"pardons" poems
Before the gate has been closed,
before the last question is posed,
before I am transposed.
Before the weeds fill the gardens,
before there are no pardons,
before the concrete hardens.
Before all the flute-holes are covered,
before things are locked in then cupboard,
before the rules are discovered.
Before the conclusion is planned,
before God closes his hand,
before we have nowhere to stand.
7.7k
Lone star walking roads,
crowbar in hand
cowgirl I'll die for,
I died and I died again,
fluent in 6 country's,
passports; pardons
no cargo,
but luggage is a stainless steel flask,
half full,
half way,
to the moon
if you asked me?
Cadillacs in space,
expensive taste
that's masked with
— the cheap stuff,
inspired souls,
they walk,
and this forsaken path,
they'll never make hell a ***** deed or two from heaven,
counterparts
we're equals,
we're lost
they're my colleagues,
a scandal from remembrance,
remember we followed rules?
no response
****
there's a shift
in the rubix cube,
a memo from the warden,
no weapons in the visit room,
coordinating sin,
a taste of gin
before the see you soons,
world was much warm before stone replaced the sand dunes,
scoff at the elixir,
cordially
she casts stones,
******* of a demon crossing ponds is all the child knows,
tales of the fishermen,
who heard it through the corridors,
all and all departed,
with a fear of the other gods,
strictly prohibited,
a swig of the forbidden fruit,
who are you to judge me,
When Your Son Is Not Of Holy Proof!
wedded to a mortal said your honor,
absent i do's,
abstinence is bliss
and your crime ascends civilian law,
guilty -- you're filthy,
your son will never know your soul,
I know my role and play it well,
Your god never admits he's wrong,
so why would I?
— a baby cried,
I'm present for my son's birth,
and leave before an open eye the practice of a perfect curse.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
The tavern roof was smokey
with a pall of blueish ash.
The juke box was a- booming
as it played "The Monster Mash".
A giant puffed a burning witch
whilst smoke rings he exhaled....
While victims of our neighbor,
Vlad...on stakes were all impaled.
The Faceless Man was grinning...
from ear to missing ear.
The hanged man turned his twisted neck
to sip a mug of beer.
The Headless Horseman shouted
for an aspirin or three.
He popped them down his gullet
where his head was meant to be.
The zombies waited tables
and the werewolf tended bar.
Mothra was the carhop
and took orders car to car.
Godzilla worked the griddle
and served burgers ala carte.
Dracula complained about the steak
caught in his heart.
Ghosts and ghouls were dancing
with abandon on the stage
While cyborgs did "the robot"
'cause they thought it was the rage.
The mummy came unraveled
as we took him for a "spin"
As Frankenstein played tuba
to contribute to the din.
Igor brought "the monster"
and then Freddie brought his claw.
Jason brought his butcher knife
and his buddy from "The Saw".
The guillotine was working
and the raven refereed
So nevermore would pardons
be
allowed to intercede.
The pendulum was swinging
to the beating of my heart.
I hoped that I would wake up soon...
then did so...with a START!
Halloween is coming. So, I guess
I should prepare.
Watch out for bars with men from Mars...
'cause BEASTIES party there!
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 6:45 AM UTC
Pills, pills for the mentally ill
The more you take, the worse you'll feel
So down the hatch
Yep down your throat
Very soon you'll be wearing this coat
A hug me jacket tarnished in white
With buckles and straps wound so tight
But for now some side effects I wrote
Down here on this pretty little note
Increased thoughts of suicide
And harsh voices to which you can't hide
Nausea, drooling, and anxiety too
And whoever seems to be "after you"
We'll put you to sleep
You won't make another peep
Strap you to a cozy bed where you'll slumber
Pump you till you're as cool as a cucumber
To which we'll add you to our lovely garden
No ifs, buts, or beg your pardons
What's the matter?
You seem unwell
You're as mad as a hatter
This I can tell
So don't start a spell
Don't start a clatter
We'll pick up those pieces to which your mind has shattered
Just take this pill
In fact why not stay
You're better off here anyway!
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
Willow herb floating
on silent certainty
ashes of sighs
not fleeting,
unvapoured on the
blossom of the rain,
I am too light to
pull or push
the swing of delight
through this land.
The rain left me for a
while
sun unshielding
-a thousand widows
more unyielding than the depths . .
Once shadowed whisperers
of delight,gossamer
sparkling , descending
their chains
of necromantic hope.
Lilith is no night owl
she is mother, eve
and my becoming:
sweet earth spun
at once ,
exhaling her .
The see saw
bumped gently
on my chin
it is a most gentle
form of awakening.
The silence bore no whispers
till sinking through the quicksand
-or was it quicksilver?
-in any case I could smell little
in my amniotic amnesia.
I made ten thousand friends,till their soap
made this place clean.
Is this a seed or a dying
hopefulness
-is my sallow sowing
beyond all shores of
reproduction;
a reflection of the child
they dared not bear?
Is my last breath like this
a forgotton yielding
will they catch me
as I fall ?
-(sweet earth)-
This moth of my ending,
a shallow recantation,
my fears-
their memories, mere
testubes of
stylish hope .
I breathe the elegant stare
you have forgotten .
Once more free
from such
rememberance
I need not ,
remained not ,
your imploded ,
wakefulness .
A thousand pardons
exhaled like silk
entwining
an unfinished race
spider of a thousand eyes .
One may say
I was
stared
to death
but surrogate air
mocks childish pity.
Taut refelexions
bear salt echoes
in silk convulsions
fresh water
a veneered hope .
Easier in death than life
is a child's sorrowed
partings ,
the illusion of
bouyancy
rippled tides
unfelt.
The oceans have not enough salt
for such shrunken sorrow.
if we could but once
have shared
unbreathed aspersion .
The room has come and gone
the pillow quite undry
unforgotten
unremembered.
A web untouched
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:46 AM UTC
Call me a sucker.
Here it is again; you're sorry,
You're an *******
You'll never do it again,
You care, and you do love me.
These arguments fit your face so well.
Hair-twirling, the wet eyes that grab
Everything. Full lips parting and all
I can think about is pushing them back.
Soon I'll have my hands on your ribs,
And we'll both blow, and I'll fall to sleep
Like a grand piano from the 9th floor. Once
I crash I may dream that it's all okay. And you will shower, to wash all that good **** away.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 9:55 PM UTC
I saw a golden river,
You see it only in dreams
I am no special than you are,
But the river, oh it streams.
In curls where the locks lie,
The unstoppable river slowly strides,
Down the silver mount of hope
Into the chasm it merrily rides.
In the darkest point where ever you are,
It glows with great exuberance,
It shines, it's northern star,
With darkness it summons for a dance.
Its shiny pearls ray on roofs,
Of the deepest parts where you hide,
You've lived a lie, you see that proof?
the truth illuminated by northern lights.
The blissful river brims and swells,
Where you can't reach it, it pardons,
Though it's a dream it may somewhere,
Steal from the gardens,
It may be obscure, hidden behind,
Oh, it steals from my mind.
It was a partial sober bliss,
To seek a heaven on earth but in sleep,
My haze vision was sweetly kissed
And pulled out from the river so deep.
Oh, the river of golden hills,
I'll find you if I have to keep my breath still
Oh, the river of golden hills,
You will forever echo in me with your sweet trills.
Oh the river of golden hills.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
A mob boss for president…
Yikes! That's what we've got--
One who profits from crime
Without a second thought;
Who keeps his family close by;
Who's close to each paisano;
Who looks less like a Lincoln,
And more like Tony Soprano;
Who praises convicted felons,
And pardons them as well;
Who cares less about country
And more about his cartel.
Loyalty is his mantra.
His underlings owe him all.
He sounds like a mobster when
His back's against the wall.
He'll rip you a new one if
You ever decide to flip
And prove that you're a rat,
Or try to give him the slip.
"Flipping should be illegal,"
He brazenly repeats.
Without it he knows there'd be
More crooks on the streets.
A power-hungry bully:
It's his goal to be one.
