"rivets" poems
There, in the corner, staring at his drink.
The cap juts like a gantry's crossbeam,
Cowling plated forehead and sledgehead jaw.
Speech is clamped in the lips' vice.
That fist would drop a hammer on a Catholic-
Oh yes, that kind of thing could start again;
The only Roman collar he tolerates
Smiles all round his sleek pint of porter.
Mosaic imperatives bang home like rivets;
God is a foreman with certain definite views
Who orders life in shifts of work and leisure.
A factory horn will blare the Resurrection.
He sits, strong and blunt as a Celtic cross,
Clearly used to silence and an armchair:
Tonight the wife and children will be quiet
At slammed door and smoker's cough in the hall.
4.8k
I travelled straight west
to the epicentre of the southern wastelands
and 'twas with mind-numbing disbelief that
I found an Oak table propped upon the sands
and it was not alone either
for three beings sat it, seemingly nonplussed -
one was a skinny old man
wearing a linen suit faded and powdered with dust
his collar frayed around the edges
a moth-eaten hat sat upon his head,
he had a daisy poking from his breast pocket
so very much preserved, so very much dead,
to his left sat a one-eyed Hare
the sole eye ecstatic and wiggling -
he swore and blasphemed each time the man spoke
from a mouth toothless and dribbling,
sat to the right of the man
was absolutely (absolutely!) nothing,
however I observed with mild humour
that both man and Hare were convinced it must be something
for the man was profusely adamant
scorning the Something for dissing the Hare's hair,
although the Hare was too busy rolling around its one eye
to even notice the man, or simply give a fu- care
"Hey hey talk to I! Hath thou seen my missing eye?!"
Hare asked from a voice shrieky and shattered
saliva running in rivets
upon the table it slopped and slavered -
then suddenly the man started singing encore
his voice cringe-worthy, out of tune,
sounding like a cat back-broke and on steroids
rocking and waving like a spastic-loon;
"If Father Time has no end,
does he even have a beginning -
oh, if there's pain is there gain,
which one of us is it that's winning?"
alas, that's when my attention was brought to the mounds
of surgical needles cluttered on the ground,
feeling sickly aura lick the back of my throat
I started backing away without a sound
["Hey hey talk to I -"]
["If there's pain is there gain -"]
["Hath thou seen my missing Missing MISSING EYE?!!"]
#FLASH!#
the dystopian landscape around me melted
into a field of bloated poppies -
serene, scarlet and blinding 'neath the sun,
feasting upon our charred bodies.
AJ
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
The realization that you had gone
Hit me harder than ever before
Pulling the air from my lungs
As if I had just taken a vicious blow
Every muscle in my body froze
Nothing had the desire to move
For fear that I'd slip even farther
Tumbling down this dark path
I pressed pause, looking for rewind
But life doesn't operate that way
A desperate cry for help escaped
As violent rivets cycling through
This broken and unwilling soul
Searching endlessly for someone, anyone
It was then that I sadly realized
No one was ever truly there
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
Hold your breath, girl.
Don't feel.
As he places his shallow love inside of you
Every breath feels like a brick
Pressed against your stomach
Collapsing the walls of your lungs
Until you feel yourself gagging.
Let him talk to you
But your words have become rather expensive
As he plays with your hair
As he touches your waist
As you turn away
Because his fingers cannot feel the rivets in your rib bones.
Your eating disorder makes casual *** a little harder
As does your history with assault.
Sometimes, your PTSD and bulimia want to have an ****
They are the extra lovers you never invited
But as you mount on top of him
Trying to make him forget he doesn't love you
And that you don't love him
It seems they are whispering in your ear
*Why would any man want to **** you?*
He's all you have.
Stop pretending to be good enough.
Try to let these thoughts slip out of your mind
As you slip out of your clothes
Shedding your snake skin.
You kneel there now
His eyes are resting on each inch of your body
But your skin begins to crawl
Your heart begins to shake
You unravel before him
Every end of you is fraying
And he doesn't even know.
What happened to never doing this again?
What happened to getting over it?
Promiscuity smells like stale cigarettes and ***
In the back of a car
With an older man.
Promiscuity tastes like an empty transparent bottle
You can see through it like everyone sees through you.
Like ice cubes
On your fire slinging tongue
From that shot of whiskey a few minutes ago.
How many minutes ago?
Two hours ago.
Yesterday.
Wake up, girl
Detach
Stop holding on to the shards of glass
That break the delicate flesh
On your fingertips.
Put on a mask
Don't let him know you're dead inside.
Your job here is to
Make him believe you're still alive.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
On the mud flats of Padma Delta
where the mighty Ganges slides
into the Bay of Bengal
ships come to die.
Rusting oil tankers,
container ships from Panama
passenger liners,
and cargo ships from Zanzibar
North Sea fishing boats
research vessels and mother ships
anything that floats
each one has made its final trip.
Steel Leviathans
low tide beached
oil-slick stuck.
Metal monoliths
****** deep
into black sand.
The people of Sitakunda
come marching, ants
across the slippery surface
of diesel sand
to pick the carcasses apart.
Barefoot, with only blow torches
hammers and brute strength
wrenching rivets, nuts and bolts
breaching beams and deck
splitting welded seams
until the hulls are gutted
ribbed struts broken down
and torn from the edges of shape
Bit by bit
they scour and empty
right down to the core.
Bit by bit
they carry *****
to the waiting shore.
Where melting pots are kept boiling
giant stock pots stewing goodness
in a broth
but metallic flavours and oily spiced stench
hang in the misty bleakness of the bay
Skeleton hulks shift and ride
lurching, lifting with the tide
rolling, dangerous still
collapsing, with groaning creak
to maim, to crush and ****
the daring, the slow and the weak.
© M.L.Emmett
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
LAY me on an anvil, O God.
Beat me and hammer me into a crowbar.
Let me pry loose old walls.
Let me lift and loosen old foundations.
Lay me on an anvil, O God.
Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike.
Drive me into the girders that hold a skyscraper together.
Take red-hot rivets and fasten me into the central girders.
Let me be the great nail holding a skyscraper through blue nights into white stars.
2.5k
I cannot recall the moment
that sanity became a working goal.
Drugs are expensive,
sobriety; even more so.
Somewhere between all of this
I will have to learn to live.
The homeless are pushed out of town,
asleep beneath the railway bridge
that sends rain through rivets
like bullets.
I keep punching the clock
as it throttles Eros with slow hands.
“Sometimes just a smile is enough”
reads a cardboard placard.
But I have not cracked a smile
since I started popping these pills.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
I never leave the West when it isn’t raining,
My brother says to me through the phone.
He is on his way back
over the Rockies and through Nebraska.
He’ll never make it intact—
hands fuse to the steering wheel
like nylons on a burn victim,
knees and elbows bolted in
precise angles keeping the car straight,
tires pulling everything forward.
One foot is the pedal, one becomes the floor mat.
Shoulder to armpit with a semi truck
hauling jet wings from Denver,
he notices the paths of rivets
like bread lines in Omaha.
Some of them are starving.
But where is the rest, the airplane body
without its wings? A hollow silo,
pilot in a cockpit
not going anywhere.
I think airplanes molt this time of year.
It’s still raining or it will be,
the white-lined highways
will carry you here unscathed.
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 12:05 PM UTC
A mechanized millennium
studded
with silver rivets hammered from
the once glorious dreams of the populace
They are now all identical.
cylindrical
instruments that pierce the flesh of progress
conformity:
the price paid to advance across the toll bridge
that is "the betterment of society"
But bland and boring can hardly be better
than stark and standoffish rants of individual pipe dreams
They took those too-
the pipe dreams are now piping in the plumbing that runs beneath the streets
we walk all over them.
only half realizing they exist and not half caring
anymore
with spirits that lack luster our
low lackluster dreams are dying
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
A scarlet sky besets the realm around me
Welcoming my existence to the plateau of life which I sought with great determination
Scarlet leaves dexterously fall to the floor with nimble grace
The cries of angelic beings invigorate my ears
I can only see their scarlet eyes as they observe me from the heavens above
And her scarlet hair which was more refined than honored silk itself
Swings in the wind as she faces me with a curious look of inquisition
The wind caresses her scarlet dress causing it to dance with a rhapsody of acceptance
Her gentle aura rivets our actuality as she extends her hand to me
Her dominion is now the reality in which I lie dormant
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
She cried diamonds.
They ran down her cheeks in rivets.
Glistening under the moonlight, she cried diamonds.
They pooled at the bottom.
Looking at the mirror, she cried diamonds.
They fell, echoing in the silence.
She fell with them.
Jun 17, 2021
Jun 17, 2021 at 12:50 AM UTC
Soft padded sheets with a chalk-white fade
Contours from repeated pressure illustrating a familiar shape
Indented rivets in the overused cushion where you tried to hide
Red-turned-brown spots dried, markers of where you failed to keep it inside
Timid stains of salty moisture once fallen from your eyes
Now just a faded gravestone to the bliss simplicity brought before your fight died
Deaf ears and the pleas that pass through their shallow halls
But the sound changes octaves as it bounces off the thin beige walls
And so it echoes unheard as it falls
One too many close calls to accept the sound that emulates from it all
Trembling bones under heavy skin clutching the bed-frame with an iron grip
Second only to the pressure your upper teeth have on your lower lip
Revolving doors unhinged, flooding your thoughts as they race
Tired eyes stay bolted open, not recognizing the shape of your own face
in the jagged glass that now lays fractured and stained from the image you tried to replace
But it still didn't go away
“This is it,” you say
Cavernous holes,
Once whole,
Now just hollow shells you used to call home
Empty of all heart and all hope
And you brace for the hit, the moment where it finally all goes black
And the silence will finally answer back,
telling you you've ****** it up, it's all rotted through, you didn't fight hard enough and now you're done
And every single time you're still surprised when that moment never comes
And despite the tremors and daggers, your stubborn heart carries on
So find the narrow sliver of air where reality and your mind meet
And take in all the oxygen like it isn’t always free
There isn’t much too it,
You just put your head down and breathe
Because if there’s only one thing of which you can be sure
It's that these souls were designed to endure
And "this too shall pass" will become true once more
Let your heart and its resting pace made amends
Once the shaking stops you can finally stand
And wear that smile until courage finds you again
Somewhere inside you always knew this isn’t how it ends.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 5:52 PM UTC
The trees are a kaleidoscope of the green
rivets of sunshine peak through the canopy of leaves
as the light flows to the forest floor.
Vines wrap their arms around the trunks of the trees
climbing to reach the sun
Each desperately fighting for the just a piece of the warm glow
Robins, swallows, and Cardinals all sing their songs
as they glide from branch to branch
filling the woods with their symphonies.
A fox dashes across a steady stream
leaping over rocks and fallen logs
making his way home again.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 10:46 PM UTC
blue house
brown house
tan house
brown house
blue house
brown house
brown house
brown house
backyard inside the fence
rocks inside of rivets
dead grass and
rocks inside rivets
rocks inside rivets
bridge over tracks
bridge over trails
bridge over the river
bridge over rails
parking lot
parking lot
parking lot
parking lot
high school called
a dead man’s name
circle
avenue
court
lane
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 9:33 PM UTC
Rivets of words
Like swords in a gunfight
Silence roars
Like love, without light
A singularity
of frightful might
Ravages the desert
and storms the memories, in
That little backyard of your own
Stories you shall tell
of places far and near
Reminiscence is cute
But it won't last, dear
A billion sparks
Drive you close to tears
Won't I wonder, whats inside
closing your eyes, its
That little backyard of your own
Denial is just a game
Still you run forever
Looking back again
A dreadful fever
Nobody wants to die
Nobody can live forever
Won't you hold my hand
For a moment, in
That little backyard of your own
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
she begins to swing her hips
and flicks her bick to overload
her lips on fire with the words
her mind is a furnace comin unglued
see the images leaking out the seams
rivets slamming the walls
as the ***** busts a nut
she is full on now
aint no stopping
aint no slowin down
what are you crazy think you want her
spreadin roots in this state of mind
like unleashing a hailstorm in a paper cup
this version of the girl aint for bring home to momma
she swims out of her eyes
and bites the natural world
but she is an artwork on two fast feet
she is the cover of time pasted on a cereal box
eat that walter cronkite
any questions
his hand a tangled knot
in the handles of his life
and the he begins to bounce on his feet
as the tune rides up onstage
the crows parts to let the kid roll
they can tell this one is gonna burn the carpet
he calls out the things on his mind
the funky thing crawls down his mind
and out the dancing in his legs
heavy steps like rolling thunder
light ones like flashes of lightening
see the music speak with this
poor fools broken form bouncing
but see that ear to ear grin
that ain't painted there
its live and in person
cause this is living
when the music shakes to your soul
long into the night as the band onstage
plays through their list
plays all the favorite ones
and some for the silly little ones who think
its so cute to wear weekend Tye-dye
these two got the dance-floor sweating
these two stretching the flesh
and greeting the sky
one star at a time
people can you feel the heat
coming off her
shes gonna give birth to a lighting rod
and its gonna explode allover this dance-floor
all too soon the band is pulling out the encore
fare thee something
and her exhausted smile is filled with love
for every note she has made love to
this night
and his laugh is for the trails of mind light
that he has danced with and ran with
they wind it on down
they meet in the middle
and hold eachother
as the music finally fades
the rest of the world goes home to sleep
these two
will lay down to relive it in visions
for a lifetimes in a dream
goodnight prince of the river
goodnight princess of dreadlocks
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 5:24 PM UTC
I dive headlong into the fray
on a secret mission,
so exuberant
craving the lava flow,
the adrenalin fixation,
creating an ********
in the warrior-mind,
she covers me with
explosive pixie-dust.
Lust shakes my rivets loose
in a fiery demise,
'till I see
those Chakra-eyes
begging for release
again & again.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
Pink eyed words whisper slow.
Lazy layers of smoke curl around her expositions--
marbled collarbones protruding from the recluse
of a crippled child called
Hot ash sprinkled across her duvet,
she feels too heavy
under the dark velvet of the night sky.
Fingertips trace stories across wrists,
catching the rivets of her imperfections with
bitten down nails.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 2:05 PM UTC
.
Even after visits to apartments in self-named cities to see soccer stars swathed in orange tuxes,
Swerving off country roads in berating fits of tenderness,
Sputtering 'i love yous' in ditches and river canals;
Even after chais with Ye Ye Elders,
Messenger powwows with ancestors, and
holding the hands of comforting Harmonies, I
Never got it right.
.
It was a pathetic attempt to join a traveling circus; a passive means for an escape. Who were the Elephant Man, the sword swallower, or the contorting twins?
****** if I know.
Buddy had his hands wrapped around my neck in a nihilist noose so tight that it bubbled up amaurotic visions within my retina.
I couldn't see or feel a ******* thing.
Lost consciousness on his cold bathroom tiles, sprinkled with ***** confetti, **** all up on my cheek.idonthavetimeforthis!sleeponthecouch!
Watching 'Teach Yourself Circus!' videos at circus camp, I learned to juggle,
albeit groggy and disoriented. Only brightly coloured ***** at this point but I was up to seven tosses! While the freaks and geeks headed to carousels in the big top tent, I headed back to my dilapidated den leased on a broken Concord.
getoutbitchgetoutbitch
Back at camp ( hazy lazy crazy ) rivets affixed so I could only stare forward at the wall.
An e.ch-o-y sound in my
left ear
voice reverberating down thru
t
h
e
w
e
l
l
past
t
h
e
b u c
k e t
I turned my head,
slo-mo tracers flashed in warp speed,
glacial stares softened into slushy moss.
A buttery soft cashmere reply,
i'm sorry? what did you say?
you seem nice...
.
Infrastructure collapsed.
****
Gone.
Crumbled in a heap of rubble.
Impaled by rebar and rebar erections.
Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab.
Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab. Dab.
in a black plastic sack
And....then....
Who's to say about the linear sequence of events, anyway?
.
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
Throw rocks on my car
and spit curses in my face.
I'll sharpen my teeth for war,
getting ready for the chase.
I'll cut you and let you bleed,
for all the times you've broken me.
I won't listen to you plead,
but laugh in your face with wicked glee.
My teeth are razor sharp,
and I've put on my war paint.
Trust me, no angels will play the harp,
when neither of us have claimed to be a saint.
I've never been a damsel in distress,
no I can fend for myself.
With claws for nails and rivets on my dress,
you brought this upon yourself.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 3:37 PM UTC
"He can't walk, he's on decline."
I was briefed as I clocked in.
an anxious robotic voice says
You have clocked in at 9:40pm
"When I get back from vacation He'll be dead"
I stand awkwardly at the landline phone and stare at him.
between us is the Clients bedroom doorway
The Client is asleep.
"When did he go to bed?," I say after a silence.
"Oh about a minute ago"
Breathing becomes fast and heavy from inside the room.
"I think it's a good time for you to go now"
I say, "It was nice to meet you."
"I'll be relieving you tomorrow morning at 8:30"
He leaves,
There is nothing relieving about this man
eager to back into each parking space
Lusting for his vacation in California
Caring for this helpless old man when I leave.
Architecture rivets as he walks down the hallway.
footsteps echo off the empty fireplaces and yellow wallpaper
no tumbleweed in the darkness outside
only snow wet and black tar.
as he looks in the mirror his wax smile fades into his hairline
I shiver in the recliner at my journal.
I look at the man sleeping past the doorway.
This is my job now.
That man is my future
Destined for a Hospice Heart
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
valiantly,
the Ship Fought.
many Days,
she took a pounding
her mighty Hull bracing;
against unforgiving Seas
her thick Armour;
withstanding Bombardment.
the first great Wave
knocked a Rivet loose,
a Steel Plate dented
by the first big Bomb
she didn't Shoot back
ever hoping for peaceful resolve
but the Seas and the Bombs
all took their toll!
the first 3 enemy Ships
packed their Punch
but she stood firm
armour deflecting every Bomb
but the Sea grew Dark;
the very Water
that held her aloft
now threatened her very Existence!
the Sea destroyed Rivets
The Bombs dented armour
and slowly but surely
she took on Water
for it is the small Rivets that hold a Ship together;
small rivets that Bind Metal Plates
and when the Rivets fail
the Ship is lost!
Noble Captain stood on deck
the death of His Ship
a mathematical Certainty
again and again the 3 locust ships fired
again and again the Sea pounded
the Evacuation order needs to come soon
only the Captain to remain with a final solemn Duty
for a captain goes down with his ship
when all others are safe.
the Sea will calm down
the 3 will stop firing
once the Bow of the Ship
slips beneath the Waves
the Charges set,
ready to blow,
scuttle the ship -
Down she will go
Captain salutes Her
a fine Ship she's been
as he presses his Pistol
to his temple
right finger on the trigger
the left on the bomb's fuse,
A solitary tear,
3,2,1...
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
Buddha was the broken hourglass
that spilled seconds across my backyard.
Mother Earth scolded him for his slipup,
so I smoothed her over with my minute hands.
She told me that he who skips an interval
needs to double back his ticks
so, grain by grain, tick by tock.
She rewound my hands to round out
the stonewashed garden that was being fabricated.
So I steadily swept shards of seconds
under the rugged rug of ill will.
I riddled ripples within her granular skin,
skidded stones across her carved clock
face fitting ****** features together like cogs.
Buddha shook the soil off
and fixed his gaze on my clockwork.
He explained that patience is key
if one wants to harvest his feast.
Before the goods go about,
pivots and rivets need to tie together.
Mother Earth collected her thoughts
and agreed with his concept.
I finished my work, stepped back,
admiring the hourglass I rebuilt.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
Some nights it
is alarmingly
imperceptible:
an exoskeleton ascends
on iron rivets and steel;
unseen scaffolding tapers
to a steady pulsing point
of phosphorescence—
a mechanical heart
circulating red light
into leaden clouds.
Some nights the air thickens
with cordite, grief, and snow.
Tonight with winter here
we can see the tower’s
beacon blinking through
a tangled scrim of trees
half a mile across town,
and yet even with our
bodies squeezed together
like radio dials in the dark
we are unable to tune it in—
the signal that would calibrate
our estranged transistor hearts.
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC