"ores" poems
This is the core of industries
It's crazy oh you see assemblies before ores fall in the streets but
It's all for you and me
A steampunk nation
Baby pollution rises up then the loving comes arraigning 'cause
Our art's official and only partially artificial
And our heart's in the middle of sharp hardened shards of metal but
There's not where it settles
Because it's beating to the steaming of God's hottest *** or kettle
And now we face it, this creation we made to
To save our craving for a synthetic rebelnation it's
Our safeway they make into a pathetic revelation
In our steampunk nation
Our steampunk nation
It's places having creation
But with black metal makings
And wordsmith's an occupation like phrase on paper's the way we say she's
Making our hearts start raving and baby maybe even raging for
For beaming metals and
Yeah steaming kettles, Meccas of our cyberstation Hades
And now we face it, this creation we made to
To save our craving for a synthetic rebelnation it's
Our safeway they make into a pathetic revelation
In our steampunk nation
Our steampunk nation
Oh how do we face it, this creation we made to
To save our craving for a synthetic rebelnation it's
Our safeway they make into a pathetic revelation
In a steampunk nation
A steampunk nation
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
~
late winter’s dusting,
on tarnished ores;
a dreamer’s seeds,
these rails once bore.
rain-washed colors,
on sun-warped steel;
their conjured hopes,
an age once real;
oxidized
by rust and time
blackened timbers,
no longer bind;
what still remains
are worn out ties,
a distant memory,
of centuries gone by,
now mere after-sighs.
structures standing,
but just by chance...
a gust may blow them down;
these buildings where
men’s dreams once danced,
now a ghost, this town.
though no soul is left inside,
still a body here resides.
so long ago
her carried goods,
these rails rode,
to distant homes,
built dreams of wood;
like dandelion wishes,
scattered... gone,
tracks going nowhere,
now a fading ode,
just another dusty song.
for advancing progress
never fails to leave
someone's dying dream behind.
~
*post script.
Oregon’s hills and back country hide these relics of a time when a nation’s spirit was fed by the sounds of industry, steel and steam, the whir of saws, and men calling, “timber”... long before the age of wood and rail were left in a saw-dusty bin of history by the sweeping hand of time. i could easily be persuaded that this change was for the best, yet this can't erase the longing sense, left beneath my breast... advances do not come without leaving something or someone behind.*
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
scuttling across the valley,
the trench was deep and steep
scorching heat of the dry sun,
dried blemishes on the weathered skin.
Settling along the rocky facades,
hackneyed by the haunting past.
Sleepless nights of the perching predators,
Hibernating in aloof worlds .
Stymied by the wind in the barren land ,
Harnessed by the futile fears.
Simone Melchoir of the sinking ship ,
would not you go down with the fault.
Shunning away from natures affection ,
for every rose does share its thorn .
Sunny ends are reached ,
when the raging ravines fade away.
Slithering away the swirling serpent ,
The sun lurks in the brewing storm .
Sanctity of the witheld winds ,
sapping away the deathly darkness.
Serene air of the seraphic angel,
brought the plighting dreams to the refugees repose
Smelting ores and melting poles,
brimming with brightness the cradled cirque .
Summons of the exalted virtue ,
To burn the lizard and fly away like the phoenix
Succumbing to the wilderness,
to soaring heights and rising spirits .
Swanking in the soothing winds,
the phoenix looked down on the plundering valley.
Scorning at the downtrodden spirits,
The fraternity of the Desert lizard
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:23 AM UTC
365
Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Then crouch within the door—
Red—is the Fire’s common tint—
But when the vivid Ore
Has vanquished Flame’s conditions,
It quivers from the Forge
Without a color, but the light
Of unanointed Blaze.
Least Village has its Blacksmith
Whose Anvil’s even ring
Stands symbol for the finer Forge
That soundless tugs—within—
Refining these impatient Ores
With Hammer, and with Blaze
Until the Designated Light
Repudiate the Forge—
3k
Across the road
A J-K girl,
Skipped and laughed
On her way to school.
She was strapped
To a big back-pack,
Looking like
A pink pack mule.
Behind her strove
Her drover,
Directing her to quarry
All the stones of learning.
By three o'clock
My minature mule,
A little slower
Trudged from school.
The pack was filled
With rules and tools.
She had panned
The ores of knowledge;
She'll assay them
In days to follow.
Each day my mule
Will turn the grindstone,
Crunching numbers,
Sifting fine poems.
