"nilly" poems
Nothingness.
Imagine nothingness.
That nothingness which is nothing of the nothingness we are all familiar with:
Not that nothingness which is nothing but empty space and time
Like when you open an empty room.
No.
That nothingness where nothing truly exists:
Not space,
Not even time.
A singular point.
Imagine a singular point.
The ultimate singular point that contains all possible points
In the development of the universe
Come out and expand
From the birthing of time, the instance of The Big Bang,
(Which by the way is not a large explosion, as the words imply, but a silent rapid expansion)
Pushing the envelope
Where nothingness begins.
Chance.
Imagine chance.
The random occurrence of events:
Of fundamental particles colliding and uniting
Or annihilating each other,
Giving rise to protons, neutrons and electrons;
Giving rise to the periodic table,
To compounds, both organic and inorganic,
To macromolecules.
Billions of years.
Imagine billions of years
Gone by,
And billions of galaxies filling the sky:
Stars and quasars and pulsars
Planets and comets and meteors
***** nilly hurtling through
Dark matter and ever expanding space,
Yet inanimate still
,
A single cell.
Imagine a single cell
Form inexplicably so,
In a staggeringly highly improbable way
As carbon molecules combine,
Start to throb and pulsate:
Chance bringing forth life
In a barren and otherwise
Lifeless universe.
Consciousness
Imagine consciousness
Purposive, willful, deliberate
Feelings
Imagine feelings
Love, compassion, hatred
Imagine all in a universe that came out of itself from nothingness.
It is hard, of course,
For after all, we are creatures of somethingness!
But at this point
You must have seen the Point
Of all the ramblings and turns in the trajectory of my thought
Tracing the evolutionary course of the universe
From nothingness and that singular point
That without God
All things are
After all
Pointless!
.
And so,
Let us not deplore, as a great poet once did,
That this world “so various, so beautiful, so new
Hath no joy, nor love, nor light
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain…”
For what else should we expect
Of a cold, unfeeling universe?
What?
Give us some Novocain?
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
The Psychedelic Deli
Is sometimes in an alley.
It can seem accidental,
Some of it experimental
All completely experiential.
There is no shop, no store
You must have a friend
If you really want to score.
Everyone is different
Under new management.
Let me make this clear;
Anything you want,
Everything you want is here.
From champagne to beer
All the time, every year.
You can send out for *****
And have nothing to lose.
Only just all your money,
But you may think that funny
Once you’re getting chummy.
So mostly bring your own
And don’t drink it alone
Because it’s best to share
That’s true just everywhere
If you have the grace to care.
The Psychedelic Deli
May sell wares ***** nilly
They’ll charge you indecently
As stuff they made just recently
Must be paid for immediately.
They have this and that
And if you pass the hat
You’ll go on a trip with no ticket.
You surely don’t want to miss it.
But there’s always a bit more to it.
So, you better be up to it
Because many more blew it
And ended like a fish on their belly,
Their minds about as stable as jelly,
Shopping at the Psychedelic Deli.
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 10:51 PM UTC
the cosmos exudes from between our toes
trails of nebula and spiral arm galaxies
burden the floor with their scented residue
of caramel complexion on mint cream -
expectations fall to the wayside
as the wayside falls to expectations
trust in the infallible,
if the world ( is to me )
saved from the virtuous vindication's of a pacifier society
run to the nearest tree and sway with the blustering breeze !
for the cosmos exudes between our toes
trails of nebula and spiral arm galaxies litter the floor
tell me a tale of who i am ,
yet i know i have not felt myself in my fullness.
for i was born before the cosmos could take her first steps
or the sparkling sun stars could take their first light
i am neither the mountain nor the valley in depth
but within both i am sure to reside ~
out of my womb cascades a waterfall of pixie dust to the glee of several a man .
yet i always had wondered why none stuck around to hear from the well versed band.
I was quite sure the depths that i knew how to love
would create a whirlwind of sorts
enhanced by the glow of a dark purple blue rose , i’m not quite the type for rose quartz
to spend my love ***** nilly , a silly endeavor indeed
not all can handle the burn as i am
Light Sky ,
a fire filled sky ,
i am the sunrise dripping from the heavens in mellow tones of yellow and pink , i am the solar eclipse, sacred geometry in motion
and by association
i am the high tide moon shine get you drunk off one look sunset in the desert , dark purple blue rose kinda lady.
and you ,
my earth breeze , can whistle up a tune to jam with me , like no one would ever believe..
The cosmos that exudes between our toes
stacked layer upon layer
like a pancake tower
are the places we go to when the world
closes it’s eyes.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
In the freshly seared hours of the morning
there's a hot, bothered growling
coming from beyond
the rose-studded chipping fence posts,
sick with the stench of stained mattresses
and mounds of cage-less garbage-
tossed willy-nilly
into a smoldering, contorted
**** of stacks.
Here,
in this spot of dawn
-in today's un-showered
moist enclave-
I find, syncopated
by the vrooooming scooters
and gassy buses,
a fresh hope diffusing faster
than the steam from drains,
-subtler than the soft soju snores
of last night's curb cuddlers-
slinking up, down, around convenient stores' corners
past every security camera,
bouncing off rib cages,
tickling the barbules of the songbird
perched in my utility wires
in a nest neater than my bed.
This is summer, Korea.
This is Korea in the summer.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
Dear Mister Splee, I have a story for thee.
A man of humble attire, went fo’ a walk on a dull wire.
Skilled he kept balance, with nothing but a lance.
With a great long stride, he made it to the other side.
Back he went from one side to the other,
he grabbed nineteen polar bears and a ladder.
He carried them across just for fun.
Amazingly it was all at once not one by one.
The whole audience,awed with just a glance,
While monkeys surrounded and began to dance.
He dropped the ladder down, until it reached ground.
And the monkeys climbed up, pouring tea in a cup.
The polar bears climbed down with elegant ease.
I swear one of them sneezed.
But skilled he kept them balance, with nothing but a lance.
The acrobats were on the trapeze, they looked humbly appeased.
Thirty elephants all whiny and giddy.
Climbed the ladder all silly nilly.
Rhinos and Tigers performed ballet.
I hope you might get to see their performance someday.
The monkeys now on tightrope now hung,
By their tails they now flung.
The humble man on tightrope did sat,
collecting the teacups into his hat.
The elephants dove from the top,
into a pool, splish, splish, splop! splop!
O how I wish fo’ you to see the Tigers dancing.
O how I wish fo’ you to see the Rhinos prancing.
A lion or two just fo’ show,
Jump through hoops caught on fire
And a smile caught my eye from the man on the wire
He jump off, down the ladder.
He walked up to me, with glee
and told me to “tell this to Mister Splee:
Come visit me O’ Mister Splee
This circus was designed just for ye”
I told Mister Splee
And a tear rolled down his cheek
Sadder than he could be
He said: “That circus has long since been dead.”
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:44 AM UTC
LAST night a January wind was ripping at the shingles
over our house and whistling a wolf song under the
eaves.
I sat in a leather rocker and read to a six-year-old girl
the Browning poem, Childe Roland to the Dark
Tower Came.
And her eyes had the haze of autumn hills and it was
beautiful to her and she could not understand.
A man is crossing. a big prairie, says the poem, and
nothing happens--and he goes on and on--and it's
all lonesome and empty and nobody home.
And he goes on and on--and nothing happens--and he
comes on a horse's skull, dry bones of a dead horse--
and you know more than ever it's all lonesome and
empty and nobody home.
And the man raises a horn to his lips and blows--he
fixes a proud neck and forehead toward the empty
sky and the empty land--and blows one last wonder-
cry.
And as the shuttling automatic memory of man clicks
off its results willy-nilly and inevitable as the snick
of a mouse-trap or the trajectory of a 42-centimetre
projectile,
I flash to the form of a man to his hips in snow drifts
of Manitoba and Minnesota--in the sled derby run
from Winnipeg to Minneapolis.
He is beaten in the race the first day out of Winnipeg--
the lead dog is eaten by four team mates--and the
man goes on and on--running while the other racers
ride, running while the other racers sleep--
Lost in a blizzard twenty-four hours, repeating a circle
of travel hour after hour--fighting the dogs who
dig holes in the snow and whimper for sleep--
pushing on--running and walking five hundred
miles to the end of the race--almost a winner--one
toe frozen, feet blistered and frost-bitten.
And I know why a thousand young men of the North-
west meet him in the finishing miles and yell cheers
--I know why judges of the race call him a winner
and give him a special prize even though he is a
loser.
I know he kept under his shirt and around his thudding
heart amid the blizzards of five hundred miles that
one last wonder-cry of Childe Roland--and I told
the six year old girl about it.
And while the January wind was ripping at the shingles
and whistling a wolf song under the eaves, her eyes
had the haze of autumn hills and it was beautiful
to her and she could not understand.
2.3k
I like to play with your belly button
'Cause it makes me giggle and laugh
I'll let you play with my bellybutton
I bet it makes you giggle and laugh
Exactly as it does with me
It makes me laugh hysterically
I know it might seem rather silly
But I love to do it willy-nilly.
Sometimes I like to blow on your belly
And make that almost obscene sound
It's worth it to hear you laugh, really
Then both of us roll around on the ground.
We laugh and play like a couple of kids
And make no excuses for silly things we did.
Others make love your way and we ours.
We tickle and blubber on each other
And have our kind of fun for hours.
I really like the way you wrinkle your nose
It makes me laugh hard and not for nothing
It tickles me a lot that you wiggle your toes
When you let me play with your belly button.
I'm very happy to be able to testify
Some things in life are meant just for fun.
Belly button tomfoolery, I promise
Is one of the very best kinds of fun.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
Amid the pile of ****** drawings,
I see your letter and there's a dawning,
of hope and nostalgia in my eyes,
I must confess these ***** lies,
Wishing so that I felt better,
I turn around,
sit back down,
calm myself and read your letter.
It says you love me,
We'll be forever,
We'll die an epic death together,
but in my heart I know it's true,
We're so close to being through,
But reading your letter I take a chance,
I jump right up and grab a strand,
of spider's silk glowing in the dark,
and your voice cuts through just like a lark's,
through my ears and in my head,
a sadder side of me is dead,
So take my hand that hugged yours so,
and go to places we don't know.
But Time has gone and grown us apart,
I feel it in my hurting heart,
I miss you so come back to me,
we'll play around have fun be free.
I smile "We're not done, now that's just silly!"
take a knife and willy-nilly,
cut the chords of my depression,
be my muse my free expression!
Now I know this might sound cheesy,
but with you it really comes quite easy,
I've tried to force myself in the past,
and noticed I quit right real fast,
my best works have come from you,
and now it's time to pay my due.
We've grown apart but let's not forget,
You'll always be my winning bet,
So sit right now and no surprise,
I'll tell you things I've had to hide,
and when I'm done you'll hug me well,
and I'll hope your opinion of me is still,
one of virtue love and grace,
and when you do I'll hide my face,
and smile and breathe,
my faith restored in the human race,
because you still have faith in me.
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 2:00 AM UTC
SAD VALENTINES FOR BREAKFAST
Oh my how red **** struts(thinks he's a sultan)
striding in and out among his harem-scarum hens
talking to themselves
like some lost senile sentimental souls.
Foolish fowl!
They lay eggs for gentlemen
and kids on long hot summer holidays
they hide their eggs like broken hearts
like old love letter secrets
safe in unseen places.
But see Auntie Nellie willy-nilly as a fox
stalk the chickens and expose them
cruel as the NEWS OF THE WORLD.
See her raid the haystacks
(backseat of the old car)
rain rusting machinery
her apron pregnant and precious with
the warm and brown gift of eggs.
Red **** crows loud against the morning marigolds
while children's voices babble sleepily into wide awakefulness
love letter secrets staining their lips
sad valentines for breakfast.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 3:37 PM UTC
April is their month.
They've sat,
Patient,
Throughout the winter,
Those sturdy oval buds,
Sometimes cased in ice,
They don't seem
To mind.
Are they awaiting,
Tax time?
These jewels
Keep company with
Their pretty pink
Cousins,
The Redbud.
Why does the dogwood
Ask
For our attention
So?
Perhaps because it
Blooms so early,
When
There is so little else
To see.
Perhaps it is the legend that,
From the poor dogwood,
Came the wood,
From which was fashioned,
The true cross.
More likely it's just,
The timeless beauty,
Born-in beauty,
From long ago,
Needing no
Adornment,
And not a bit
Of pruning.
Touch it with a knife,
You'll invite disease.
Let it grow ***** nilly,
It will give you,
Perfect beauty,
On its own.
Wild,
It sits beneath
The forest cover,
Like a craggy,
Wasted twig,
Dwarfed,
By its bigger cousins.
And then,
Before any others,
That slim and subtle
Beauty
First appears,
As an
Exquisite miniature,
Creamy yellow flowers,
That open,
To bleach themselves white,
And show the
Blood red crosses
At their center.
They are
Gems,
That change,
Day by day,
So leave your camera
Home.
You cannot catch
Their beauty.
Instead,
Imprint the view
Upon your mind.
They'll be back
Next year,
More beautiful
Than ever.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
I suppose I should tell you a little more about myself...
Something that has at least a LITTLE wealth.
I've always loved to write poems but stopped
I just kind of moved on and dropped.
Hopefully by the time you finish I'm still writing.
Stopping to write is a habit I'm fighting.
I'm quirky, fun, and love to be silly.
I'm a girly girl; romantic comedies, make-up, all that ***** nilly.
I own a skateboard and play video games occasionally.
I socialize a lot and try to stay with company ever so painfully.
I love people, though I can be shy.
It's just a thing I do, I don't know why.
So there's a lot about me,
I hoped you enjoyed my story heehee.
Hopefully I can actually meet you too!
See you soon, I bid you adieu. c:
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
Separation based on physicality
This is a ******* up reality
Supposed incompetence built up a fence
****** differences I guess, shall decide your intellects
Now, do these views, say more about me or more about you?
I ponder your opinion, and wonder how you use that to rule us into our separated dominions
How is this decided, that I'm lesser than a man, when clearly I am just as human?
I know I sound feminist, please tell me how being a woman is a cause for dismiss?
I despise these sexiest views, because I am no less than you
That is false, not true, you sound like an idiot because you have no clue
You believe I should do this or sit like that
Well I don't agree, quite frankly that's not me
I like to sit like a "boy", and I don't give a **** if it's you I annoy
I'll wear boxer shorts and I'll build my own forts
I won't be submissive
I'll be permissive
I'll beat you at any game, I'm a lion and never tame
This is silly, I'm no ***** nilly, I know how to think on my own
Much to your disgust, I find this to be a must
Separation based on physicality, what a ******* up reality.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
'LOVE IS BLIND'?
'Love is blind'?
what nonsense!
then how come we have
'love at first sight'?
Shakespeare in one sentence
had hoodwinked us since 1616
true, he wrote great drama and poetry
but we must note
he didn't study medicine
nor opthalmology
and mind you
we are living in the 21st century
with all the science and technology
surely it would be the greatest folly
to just quote the bard's cliche blindly
the eyes have it
ask the ophthalmologist
without the eyes
the lover would not see
beauty
and as a corollary
how could you love somebody
if in the first instance
you were blind id est--you couldn't see!
careful, so careful we must all be
to differentiate between reality
and the ranting of silly poetry
if this myth were to perpetuate nilly-willy
mankind would look really silly
that would look good not even to the slightest degree
and one more thing
please bear with me
and this is the bard's secret history
he had chancre--venereal ulcer
for which he received treatment
could he have written 'Love is blind'
being affected by that odious malady?
London's brothels he did visit frequently
when he was away from Stratford-upon-Avon
he drank a lot too--there is ample evidence
he also had anasarca (oh mercy!)
result of mercury-related membranous nephropathy
( we shall not defile him further-
but his alopecia was due to treatment of mercury
for his syphilis---what a medical litany!)
in conclusion
we could somehow see
that England's greatest writer
was not as bright as he had been taken to be.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
Limericks I - Relatives and Relativity
The Cosmological Constant
by Michael R. Burch
Einstein, the frizzy-haired,
said E equals MC squared.
Thus all mass decreases
as activity ceases?
Not my mass, my *** declared!
###
Ass-tronomical
by Michael R. Burch
Relativity, the theorists’ creed,
says mass increases with speed.
My (m)ass grows when I sit it.
Mr. Einstein, get with it;
equate its deflation, I plead!
###
Relative to Whom?
by Michael R. Burch
Einstein’s theory, incredibly silly,
says a relative grows willy-nilly
at speeds close to light.
Well, his relatives might,
but mine grow their (m)asses more stilly!
###
Time Out!
by Michael R. Burch
Hawking’s "Brief History of Time"
is such a relief! How sublime
that time, in reverse,
may un-write this verse
and un-spend my last thin dime!
###
Time Back In!
by Michael R. Burch
Hawking, who makes my head spin,
says time may flow backward. I grin,
imagining the surprise
in my mother's eyes
when I head for the womb once again!
###
Keywords/Tags: limerick, nonsense, light verse, humor, science, theoretical, physics, relativity, relatives, family, time, space
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 12:30 AM UTC
You cannot press the page as if you are trying to tattoo meaning onto it. People so often forget the words as supposed to do that for you, ink askew, words committing Hari Kari ***** nilly as they derail into one another, meaning unintelligible as the point of the modern day history channel programming schedule. It is a varsity track jacket for the masses, mass produced for those unable to sew it themselves or earn it through bestowed prowess. Even national bestsellers are written in pencil these days, and before their sentence is pronounced, the verdict has been erased by the side palm of our ever-loving adhd. The thinly split nib, the exposed *** crack of a wayward genius is mocked until covered, no longer ******** the stuff of sanity, and as a result the fools rule literature with a tin scepter of complacency.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
Who the hell do you think you are? Just waltzing in like Jesus forgiving people all ***** nilly! I wronged you... I broke your heart... i remember that day when i left. you were fairly well composed... i wouldn't dishonor you by saying you begged or anything... but i know you cried! i was there!!! you know how hard it was to leave anyways!!! We were going in opposite directions i knew it was the best thing to do for both of us... i was leaving for college. you were still to be in highschool for 3 more years...i couldnt make you wait for me...it was a sound decision... and so i left... it needed to be done...and then distance...i put geographic miles between us because i loved you i tore out my own heart for you!
and all i needed from you in return was for you to hate me...was that really so unreasonable...i mean i broke your heart some time ago... is a little disdain too much to ask... i mean i can deal with a person hating me for what ever reason... but you simply understand why i left and forgive me... i mean time heals all wounds but **** a little residual dislike? maybe even a if given the option i wouldn't share a meal with this person...this is *******
i mean...i close my eyes and i still see you crying... and i caused a great deal of those tears...and i haven't really decided to forgive myself for those tears... and in an effort to somewhat make up for what i did... i apologize... and you just say apology accepted...
Know what... nope... acceptance of apology not accepted... and i full realize that this is my not forgiving myself more than anything... making my apology kind of pointless...and yeah i get that until i can forgive myself every relationship i have will ultimately fail... but generally speaking... you have to remain mad at me... and **** you for even attempting to move on...now go and think about what you've done and i'll apologize later...
Ha!!! startling self realizations aside... i sure showed her!
May 12, 2012
May 12, 2012 at 5:02 AM UTC
If only a little eye of newt,
or mandrake root, or hemlock bark,
could turn these loathsome suitors
into lovers handsome, tall and dark.
They paste their unappealing photos
next to profiles trite and silly,
and send flirtations cut-and-pasted
into the ether willy-nilly.
Don’t you know my time you’ve wasted?
I have no interest in your wooing.
Instead of listing your opinions
there are things you should be doing:
Learn to listen, read more books,
lose 15 lbs and use some manners.
Answer emails, learn to cook,
travel widely, study language.
Say what you mean, do what you say,
you’ll find a date without delay.
I haven’t found the witches’ brew
that will turn boys into men.
'Til then with dating I am through,
and bitter missives I will pen.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
I miss you but I don't know you
And my name would puzzle you
Yet neither rise your curiousity
Yet you're addictive to me,
This sensation, this adversity,
Sweet, like some iridescent nectar gathered by hundreds of fairies in an instant,
From some magical forest forever showered by the gentle light of the golden hour in the distant...
Albeit the bitter pain afterwards instead,
When reality take back its stead,
Who are you? I don't know
This doesn't make any sense, that I know...
But... if only I can dream a bit longer, for I have dreamed far too long, I know...
But, if there is even a tinier than a speckle of dust of possibility,
In this whole world our universe of unpredictability, please...
I'd like to make our story a reality...
Dilly dally, ***** nilly, talks of dailies,
No roses or daisies,
Just two souls walking together,
In harmony parallel, cruising in life for forever
...
Jun 6, 2022
Jun 6, 2022 at 7:59 PM UTC
You can tell by a pale shadow of former self
And shape of the scattered pieces
You can tell ,
From the pieces of the once bread basket of Africa
That someone is slowly
And artistically looting the store
I can see,
The trailing blood and the aura of warmth
That there was once,
Electrical pulse of the heart
As povo cry,
For broad-based
and inclusive Dialogue to rescue,
Yes!
I could hear,increasing calls for precipice
And wails to avert further implosion
And the winds of memory floating by
The crescendo in the calls for sound talks
Yes sound dialogue,
In the wake of an increasingly restless citizenry struggles
Still dustbin of a golden history
You can sense from the tremble of the chambers
The undying pulse and the scent of a beloved
That the heart once danced to a dreamers' beats
To them tears are,
The horse pipes they use to water their worth
To multitudes,tears are words the heart can’t express
As the black cloud sheds rays of hope
Still leaves “imminent light” behind
As the mass bank hope
In our eternal message of hope
Ushered by Martin Luther King, Jr.
"One day dawn will come".
I can see traceable traces
Of corrupt foot prints
And traceable track record
Of 'prominent' looting finger prints
As the influential turn aside the needy from justice,
Rob the poor Chimanimani people of their right,
Making widows their spoil,
And willy-nilly making the fatherless their prey!
Dear LORD!
Why your wrath upsets not these moral monsters?
Who are by no means worthy of following
Those that deprive the afflicted
Those who because of their hard and impenitent hearts
Attract your necessary reaction to objective moral ill
Dear Lord why has your wrath not fallen
On rightful time?
How can hell be just?
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 6:07 AM UTC
Pain affects immediately, sticks around indefinitely
The headcount is up to sixty over infinity
And right around the corner is another three
Meaning it's always in the vicinity
And every type lands just a smidge differently
This feels like what I might imagine to be purgatory
Woe is me
My future will be winless if I'm too stay in the business of learning from my history
The bell to start the fight indicates the end, just prematurely
Loosing in a victory, contradictory absurdity mentioned literally,
All ***** nilly
As I'm sure you can imagine, maybe even probably agree
Somethin' like that is bound to change the complexion of a personality
I know personally
I'd hoped good days would roll in gradually, at least eventually
Instead they taunt relentlessly
It's with a heavy, often broken, heart I go in and defend half heartedly
Enjoying the savagery, a familiarity that relaxes me
But positions me next to the poisons amidst the pageantry
In the direct line of sight of my worst enemy
Me looking back at me directly
"You're talking to yourself again Jeremy..."
...shiit, sorry
©2024
May 14, 2024
May 14, 2024 at 5:06 PM UTC
We're both the same element
but she's wildfire
and I'm a weapons maker
the tempered blacksmith
too distant in his own work
over planning a "good use"
for all my passions
I presumed to craft a spear
150,000 ft at least
I'll **** and **** away in silence
sipping coffee in my low hearth haven
In hopes you wonder how I really feel
and perhaps spill fire willy-nilly
embers annoying friends and family
catch the drapes inadvertently
Will this distance vow we agreed upon without metaphor
be mended through silent adhering
Or is the Lady of the Ram waiting
for a golden armor gesture
Where I appear unannounced
and we'll turn your wild fire into iron flowers
For now, I stare at my forge
going blind.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:54 PM UTC
There was a gap between the trees
And when I pushed through all the leaves
I saw a wizard standing there
With pointy hat and snow-white hair.
His beard grew down to his feet,
The most wizardy wizard you could meet.
"Come on son, you're late you know?
We don't want to miss the big show."
"Excuse me sir, but you really should
tell me if your magic is bad or good."
"Oh yes of course my magic's good.
Don't you know your in Merlin's wood?"
So off we went to see the thing
That Merlin called a great big fling
Dragons were dancing in the meadow
We laughed and giggled at those big fellows
Great wings flapped around ***** nilly
It made all the beasts look rather silly
Then Merlin said it was time to go
A wave of his wand and what do you know?
I plopped down, back at my tree
And there was Mom calling for me.
One last look, behind my back
I thought I saw his dancing hat
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
In a juncture of three years he traipsed ***** nilly close to christ
He was the treasurer and all the finances he kept safe in a pouch hanging on his chest
He was a chosen in the midst of the chosen twelve he existed
All the miracles the son of man performed he witnessed
In his gospel all he recorded
Yet deep within he charred with bitterness he was dissapointed with the long awaited messiah
Tears of hatred soaked his soul
Ironically he felt betrayed this is not the saviour he had longed for
His iron heart had yearned for revolution
All his selfish heart wanted was the surrender of the roman
His heart pumped blood saturated with patriotism and christ with his spiritual
Kingdom was a foe of the jews whose throat were parched with the thirst of a political king
He had been preordained and he had to fulfill the divine decree
It was a calling he couldn't overcome
Thats when the ministry of christ was done and together they sat to eat the last meal the lord dropped a hint about him
He sopped a bread in wine and urged him to hastily fulfill his mission as the other disciples sat there clueless
This was a golden chance for he knew by assuming the role of a traitor he will precipitate the action of messiah and induce him to manifest his miraculous powers
For he longed for this savior to perfom the miracle he had pergorme throughout judea
For thirty pieces of silver he betrayed his master Because of his greed he condemned an innocent man to be banished from the land of living to abyss
And when the son of man was condemned his sense of guilt stirred from a deep slumber
He became despondent at his repulse by the chief priest and elders he cast down the accursed payment into the santuary
The gnawing guilt took him to a tree and with a thread rope he terminated his life
He burst asunder and for hundred year the smell of his bowels lingered in the potters field of which the betrayal money bought
On the hill of skull the man on the cross breathed last and into hell he descended not only to settle scores with the lord of underwords lucifer but to free the soul of his follower from abyss
For it was written he had to die for salvation of humankind and his betrayer was the first to b redempted
The man called judas triggered a series of pretold happening
The man called judas fulfilled old centuries prophecy
The man called judas ensured redemption knocked in every sinners door
The man called judas jumpsttsarted the birth of christianity
The man called judas need a better slot in our history
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 7:37 AM UTC
.
returning to my childhood home in thought
returning to mallard quacks tolling
and the hour toiled
by ever thirsty church bells
cold damp rock house with ammonites
and belemnites coiling in the walls
and a cooling ichthyosaur
futilely trying to swim in the silty soil
struggling to catch prey
beneath the foundation
its darkness is rummage
.
a flush lawn planted nilly and obscene
monkshood mint cotton grass and ling
warm mentions an evening fire
and the family room
i'm mooding through the memory
and it grooms apart organic
birthing not river not smoke
rat sized earwigs take to the air heat
over the boiling tar garage roof
and i return home back through time
child swinging on thick vines suspended
by the yew over the stream
the willows dapple and paddle
the fir trees return
fierce sproutings of involving shade
ridding the house
of the intruder new extension
riding time back
and the caravan my parents
would later park on concrete
is swallowed
the storms of a bad year return the old wall
at the property edge
and the cottage reforms an ancient pace
with its surroundings
.
it's no longer my families claimed place
re-seemed with ghoulish history
the workhouse returns
and files with hard poverty
the wall punches through
in what will be the kitchen
and the cottage runs through long
with the neighbours space
dormitory takes the whole upstairs length
and the legend of the garment thief
drops ghost and rumour to live again
and then all this too flees out of history
.
rushing back through time
and this all sinks into the levels
swamp life takes over
and the ammonites
moisten with anticipation
prehistory is sprout to begin
.
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 10:08 AM UTC
*“On Every Street”
dusty winds carry
the tumble weeds of your heart;
those wayward ideologues of love,
***** nilly,
like time’s arrow
down every street.
~~~
sometimes they catch
in the shrubs by my house,
other times in the sewer grate
down at the corner,
but always,
always they sing,
like whistling tears,
and dance with a barren earth
to a melancholy tune.
~~~
tumbling down every street
I see you
and try to hold onto
your slippery sighs
thinking you may sing your tears
for me,
creating in my garden
the colors Of Spring.
~~~
but you slip through these fingers,
lifeless,
tumble **** light,
blowing down every street.
Aztec Warrior/redzone 8.16.16
*Note: the title of this poem is from the
song “On Every Street”, which is also
embedded with the poem.*
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 3:45 PM UTC