Listen to his rhetoric:
"I know a rat when I see one."
His fixer threatens reporters
And does the boss's bidding.
But when he seeks revenge,
The boss isn't kidding!
Driven by ambition,
Egomania and greed,
He lets mob ethics guide him
To always take the lead.
He's the kind of guy
You read about in books.
Watch how he surrounds
Himself with other crooks.
Those who cooperate
With law enforcement will find
That he retaliates
If ever he's maligned.
Top decision maker,
He gets such a thrill
Promoting or demoting
Anyone at will.
Having a no-good mob boss
As leader strikes a nerve
Because it's hard to accept
That that's what we deserve.
-by Bob B (8-25-18)
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
I have used up all my tokens
and squandered all my pardons;
all that’s left is tarnished pyrite
and a jewellery box for two.
For I will tear your heart out
and feed it to the coyotes;
you may be the one for me,
but I’m no good for you.
As the field runs crimson
I’ll proceed to crack your spirit.
I know that this is foolish,
but love - this is all I know.
If the moon would make a bargain
on the dust that seals up fractures,
I would strip my backbone
reaching out to make it so;
I would mend each tiny crevice
- plant hydrangeas in the darkness,
but without a new foundation
it is all still frail and makeshift;
and each compounding weight is
all crushed-guts and shattered-statements.
Again we’re set a whirling;
we can’t recognize our faces.
The strongest tree is only paper
and my convoluted nature
is just a fallacy I’ve built to house,
my fear of what is true.
So, we’ll dance until our knees split,
you’ll repeat that we’re a unit
and as I kick the chair out
choke a final, “i love You.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Amidst staggered breaths
my fragile frame converts to dust.
Oak entombs the ashen ruins
of a long awaited
Us.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 6:43 PM UTC
choo choo
next stop.....perdition
(no, not really...no-one believes this Stygian opacity)
1.
look how Time doth ravage thee
look what it did to thy visage
in smithereens, lies youth
it so artfully takes away
what is held so dear
rivers and streams
valleys and hills
arching to ecstatic heights
plunging to abysmal lows
into the ravine of chance
stirred by the spoon of Time
slowly around the cauldron
brews the self-same mixture
then poured into chasms of forgetfulness
using the eternal sledgehammer
it
smashes the foundation of thought
grinds the nutmeg of speed
pulps the fruit of mentality
slows the pulse of sensation
and pardons none.
2.
what was once sensuous and voluptuous lips
now are merely two dry slits on your face
once stared-into eyeballs, now glass over
vitreous cataracts steadily grow, weed-like
toned into lithe elastic bands now stretch
away into forever, a pale platform to walk on
life's morn is encompassed by years' slanting
clouded and bedimmed by mists of age
butterfly's existence outweighs a man's
by mere night-veiled windowpane of true sight
draw the curtains; close the shutters; screen the eyes
the time has come to shed all blinkers and face the sun.
3.
crimp
sag
limp
drag
mud cracks down a dipping dale
scalding pain sears sore half-foot
yes, time is but a disease
ravaging all
without fear or favour
sunken eyes
slower reflexes
tardier mind
scraggly body
hides not
condescends not
forgets not
the glimmer of ....
a time of ...
4.
cathedral invites the walker in
cool and calm recesses
sit silent
wait....
then they walk in, carrying
one who had but a lucky half-score lot
clear soprano note becomes a rudderless bleat
announcing the folly of stifling ego
now shorn of burning frost of circuitous fervour
beams of mercy cast a final look-see
jump the barriers of
time
to
carry thee off.
pipe organ-stops are pulled out
(art thee ready? platform number 5)
S T, 9 May 2013
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 9:24 AM UTC
Rest in peace willow of the nest
My condolences for such dreadfulness
I did not mean for the sun to neglect you
I did not mean for your leaves to abandon you
Forgive me, dear willow of the nest
Forsaken by all the living
****** by such dreary darkness.
Dear willow tree,
No longer will I burden thee
When your seeds begin to grow
I hope that you know
Your new life will intertwine with my death
And with my last breath I’ll curse you with my sorrow
You won’t see me tomorrow
Past the pain of now’s goodbyes
Please tell me why, oh why!
Dear willow of the nest
Do you think pondering such revenge is best?
Trade your soul in for new branches instead of
Sleeping in the maggots that fill your trunk bed
Meanwhile,
lingering upon the magic tops of neighboring trees are new seeds
They shall bring with them bold opportunities,
Their company shall bloom gardens
They shall dance in the wind while summoning a thousand pardons
For they shall not be the ones to fill your empty nest
That once carried in it a hopeful wish, at best.
Every last piece of me has dispersed into the universe
Never again shall they come together
Never again shall I be whole
You can grow old with your new endeavor
While I create art with my soul.
Goodbye, my beloved willow tree of the nest
You were a fantasy; a courter; a lover;
A whimsical romance, at best.
Mar 11, 2011
Mar 11, 2011 at 7:40 PM UTC
A spark takes a second
The fire lasts a little more
But a pebble is shaped over ages,
By waves beating upon their shore.
What the tide brings under the Sun,
It takes away under the Moon.
The scent of the roses in Spring
Was lost to the winds too soon.
Of what use now is watering a flower
Which already withered to nightly rains?
Of what good are the pardons you shower
Upon a slave who has died in your chains?
This bridge I was building
Collapsed before the mail van could cross
With this pebble I was gilding
That shall remain to you, an unknown loss.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
Dreaming seems to be a cycled reality,
dueling matters of vague interpretation
almost holding on to a fugue
state of delieverance,
that returns to dreaming.
A wakefulness that pardons our stressors,
exploring how sureness of changing tides
have arrived to wash the shore’s footprints;
turning salutations to a once cumbersom
slumber to keeping these eyes closed.
The mind never rests,
it continues to timely act.
Despite the character of one’s gait
submissive to extrinsic. We dream the same.
A neutrality in recognition,
the deepest desire,
the social matter,
and the human acceptance.
We rise to sleep
to deeply wake
the harden reality we failed,
to accept throughout our day,
removing our knighly armor and face
our dragons which have their own vices,
yet our devices hinder. Our true dreams,
blur between eyes closed
changing to dreaming with eyes open.
Realizing all true negatives are true
positives differing only from accepting
that I can vertically add difference;
we can all equate to change
if you keep dreaming in mind.
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
Recollections on Chaliyar.
In youthfulness was Chaliyar.
As I saw her next , from afar
Amidst the greenery was, she
Dancing in pleated clothes.
In spotlight of the setting sun
In tune the Air that hummed
On rail the wheels trumpeted
Gallery across the river I stood
Watching her”jahiliat” life moves
Lured all by giggle and smile
Ripples, eddies her beauty spots
She was mine I was hers!
Oh! My Chaliyar, recall, whence
We started and parted;
Made our veins venomous.
By-gone are by-gone-
God loves and pardons ;
He is with them that pardons
God won’t hear our prayer
If we keep deaf ear to prayer.
Unrelenting oars push a yacht.
The fume of trade shrouded me
With the smoke of train chocked
Down in water I plunged, yelled
Help, Help Oh! helpless yelp.
THE TIME rippled, wriggled
Coiled around while none
But Allah held me around.
On a delta I lay bare; hence
I write on rights we need.
……….
Note : Chaliyar is a river in northern Kerala, India, once most polluted.
“Jahiliat’ is an Arabic word means uncultured/impure period in life.
Allah is the name to denote the Almighty Creator that all religions expected to worship.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
The trembling thunder chains soul to awake.
Though depths be the bane of the weak,
To strike the divine is to drain the opaque.
What holds your reason, should judgment mistake?
Though the alternate prospects are bleak,
The trembling thunder chains soul to awake.
Were it be you, could comfort forsake?
No, unaware, your posture bespeaks.
To strike the divine is to drain the opaque
The valiant of will won’t welcome the quake
Empowered, the sordid, the broken, the meek,
The trembling thunder chains soul to awake
Ethereal dance, whose lost weavings partake
those apes, who stand tall, boasting technique.
To strike the divine is to drain the opaque.
Yet pardons, in diligence, to the transparent fake;
On fires dwell qualms of conceit.
The trembling thunder chains soul to awake.
To strike the divine is to drain the opaque.
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 3:02 AM UTC
Got 2 fingers for this night
2 bloodshot eyes on the town's small size.
I'll take this walk on shaky toes,
take 1 more bottle for the icy road.
3 years, 3 months and countless ghosts,
some angry friends, a long walk home.
I stumble down Wyoming Street
and ball 2 fists inside my coat.
Stunted
I tripped while running in place,
bit my tongue and cut my nose up--
****** my pretty, spiteful face.
And I'm just
punting
and slurring while I beg for pardons.
Forgive my weak and sour heart--
didn't mean it
when I said "Goodbye and **** this place."
I'm a werewolf on nights like these--
popping joints and twisting knees,
yellow eyes and dagger teeth;
full moon makes my lungs freeze.
When memories claim my mind,
can't see through greyscaled eyes.
Sorry to waste your time
but I seem to have misplaced mine.
Hundred questions for myself.
Emptied 15, placed them on my shelf.
0 answers inside each 1.
Shapeshifter's sorry that I killed your fun.
3 years, 3 months. 1 long walk home.
I gambled with these dicey ghosts.
I spilled some drinks and said some things.
Grab my coat and hope you can forgive me.
Stunted
I zipped my leaking lips up.
Bit my tongue -- I'd made no progress
Hung my petty, spiteful face.
And I'm just
punting,
but could you forget my infractions?
didn't mean it
when I said, "Goodbye and **** this place."
I'm a werewolf on nights like these--
Claws bared and licking teeth.
So, please just don't mind me
as I walk out on unsure feet.
Sorry to waste your time,
but I seem to have misplaced mine.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 11:56 AM UTC
There is something there, in the essence of this, something that i tasted, salt and sweat, dripping from your fingertips. There is footsteps in the stairway around my heart, i hear them creaking in the moonlight, as you find your way in the dark.
Where is my vision?
I don't tend to look at your eyes, i cannot, i do not have to be that strong. I found a million pardons, when i was asking if there was something i did wrong. I feel the scoop of your hand on that familiar place on my back, and i headily breathe you, as i hear your knuckles crack, from the weight of my familiarity.
Where do i come from?
What is that whisper in the ****** air. The dreams that i have are so absent and so bare. I lost and i lose and try to walk again, on broken ankles, with broken toes, my legs have the strength of ten men. And i am lost, i am lost, and i will say it again. But i am lost in being lost, so is this my religion, my prayer and my a-men?
Where is my heart?
Free me, throw me into the air, shoot me, ****** me, act like you don't care. There is no obligation in an ounce of your tone. Your music is denotation, your heartbeat becomes a microphone. And you sing, you sing, a love song to me 'Dorothy you are home'
Where is my place?
Dreaming of second comings, and i desperately seek your face. I want to kiss you, to kiss you, with my lips, i will erase. You are nothing more to me, than a seeker in this battle of sun-down to sun-up. Find me, come hide me, come fill me with your cup.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
What might Might be?
The light that guides me,
Strength to use rightly,
Tied in lengths of Eden’s ivy.
Garden grown like primal sin,
Pardons are unknown so the lies begin.
Now the forest is home to what lies within.
Might, unlike beauty, is beneath the skin.
I want my question answered but afraid to ask it.
Hesitation is a lesson that I seem to be trapped with.
Little lack of relation from me to men in the casket,
I might be crushed by the world, doesn’t mean that I’m Atlas.
Confounded as my consciousness rises like Babel’s tower,
But just for a single blessed second I know that love was true power.
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 11:15 AM UTC
give me sleep
the waves have lapped over me
for years now
and the crashing has left me shivering
give me sleep
until the moon pardons these waters
for just a day
while we wait
just let me be null
give me sleep
so that when i wake again
my throat is clear and air flows freely
and my chest sways with the tide
instead of against it
until then
give me rest
give me rest so i may wake refreshed
to face the rising moon
without this salt water chest
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
God serve us in daily bases,as daily we gaze through the rays of the sun with a reflection of the daily light.so lazy but utalised nor fertilised as we crawl under daily sins getting so much early abit more yearly,daily daily i look foward nor backwards.i sight fears while getting frozen tears daily daily daily saviour above lime pardons until i barely live all the daily life days.
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 11:26 AM UTC
Je ne veux plus aimer que ma mère Marie.
Tous les autres amours sont de commandement.
Nécessaires qu'ils sont, ma mère seulement
Pourra les allumer aux coeurs qui l'ont chérie.
C'est pour Elle qu'il faut chérir mes ennemis,
C'est par Elle que j'ai voué ce sacrifice,
Et la douceur de coeur et le zèle au service,
Comme je la priais, Elle les a permis ...
C'est par Elle que j'ai voulu de ces chagrins,
C'est pour Elle que j'ai mon coeur dans les Cinq Plaies,
Et tous ces bons efforts vers les croix et les claies,
Comme je l'invoquais, Elle en ceignit mes reins.
Je ne veux plus penser qu'à ma mère Marie,
Siège, de la Sagesse et source des pardons,
Mère de France aussi, de qui nous attendons
Inébranlablement l'honneur de la patrie.
Marie Immaculée, amour essentiel,
Logique de la foi cordiale et vivace,
En vous aimant qu'est-il de bon que je ne fasse,
En vous aimant du seul amour, Porte du ciel ?
1.1k
Clashing at gold, is a folly surely,
As bashing at skulls; is a scarring thing.
Turmoil for those who weep but rarely,
ye have set aflame the fiery king.
He burns those who persecute under his wing,
Whom he reflects with a tornado flame.
His realm expands and as his subjects sing:
“Ye King Of Fire triumphant your reign.
Forever may you stay as king and all be tamed.”
He pardons all who try to be godly.
And he destroys those who are not trying.
The King Of Fire Singes the unworthy.
And protects those who are under his wing.
He commands the skies and the one sighing.
He always protects his queen just the same.
The flame he controls mirrors the stunning,
The force he utilizes reveres his name.
The force of ground, and fire and sky is his fame.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:51 AM UTC
But he could.
It's a free country,
Inside.
And he'd say she was an over-rated actor, anyway.
Rudolph could be on his nice list.
I won't mention by name
The ***** who assassinated Lennon,
And neither should anyone else,
Including Himself,
But it could be his first State Secret.
Of all the possible pardons possible,
Hanssen deserves an immediate E.O.
Whatever he espionaged to the Russians
Was only what they overlooked as spam;
A communist cookie.
I don't even think an E.O could posthumously pardon
Ford for pardoning Nixon.
There's no excuse for that.
He'll never pardon incarcerated terrorists,
They're safer behind bars.
Us too.
*Pardon me, please,
But you're stepping on my Peers.*
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
little people with big mouths and shriveled hearts
filled with excuses and pardons beneficial to themselves
pretending that the little game is just that: a game
forgetting about feelings and filled with fallacies
pieces are placed in their perfect position
strung along like stupid, sorrowful simpletons
experience is not something that can be fooled
anger is not something to be played with
apathy is something to fear
love is patient and kind
love is also obstinate and persistent
it will not be misused or mistreated
true love is not an elementary concept
small minds simply cannot understand
naturally cling to games that only give empty satisfaction
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 8:22 PM UTC
A prayer is just a cry of becoming human
A cry is just a scream
Of a frightening belief.
And how do we remember how to speak in tongues,
And to flow through moving tunnels
While molding the body to fit something else-
A pattern not yet seen?
Being silent doesn't stop
Others from knowing your unquiet thoughts;
We are more alike
Than we will ever be different.
Just save the last breath for god,
Who pardons all your conscious confusion.
That last, most brilliant light you'll never see
Is only a brain being consumed
By the entrophy of existence.
The stars are well-lit cemeteries
Of illumined souls, that went forgotten once
In the unevenness between the boundaries
Of time, space and heaven.
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 7:23 AM UTC