"prospecting" poems
This is what animates me
The force to set the motion of my soul
Gears that grind, thoughts that whir, the sustenance of something holy.
I do not think I sprang from Adam’s Rib
I think I must have been struck into the ground like a stone
A thread of lightning from the leaden sky,
And the mechanics that rose after
Demanded fuel, demanded heat
And thus was born in the cooling core of me
This mad desire, this stumbling, ceaseless search
For words to light a fire in my head
For eyes to light a fire in my bones
For some weapon of beauty
Some flaming sword
A tool- nothing more-
To sift among the dust and grit of time
To stoke the embers and evoke a spark
Prodding, prospecting
As for gold
Searching for a remnant which still burns
Softly, feeble, buried but unquenched
I chase the fire
For it must always be:
It cannot die
But cannot be held
It is escaped and never captured,
Only felt and lost, an infinite second-
A running step to overtake itself.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
The plump moon lights up my room.
My mind is now a flat graph
no desire no lust no dream
the cold winds from the rumbling sea
make no dent on me
I look at my palms
and see the cracked floor
gnarled roots of mangrove on the wall
blend seamlessly with all I have
like once I had her in this room
love together
taking wingless flight to the moon
but now I more like sitting here
prospecting no words to rhyme
not angered at the blankness
for in this vacuous moonlight
I wait without a hope of gain
without a despair of loss
unconstrained for time
contoured by fireflies
alone
recounting a new beginning
from the end.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:00 AM UTC
Sanded down,
handed down
heirlooms
for boardrooms.
Directors prospecting for
antique positions,
commission based,
cyanide laced contracts,
small print that annihilates,
dilating the pupils ,restrictive
and
pencils that scribble out names in
a ledger.
Forever indebted,
a debit individual.
All residual profit
reinvested,
future proofed
heirlooms.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
I thought he was perfect.
He's got the cutest smile, a handsome face; yet not too hot so other girls would steal him.
Smart, aces the exams without studying, too.
Clever, cute, loyal to death and loves me, too.
What more could I possibly ever wish for?
The thin layer of sweat covers his body, glittering in the last dusk's breath.
Sparkles of silver are in his eyes, as if God himself got down on Earth to pour galaxies in his wooden eyes, which are prospecting me.
So, what's the missing puzzle?
You love him, don't you?
Then look at you.
Gazing at the reflection in the mirror, quietly standing.
I look at the dark circles under my eyes which are expanding, following my nose line by the parallel.
Then I look at my nose which I've always hated; the uneven line, like the messy sea in sky's rage.
Then I look at myself.
And I rage, too.
So where's the missing puzzle?
Why does he care?
Why do I?
Ah, youth - well you wore me thin,
And, by the skin of I teeth I'd almost felt something.
So there's the missing puzzle.
Me.
I even showed him how I look without makeup. I showed him my madness and my crazyness which would shoo any man away.
Why's he here?
I'm not perfect like him.
And I can't stand, oh, I can't stand the pressure.
I look at my curvy body and stretch marks, lining my legs and showing me my fight with life I'd quit from for another reason.
Why me?
And now,
The mirror's smudged with blood
And I'm sitting on a lonely chair,
A lonely soul, in a lonely room,
With a lonely mind in this lonely world.
I don't know love no more.
How could I?
I take out the mirror bits from out of my fist, silently observing.
Then I look at me.
The face of a disappointed warrior with a long past of fighting her own life,
And it might seem dramatic to you,
But I've had a lot of things on my mind
Which you wouldn't find on the normal silver plate.
I'm not perfect, nor I plan to be.
I see through the lies caused by the love veil, and I choosed to rip it off, but it's not falling down.
And I'm afraid,
I'm afraid if I stay;
When will he
Take it
Off?
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 4:14 PM UTC
I see a spark
In my mind's eye;
The spark melds two
And once lit never goes away.
A spark so bright it leaves no choice
Or room to roam love's other corridors,
Its magnetic pull sufficient
To never want to let it die.
I see a spark,
Just in my mind;
That I think I once saw with my eyes,
And now I think that I've lost sight.
I see a spark with someone new,
Illusion or delusion of grandeur?
Make new friends? Keep the old?
Prospecting when I've found the gold?
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 8:39 AM UTC
She said, "They use to call me busy-body, now I'm just a no-body,"
as I stroll up, headphones to unplug, to sit and wait for buses of school children to come up.
Feeling kind of broke of a sort that wont shut down, inside I'm meaning, reeling for home unfound.
Prospecting, working, commish here and there, "case management" on my case breathing till no air.
Looking and ardently searching for something that's not there, a plain jane job, to just give room for air.
Plans on paper, sound right in my head, but seem less and less practical in practice of what's read.
"Help? Daddy has a headache and sickness with no want to help baby,"
as she fashions a meal from play food in a play kitchen to make me feel better.
But I wont sit at her table, I wont play with her dolls, not today, when I've got the world at my *****
biting and stabbing me in the back of my brain,
no, now I'll just put on a movie and try and sleep for a change.
"I love you's" are exchanged as I cover my head,
and the ultimate weight that is me lies in my bed.
Troubled, down, pierced by the bad negative points of life,
I'll rise later again looking for a "re-set" button to make alright,
while she sets the table with guests to an imaginary meal
cooked to perfection in hopes to change the way Daddy feels.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 11:39 AM UTC
my blue bones are wit
and it means less to keep things
and nothing is quiet.
we rely on knit springs and
disingenuous
copilots.
we're prone to the oath
of our fears
suckling the dent in our collective breast.
nursing the suffering
of our sharp pillows
and the terrors of our happiness, windswept.
we cherish the swamp-sweat
of outlines...
chalking the missing
body.
instead of dem crocodiles, we have golden calf-fish
slaughtered on the lawn
of our untarnished rush...
prospecting -
and jumping the claim
to our gummi
worm.
we tumble in tandem,
and massively mismanage our enchantments.
my bones are blue
wit
and it means less
to have at
it.
we jab Stats and lack Data, but clap atoms
to a mad hatter.
we raid the pantry of our miffed ladder
against the side of
a barn
gone.
leaning in the twilight of
our genuine
sun.
surly pixies in the black sugar, kinking the last nerve of our entropy.
dem crocodiles, grinning rigid menace
in the murk... instead of dem -
let us first disperse
where the hurt, hurts; and be first
to do less worse than
a farcry
or an up-close
word
a tad mean. lets collapse things
that expand, burning all this,
instead of dem
secrets...
un-ghouling the riddle of our dead wait
in the infinite room next to the room
with the last view
of a naked
girl.
where the world is this world. and we're on it.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
paralytic skies
hold close their embrace
folding in
upon themselves
glaring
burning cobalt eyes
crushing
their despairing captives
whose hollow faces
drag the recalcitrant air
into the cavities
of spiritless lungs
blood and bone
test the bars
of their inherited prison
built with
walls of allegorical stone
they cast
their harrowed gaze
upward
prospecting for pay dirt
through tapped out veins
of hope
and love
in strip mined heavens
Sep 23, 2024
Sep 23, 2024 at 11:50 PM UTC
I am prospecting for love in the chamber of the heart
and if love is to be found there I'll have done my part.
How deep will I have to go depends on that ground
in which buried is a love so many say is to be found.
How can I be sure when it's so dark and cold in there
without any light or warmth to see or feel seems bare.
I'll have to strike at any dying embers of love for You
that I carry with me always which once felt to be true.
Time and neglect should've extinguished them by now
but it seems they're still smouldering inside somehow.
With the fuel of desire awakened thinking of You again
those flames of love may rise and glow once more then.
The gold nugget of Your love is to be found in the heart
one has to look deeply in there and make a sincere start.
There's no real way of telling just how far one has to go
'till the light and warmth of Your love is experienced so.
Sensations rise up within along the spine to one's crown
where a light appears to the inner gaze fixed in that town
of the space between the two eyes in one's mind where
darkness is usually seen but now gets dispersed in there.
_______________________
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 3:49 AM UTC
already I feel empty
still...the mining of my heart
continues apace
...the riches are almost
fully depleted now
...and still I open the gates
to 'this claim' with hope
each time you arrive in your
grimacing excavator.
I watch as the
gallows **** heap
that is soon to replace
my once priceless gems
grows in ugliness
in the full knowledge
that you are already
prospecting elsewhere
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 6:18 AM UTC
Away up the top in Australia
Simply days drive from anywhere at all~
We were camped on the side of a river bank
Not far from a wet season water fall~
Running outa food to some extent
I assured them we were fine~
That I as camp cook had enough to last us
And tonight as usual we were gonna dine~
We were up there on a top end fishing trip
And Id been up there before~
Where the best fish were only caught
In the land that I adore~
One bloke had a friend with him
Who was a city well fed chum~
And he kept boasting how his wife could cook
As he sat swigging on the last of his ***
I knew they were going up stream for the day
To fish and do some prospecting up the way~
And I told them tonight a real Irish stew
And he replied that sounds real good ay~
He said no way I can eat that bush tucker
I gotta have whats proper and comes from shops~
I don't eat that out back wild bush Tucker stuff
It ll never pass through my chops~
But Irish stew yes that ll do
It sounds real good ta me~
When we get back from up the track
I ll have my share you wait an see~
So they left in one direction
And I left in the other~
Hoping the thick bushland would act as
To my rifle shots a cover~
I shot a Roo and a Goanna
A Bandicoot and one wild cat~
And then I shot a large parrot
Got a young croc in the water and headed back~
A little ways from the camp
I used a fallen log as a butchers block~
And then I got this big bucket full
Of meaty bits right to the top~
The fire now lit and big cooking *** half full
I went on a wild herb search~
And when down by the river again
I got my self a pool trapped perch~
Added it as well to the stew
With bush herbs and thickened with some flour~
And I can tell in awhile it smelt so good
When they d be due back in about an hour~
Had honey Id robbed from a distant hive
So I made a patty cake or two~
With what flour I had left
Yep .... That ll surely do~
Well when they got back the aroma drifted
And they picked it up down the track~
And couldn't wait to eat the lot
And complimented the cook for the snack~
The city bloke that did all the complaining
About running out of food~
Said he was sorry that he went on a bit
And didn't mean to be at all rude~
He said Id have died if I had to eat bush Tucker
And believe me it is true~
In all my life .. including the wife
Never tasted a better Irish stew~
Terrence Michael Sutton
copyright ( 1970 ) .....2018
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 6:58 PM UTC
The Stake
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
Love, the heart bets,
if not without regrets,
will still prove, in the end,
worth the light we expend
mining the dark
for an exquisite heart.
Originally published by The Lyric
Keywords/Tags: love, heart, regret, regrets, stake, prospect, prospecting, mine, mining, motherlode, heart, exquisite, silver, gold, platinum
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 4:15 AM UTC
I've soiled my sacred garments. I fear I've fallen far. I have a pounding headache and just woke up in a bar. My clothes reek of tobacco. My heart races from caffeine. As I was born and raised a Mormon this is not my normal scene.
I was prospecting for new converts , going door to door, when I ran into a sort of girl I'd never met before. Her hair was fire engine red, at least the drapes I 'd say. Her blouse was silk and tightly stuffed in a most intriguing way.
She said that she was off to "church", would I care to come along? She said the spirit moved her there, a place of cheer and song. I sensed a soul that I could save and so I went along.
Soon I was drrinking Jameson. I bought the house a round. It's amazing stuff, this alcohol, this new friend I have found. I was singing karaoke and was dancing on the bar. I guess I had a bit too much, oh, I have fallen far.
I woke up from my stupor- cotton mouthed, dazed and confused. I'd been overcome by demon *** a thing I shouldn't use. There was somebody laying next to me, I feared it might be "Red". Imagine my profound relief that it was a man instead. He said his name was Khalid and he'd come here from afar. He, too, had a Prophet who forbade drinks from the bar. It turns out he also met the girl, this "Red" of whom I speak. He 's been trying to convert her and he's been here since last week.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 7:36 AM UTC
yankee scribe
lunchtime, fitted sheets
sometimes the mask drops
let's be passion,
i exalt
yes, please
i would
i want to
spongy memory
prospecting
listen
long ago
slipstream
please
draw it shut
faded
bold
transcendent
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 7:32 AM UTC
[i]
No soaring pain could match her, draped across a dying flame.
Like cinder,
she whisper-whistled through lungs thin, teeth sallow,
a promise in song.
“Towera jinner mulbeena,
Poodinyoober mulbeena.”
It was a good promise;
belonged to everyone
and wouldn’t change for Tomorrow’s ranges.
It asked for nothing
but patience and faith.
From where she lay,
the trees, gums, were akimbo.
[ii]
For generations she had walked, through the wettest of wets and driest of dries.
With hope in her ribs and a nature savage and pure.
You could break her, throw her to the cockatoos,
And yet, ***** and punctured,
like driftwood, she would drift back,
Blossoming in your lap again.
[iii]
When the kangaroos have done their dance
in the twilight.
There she'd been.
Supine. Broken open and
lily-white (on the inside).
and we did this.
with our prospecting and land grabbing
we did this,
with our parking lots and Starbucks cup
she was dismembered, priced, "loved," owned.
discarded.
to the meek edge
of an eternal flame ****** to embers.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 3:47 PM UTC
*I lied
But you lied worse
You cried
But my wounds still hurt
I loved
And you loved too
I tried to keep my distance
Till there wasn't any room
Our love was forced together
I was completely lost in you
But that was just a moment
In this deep, dark blue*
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
Might we not linger
Longer here a while
Within this silken web we've woven
All yester's threads cling soft
The spindle, rusted & golden, lies
This finifugal hold dead hopes oft have
Time's sinews blinkering prospecting eyes
Might we not linger
Convenience sighs
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 4:23 PM UTC
Marriages wishes to all couples along with prayer
Mr. & Mrs Kiya Huesca with hope of a Happy Prospecting marriage of bliss
To all other marriages I have the same above wish
Yet it all started with that enduring kiss
But from me as well, a word of prayer
Please close your eyes
Lord bless each and every couple with the sound of my voice
This is a happy occasion with a time to rejoice
Lord guide each individual couple with your guiding light
Let it be goodness with understanding in plain sight
It’s not the understanding being one’s own accord
It’s everlasting which only comes from the Lord
Lord, you are the beginning and the end
Please let each couple see compromise will always be in begin
Commitment and devotion is what stands
It’s communicate in working things out
As struggles arise, let their be communication, but no shout
Let each couple see that God is in full control
Husband and Wife being an entity within your behold
Together Man and Wife you became one
Don’t ever forget, it was love that brought you both together being among
My prayers is always keep God within
Call on him when you need on when
But don’t make it every now and then
This is the moment you should give thanks
The idea is prosper along
Yet stay in God’s care in how your marriage will get along
This I pray that all marriages will last
But not lose sight of understanding and letting love past
Always have understanding that involves trust
This is an absolute must
But don’t fight, and forget God is the guiding light
Don’t let circumstances become a plight
Remember, you are not in the marriage alone
God sees and it will always be shown
Communicate, but don’t disrespect
Make this a priority and not an elect
I see flying Doves flying above
It’s beauty and goodness with everything in life to think of
Christ is the Holy One that gives advice
It’s a matter once again in being understanding, but not thinking twice
This I pray in God’s name
Togetherness is always the aim
Marriage into one, and my prayers continual among
The Father, Son and Holy Spirit, I say AMEN.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 7:21 PM UTC
As she moves to the rhythm of my pulsating rays
Playfully teasing under my gaze
Intoxicating hills, mountains, ripples and waves
Covered by 3/4 ths overlays
The mental visual plays.
Finger lumens caress and rove
Flick and probe
tickle and pinch
Patiently exploring every square inch.
A galactic minx
Bringing me to brinks
Prospecting her nectar for energy drinks
Spin at a terrific speed changeable and swift indeed
her winds will cut in a storm
Yet the right currents keep her warm
Spinning in orbit at 93 still in full form
To know the cipher and understand the God
ahm smiling at her curves.
**** it’s hard
could shatter light into shards
Transforming crystals to stars
must dip in her dew
It’s mountin’ and this fountain
bout to spit atomic stew
nucleatin’ and hydratin’
keepin up with her gyratin’
vibratin’, shakin’ and quakin’
Osiris’ rod cleavin’ into her sod
spewin’ ray seed in clods
a spectrum of dust
It’s a must to keep her satient with love, no lust…
– Haakim Understanding
Feb 23, 2018
Feb 23, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC