"retune" poems
I was a certifiable ******
With the classic monkey
Riding squarely on my back
But I had no needle tracks.
I was almost undetectable
As my addiction was respectable.
No, I was not a rock musician.
I got my dope from my physician;
An almost never-ending source
Offered up with no remorse
I only had to mildly complain
That I was experiencing pain
And the cornucopia opened wide.
It held my immediate future inside.
I was off to party with friends
To the cabaret that never ends;
That free-wheeling waking dream
That made everything in life seem
As if nothing mattered that day
But that we should all stay and play.
And if something was getting tiring
It was time to retune the wiring
With a few more clever little pills
That cured all my temporary ills.
If I was exhausted or had an ache
It was time to take a little ****** break
Or, maybe not just that dosage alone.
Maybe better to take some Oxycodone.
Then, I can keep on night-club dancing
And backseat, hyper-speed romancing.
And later, needing sleep; a downer
Is good for an out-on-the-towner
Who has needed some rest for days
But the normal drugs and party ways
Wouldn’t quite let me get to sleep.
I felt that above all else, I had to keep
On doing what I was doing: having fun.
There was too much ******** to be done.
But every kind of candle has two ends.
There’s the one where the thing begins
And when I was trashing around a lot
Thinking of the other end was really not
The kind of thought-process I liked.
I wanted to do more of the kind that hiked
My awareness and my stamina to the max
And “injects my existence with what it lacks”.
While today I shudder to remember my words
At that time they were the best I’d heard
Since chocolate cake and butter cream icing.
None of that workaday stuff was to my liking.
It would be nearly twenty nearly deadly years
Before I found myself on a sidewalk in tears
Asking myself where things had gone wrong.
And while I am sure you are sick of this song
At the time it was a sad music to my ears.
Today, it’s the only music I want to hear.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
I shot the breeze today
with crickets, beetles,
spiders and caterpillars,
we held a moot.
Each representative, a voice:
words in the clamour
to be heard
In these lands of
many common grasses,
breeze told anecdotes,
arachnid needs
and insect calls for attention
often get ignored
Stopping to sit,
look through clutches of eyes,
sing with rattled wings
and chew cud,
can help retune the din
to be cleanly heard
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 8:29 AM UTC
Death of Happiness…by Jessie
As I walk down the moon lit trail to the bone yard of emotions,
Searching for Happiness…
I find the head stone I’ve been looking for.
Tucked away in an obscure corner of the yard, underneath the tree of forgetfulness and solitude; giving way to the ages and crumbling beneath the daily pressures of life.
There sits a stone, cold and gray and ravaged by the wind.
In it… carved for eternity … “Happiness”.
No dates for who knows when it perished?
There I stand, head hung down, never got to say good bye; never got to shed a tear.
Ripped away in early days; if I could only remember the year.
Resurrection doubtful and prayers never seem to help.
I’ll lay a pebble upon the stone as a marker that I have been here.
Write the date within my book, to remind me…
Retune same time next year.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 10:17 AM UTC
(Geraint & Michael)
Decency is here;
And if there,
Then everywhere.
Here, it sang
To relieve the distressed,
Reduce her dread:
Are you alright?
Asked the lads.
A three note Wales song,
Whose symphonic cadence
Moved my world
Three thousand miles away.
There is indecency here;
And if here, then everywhere.
But here we will rebuke and retune.
And if here,
Then everywhere.
Are you alright?
I am not three thousand miles away.
I am beside you,
With an ear for lyrics.
Let's listen for Swansea's Song,
Here, there, everywhere.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 5:22 PM UTC
Our Webs
August 1, 2011 at 1:02pm
Our webs we spin. We tell our lies.
No one lives life without disguise.
The lives we lead are our mistake.
The way we feel and love and hate.
Amongst the dead along with you.
Beside the rest in time and tune.
Our fate belies our bitter screams.
Escapes our minds. It plagues our dreams.
Aside the ruinious timeless days.
Inspired by doom. Required as pay.
A future to construct, retune.
And shadows hidden deep in you.
Our time does fade. It's ticking croon
destroys your mind . Romances you.
Our blackest night. Our thoughtless days.
Don't leave your life with those mistakes.
The life in you. The fire you feel.
Re-stoke that flame or lie there still.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
I'll burn away the guilt,
burn away the pain...
Down the drain, it goes,
the way it flows,
the way it goes,
and shows
The things refused to be uphold
and...
Done!
So, One, will be divine
Likeswine, will the - I -
be cruscified, so ALL
will laugh...
Go back, go back;
the crack, the thumm,
the whisper and the shout;
so ******* LOUD, SO **** OBSCENE!
It has been neverso, before...
the snow, the shore...
the gulf, the fire...
It quite does not make sense...
But if you look at it,
deny it, cry it, feel it,
and enjoy it. Be it.
Never let it go!
No, no, no, no, no!
If you let something go; away
And it was meant to stay,
you will regret no more, oh, NO!
Things don't let you go until you
GO ->
As if it matters anymore,
so why, would I,
Let GO?
Frustratingly sedated or
Sedatingly frustrated,
fly-hated
unwillingly positivated,
opiumated, loved and
hated...
Never letting go, or
letting go of NEVER
goes around of EVER
that doesn't give a ***
So go let not of
nothing, that has goe
of you; So maybe;
retune, refine
AND LET SOME GO;...
(at least before it snows,
man...)
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
The robotic politicians voice
coded to denial
by default
the wearing down of hearts and minds
pushing up and out for the fresh air of freedom
held down beneath a numbered existence
the plus or minus of bank accounts
the number of children being born to carry the weight of their elders old age in taxes, and scams of insurance and scams of life chances
and love is denigrated to a wilful back seat driver who no one listens to
not since the sixties did rebellion and creativity have such force for the changing of the bloated politic ruling classes
and poets? Who will listen through headphones refashioned to old fashion and claim it to be uniquely new, and who listens to poetry anyhow, retune the radio, and change the World.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
People believe what they see
People believe what they want to believe,
If you do not let them truly see.
People need to believe what they truly believe,
Because the real truth would seem like trickery.
If you allow them to judge you, then judge you they will.
They will point the finger at you and you will be left still.
Silent in your real responses.
Afraid of ever taking chances.
They are unable to recite your recital.
It’s not that important, it’s just vital.
Their interpretation of your real-life events,
Will always be different to your self-evidence.
People cannot handle the truth,
Unless they have time to attune and retune,
To your mathematician mind, leading the blind,
Showing them a universe, they alone could never find.
People like stories about love,
For true stories are never boring.
A tale of romance will always be good,
Until you reach the ending.
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 5:36 AM UTC