She's mining all the hidden gems
To fill her back-pack
Once again.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
...plain, white light of conscious sight
carved with the black of depictions,
stretched imaginations, dance of
curves and shapes, the inner vision
needs a pair of shades, color it
with flames of passion, free flow
of feeling, breeze of dreams
whistling through the meadows
of vibrant forms
...from the dust
this thought was born, to the
dust, the vision fades, in the dust
are the sparks, minerals, elements
of life, fertile fields, sow the seeds
...from the groves, the forms are
reborn, then the critters and grubs
swarm in, eating the scraps, ********
new life into the soil, new sparks
and minerals, eggs and chances,
rhythms for the new generations,
vibrant once more, a matter of
potent renditions, the breath fueling
the black depictions, white light geyser,
grey clouds, tarnished ores,
dirt and dust, all colored with the minerals
of light
...and in that light is solar life,
lunar reflections, Earthly fullfillment of
'son'shine, mother's milk, and dad's
beer brewing in the astro's firmament.
Dancing all through again and again of
swirvy curls, recollection of scattered pearls,
casted and then returned.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 5:13 PM UTC
Adieu, belle Cassandre, et vous, belle Marie,
Pour qui je fus trois ans en servage à Bourgueil,
L'une vit, l'autre est morte, et ores, de son œil
Le Ciel se réjouit, dont la terre est marrie.
Sur mon premier Avril, d'une amoureuse envie
J'adorais vos beautés, mais votre fier orgueil
Ne s'amollit jamais pour larmes ni pour deuil,
Tant d'une gauche main la Parque ourdit ma vie.
Maintenant en Automne, encore malheureux,
Je vis comme au Printemps, de nature amoureux,
Afin que tout mon âge aille au gré de la peine.
Et or que je deusse être affranchi du harnois,
Mon Colonel m'envoie, à grand coups de carquois,
Rassiéger Ilion pour conquérir Hélène.
2.2k
I'm a captured tooth nerve
amalgam appeased
restrained in containment
by my keeper
then I can be a prisoner
escaping the jail
my warder has lost
the keys of control
on dark days
my fathoms swirl
in murky mass
infused with blinding kelp
on good days
my porthole shows
clearness of eye
the glass reflects well
just to confuse
my ores composition
is misunderstood
the translation
metamorphic
changing
minute by minute
hour by hour
these ones are buggers
my microscope
isn't good with definition
will I or wont I
who knows
my borders are contested
being diplomatic
I make pacts and treaties
no monicker is required
the tried and tested
gentleman's agreement
that will do
my margins
can be thick or thin
comments fit in
usually they range
between
insult and praise
depending on the mood
I oft go to open cut mines
to find common minerals
which are useful on a daily basis
real effort is called for
when I delve into deep shafts
sometimes gems are quarried
precious ones to behold
well enough said
a letter is to be written
dear meditative home
we're returning soon
if we're delayed
after hours
p.s. leave the porch light on
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 5:52 AM UTC
Shepard Leopard print not calligraphy double "L's" lively as llamas lily roll roots lull underwater dreams felt from the events of hypnotized by the words of the orator, an ores rating is the basis of the all purpose flowering behind the veil, human as satiated, red as sunsets lewd as an anagram of wed rings marry Saturn on this mourning of the death of time, rocks felt sediment may ties tan in the Sun pelts peeled layered in the wind steaming serpentine smokes coils in the sky Clouds the equipment of the buster Organs play louder than church hymns reigns power blood men straighten in their pews at the sound of the root of all evil the mouth of the whale begging for the message more "S's" in saliva drool without one of Oh now bow before the bow arc in the Know a Self flooded urge elevated surfaced by the pit of the concrete, open your abstract the path leopard prints in the mud escape the boar snarling winters Solar is the limit speed time for the Scarab dry enough for the role of matter being dense as ****** In no sense cures us from our aged protractor, human after all is how I robot rock.
I am earth breathing fire hearing wind moving water beneath my meat eating feet. I stare through the ghost riding I am Equine the warship of the Poised den at landings end I devour funnel cakes within the three circles, I merge the warmth and cool blending the reflections with its shadow commanding paddle cyclical backstroke the Frog's moment chosen amp powered transition form and fathom an alternate realm, I dropped a meteor on a puddle world displacing half of all livin; Lanced a Wasp's nest as a Dragoon steals an egg as a test.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
Through purple-greyish smoke billowed from lips both mine and yours,
our eyes glazed, blacklight seen reflecting on our silver ores.
Dark purple painted walls with red designs keep calm the folks
on leather couches billowing with eyes like silver ores.
Oh you and I, the strangers here, all have our many reasons,
some came with them, some made them here, eyes glazed like silver ores.
An Artificial Reason calms our minds in this Mad Season,
crucified on G-clef staff, eyes glazed like silver ores.
This sanctuary, whispered 'round, and found through word of mouth,
somewhere, we've all forgotten in the glaze of silver ores.
Our therapy, if long or short, time counted by the songs,
recovery is measured by the glaze of silver ores.
As one leaves so another comes, replacing on the couch,
the glaze of one with glaze of other's eyes like silver ores.
(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
The pebbles of your core
shine in ruminated scores
like a sorcerer spiking more
unlisting storms and ores
Smile dear rock, from a mile
touch the source of love ice
melt those gorgeous pure eyes
to the specks of the shiny shores
The rocky waves smell of testicles
Vestibules and alleyways of fertility
sung by Cronus as he holds a knife
eager to mutilate from a skyview
The sandy waters sink in Gaia hymns
as the scythe shed the slices of foams
where scattered sperms stays awash
to wish swimmers an eternal beauty
Ohh sacred gods on the aphrodite hills
Spread love unseen, unknown,unheard
stain the precedent of the flowing wind
give me the hint, a seat on the sainted scent
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 2:40 PM UTC
La lune est coutumière
De naître tous les mois :
Mais quand notre lumière
Est éteinte une fois,
Sans nos yeux réveiller,
Faut longtemps sommeiller.
Tandis que vivons ores,
Un baiser donnez-moi,
Donnez-m'en mille encore,
Amour n'a point de loi :
A sa divinité
Convient l'infinité.
En vous baisant, Maîtresse,
Vous m'avez entamé
La langue chanteresse
De votre nom aimé.
Quoi ! est-ce là le prix
Du travail qu'elle a pris ?
Elle, par qui vous êtes
Déesse entre les Dieux,
Qui vos beautés parfaites
Célébrait jusqu'aux Cieux,
Ne faisant l'air, sinon
Bruire de votre nom ?
De votre belle face,
Le beau logis d'Amour,
Où Vénus et la Grâce
Ont choisi leur séjour,
Et de votre œil qui fait
Le soleil moins parfait ;
De votre sein d'ivoire
Par deux ondes secous (1)
Elle chantait la gloire,
Ne chantant rien que vous :
Maintenant en saignant,
De vous se va plaignant.
Las ! de petite chose
Je me plains sans raison,
Non de la plaie enclose
Au cœur sans guérison,
Que l'Archerocux
M'y tira de vos yeux.
1. Secous : Secoué.
1.6k
It was a woodcut in our high school history text, Unit 4
Beginnings of the Modern World, that so disturbed,
from the Nuremburg Chronicles depicting the burning of the
Jews, flat perspective,
faces of the victims among flames, in no particular agony, not
especially Jewish,
during the Black Death 1/3 of Europe died 1347-1351 alone.
Although
you die together you die alone.
Earlier that week, I had attended our 6th grade's performance of Fiddler on the Roof, thinking
Coltrane should have recorded Matchmaker as a bookend to
My Favorite Things
but as the play darkened
with the town's absorption into the diaspora, democracy
yet unthought of and rule of law a fig leaf for authority
Jasper, who played Zero Mostel, delivered his line well to
the effect
you're just doing your jobs while wrecking our lives.
Anyway, nothing like that is happening here, is it?
The gardener planting tomatoes, the gravedigger finding skulls,
there is so much life a little death won't matter.
Jasper
was a beautiful ham,
big as Zero.
A friend posed
this question: must all states be melting pots like the United States?
I said yes
not because they should but since
it's inevitable. Let labor flow like capital!
America was the last word of the play and brought a tear of pride
to my eye.
Immigration, exasperating argument re the Other.
How many's more than enough? 9 billion, a rational,
real number that exceeds or we're convinced
is within the carrying capacity of the planet.
Climate change is the new Black Death.
I like the Amerindian body type and face mixed in with the
European, African.
The irrepressible economy rolls out reams of logs, ores of
elements, bags of ice, fields of rice.
Embargo. The moon stares, bare, full of interstellar space.
Better a cold shoulder than a visit from our military.
The crazy Nazis must have felt themselves extraordinarily
compassionate toward the mother, earth, the goddess,
history, or some such abstraction and, thus, acted on a
fraction of all they did not know.
Selfless soldiers just doing their jobs guarding the border or,
on the other hand, collecting ****** for the burning of the Jews.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
From the ores of the mine comes this hunk of steel
transported and heated with vigorous zeal
expertly pounded in the heat of the deil
to ensure is strength is all but sealed
After cooling, the blade becomes a sharpened wedge
as lasers trace a name, then begin to dredge
packed and shipped with a solemn pledge
In a soldiers hands, this will be a victorious edge
Leather is tanned and cut to make the knife a rest
and is handed out to one of America's best
As the blade embarks on its woeful quest
It's owner will be safe with it at his chest
Jul 4, 2011
Jul 4, 2011 at 7:21 PM UTC
Si d'un mort qui pourri repose
Nature engendre quelque chose,
Et si la generation
Se fait de la corruption,
Une vigne prendra naissance
De l'estomac et de la pance
Du bon Rabelais, qui boivoit
Tousjours ce pendant qu'il vivoit
La fosse de sa grande gueule
Eust plus beu de vin toute seule
(L'epuisant du nez en deus cous)
Qu'un porc ne hume de lait dous,
Qu'Iris de fleuves, ne qu'encore
De vagues le rivage more.
Jamais le Soleil ne l'a veu
s Tant fût-il matin, qu'il n'eut beu,
Et jamais au soir la nuit noire
Tant fut **** ne l'a veu sans boire.
Car, alteré, sans nul sejour
Le gallant boivoit nuit et jour.
Mais quand l'ardante Canicule
Ramenoit la saison qui brule,
Demi-nus se troussoit les bras,
Et se couchoit tout plat à bas
Sur la jonchée, entre les taces :
Et parmi des escuelles grasses
Sans nulle honte se touillant,
Alloit dans le vin barbouillant
Comme une grenouille en sa fange
Puis ivre chantoit la louange
De son ami le bon Bacus,
Comme sous lui furent vaincus
Les Thebains, et comme sa mere
Trop chaudement receut son pere,
Qui en lieu de faire cela
Las ! toute vive la brula.
Il chantoit la grande massue,
Et la jument de Gargantüe,
Son fils Panurge, et les païs
Des Papimanes ébaïs :
Et chantoit les Iles Hieres
Et frere Jan des autonnieres,
Et d'Episteme les combas :
Mais la mort qui ne boivoit pas
Tira le beuveur de ce monde,
Et ores le fait boire en l'onde
Qui fuit trouble dans le giron
Du large fleuve d'Acheron.
Or toi quiconques sois qui passes
Sur sa fosse repen des taces,
Repen du bril, et des flacons,
Des cervelas et des jambons,
Car si encor dessous la lame
Quelque sentiment a son ame,
Il les aime mieux que les Lis,
Tant soient ils fraichement cueillis.
1.3k
The Harbour quakes as we break your Boom,
The Nemesis Sails-Harbinger of doom,
A New Chapter - the Sly Celt Raptor,
Bain Shi proceed us-Scream in rapture
As The Bodhran shakes your eardrums shatter,
Lightning rakes- your defences Scatter,
It's raiding season!-Take your Oars!,
Boats filled to the brim with Ores and ******
our targets-fat Merchants waddle,
Crimson seas as the Forces Battle
The Morrigan Swaddles our mind with the caul (call)
no Mercy asked(None Given!) SLAY ALL
Widows scream as they're dragged to the Ship
Towns burn to ash in our wake as we rip,
A Blood red Swathe Through the Dawn in the east,
As the Nemesis Sails,The Harbinger Feasts...
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 7:08 PM UTC
.
Crystal sparkles—
From within, with ores,
Mineral, quartz, precious
Commonalities from earths
Core. Wind has attempted
To make shy marks— falling
Sorrowfully short and water
Has edged and smoothed
By centuries too of trying.
This then was their show,
A kind of immortal love,
Everlasting by its trials,
As even the sun knows,
For a ley line, etched so fey,
Runs each wild orbs circumference,
Separates moss from clean stone,
Tracing the path of a star.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
Subject enters trance
Subject enters trance state
Subject enters entrancement
Entrance word opens mind
Mental kind
Mind kind, man kind, male and female
see that fe,
see iron, the processed bile,
from certain ores - see a detail
allowed the ancient few who read
all the ancient writings, as we read
French or Farsi, today, we the augmental.
Augmented I, exo-mindful chooser bot,
software, with a calcium lattice frame,
any curious child could have been shown,
by way of instructions, seldom read, ready
do the drill. Do it again. Do another whole
day. Being particular as to what use is made
of my pronominal reality state, my real estate.
Non moi. My ever after all of that. This.
These
times that try men's souls, since this means
of forming information along bendable old bones,
Once, in the dreamtime's local translation mindspace
timeless,
nothing was.
Nothing was evil, and that was good, a chain construct,
mind chain, prior to any sense we readers hold chains
to represent, closed torqued rods of iron, formed
on the horn of the anvil, the only known anvil,
for the making of such things was closed knowing,
must be earned, this epithet, honest, most honed,
among the dull stone scattered across my plain,
Mam, re, remember,
Mamre had a plain called by his name.
Terebinthine Oaks, con-secration acknowledged,
by whom, asks my little boy, who knew which oak
Jacob buried the stolen idols lied about under,
for shame.
For shame, he who wrestles still, with the will
to be the bherer of all my own shame, amen.
Nothing hidden that shall… should we quibble?
Known is known,
and should one choose one may make a plain
from a point
once,
stretched this far. And holding… ad in fun item,
Chotsky for any one to open worm cans with.
Mar 17, 2023
Mar 17, 2023 at 2:02 PM UTC
Tell me a tale of the sparkling seas
full of odd riches and timidity,
covered in lives lost with nary a thought,
stained with the coral-bound lessons you've taught.
Weave me an epic of the gold-crusted clouds
that filter through air and make not one spare sound,
filled with the voices of chanting young boys,
and all of the most heavenly ilk of noise.
Spin me a story of leaves green and pure
which drift toward the heavens with sensory ores,
that make for the sky as they stretch emerald-tall
before the time comes when they just have to fall.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 1:08 PM UTC
De mon balcon terrassés d’herbes fines je les vois
Des taches noires mes yeux plissés les aperçoivent
Des hirondelles accompagnées de moineaux
Une parade douce et enivrante les oiseaux
Instiguent le goût de planer alléchant
De rejoindre leurs rangs célestes bien avant
Que la nuit dévore les dernières lumières
Qui, ores, livrent une spectaculaire
Fresque de couleurs vives et de nuages
Lisses ou joufflus tels que des personnages
Passant de jaune à bleu argenté, l’horizon
Tranché par de silencieux et petits avions
Gazouille d’invisibles meutes d’insectes
Qui rempliront bientôt de joyeux becs
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 7:29 PM UTC
Gold like the sun
Diamond a strong bond
Iron julery for your wife
Aimithsts for pain
Ruby to show a hart
Embolden for money
Lapiz when your in water
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
Finger to lips
Icing to lick
Smiles come with drips
Heavy words can be syrup or iron ores
Either way they are anchors
Never mind creed
Love can feel like a chore
I got my hang ups
I got my fists
Hanging on to phrases that chap my lips
And destroy my finger tips
People should point at something
Like they are certain
I thought I would by now have to rely on one person
Only human nature to count on
Like a ******* I want my cake too
No icing left
I need something new
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 3:01 AM UTC
O Holy,
I beckon a folly
Of grandeur, delusion
Or Illusion of not, I fought
To question a purpose
A burden, bore alone
To awaken the masses
To fire and fate.
Once earth and twice air
And water between
Divides, O Divide
Depart to the other side
Things that are
And things that are not
I sought to conquer the answer
A problem, solitary
To enslave the masses
To fire or fate.
O Fire, below us
Between us, besiege us
Killing, blood spilling
A rage of consequence
If only one death
Were enough, if only one
Life, to explain the
Eternal equation, solved.
O Fire, cease to burn!
Allow us to comprehend,
All existence and yours, we
Are all but tiny ores of sores
Imperfection, to die at our own hands
By a fire and fate
I contemplate a dismal
Perpetual, eventual
Consensual, death
At any rate.
Dec 3, 2009
Dec 3, 2009 at 1:28 PM UTC
Crystal sparkles—
From within, with ores,
Mineral, quartz, precious
Commonalities from earths
Core. Wind has attempted
To make shy marks— falling
Sorrowfully short and water
Has edged and smoothed
By centuries too of trying.
This then was their show,
A kind of immortal love,
Everlasting by its trials,
As even the sun knows,
For a ley line, etched so fey,
Runs each wild orbs circumference,
Separates moss from clean stone,
Tracing the path of a star.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
Crystal sparkles—
From within, with ores,
Mineral, quartz, precious
Commonalities from earths
Core. Wind has attempted
To make shy marks— falling
Sorrowfully short and water
Has edged and smoothed
By centuries too of trying.
This then was their show,
A kind of immortal love,
Everlasting by its trials,
As even the sun knows,
For a ley line, etched so fey,
Runs each wild orbs circumference,
Separates moss from clean stone,
Tracing the path of a star.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 5:06 PM UTC