"pegs" poems
six lanes
in a sight line
past the cedar shims
and trim tempered insert
past the washed mural
and water stained tiles
covered eyes
fight for focus
over cork strung ties
and dark distant bridges
foot crawlers on lemon pegs
teaming
under clouded halogen light
dreamers contend
in a variation of chant
(throwing it off in a
drawl sequence)
a glimpse of the guard
and warm towel assignment
forge comforting relief
in a task filled day
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:17 PM UTC
Thats all you are,
From your hair to your hips
It makes me want to do flips
These demons make me not care
These demons make me...
want to tear your clothes apart
Something about your smile
Something about your legs
Its like your stacking pegs
Getting no where
because caring is something
that isn't their
I love the way you look at me when were done
I love the way your body looks when your on top
I love the way you look
I love the way
I love the
I love
No!
I lust
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 12:11 AM UTC
Our town was to have a rail-line
Circa the mid eighteen nineties
This story has surprised my ears
A local amateur historian apprised me just recently
Documents to support this claim are archived in Sydney
Not far out of our town
On a well know property in the district
Two surveyor pegs are still in existence
Marking the route the rail-line was to track
Though the Forefather's rail-line was never bedded down
The powers that be government leaders of the day
Shelved these impressive plans
They never saw the light of day
Ribbons of steel not coming to fruition
Leading to our town
Other town went ahead rail-lines were established to them
Out town alas and alack missed out
Look where Tamworth and Armidale are to-day
Rail being in their favor
Our town was left to languish and to be dispirited
Going no-where no-where to go
Our Forefather's now lay in their graves
Not quite resting in peace
Their rail proposal for our town unrealized
Good ideas die along with good intentions
Hence their unsettled repose
Our town could have been a regional town
Industry and population dotting the landscape
Rail would have assured our place
The Forefather's rail proposal long since shelved
Consigned into the passing vapor of time
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
Once upon a time, in a place called Venustus
a raw newb caught my eye
I wonder what it was about her
that made me want to try
The quiet one
kneeling on the rug
playing with her Pegs
quite unlike the others
less submissive,
yet somehow more so
in ways that I couldn't see at the time
She chides me for my lack of attention
shouldn't it be the other way round?
should she not be the one attending to me?
yet somehow I can't make that demand
can't bring myself to issue the command
can't take the risk she'll call my bluff
begin to realise I can't get enough
I begin to doubt my Dominance
as we get closer there's something else
Incredible as it seems,
I feel her body close to mine
her warmth come through
and then she asks
"do you feel it too?"
And I do feel it
I feel you beside me, within me
I feel that for us
it has always been this way
that I've always known you
and you feel that way too
Then everything became simple
and yet more complicated
Now I had no choice
but to face myself
to admit the thing I'd tried to hide
because love demands honesty
to be honest with you
I had to be honest with me
Even though I had no doubt
still I needed space to work it out
a week or two should be enough
the next three months were really tough
Cynthia Pauline Jones, March 2013
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
Grand mamma always told me
Hold your head up proud
And never accept to blend in with the crowd-
Kinna strange the way
I'm parting rivers right now
And how if sitting silent
I'm truly speaking out loud
Long ago and swiftly
Juggling dozens of eggs
Though trying not to split 'em
I tripped up on some pegs
The yoke leaked out
Mixed with the blood
From my head
I didn't whimper yet I knew
My beauty was dead-
But that's how it grows
All you Elaine's and Ed's
Through brazen heat
And tempest sleet
Chewing on led
While inspires cry
And empires fry
That sandstone shifts
And driftwood drifts
Alone I merrily roam
With my for sure's and if's
Never dissuading
The hemispheres
Of my bliss
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
Sleek winding metal under my fingers
Squeaks at the tip of the frail hair
Subtle rattles of the pegs
Such a marvelous weapon I hold in my hands
Sweet cherry woods
Sings to me as I draw the bow like a
Sword
Swing, Pop, Rock, Classic
Such a marvelous weapon I hold in my hands
Stage lights make the details glitter
Sound resonates full and clear
Sharp and flat
Strong and proud
Such a marvelous weapon I hold in my hands
So I make this magic
Sad or joyous
Such a marvelous weapon I hold in my hands
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
my mum used to joke
that my eyes would turn square
if i looked at pixels too long.
i remember the scare
that my pupils would bend
into inky black stamps,
and my retinas bleached
from the machinery glow.
that i would wander the streets
only for children to point
and scream
while their own mothers tutted
'you still want that playstation
for christmas?'
now i'm grown up
and that vision has died,
as the streets are all littered
with others, square-eyed.
i can imagine their
xylophone skeletons as
their fingers tap fast
on the tiny blue screens;
it's no wonder we aren't
very good with
eye contact.
so
i'm sorry mum,
we've all been entrapped
in this pixellated blur
of technological time lapse.
and i guess all these
square pegs can't fit
into the round holes
that they used to be,
in a world that we cannot
remember.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
i suggested mending when you asked about weaving.
yet what goes round comes round. i find myself weaving,
at the mill.
how apt.
was i weaving on pegs, the stuff of dreams,
addictive wool gathering storms and whether,
or not, we should make and mend. the old way
Johann Botha.
sbm.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
I search, but I rarely find
The reasons they say that I'd be fine
Fine is perspective I say with a wink
First amused then confused they stop and they think
"What does he mean," they say through closed teeth.
I'll tell you what I think and believe
See no one ever gets out of life alive
So I find it inexplicable why someone would try.
That might seem negative in practice or thought
But life hands out lemons or so I've been taught
But the second half of that statement I never have bought
Don't make lemonade be happy with the lemons you've got
Cuz each one you get teaches you something you see.
Just embrace life for itself what will be, well, will be.
Some risk the now for future's sake
Spend all their time planning just to get raked
Over the coals by the pressure they've placed
On themselves trying to force their lives into shape
I learned early on that square pegs just don't fit
In round holes, so what's the point in forcing it.
Life ebbs and flows, steals, lies and cheats.
If you aren't ready for its storms you'll be blown off your feet
To weather the storms of lightning and sleet
You'll need recover regroup and repeat,
The lessons you learned when you were so young.
Yes, plan a future but in the now, please, have fun.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
Today tastes like
Satisfied saturday lie ins
and accompanied sleepy yawns
Tea in bed
toast crumbs
Today tastes like
Washing pegs I hold in my mouth
while ******* things
out on the line
Today tastes like
Saturday sweetie day
peanut m n m's
and other sugary
treats hooray!
Today tastes like a trip to the zoo
animal antics
fruit bats
meerkats
and tamarin tantrics
Today tastes like
My son's hearty hugs
he's been away all week
with the scouts
a hearty dinner
whilst he recounts
his trip's losers and winners
Today tastes like
brightly coloured family
television shows
of sofa time and
cheesey toes
(before i put the boys
in the bath)
Today tastes like
relaxation
tea and more tea
Maybe I'll allow
myself a
cheeky glass of wine
to further relax
and unwind!
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
My visit to Jurassic Park
What a shock
And my how those fences spark
And be careful
Of those prehistoric sharks
If you go wading in the sea
Don't expect to live past 3
And raptors roam
Across the forest floor
I wonder what else the park
Has in store?
Brachiosaurus eating leafs
From a tree
What a beautiful creature
It seems to be!
But stay away
From those long legs
They can stomp you into
The ground
Like little pegs
Well I enjoyed my trip
To Jurassic Park
I did not dare go out
In the dark
I stayed in
The park's Atomic shelter
Better than running around
That park helter-skelter
Better safe than sorry I always say
I left that park
And lived to see another day
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
one cannot get down on one's knees
it is apparent that they are unbending
both patellas have gone into a freeze
the discomfort in them is never ending
one's knee joints oft tend to lock tight
it is apparent that they are unbending
their rigidity is becoming a real blight
scrubbing floors is a most painful affair
one's knee joints oft tend to lock tight
these days one's knees are in need of care
arthritis has set in for a rather long stay
scrubbing floors is a most painful affair
one would like the stiffness to go away
there isn't much flexibility in one's legs
arthritis has set in for a rather long stay
oh to have more spring in the knee pegs
there isn't much flexibility in one's legs
one cannot get down on one's knees
both patellas have gone into a freeze
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 4:42 AM UTC
Wayfarer,
walk with me
down the open, crumbling road.
We’re two surviving souls--
billion year old
molecules binding
our hearts, muscles,
bones and nerves winding--
let us go back to the beginning,
before the time of sinning,
to the start of our creation,
before government or nation,
to find the garden and lose regarding--
regain our innocence.
The sun, rain and wind will test us--
we’ll build shelters of hides and bones,
pick berries and sharpen knives with stones,
play bone flutes and gut-stringed lutes,
and **** nothing without reason
and prepare for each change of season.
We’ll take our water from the glacial melt.
Our fashion will be the furry pelt.
Of course, we’ll remember poem and song--
for they were never wrong;
art was blameless.
It was the only thing
“Civilization” left us.
We’ll spark fire with pegs and strings
whirring, friction, small kindlings
into fire; we'll sit round and tell our history--
marvel at our ancestors’ folly, what mystery...
We’ll write dramas and dance;
we will honor this second chance.
English we will remember.
And French and Arabic, Latin and Hebrew.
We’ll start a new language, or two.
We’ll wash and sew condoms from intestines;
this time, what we’ll invest in
will be sustainability.
No need to propagate the earth--
it is fruitful enough already.
Only to be in harmony, a place neither above, nor below, others--
the animals and plants, who are our sisters and our brothers.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
There are days
when my soul feels
stretched out
like a ribbon
emotions
hang
ing
from a thread
on the line,
like laundry, for
all to see, on pegs
vulnerable
in storms
letting wind caress
and sometimes whip them
round in beaten time
like a tempest
They tend to
get bruised, secretly
battered internally
as the surface of me smiles
and marches on
Vocal chords tightening
as the larynx longs
in primal urge
to take out the words
in one long
graceful arc
of purge
On these days I
need to sit
in the cloudforms
of my mind's eye
and let myself feel
what I cannot show:
the daily coldness gnawing
at my innards
blow by icy blow
In these hours
I must let the tears
well up and run down
until the sting of salt
penetrates the glacier
let the significance of
unspoken words
rise up from
the deep dermis layers
into my throat, my tonsils
up to the palate and tongue
out through my lips
to the heavens,
releasing the unsung
those words caught within
the walls of my neck -
they almost make me choke
exhaust contamination
from heavy, unseen smoke
It billows up and out
and soon, like
hard-worked magic
this morse code is busted
because I am sick of feeling tragic
I command clear
communication
to filter through
the spasms of fog
in drops of dew
I command my words to be heard
in tiny spikes of sun
And all the while
in clear spirals,
a prayer commences to
be spun:
for the harsh
and bitter
be flushed out
in unabated, icy rush
for my soul to rise up
for the cleansing
in aching spirit blush
for the painfulness
of silence
to be ground out
upon the floor
for the shadows of
the violence
to be obliterated
to the
core
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 8:14 AM UTC
If not for love, I would have done it
If not for love, she would have said it
I was just a kind heart, who wished for every good thing
Oh now I know, everything can't be good as I want it
There's always a bad side
She was just a fair skin, who wished for every beautiful thing,
Oh now she knows, everything can't be beautiful as she wants it
There's is always an ugly side
Together always, we cared less of square pegs and round holes
Now issues brings concerns; we take note of every err and bad thoughts
Bring back the days of old; when we loved like Romeo and Juliet
Bring back the times past; when we had each others back like Bonnie and Clyde
Please let us bring back the you, and the me, that became the us
And hopefully, we could bring back again, everything we kept away
For love is good, and it is good to be loved; One body for one good
If not for love, I would have left you
If not for love, she would have said it was over
And if not for love, we would have been asunder
If not for love, I wouldn't have done it
If not for love, they wouldn't have done it
My belief is different, and my faith is in God of all things
Oh now I know, we may not be the same, though we have one maker
There are Christians, and there are Muslims
They worship in their ways, and they call on God for all things
Oh now they know, we may not be alike, though we have one creator
There are blacks, and there are whites
Together always, we shared festive moods & feasts
Now politics in between; we pick every fault & differences
Bring back the old days; when we lived as brothers and sisters
Bring back the past times; when we protected each other and kept one another
Please let us bring back The Yoruba, and The Hausa and The Ibo that became one Nation
And hopefully, we could #bringbackourgirls, that were taken away
For God is love and love is God; One People under one God
If not for love, I wouldn't have embraced them again
If not for love, they wouldn't have invited me over
And if not for love, we wouldn't have lived together
URBAN HOUSE POETRY©
HOLOGRAPHIC UNIVERSE™
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
I turned it off
When I found out
Physical form meant more than
spiritual substance
When I found out that
Age matters when you have too much
Looks when you don’t have a certain one
When they meant something different
something estranged from my previous understanding
I know my body is not me
only a part
they wanted that part
without wanting only me
I turned it off
They all wanted something much less
far cheaper
than I am willing
was willing
to give
You do not understand the meaning when I say
you are beautiful
Namaste
Ashe
Amen
I turned it off
You are not able to fathom a comprehension when I say
I love you
Namaste
Ashe
Amen
I turned it off
Life has instructed
give it to self always
to the ones called family
the select few that are called friend
Show it to the world
but don’t let the world abuse it
But in that concentrated way
where two become one
I turned it off
Its disrespectful to the concept
for me to treat you according to the concept
when I see
when I know
before it all started
before your scent first touched the air
you have no awareness of the concept
There are about six degrees of separation from
what you think it is
what you thought it was
what you have been shown it to be
what you attempt to offer me
and that which it actually is
that which I was willing to offer you
I don’t believe there is a single one
there is the one you make it work with
That one
must also be willing and able to make it work with
you
For now
for me
you don’t exist
I realize now
you never did
square pegs forced into round holes
mistakes all listed above
I turned it off
Only a truly naked self
has any right
any ability
any authority
to turn it on.
© Christopher F. Brown 2013
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
so you call yourself pro-life
okay, I guess I can pretend to respect that
which then means that you must also
respect the fact that I am very loudly pro-choice
and thanks to science
I know that a bundle of cells
and a living child are not the same thing
because an actual fetus is not fully formed
until the third trimester
and by fully formed I mean that it is
for all intents and purpose alive
but before that
there is nothing but a group of cells
there is no brain
no heart
not even pearly pink fingernails
so now what, huh?
you’re probably going to keep protesting
Planned Parenthood and harassing the people
that work there, right?
because all that Planned Parenthood does
is condone the vicious and inhumane ******
of defenseless, unborn children, right?
right?
either way, you don’t care about the child
once they’re born
all that you care about is making a woman
and other individuals who have a ******
carry this thing that is literally feeding off of them
and why should a child be brought into this world
if the circumstances through which it was
conceived are non-consensual?
because, if you really did care
if you really were “pro-life”
then you would care about the child
after it is born
or better yet
you could turn your attention and time and money
and anger to all the millions of orphans living
in the US
ya know, the living children?
with no homes?
with no parents?
packed like sardines in orphanages?
what about them?
do they not matter because they are not a group
of cells, and therefore not defenseless?
and therefore they do not matter?
because,
if you only care about that bundle of cells
and because some states actually make women
and those with uteruses
have funerals for the aborted “child”
then by default whenever a man
masturbates and then **********
shouldn’t he be made to have a separate
funeral for each of the thousands of children
that he just killed?
because one of them could have cured cancer, ******
and tell me
when I was still menstruating
should I have said “amen”
over all the potential children that bled out
of my body and into the pad
and the sides of my boxers?
should I have
said “grace” over all the
little pad mummies that I threw away?
should I have cried when I flushed
the ****** toilet paper?
because,
since I have a ******
how dare I want and feel as if I should
be owed control over my own body, right?
how dare I believe that
each and every woman
biological and otherwise
have a say in what they do with their body
how dare I be pro-choice, right?
well, let me knock you down
a few pegs with this closing statement:
if you only care about the “child” when it is
just a group of cells that doesn’t feel a **** thing
and couldn’t care less about it
once it is born
and homeless
or an orphan
or queer
then you are not “pro-life”
what you are
is an *******
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 10:12 PM UTC
Snow in March in England
Is utterly absurd!
Springs already started
There's white stuff everywhere
Last year there was a heatwave
Barbeques and shorts
Now it's Alaska
Now there's something wrong
If this is global warming
It rather takes the ****
I've seen warmer chapel hat pegs
The proverbial witches *** !!!
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 9:27 PM UTC
I wrote you love letters out of the syrupy innocence of my childish heart,
Mawkish hopes for a future of sweaty handholding and feather-lipped kisses.
More mother than lover, I lived to shield you from the bigger laughing kids,
Because I thought that love was one short ride on the pegs of your homemade bike,
And one dance under purple glowsticks hanging from the cheap drop ceiling,
And, in the stairwell that smelled like paint and old socks, I told you so.
Turned out I wasted my one second wish on the bunny in the moon:
You woke me up with the hollow chill of sudden mere acquaintanceship,
And now you're chasing some blond girl while I'm standing in a corner, busy growing up.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 12:07 AM UTC
i run the bath once more
and rewind your home, too
cuddled and tucked into each other's core
eleanor
all the sweet lies about sweet love
that were said from you
eleanor
roars howling outside my apartment
wet faces reflect on its windows
you were the patch around these bombardments
whetted daggers under her pillows
eleanor
casanovas in the city
fancying themselves swing stage licenses
hung me out to dry, technically
consider the pegs and dive into silences
eleanor
may god act as he see fit
i did mine, at least...
eleanor
if you've never been in love
eleanor
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 12:38 PM UTC
Snapshot.
Cheerful
cloths-pegs
of many colours
hanging
against
a background
of bare trees
and a grey
sky.
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 5:14 PM UTC
Flesh is torn in monotone,
Hairy needles as legs pegs onto white
Sticky string,
Sharp fangs dipped in poison
Sink through flesh and *****
And crush bones with a sting.
It is **** or be killed out there in the nature you worship.
The cruelty adds to the beauty of a deep red sunset.
Vicious waves add to the elegance of an ocean,
So don’t forget
That while you turn a blind eye to
The things you don’t like,
You tell yourself a half truth
(A good lie),
It is the perspective which alters sight.
Perhaps it’s more comforting to see
The sun as a beacon of light instead of
An orb in cruel fire,
But if you can see both,
Maybe you’ll find hope in hopelessness,
Or you’re humbled by thoughtfulness,
and maybe you’ll see the
Nature of life for what it truly is.
Oct 18, 2021
Oct 18, 2021 at 5:19 AM UTC
I looked into a mirror, took each one apart
Someone had asked me, What's your favourite body part?
Why not your eyes?
Ah, those ones betray me so easily when I cry
Your ears?
No, they too quickly give into their fears
Thought you'd say your lips
They are pretty, yes. But make many regrettable slips
Your nose?
Oh, it is too large and tends to spoil many a pose
And your teeth?
The top row is straight, but not those beneath
But your hands?
Ha, they get busy and selfish with their finds
And your feet?
Hmm... That's an idea but they're not too neat
What about your legs?
They'd sure do well if we compare them to pegs
Surely, your lungs?
They'd do anything for air, to whom do they really belong?
I know, I know! Your brain!
It'd be the best, if I could remember everyone's name☺
Someone asked, "what's your favourite body part?"
One that has stayed loyal to me from the very start
If I must choose a part, that would be my heart ♥
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
A Cornish sunrise
is spoiled by bleating tourists;
I enjoy the sunrise
with all but my eyes.
As sure as God is sifting out the chaff
and with mathematical certainty...
my listlessness is becoming an issue.
A fist is shaking at me again,
but I’ve stopped looking at faces.
I reach for a book, not to read,
but to straighten my posture,
by opening it in my lap.
I hear sailing boats
always, living here, the constant
boom swing and rattling of cheaply
made metal clips and whipping ropes.
I hear the negligence of novice sailors
and their secret wishes to accidentally
lose their family on the rocks.
I hear the sound of life jackets
hanging on their pegs whilst
skinny kids think that
the sea is just a big blue
bouncy castle.
I have observed how things
can go very wrong;
I was a lifeguard and then coast
guard working for the RNLI.
Now I try and enjoy the sunrise each
morning but the noisiest of tourists are
walking around in groups of
foghorn and sheep’s wool
and warning us of nothing
— so loudly.
They’ve closed the lighthouse
and the docks, ship don’t
come here anymore.
Just these novice sailors
who, with unerring instinct,
sink for the weight of their
masculinity
or lose a crew member
or be pinched painfully by a crab.
Their kids ask: How do boats float?
They ask that as their life jackets
swing on the peg
— the seas are not calm today.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
Brief love is greater than none
Tiny truths, more than some
Sunrises they are, reasons to wake
Keep fresh in mind, for soul's sake
Maps have regions that can't be seen
Pegs that fit, never intend to be
Betray not truth and love known
These are gifts, these your own
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC