"recruit" poems
Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric
join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes
get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!
did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?
you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade
old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures
there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)
soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)
might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!
headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final
shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
Trying to find solace in the suburbs
when everything seemed superb
like that cookie-cutter,
picket fence,
faux fur mentality
they instill at the start
Just an infant with scars
He reached for her baby bump,
Then slammed it hard
onto the stairwell
She fell, wept, and held
That lil princess
and prayed she'd never have the same hell
All grown up. Alive and well
shes got different demons
different intricate cells
It's been said
she is special she is awake
But, in many ways
She is the same
As that ANGEL who carried her 23 years ago
That's debt I'll always owe
A gift I'll never own
Carefully Constructed
and Creatively Sewn
shoved a soul into that shell
That'll one day guide her back home
Shes got her mamas tough, yet gentle heart
her smile, brevity and love for art..
she can write her *** off
like her
the wrote and the writ
Yet she's plagued by guilt
every ******* minute
GUILT for the life that she'd been given
GUILT for each exhale emitted
She prays that God will have the sense
to go back in time and hit OMIT
(on all chapters even close to the word 'human'
there's GUILT for feeling guilty even more for despising your own )
"I must've slipped through the gate, admit it!
Or recruit another for your mission
regretfully, I must solicit
that I'm not fit for this position
I'm no hero
I'm the villain
If ya look close you'll see
I spit venom"
Mama walks in
smiles and says
"WE.
ARE.
WOMEN!"
"Betta recognize and
quit your bitchin'
as of today, you are living..
You are loved
You are safe
You are ************* winning
WARRIOR,
CREATOR,
QUEEN,
GODDESS,
INCARNATE..
We are strength & We are the faith
never to be broken
but we still stay brave
The Legend wont start
or end with you
Its a fight stretched out
through time
You will understand soon
No matter how much you ask
"WHY"
It wont stop circumstance
wont stop lies
wont stop suffering
and will NEVER compromise
Your in the way of the wave, child
This..... the secret to life
When in the way of the wave...
its only a matter of time
S0 if youre searching for solace
Will you promise
To memorize this line
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 3:54 AM UTC
Trickshotting on Highrise
On the Crane
Billed that ************
in the mane
Go on fazeclan
new recruit
holy **** man
FaZe Fruit
That's me!
How could that come to be
Im in faze now
******* trickshot me now
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
Loneliness Is Wishing To Cry
Can we really control our loneliness when it attacks? Of course not. However, we can employ the means by which to channel it into a positive force. A force whereby we recruit others and together battle this power of the dark side attempting to cajole us into this state of melancholy. We have to collectively rise to the occassion, and with the force of Good, vanquish it forever more.
Here is a short poem about what loneliness means to me. It was written at a time in my life when I was trying to deal with the recent death of a close family member. Needless to say, I was most devasted at the time of this writing. This poem at that time, in reflection, acted as a therapeutic means for me to "get it all out".
Loneliness is despair
Loneliness is something to beware
Loneliness is the thought today
of no tomorrow
Loneliness is wishing to cry
without knowing why
Loneliness is a simple feeling
without a simple answer
Loneliness comes
Loneliness goes
Loneliness is that uninvited guest
who visits, always without a request
Loneliness is a sickness
you my friend are the cure
Together we will strengthen
and together we will endure.....
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
Dripping down the insides of her thighs;
Tied up, on her are all the eyes.
The need to be tamed
she cannot control,
it's sick but the pleasure
screams: "just once more".
She craves it with every cell
but from her looks you could never tell.
Rough hands grabbing her tight,
controlling her as if she was a puppet,
mouth wide open gasping for air,
he keeps on slapping her until she says she loves it.
Black leather and cold chains,
purple and blue lights blow her brain.
It's all about being raw.
She's forced up off her knees
pulled hard by the hair,
as she keeps on saying please.
Ropes tied too tight leave their marks,
hot wet tongue licks all the bruised parts.
So many things to use,
but she's still the favorite toy.
Pointing fingers, narrow minds
but she's only there to enjoy.
No love, no sadness.
Just moans and madness.
You may think she needs affection,
the aftercare is cute,
but she has another type of hunger;
from this world to become a recruit.
Whatever it takes to feel good,
she's willing to do anything she's asked to.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC
Damsels of distress,
Wings of vivid crests.
All elegant in a romance.
Spin my Fairy.
Tilt your head.
Sprinkle fairy dust,
To ressurect the dead.
The dead who don't dance.
Who stand in awe of your crest.
Spin my Fairy,
Recruit the rest.
Vivid streams,
Violet strings.
Strung on thy lute of play.
Spin my Fairy,
Sing your song.
Of Vibrance.
Of Honor.
Of love.
Spin now,
Your wings beautifully carved.
As a monarch or a sprite.
You give life to the crowd.
Elegance above Royalty.
Love above Lust.
Play your reverend strings.
Of Story Springs.
Spin my Fairy,
Flare those vivid wings.
You are the final act.
Praise your Lute of Rings.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
Elliot Handler, late of Mattel,
has gone to his heavenly rest.
The designer of Hot Wheels
Made many great toys;
Barbie, the doll, is known best.
Barbie was shaped
Like a ******* recruit;
A miniature teenage wet dream.
Barbie wasn't impressed
When she got Ken undressed;
Some equipment was lacking, it seems.
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 6:39 PM UTC
During my second trimester I felt like getting some fresh air.
I went out cycling through town in the warm sunny day.
Observing the comings and goings of people all around.
The flower cart on the corner, lent a lovely lilac scent to the air.
The street preacher was shouting out his testimonials,
trying to recruit believers to his cause.
Further on as my pedaling took me, I saw a group of boys.
They were pantomiming their favorite rockstars.
Strumming the air for all they were worth and
Jamming to the silent music in their heads.
Down the block past the Bakery, smelling of cinnamon buns,
was the museum. My favorite place to stroll on a quiet day.
The gregarious doorman always wished me "A fine day, Madam!",
as he ushered me into the foyer. He always wore that silly hat that makes me smile.
And, of course, he kept an eye on my red bicycle by the door.
Making my way through the corridors, observing the sculptures, paintings and artifacts.
Wondering at the archaeologists dinosaur finds, mounted above and behind the glass.
Finally, on to see Pandora and her ill-fated decision to open the box.
Letting forth into the world all manner of toxicity. And then, again, opening the box
she set Hope free so we could cope in this danger-laden world.
Ending my museum tour, I contemplated my coming child
and what he would find to make him cry or hope or love
in this world, as I slowly pedaled through the spring infused day.
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 6:27 AM UTC
My heart's so tied up
I can hardly breathe.
It seems, to me, that every scent is yours
every sight or sound,
song lyric or strip of poetry
relates back to you and the knot in my chest.
I best recruit a young sailor
to untie and bend these cravings.
These faint and vague desires
not to kiss you
nor to **** you
but to see you, lay with you, be with you.
That is what I crave daily,
what I need to loosen this knot.
*But
the knot
just
tightens.*
I crave to see you alone on a walk
or you with others
or you with me.
I especially crave to see you with me.
O' that which I'd give
to see you with me.
It must have been the grass
or the beers
or the LSD
because no natural occasion could make me feel this way.
I first heard you before I saw,
singing across the fence.
Your voice was like cream in hot coffee
scintillating, mesmerizing
fascinating, and light;
a drop of sweet in the dark, dark bitter.
I never knew that drinking coffee black
would soon become impossible.
*Everything is
bitter
when you've tasted
sweet.*
It's something in the way you visibly think
about the world and
others actions and
everything I say and do; something in the way you care.
It's something in the way you spit,
claiming the concrete as your own, a primal beast.
You are an incarnadine being,
a vastly deep creature whose
curls I can be lost in for
hours and days if not for those eyes.
Those eyes steal me with every glance,
dark mines of copper and fool's gold.
But pyrite is the sheen to which my mind melts,
and Scorpio sun signs
paint the mystique
that keeps me awake and alert all through the night
You keep me awake and alert,
waiting for the next move.
Yes, I'd be a liar if I said I felt friendship for you
and a heretic if I
dared to touch you.
But you dare to touch me. Every day,
you brush your hand 'gainst my leg,
grab my shoulder and hold,
knock your knee upon mine,
you push me gently,
but I die when you grab my thigh,
grab my thigh and squeeze it tightly
reassuring me that you're there
you're real
you're caring for me
and when the goodbyes come
**** the goodbyes*
you hug me so closely and so tightly
that my heart,
knotted as it is,
beats faster than it ever has.
I swear that it beats
faster than it ever could.
And in this speed, this conflagration of emotion,
I feel how the knot
only tightens to where
even the youngest sailor lacks the nimbility to loosen it.
I swear that it's much
tighter than it ever was;
that no one has stressed my mind so,
kept my heart strained to where it
beats
faster than it ever could,
it beats faster yet, than the
rush of a train upon steel.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
Strange, then maybe it's me.
All these kiss-up politicians in commercials against sanctuary cities.
Remind you they wouldn't assist anyone in need.
Probably wouldn't offer them food or clothes.
Really!-probably not a thing.
Many would have instantly supported that ****** dictator in his conquest.
And left many concentration victims in camps.
We, required to help those seeking protection.
Not attack them because of their heritage or skin color.
But notice highly with a truth that many ministers hide instead of assisting those they need to be trying to recruit.
Scriptures, states the poor shall inherit the earth.
Nothing at all about the successful.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC
Patti Smith - Jubilee
***Oh glad day to celebrate 'Neath the cloudless sky
Air so sweet Water pure
Fields ripe with rye Come one, come all
Gather round Discard your Sunday shoes
Come on now Oh my land
Be a jubilee Come on girl
Come on boy Be a jubilee
Oh my land Oh my good
People don't be shy Weave the birth of harmony
With children's happy cries Hand in hand
We're dancing around In a freedom ring
Come on now Oh my land
Be a jubilee Come on girl
Come on boy Be a jubilee
We will never fade away Doves shall multiply
Yet I see hawks circling the sky Scattering our glad day
With debt and despair What good hour
Will restore our troubled air? Come on people
Gather round You know what to do
Come on people Oh my land
What be troubling Oh my land
What be troubling What be troubling
What be troubling you
We are love and the future We stand in the midst of fury and weariness
Who dreams of joy and radiance? Who dreams of war and sacrifice?
Our sacred realms are being squeezed Curtailing civil liberties
Recruit the dreams that sing to thee Let freedom ring
Freedom ring Freedom ring
Jubilee Oh my land
Oh glad day Oh my land
Hear our cry Freedom ring
Oh glad day Oh my land
Jubilee Jubilee***
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
that says 'perfect' anymore
Every time I lay in it, it cuts me to the core
A slice in my brain
A slice in my face
My ***
My thighs
A cut on my tongue for each time I
lie and
lie and
lie
Truth is the word 'fine' doesn't suit
Once everyone else accepts that
Maybe I can attempt to recruit a new standard for myself.
I want to hear that they'll still love me if I fail
Rather than
Don't worry, you'll be fine.
It's easy to make that 'decision'
When it's not your
Heart
Health
Brain
Future
Family
On the line
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
When I was stationed at Enoggera, as a young platoon sergeant with 9 RAR, a Merino ram was offered, and accepted, as the Battalion mascot. The diggers called him Stan. The brigade RSM of the time was outraged because he viewed our adoption of Stan as a direct and improper play on his surname, which was Lamb. And, of course, he being as bald as a coot the diggers called him Curly. As I recall, Stan was a lively, ill disciplined beast with little respect for the niceties of service life, hence:
When Stan-the-Ram met Curly Lamb a fracas did ensue.
For Curly stood beside the road just outside B.H.Q.;
His Sam Brown belt so shiny, his pace-stick 'neath one arm,
The RSM of our brigade was used to war's alarm.
But Stan, although a raw recruit and barely chewing grass,
Unimpressed by Curly, charged and knocked him on his ****
"It's contact rear" cried Curly, as he struggled to his feet,
Turned about with arms akimbo his assailant for to meet.
Meanwhile Stan's poor handler looked ready to desert
'cos Stan-the-Ram whilst in his care had Curly eating dirt.
I guess he felt embarrassed, which was natural, wouldn't you?
If involved in such a fracas outside of BHQ.
Your questions are but natural and in answer I can swear,
As these events unfolded I was marching off the square.
Having Just dismissed defaulters I was feeling rather mean
But my despondency was lifted by that ****** glorious scene.
And in the mess that evening rang out laughter clear and loud,
For I'd told them all my story and of Stan we felt quite proud.
There was Sutherland and Massingham, and Peter Cowan too
And Tim Daly called **** Gordon from his room, well, wouldn't you?
And when **** heard my story he poured port into a glass,
And we drank a toast to Stanly putting Curly on his ****
Mar 10, 2019
Mar 10, 2019 at 1:45 AM UTC
The Miss-Director was beaming with pride
as he came to escort me inside.
"Come along, these are perilous times,
there is much ugly truth we must hide."
"Herr Goebbels was our school's inspiration.
Joe McCarthy taught here till he died.
Charlie Rangel is among our directors.
Our Grads over nations preside."
"We recruit each years class from young children
who display a disdain for the truth."
"We start with a class on tall stories,
progressing to fibs and untruths."
"By the time they are teens they are ready
to leave little white lies behind."
"They engage in deceit and deception.
These skills help them rob people blind."
"With our Grad course in prevarication
They misdirect and deflect with the great."
"Obama was born in Hawaii,
his foes say he was birthed out of state."
"When Bill Clinton was caught in that perjury
I nearly went out of my mind."
"If only he'd paid more attention in Class
and less to some coed's behind."
We had come to a massive rotunda
The Pantheon of all untruth.
Holograms of Stalin and Churchill
told whoppers in an endless loop.
There were quotes from
the World's Great Religions
inscribed on the sides of the wall.
A Left wing devoted to Lenin.
A right wing like a Munich beer hall.
" The sheeple must never be told
that a place like this even exists."
" You can count on me not to inform them."
I said, without moving my lips.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 8:57 AM UTC
ISIS is going through a crisis
Things haven't gone quite as planned
With all the youth that they recruit
There's one thing they don't understand
You see the kids are starting to miss their cell phones
Along with their snacks, their TV, and their games
They hate to drop the ball on the cause and all
But without modern technology, well that's just insane
Now ISIS you know is in crisis mode
As they quickly do all their shopping online
For the necessities that these spoiled Jihadi's need
So they can get back into the fight
Used to be money was no object
Now they are quickly going "Broke.com"
With all the cash they now spend they're having to send
To Google, eBay, and Amazon
Not to mention all the power and telephone towers
They've put up to keep the young fighters from leaving
As they sit in their tents texting their friends
While engrossed in their PlayStation 3's
Yes ISIS is now in full crisis
The enemy within, who would have thought
That it would be the modern day teenager
Guess it happens to the best of us all
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 7:35 AM UTC
................................
Reprieve
Reprieve
Reprieve
Reprieve
................................
Life is so precious
when you're the one who's taking it.
I took the life of your friend
Again, again, again.
I'm contracted to take the hit
I know that makes no difference.
The lives you hold so very near
I'll take them from you dear.
................................
Why can't
my mind
find its
ease?
................................
I know the position you're in.
I was not born into this.
A hit was placed on my family and friends
to recruit my obedience.
I pretend to be normal
until my contract is signed
and the clever, chaotic side
unleashes on its next sacrifice.
................................
Reprieve
Reprieve
Reprieve
Reprieve
................................
There is no way to say this
I'm a killer who warps the meaning of justice.
I'll die alone in a ditch
and laugh at my own hopelessness.
................................
I laugh
at my
own mind's
unease
................................
Reprieve!
Reprieve?
There's no reprieve!
................................
Laugh!
Laugh!
Laugh with me!
................................
Jun 22, 2018
Jun 22, 2018 at 4:41 PM UTC
*Is out there on our own lovely streets
In the souls of those the world mistreats
In the roughing waves threatening to wash us all
In the despondence of the **** victim's unanswered call
It's that long journey without a clear destination
It's the desperate cries in the broken heart of every nation
The heartbreak caused with no intention
It's the one without an answer,I mean the question
War is that desperate pregnant teenager attempting abortion
It's the *** slave in a foreign country up for auction
It's the slum child fighting with the bursting river banks
It's in the mind of the soldiers riding tanks
Doing what they can to rise up the ranks
And evade taking more innocent lives in mega chunks
It's the hopeless immigrants drowning on the mediteranean
It's the nuclear threatened Iraqees and Iranians
It's a *** hole forcing the driver to swerve and lose control
It's the tears of the fishermen catching nothing for days in their trawl
It's the worries in that littl'un fearing darkness
The priest's daily prayer,battling temptation, human weakness
War is another name for the famine eating the tribes in the arid north
It's the thought of a refugee mother whose child's got stunted growth
It isn't the opposite but the total absence of peace
It's a robber who loots everything, including bliss
It's a nightmare to the leader stuck in a seat
And the zealous opposition unaware of his inner heat
It's a hustle by the team which can't admit defeat
It's the struggle of an accident victim trying to regain his feet
It's in the believer's hope to see Jesus return tomorrow
Right before the entire globe sinks in ****** sorrow
It's the worries of a father who's spent his entire adult life unemployed
The uncertainty for a recruit in a war zone,just deployed
War is the puzzled gambler pondering suicide when he loses the little he borrows
It's the pastor wondering wether or not to dive in and save the drowning morals
War is that person perturbed, wondering why the hell he was created
War is all the choices you made and regretted
War is a three letter word,with a long meaning
Which some say is the only reason the globe is spinning*
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
I take from the rich
And I give
To the richer
Grow
Money trees
And then watch the world wither
I've slithered
In gardens of green
Dripping red
With a purity hood
Draping over my head
I have poisoned the fountain
Of youth
To retain
My control of this endless
Monopoly game
As my capital gains
A skyscraper a day
To the skyrocket
Stock market
Locke's do I pray
Upon all to be blessed
With lavish excess
But succession of kings
My investment ******
To breed wealthier nations
Uncommon in man
Through unhealthier rations'
Invisible Hand
Do I muppet the mouths
And harp on the heartstrings
As I tug on the chains
Of the slaves
Freedom rings
And that fat lady sings
All she wants
I will cling
To this power
With eagle-lied,
Vulturous talons
Devour
The will
And then **** the bills,
Billing blood that I spill
With impunity
Robbery,
Poverty
Property
I am the law
There is no order stopping me
No cherry topping me
No global powers’
High towers
Are topping me
No master forces endorsed
Are out-shopping me
Spending spree
On the lost souls
Now to bending knee
Fall
And enthrall in the terror
Of my urban sprawl
Making maggots of masses'
Automaton dreams
Into my gilded ages'
New pyramid schemes
You can call me a liar
Truth is
No concern
To the one who reigns fire
With oil to burn
Down upon the deniers
Until they all learn
I'll recruit body bags
To preach life to the choir
And when the screen lags
Train these dogs to play dead,
Lay their own on a wire
In so doing shred
The carnage they desire
So I can play God
And with demons conspire
A masterful plan
To command the economy
Zombie hive mind
Get in line
For lobotomy
My progeny
Multiply to consume
And consume
And consume
'Til the ******* last fume
Dissipates into space
The good fortunes of Earth
All amounting to waste
With the mother who nurtured you
***** and disgraced
The four steeds
Of Apocalypse
Nothing but paste
For I win every time
I with you
Humans race
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 9:01 AM UTC
Razor sharp teeth
swiftly through my neck they glide
For a dark night like this
there is no use in hide
For they will find you
no matter where you confine
The moon is at full size
and the stars have align
Hiding in you closet
an eye you stick for them you peek
to catch a glimpse of the shadows
that for you faultlessly seek
For you fright
and curse below your breath
Their hearing abnormal, but what they want
is more than simply your death
Moments still
seem to go on eternal
****** are these souls
with objectives infernal
As hidden teeth sink in from behind,
With no plea or chance of dispute
Heartless creatures of the under
have recently gained a new recruit
And as fear fades
and hate them you might
But with skin pale and fang sharp
You are destined to roam the night
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
Spewing through my pores
are obviously vocal cords
I'm sweating cause don't you notice how heaven is getting bored.
-- And lord I know we children
but give us something appealing,
cause hell it just seems enticing
cause sin is clearly unwilling to,
release us from its wrath and be spiritual,
my spirits in this clash with this alcohol--
but I try not to break the law
by sleeping this poison off
I'm squeamish
believe me
I'm sick
and suffering from withdrawal,
cause all i see is Sandy Hook behind the walls
and in front of my iris
my silence becoming violent
exhaling louder than sirens
I'm sighing cause you be lying,
you say!
That you will save us
if we put nothing above you
but you taking our children
we made them to be just like you:
I'm sleep.
But if I wake up
will you incarnate a savior
cause jesus is highly needed
don't tell me its human nature!?
to pull the trigger,
peal off -- a mind set against the lord,
pop -- pop they let off should i be packing a sawed-off
Na
But I'm speaking from my core
its obvious that I'm lost
I'm screaming but don't you notice how heaven choose to ignore.
And lord I see the irony
but I'm not even 60
why are you choosing to hire me
is it because I'm gifted, a voice?
I had no choice
cause the devil trying to recruit me rolls royce;
Versace starter kit it's not hard to convince me I swear--
he's talking salary
how the ******* will miss me
just put this ounce in your pocket
and listen Nina closely
"just trust me I got your back with Nina don't need a safety"
I'm loyal,
so should I start to bang
cause if you can't beat them stay
I need a hymn to sing as I hold the burner to my face--
remember what the preacher say,
if your feeling lost, pray
I never had a voice
Trayvone Martin never had a say
so is the prayer worth it,
will jesus even surface,
the creases on my faith is shaped like Eve and Adams serpent;
I'm lying to my friends
I'm not religious on purpose
I'm a servant to the truth
but seems the truth is out of service.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
I became jealous of my friend;
He hung around the intersections
Just a bit too long.
He used to slump around
In the corners of my eyes
And I didn't notice him when he'd frown--
We didn't notice him--until he hung around
That intersection for longer than we'd care to think.
I became jealous
Because he vanished
Right to that street corner
When he thought
No one would care but the coroner,
Right to the asphalt that received him--
Soft,
As I hoped my own
Last moments
Would be.
When I saw him,
Mama said he was sleeping.
He looked like he was,
But the lights were dim;
His arm cradled his head
The way he used to sleep
On his desk, in class
And for all I knew,
He was.
They said he was driving
Like he was late for something,
Like had he not been driving
Exactly 65.32 miles per hour
He'd have been late,
And it was only afterwards
That he'd figured out that he was
Right on time.
And when he arrived, his car blossomed into
A beautiful metal flower, and when it fully bloomed
He was the fruit
Which fell.
And all I could do was recruit the strength
I'd left at home on accident by the drain
The same one that ****** him into that downward cyclone,
Confused him and made him believe he was alone--
Not to just think or to have a hunch,
But to really believe it
To the point where he needed to expunge
Himself.
No.
No, no, no.
Not like this.
And so, now, I sit at the intersection
Chucking rocks with my weepy hand
At my grayish concrete reflection
Trying to see if he'll come around again.
I'm still
And still kind of mad within
Because life's not fair,
I'm jealous because he found the answer
And left us all to figure it out
On shards of glass
Pieces of metal
and intersections,
Which too long
He hung about.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
Your Poems as Love-Letters to God
Gregariousness is always the refuge of mediocrities, whether
they swear by Soloviev or Kant or Marx. Only individuals
seek the truth, and they break with those who don’t love it
sufficiently.
-Doctor Zhivago, p. 9 in the Pantheon edition
You live, you have lived, and you will live
And because you live you will engrave your life
In elegant scansion, in noble lines
That shape chaos into beauty and truth
Not into metal or rocks or wood
But flung into Creation in gratitude
For the sacred life you have been given
For the strength of your love and thoughts
Each little line is a gathering-gift to God
Baptized in the Jordan and in the Hippocrene
To God, and to the Muses who smile on you
And to great Mysteries beyond the stars
Each little line is a gathering-gift to all
To read in the light of seven sacred lamps
The wisdom of patience and pilgrimage
Beside the banks of the river you know
You live, and so you write, you must, you must:
For there is meaning in tumbling in the grass
On a summer day that will live forever
Helped along in your written remembrancing
You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of laughter and puppy-kissings and grass-stained jeans
And that is why you must write it all down
For others in intellectually-sharpened rhythms
You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of love, of deeper kissings in the dark
Emotional confusions gone crazy-wild
Until they are sensed through crafted verse
You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of recruit training and sometimes war
The joys of learning wisdom from great books
Tentatively shaping your own new knowledge worthily
You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of leafy springs and apple-green summers
Golden autumns and winters of blue
Writing them as hymns of gratitude
You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of children in a home modest in wealth
But rich and layered in love, work, and prayer
“Is this poem about me?!” Oh, yes, child
You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of lonely nights, hospital stays, mistakes
Disappearing dreams, disappointed hopes
Memories of friends buried in the dust
You live, you have lived, and you will live
And because you live you will engrave your life
Love-letters as your gift to Creation
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti*
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 8:54 AM UTC
Leave your home behind, lad,
And reach your friends your hand,
And go, and luck go with you
While Ludlow tower shall stand.
Oh, come you home of Sunday
When Ludlow streets are still
And Ludlow bells are calling
To farm and lane and mill,
Or come you home of Monday
When Ludlow market hums
And Ludlow chimes are playing
"The conquering hero comes,"
Come you home a hero,
Or come not home at all,
The lads you leave will mind you
Till Ludlow tower shall fall.
And you will list the bugle
That blows in lands of morn,
And make the foes of England
Be sorry you were born.
And you till trump of doomsday
On lands of morn may lie,
And make the hearts of comrades
Be heavy where you die.
Leave your home behind you,
Your friends by field and town:
Oh, town and field will mind you
Till Ludlow tower is down.
1.4k
The Miss-Director was beaming with pride
as he scurried up to escort me inside.
"Come along, these are perilous times,
there is much ugly truth we endeavor to hide."
""We recruit each years class from young children
who display a disdain for the truth."
"We start with a class on tall stories,
progressing to fibs and untruths."
"By the time they are teens they are ready
to leave little white lies behind."
"They engage in deceit and deception.
These skills help them rob people blind."
"With our Graduate course in lying
They misdirect and deflect with the great."
"Politicians here are made, not born,
and must learn to prevaricate."
"When Bill Clinton was caught in that perjury
I nearly went out of my mind."
"If only he'd paid more attention in Class
and less to some Coed's behind."
We had come to a massive rotunda
The Pantheon of all untruth.
Holograms of Stalin and Churchill
telling lies in an endless loop.
There were quotes from
the Koran and Bible
inscribed on the sides of the wall.
A Left wing devoted to Lenin.
A right wing like a Munich beer hall.
" The sheeple must never be told
that a place like this even exists."
" You can count on me not to inform them."
I said, barely moving my lips.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC