"projectiles" poems
My little friend is now gone
My tragic life must go on; despite that
His evil eyes and his cheeky smile still burn in my mind
He no longer exists except
For my memory of him
And I rejoiced
When I heard the news
Still I can recall how I sobbed
When he gave me his evil eye for the first time
When he hurled glass and other projectiles at me when he was hungry
When he spent hours upon hours pondering the fabric of society
I hated him
I wished
For his death
I was depressed
It was like paint peeling off a wall
It was like finding a dead leprechaun at the end of a rainbow
I was expecting some sort of remorse when he left
Funny how heartbreak works
Now read this in reverse
Because sometimes all you need
Is a little change of perspective
To truly understand someone
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 12:28 PM UTC
Stumbling into ancient scripts, authored a decades plus ago,
ago being a modifier of time quantities, minute or large, unspecific
without an objective adjective additive, that faucets a stream of an interlocutory elocution of a batter of rooted emotional histories,
but not histrionics
fanciful words for dredged up memories, acute, but tarnished,
powered yet worn by a cousin of ago, a/k/a,
age
and yet
renews as of,
at this very second, as if it were a first, a tumult of visions, swelling of remembrances, embodied scars, and I weep anew but not
for me, as much for the resonating simpatico souls with whom
they even now vibrate with resonance of the immediacy of
If not now, When?
Aside: The exterior environment is noisy wet pelting of thunderstorms and ****** sheets of bulleting rain, piercing projectiles, but I am safe in the sunroom, sadly happy my dog is no longer here to shiver and tremble, cuddle and be soothed by steady stroking
But I am here, wrestling with this dredging operation, digging up
tons of sand that require dumping, and I ask, inquire, beg:
Who will take this detritus off my hands, once more, now uncovered,
now recovered, the soil is already soaked and can absorb no more,
the soul is already soaked and can absorb no more, the weakened
heart, damaged and occluded, suffer cannot bare twice the
outrageous misfortune
of unbared recollections, twice, or thrice, and I feel myself drowning in revisiting pain, **** **** **** these old poems, not nuggets, but boulders dropping from night skies, shot from a pitching machine, without letup, piercing of agonies that once ago
freshly desecrated and decorated my basic training in humanity.
Enough whining:
*I wrote those poems to
eject out those pains,
and I write this now, once more,
to realize that so so many still face
uncertain and unrelenting similarities,
doing their own sums,
and I wish them easing,
strength to compose and
thereby dispose of
the ineloquent
and eloquent
words of staining suffering*
3:30am
Thur
July 10
2025
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 5:39 PM UTC
It was December 27th,
Nineteen and fifty one
The day the Christmas snowball war
Had officially begun
It started in the schoolyard
It was supposed to just be fun
But, by the time the whole thing ended
No one knew just who had won
The grade five class were ready
All lying there in wait
As the kids from home form seven
Approached the schoolyard gate
With a yell the whole thing started
They were served up on a plate
the kids from home form seven
would not forget this date
The air filled with projectiles
Launched from wet gloves by the score
As the victims ran for cover
They were hit by four score more
They were bruised and hurt and battered
As they ran for the school door
Now, the kids from the grade five class
Lay waiting there for more
Two teachers came to stop them
Get them back into the school
but, the kids just launched more snowballs
Using scarves now as a tool
They would catapult their snowballs
which was really, really cool
And the teachers ran for cover
In the safety of the school
They'd built a wall near four feet high
To protect them on both sides
It channeled all who entered
The walls acted as guides
At most their little walkway
Was only eight feet wide
and their victims ran for cover
For the school, a place to hide
It was dark when the attack happened
The form seven kids came back
They'd left the school from the front door
And had now planned their attack
Their first snowball hit it's target
With a loud resounding crack
It was clear that old form seven
Was truly fighting back
The teachers had a huddle
Met inside and chose to fight
They would wait until the battle
Had gone on into night
They would sneak out of the building
With the absence of the light
And attack the grade five children
And show them how to fight
The air was full of snowballs
Bodies, gloves, scarves abound
there were children hitting adults
And there were children on the ground
They'd been at it for six hours
When they heard the alarm bell sound
It was time to get inside for bed
Before the prefects came around
The snowball fight at Wellesley
Public School in fifty one
Is the one that they remember
Out of all of those they've done
In all one hundred people
Were involved in all the fun
For next year they are building
A snowball launching gun!!!
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
i am of the light
despite
my shroud
that crowds the villains in the toppled telemetry of my steeds
galloping gallantly from the burning cities of my dreams
i shall gleam from her or he
that which delivers
their truths faithfully to their dreams
open wounds turn invitation
in the pity of hungry thieves
who dared to dream
of peasants king-ed.
as we sing
sing
of desperation
in passionate confessions
of jaded wisdom
passed on through every failure
never to falter
in the betrayals of Walters
lost
in loss-less flac files
i have miles to go
smiles to grow
daggers projectiles
from mild mannered children
freshly ridden
of maniacal miracles
spiritual
but not stupid
we are troopin
this lucid movement
grooving
to the repetition of the drum
the gas blow back of a gun
the bursting bubbles of bubble gum
having fun
i learnt goodly on the run
learned nothing in victory
learned nothing in simplicity
complacently
snickering it all away
bullet by bullet
case by case
and eventually the blade
in my compassionate displays
we shall congregate
and hate ourselves
**** the donks to hell
dwelling on the cellar doors
that darkos teacher adored
in verbal massacre
of the written literature
of cracked brain fixtures
seeping the lines
in cold tingles
down the spines of maniacs
just relax
mix it down on a track
spit the thesis into pieces
through the creases of cracked sneakers, and out the speakers
of trouble seekers.
mistakes make us
deliberate chaos
tossed
upon the fakers
who cry to think
the dream
became a reality
mistake us
for serrated blades that rip the hearts from beasts
sometimes i stop to think
while having a drink
conclusive brinks
of sanity creaks
of my humility
secreting
frivolously
the disposing of my jealousy
of your feelings
hellaciously
i rip a felony
from a face
in appealing agony
antagonizing me
in the frenzied forensics
of my oblique
outlooks
none of us
were ever crooks
speaking to self
while being booked
in hell
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
The tongues of the poor are silent
their bellies do most of the talking
the backs of the downtrodden break
a thousand times each day they snap
bullets fly in every direction, even upwards
celebrating some kind of victory
the whole wide world watches a TV screen
as they get thinner, wider, more HD
we can now see spots and dimples more clearly
on all the faces of killing projectiles and casualties.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
majestic adjectives
of contrary harmonies,
adverbs in adversity
that modify our satisfactions,
gut punch our eyes,
scramble the taste buds,
now inoperable,
incapacitated to distinguish
what is disturbed -
what is sweet -
what is impossible.
my days ending is
nearer to my god than thee,
the crumblings of
what I’ve got left
stale panko crumbs,
here come they in
1000 radium-tipped
projectiles of
serious humorous
self-destruction,
gifted to you!
my few
itinerant followers
peddlers brave enough
to offer shelter,
to follow me
into the deeps of
radioactive incomprehension,
of no particular disorders
a thousand times
bless you
richly, eachly,
name announced, pronounced,
we are all proper nouns.*
Jun 12, 2020
Jun 12, 2020 at 5:29 PM UTC
In the civilization game
The mind is a sphinx riddle
Signpost projectiles suffice to be words
Can you be centered in intimacy
Knowingness consuming vulnerabilty?
Our shadows are our ruins
Illuminating social foliage
Love's incisive lacerations
Conforming to moral memory
I savor the overwhelming
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
**** Deck
I got rubbery legs and a pain in the neck
sick to my stomach down on the **** deck
I'm rockin and rollin but there isn't a beat
trying so hard to just stay on my feat
the waves or crashing high on the bow
my belly is groaning I sound like a cow
I bounce off the walls first left and then right
been doing the same thing all frigin night
***** bags are stuck to the walls
in the circles and in the halls
some folks are funny they're faces all green
beware of projectiles potatoes and bean
but I'll do it again I'll do it once more
if only I could open this GD door
put my head in the toilet give it a flush
boy that tastes bad where is my tooth brush
yes the seas were high but I was out flat
couldn't sign on couldn't even chat
what's that on the floor aw man what the heck
now I know why they call it the **** deck
Gomer LePoet...
Sep 4, 2011
Sep 4, 2011 at 9:16 AM UTC
words in a blender
too slushy
pain behind the eyes
frozen thoughts
lime green
exorcised projectiles
turning heads
with demon smiles
and whispered snarls
in a dead language.
r ~ 8/1/14
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 10:17 AM UTC
The Futility of Persecution
As you approach me
both guns drawn
Bullets full of hate and bile
I stand here naked
hands beside me
Armed with just
my inner smile
As you seek
to breech the sanctum
Leaving carnage
and calamity
I sit here safe behind
the glass that shields
my newfound equinamity
I never built these walls
you built them
with your twisted
bitter hand
It was you not I
that sought to cross
the line within the sand
As your projectiles
tear my body
Leaving gaping wounds behind
I stand here smiling
in the sunshine that's
the fortress of
my mind...
©HaroldRizla
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
We yelled and staggered on
We stumbled and many fell
Detained in the perplexity
No respite as danger pursued
The ordeal ensued when
In the midst of clout struggle
The insurgents took up weaponry
Determined to surmount a dictator
That morning bewilderment originated
Helter-skelter we escaped for safety
Sad enough bullets out ran some
Especially as cross fires existed
We saw our Kinsmen reach for the ground
As though caught only with fatigue
But bullets indeed penetrated some
They lay motionless as we lurched on
Struggling to God knows where,
We knew not our course
No worst thing existed for us
Like the cross fires we were trapped in.
One by one we began to die that day
Randomly death swallowed us up,
While power mongers persisted
Fired projectiles missed targets for us.
We ran frantically in seek for safety
Recognizing us as restless victims,
The insurgents mercilessly began to
Extinct us with great delight
‘No one is surviving the assault
What do I do?’ I pondered hastily
‘Shall we all face our demise this way?
No, I’ll live’ I determined
Kinsmen had long fallen to rise no more
This fact gave me impetus to survive
To live and tell the story of the cross fires
History of the fallen most be told to posterity
Inspiration came to me at once
I unyieldingly fell down as one lifeless
Spilled, oozing blood entwined me
The killers shoot till no one stood
Everyone lay motionless in a stack
I lived however not too sure yet
The cross fires persisted for long
That at one point I envied my kinsmen
Finally, calm was reluctantly returning
The government militia advanced
The insurgents had not a choice
But to retreat in dread of superior artillery
We had unfortunately advanced towards
The insurgents that we became the target
Of the artillery that was meant to shield us
Blames on the wrong tactics by the militia
Abounded as calm was retained in days
But I had a story to tell of the cross fires.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
Enlightenment is explosion Its means your mind is virtually certain Either been butchered Or wobbling or wondering Like a curtain thrown from system strongholds Threat of retaliation, with its more we feel the beauty
Trash bins for leftover, Buddha said the same thing A Zen master would say sidewalks If you work too hard the latent anarchists or God will attain anything Not to make everyone the same prostitution Capital into an asphalt jungle, the proportions of our own body Ritual *** on the other hand it may be too idealistic
Blood **** ended no need to talk about Unorganized and we can see the beauty Her face covered with blood you try to do it all at once Since most of the victims realized that you are one One whole, many thousands of innocents Brainwashed whites with reality Anarchy and savagery grew emptiness Subsequently died in a wise and effective way
If an artist becomes, Short intense raids on the system river Sources and supply and human life Put some strength into their veins and die With fingers encircling and incantations of Satan worship Her pretty face was smudged little by little She moaned of eternal life
The meaning lies in a flash about fifty yards in almost a direct hit From a secluded densely wooded suffer in your difficulties Exploded inside your body The projectiles began calmness Something in itself is enlightenment weapons especially for guerilla distress Your life in your effort thundering in the midst We saw beautiful blossoms of some meaning in their ****** toll Know the answer, but while it lasted
Apr 28, 2011
Apr 28, 2011 at 9:19 AM UTC
Arrows fly like darts through the wind
Piercing whatever they can in their path
Just as arrows can pierce a person's skin
Words can pierce just as bad
Sometimes we walk around
And we are not aware of the affect that our words
And our actions have on other's
It is so easy to be malicious sometimes
And to say things that we know might hurt people
Especially when we are feeling threatened
Or when we are angry
Or even to hide ourselves and our own insecurities
Its easier sometimes just to put some one down
Piercing them with our words
And stabbing them with our actions
A look
A glance
A snicker
Avoiding them all together
Purposely going out of your way to hurt some one
To try and get back at them
For some wrong we think they might have done
Its easy sometimes
To send these verbal projectiles
We toss them around all the time
Letting them fall wherever they may
Leaving carnage and destruction in their wake
Harming and scarring those who they hit
Blindly hurting people
Whether it be intentional or otherwise
We need to be more careful with each other
And try to heal the hurt that has been caused
By the random sling
And the wayward arrow
That finds its target
And sinks into their soul
Jan 29, 2012
Jan 29, 2012 at 3:11 AM UTC
Bleeding eclipse splatters anguish, scorching frozen terrain
Reservoir transmits despair, vaporizing humid remains
Noxious fumes plague ventilation, incinerating methane mutilates
Inhumane detonations ignite smog, dismembering shrapnel decimates
Bombardments stimulate hallucinations, assailants discharge magazines
Incendiaries barrage trenches, vulnerability flourishes disease
Artilleries eject carnage, atrocious quarantine impedes retreat
Projectiles massacre infantry, heinous airstrike parries deceit
Howitzer impersonates tempest, kamikaze technique revealed
Nautical battleships converge, perilous adversaries concealed
Submarines launch torpedoes, oblivious warships sealed doom
Submersed submersibles clash, claustrophobic vessels entomb
Drowning agony crushes depths, forsaken lagoon transforms necropolis
Aquatic daemons consume decrepit, infernal torment surrenders providence
Condemned mortals cauterize compassion, genocide exterminates consciousness
Snorkeling corpses mound topside, eradicated infestation forfeited holocaust
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
The truth set me free along tome ago.
A lightness of mind like vapor from a Tennessee still
nestled way back in the Blue Kentucky hills.
Carefree as a bird swiftly winging to buckshot every feather in place.
The song of my nature driving me forward. To be or not.
Easier to forward than crash into false recollections.
Like a roaring inferno set upon the land. Reckless.
A mind too lazy to conjure in webs of reckless fantasy. Encased with surety.
A perch above the turmoil where the view is forever and blue.
Yes there is a price however. The winged truth is easy target for the hunter.
He lies in the brush well concealed and leads the mark by a hair.
Placing projectiles in the way of surety with devastating precision.
Truth falls to earth in a death spiral ****** feathers waft behind.
Fire and destruction. Fire and resurrection. Fire at will.
The heady substance is a snare.
a small price to pay. The Phoenix will rise however.
The outcome will replay.
The Phoenix will rise yet still. Stubborn in his way.
Set free to soar and fall to ground
Set free to soar.
Set free.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
I am drowning beneath an infinite ocean,
entrapped within a world of chrome and plastic.
plastic lacks understanding of the way
that the wind has been blowing for the past
hundred thousand years.
the breeze has allowed souls to set sail
carried consciousness amidst colossal waves
towards crimson creeks of hate.
chrome and plastic knows not of the black or the white,
for reality is composed of repetitive sounds and vibrations.
perhaps it is pondering the peculiarity
of the projectiles stunting the growth of gardenias.
or perhaps it is simply appalled that
when we tilt our heads backwards
and open our eyes...
we are no longer mesmerized.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 2:11 PM UTC
*Lighting
Oh so beautiful
Lighting up the sky
Long, fingerlike projectiles
Racing through the darkness
Lighting everything in its path
Yet, child, be wary
It is not unlike a leopard
Sleek and graceful
Yet dangerous if you attempt to harness it
'Tis akin to a wild animal
Yet so beautiful*
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
I must've been more stressed than I seemed
Petting my dog, I released a guttural scream
I've been studying projectiles, calculus, and semantic ABCs
I just hope it's enough to get through the SATs
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 7:58 PM UTC
Freddy krueger?
Kreuger?. Kept a leuger as backup. Sharp edged steel ?
Made him feel the essence of perdition.
But high speed projectiles made him smile just like burning cordite did.
So freddy hid. His piece in his back pocket. Wrapped around it was a chain and locket ,wrapped around a crucificx. For absolutions sake.
What made freddy tick.?
A temporal trick.
Wrong place right time.
Tick..... tick.... tick.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 9:50 AM UTC
preface.
majestic adjectives of contrary harmonies,
adverbs in adversity that modify our satisfactions,
gut punch our eyes, scramble the taste buds,
now inoperable, incapacitated to distinguish
what is disturbed - what is sweet - what is impossible.
my days ending is nearer to my god than thee,
the crumblings of what I’ve got left,
stale panko crumbs,
here come they in 1000 radium-tipped projectiles of
serious humorous self-destruction,
gifted to you few itinerant followers
brave enough to follow me into the deeps of
radioactive incomprehension,
in no particular disorders
a thousand times
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 12:16 PM UTC
Some sinister, cynic sending me sick signals,
Taunting me, teasing me,
Treachery!
Treason I see,
The reason for my recent reason to be,
Is for wreckage and the reckoning
My reality
Factual actual fictions is in my diction
The man in my mind,
Is minding my business again,.
Against the walls of my brain,
Signals reign,
Please bring more pain and angst!
Panic?
As I glance at my pen
The Manic
Maniac managing to Damage
Every page
On a Rampage
With no rage?
But by the way
I’m swinging this pencil
You would think I was
A bit temperamental
But my temperament's temperature,
Is irrelevant to the mentally
Disturbed
Stirring up tension
Did I mention
Means nothing to man on a mission
My missiles miss the misled and misfits
Because they weren’t
Where they were expected
My moon is now ecliptic
Messages eclectic
Ecstatic about nothing except
The inception
What an immaculate concept
The fact that my conception
Was from the product of
Of a project.
Projectiles impelled out my mouth
And impaled a man on the
Right path.
This ****** has committed his first ******
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 12:25 AM UTC
Projectiles piercing past years, tears and more,
All for nothing, nothing for all, but for what? What for?
Ruination of art, knowledge, wisdom: ambiguities of war.
Instilling fear, burdening bystanders- thrown asunder or ashore
The guiltless stream meanders as wings which soar.
Tyrants rampant like rebels on the range,
Hierophants justified killing for a cause,
Fuel-driven greed heeds a need for a change.
Actions bring reactions when blood meets the gauze.
Pause, hold the applause; the jaws withdraw.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
In a flightless freefall, the heart plummets to the ground. Would a soft landing negate the fact that the heart did in fact fall? Would just a scratch or cut be justifiable?
No.
The pain would still exist.
Some say the bottom does not appear at all. That our hearts just continue to fall until we find another heart to fall with. These two hearts join together and fall in love.
The joy that exists between the two is boundless, unfettered, and infinite. Shooting at the combined love would cause the projectiles to bounce off. Yelling at one heart would cause the other to fight back.
In this state of perpetual falling the two hearts complete one another. The rips and tears of one are filled by the unhurt parts of the other. In this simple union they are perfect.
But time does not allow for immortal love. One heart will choose to float away, falling at a different pace. Falling out of the love it so joyously engulfed at an earlier time.
This sudden uncoupling causes the other heart to tumble in a tailspin. No longer falling in love, but falling into heartbreak.
Where love feels like resting by a safe fireplace, wrapped up in a blanket and sipping on a warm drink. Heartbreak feels like a cold house filled with bitter memories and empty tears.
One might ask; "Is there any everlasting love? Why must the poor heart always be falling in and out of the love it so desperately covets?"
Some do find love eternal. Some do not. For some it is a person who cares for them. Others find purpose in a job or lifestyle.
But those wounds are still present on their heart. The scars never heal. The pain never truly fades.
The heart never ceases to fall down, with gravity pulling it towards the endless void below.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 12:52 AM UTC
Pair of mad eyes under imposing brows;
Staring me down white and blue,
(And I can see the muscles in his neck
Straining under the power of his voice.)
Staring me down and singing
Three thousand hundred million ideas
Into my head with one defiant expression.
Two mad-wide eyes blue and white,
Mouth working ‘round words like
Projectiles aimed at my heart -
Striking down the walls Misunderstanding built
Over years and years and
His hands wrapped around the guitar
Years and years
So perfectly, striking it so lovingly -
Music staring into him staring into me
And me staring back.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC