms
i miss her
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
Oh decry the weakness of our condition,
sets brother on brother,
us versus them
as we march under banners
we’ve made to define us,
hurling words as stones
to defile and ****** the other,
huddle and glorify those loose strands
of similarity that bind the camps
we choose to be in
There is no such thing
as peace we've ever made,
only those lulls which prepare us,
tracing shapes
of the next enemy faced,
togetherness an ideal for armies
marched in lockstep.
Good God!
Were we ever in His image?
Recalcitrant, misfit
creators of the better death
Then suffer so, those who love the weak;
they own multitudes of sins
never answered,
intent yet to invent one
which will make Satan quiver,
finally prove mastery of all universes.
But they are our kin, so love them we must
Jul 25, 2010
Jul 25, 2010 at 4:38 PM UTC
Inside these cold sterile walls
Somewhere between life and death
I sit in somber solitude
As the white coat solemnly approaches
I gauge the countenance
Tremulous mess ....
.. upon bated breath
Suddenly... I was moving
Past the speed of light
Straight through all the darkness
Of this obscenity
Platitudes passed along
On paper plates of awkwardness
This reproachful atropos night
Suddenly slamming the brakes
Screeching all the way up to the guardrail
At the very edge of eternity
There at the rail I cursed the Gods
In a voice as loud as anything I've never ever heard
A voice so shaky
As to create an echo
In its own formation
While this silent gravity of infinity
Absorbs every single word
Even inside my head I could not hear
Anything of what I might imagine ...
... that I had screamed
Still I felt an internal satisfaction...
..... At the very action
Then I turned and WE walked back down my path
For weeks and weeks it seems
Past visions of serene beauty... of OUR.shared history
That no mere mortal ...might hope to see even in dreams
As if I were suddenly ****** awake
By someone speaking my name
White coat speaking
And there I sat
Inside these cold sterile walls
Somewhere between life and death
I began catching up to my suspended breath
I watched as he mouthed all of the words...
... that I never heard
I had already seen everything
Written on his face... When he first appeared
Long before this final approach
Everything had already been said
That ever needed to be said
For on that long slow walk back along the path
I had been- in lockstep- hand in hand- sharing the exquisite beauty - with my love - my heart - my friend - who had reached their end
Nothing needed to be said
I already knew
So I took a step - stepping around death
Took a deep breath... exhaled
It's never ever easy... But life does go on
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC
I am exhausted by the endless pontification from
Professional apologists for every form of
Bad behavior from the protected class of the day.
I am tired of hearing from people for whom
Race / *** / color / creed / disability / ****** orientation
Is a hammer and the whole world is a nail.
I am weary of politicians passing laws
They neither read nor understand
And of the media that gives them cover.
I am fatigued by the endless lecturing from talking heads
About the need to strictly adhere to political correctness
And their attempts to quash speech and rewrite history.
I am haggard from having to deflect the constant, blatant,
Insidious efforts at indoctrination from the self-appointed
Thought police peddling propaganda masquerading as news.
I am burned out from the galloping gall,
Of apologists portraying criminals as victims,
While ignoring the harm done to their actual victims.
I am tuckered out by the double standard,
Of some racists who hide behind a perpetual cry of racism,
As the only acceptable answer to every difficult question.
I am petered out by having to listen,
To the mad ravings of newly arrived Representatives,
Barely out of diapers proposing ideas from The Twilight Zone.
I am drained by the injustice of heroes attacked as monsters,
Monsters treated as heroes and proudly worn on T-shirts,
And those who stand for nothing but take a knee for the National Anthem.
I am sapped by traitors who marry terrorists,
Name their children after other terrorist warlords,
Then demand the right to to come home to the country they betrayed.
I am worn out by life in a world ruled by madness that expects me to
Nod, pump my fist in the air and march in lockstep to an imposed
Drumbeat while ignoring the man behind the curtain orchestrating the show.
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 1:27 AM UTC
Los Angeles
Griffith Park,
June 2009,
we got out of our concrete cage
and into the untamed wild.
We tried to escape the amber streetlights
because they polluted the sky;
twinkling stars
winking aeroplanes and
startling skylines
covered in the midnight blue.
I walked with you,
in lockstep,
we avoided the cracks
in the pavement.
We found a quiet place,
just you and I,
the sky cleared
and I didn’t want to blow my cigarette palls
into the sky
as I feared
they would block your view.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
When I was a boy I fell out the pocket
I fell out the pocket
I dropped down
Left instead to the beats in my head
Which called me ahead to a timeline
Where I prettied up the ambience to the end rhyme
Given a first rate view into the sounds; I drew
Wrote and only knew how I could combine
intertwine and multitudinous vines
of personalized style defined
into my lockstep, rock depth
So do I search for meaning in a land of intrigue
Do I look for a song in the silence, in the air that I breathe?
Or given the choice do I add to the mix?
Given the choice now do I voice that I can add to this rift?
Break open the barricades and give a name to this shift?
Give it a flow, give it a flare, give a decision, commit
Bring it in low, give it a lift, give it a rhythm to drift
Don't give into shiftless insistency, sometimes cadence begs immediacy
Give it a rest, give it a pause, know that some of it hurts
But give it the Barricadence, I think you'll find that it works
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 3:40 AM UTC
I don't need help changing my tire
I need your political support
to put out this fire
set by the angry mob of course
and there's no way I can force
you to see from the high horse
you gained from light chores
so keep your random acts of kindness
as long as you cure your blindness
I think we could find this
more profound niceness
embedded within the social construct
so kindness is required and not luck
because our intermittent charity
won't achieve economic parity
making our situation scarily
here to stay apparently
so don't tell me to be civil
from behind the American sigil
that sits on a swivel
with **** symbols
and those that swindle
a nation of marks
pushing shopping carts
in a lockstep art
dividing us from the heart
so even if you mow my yard
we'll still be miles apart
separated by a canyon of cordiality
that a river of oppression runs through
carrying away our ordeal reality
as fast as guns do
when they're held by the sightless
who convince themselves they're righteous
through random acts of kindness.
May 26, 2022
May 26, 2022 at 9:05 PM UTC
the clarion call
of the goose
in times gone by
the sound
like sweet waters
known well to his flock
a band of brothers
yet today, his call
on the heels
of a sharp report
a different sound
an urgent message
a call to gather
a call to protect
a call to form
a circle of hope
of encouragement
for not just
a better day
but a brighter path
shinning
because this journey
when taken in lockstep
wing to wing
together flying high
cannot fail to arrive
more rested
more able
more protected
this brighter path.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 10:50 AM UTC
The sun shone that day. It ought not have. I walked with angels as the earth woke around me and I knew peace; a shadow, disembodied as it were, should have darkened my gaze, none appeared. No siren from God to one of his own, only a summons delivered with the grace of Revelations, thunder without the requisite fanfare. My heart warmed when it should have stopped and I would have held that moment had I known, but instead I drew breath to let the world in and threads of gold blew between the young leaves. The sky was cast in sapphires, misnamed without relation to flame; it would have been more appropriate. The truth in my veins would have run as snow melt had I known, in truth, not truth at all. Thunder preceded cause, ill fated, and I should have flinched in unknown terror like some soldier might when charging down a once familiar hill and one who is brave yet untried shall find a disquieting serenity amidst the gore that bathes the ground and, in a moment, his face. That young veteran loses himself that day and shall seek that stillness for the days that remain to him. A futile venture. It is only to be found in the recesses of the mind; that place reserved for reflection and shame, it is in that calm he holds himself in question and a voice, not unlike his own, whispers a choice that was always there and with it a euphoric ecstasy rises like bile. It is in every man to let go of the lockstep of life, but to open your eyes in the following moments is to face a world unlike that in which you closed them. That new world is the cost of the decision and it shall flood in as the gates lift and the sky shall be cast in sapphires.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 4:23 AM UTC
The Boys in Grey lined up that day with the flag rippling in the front line.
Drum and bugle poised and at the ready.
Cadence carried through the rank slow at first and then the piper caught a tune
to the slow march lockstep heads held high.
The Boys in blue mustered up and matched the grey line man for man. Faces looking forward frozen in the task. The task at hand was spectacle and specter bound and all rolled up in one.
To the quick march now. The orders came. hearts pounding as the bugle sounding brought the
moment hither.
Massive Cannons wheeled about as men and boys commenced to shout a deafening roar and thunder. The ground would shake and spirits quake the deafening roar when flesh and bone are left alone to buttress lines on grassy fields as grapeshot whistled loudly.
Rank and file. File and rank
ten thousand souls sent forward. The reaper's blade made steady work
in sun and shade.
Fathers, Brothers, sons and all to hasten to
Elysium's halls ,Thousands more would wail and fall
The dogs of war a rabid pack.
North and south would pay the price.Antietam.
Bull Run. Calvary with sabers drawn rushed headlong to oblivion.
And lay there crying for Mother in waning times of failing life
"Please someone inform my wife that I am bound for Glory"
"Please tell my mother That I miss her and that I love her dearly"
Antietam. Fields of ignoble endings. And later new beginnings.
Four score.
Conceived in liberty
We cannot dedicate. We cannot consecrate.
Of the people, by the people.
Shall not perish from the earth.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 2:38 AM UTC
The city slept, waiting for dawn.
Shopwindows and houses wholly slept.
The moon and me were wandering lonely,
Two sad loners being night windswept.
Nothing will flurry, nobody'll bother.
The night is dark and quiet awesome.
The wind repeats the heartbeat in lockstep.
I'm not in full. It seems I've lost some.
I'm shuffling and the moon is nearby.
I am sick out of this hellish pain.
That night I parted with me in whole,
That me, who forgave with no refrain.
Mar 25, 2025
Mar 25, 2025 at 4:45 PM UTC
‘Together we march
in lockstep precision
Shouting on high our
collective decision’
"NO!"
'But you haven't considered...'
"NO"!
'But you deliver nothing
in the way of...'
"NO!"
'What do you say about...'
"NO!"
'I know you have your doubts,
but we can discuss...'
"NO!"
'If you would only just listen...'
"NO!"
'Fine then! Just stand there like
a glistening wall while our country
falls to pieces'!
"NO! Er, um, I mean look everyone!
The liberals say our country is falling
to pieces! They hate America!"
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
"Truth in Silence"
kinda puts an end to talking
Move in lockstep
just keep walking.
Not Goose Quills, Just thrills
What's that in the here and now?
Tandem rhythms softly humming
breezes now and quiet strumming
stroking taut vibrating strings
Grains start flowing, whispered singing ,
flowing down the gentle ridge.
** the dune is moving.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
They walk in lockstep
Ignorant of the words they repeat
The excess of your covetousness
Sickens me to no end
I had respect once
Only pity and disgust abounds
Once a leader of men
Now a disciple of intolerance
You wished I was never born
And yet I was
It was not for your edification
But mine
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
just outside the city lines, bout half mile down
stands the old stucture, guiding folks to town
legend says its an arch, pass under it to be free
my thoughts are still pending, not sure to believe
the sun sets early now, as we say good bye to summer
Its shadow seems longer now, least I remember
the people welcome in the fall, the season of colors
the crispness of the air, cleanse the summer druthers
It seems to stand guard, firmly gripping the ground
the people amass and gather round
could it be an ancient stargate, from a forgotten time
built to keep the human race in a lockstep line
now if you look closely, where it bends and streches
the fading words still spells its message
welcome all you strangers and old friends alike
relax, take care, hope you stay awhile
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
wind soughs outside
slightly
I'm up late tonight
my sister careens
on the eastern coast
touches Topsail
with her lacy fingers
and I cross mine
wheels and wheels
like lockstep men
march inland
automobiles whine
like soon, treelines
I'm up so late
my best friend dreams
in the wayside,
somewhere west of me
after a long day
of convincing her boyfriend
to high-tail his *** out of Raleigh
Clayton, it is
he decided
her fret only calmed enough to sleep
by his promises of a high-rise property
and below 70 mile wind speeds
I can feel my eyelids tug
my brother's fingers thrum
on countertops
well-wishes in morse
as he says he'll stop thinking about it, now
no, wait... now
and my mother works to bend
each emerging frown
as my fingers drum up natural disaster nonsense
I watch, wait for the earth's recompense
as it surely blares through my old house's fence
rippling through the silhouette of the statue
my sister's soul had attached itself to
every crevice of county road
every man-hiked piedmont mile
interstices of feet and snow
the dirt that has seen every trial
to fail under inclement weather
they say it's overdue
that it's been a while
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 1:48 AM UTC
Like a simile to start a poem
I can say I did but never tried.
Took a jump but never a dive.
Just Flittering around
The same ripped up page.
Lights did they dance or sing?
Maybe a lockstep and a drum beat.
Tomorrow is become a prison.
There's no crime in being lonely.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 4:56 AM UTC
seven poltergeists
in seven homes
inopportune
the world and its coasts
and when the tide rolls in alone
will you be there?
a nightless time
a moonless month
sleepless, smiling
watch fear run
with its tail between its legs
when the sirens wail
when hell's lid is popped
you'll be there
honeymooning,
swooning
stay, then
sway your life away
let the ghosts haunt your home
pull the fragile waist
of your misfortune close
take the dance
by its pensive hands
it is a parasite
and you are a gracious host for it
fresh, lockstep
pseudo-symbiotism
I know no one would ever tell you otherwise.
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 9:32 AM UTC