"shadeless" poems
High above dear Maple Street
There looms a cold iron curtain of fear
That dares to drop and let all the monsters
Unleash their dreaded promise of chaos
As in Europe despots gift a new World War
Trembling parlors hug the radio
Hallows Eve: the radio
Begins to sing throughout dear Maple Street
The Seventh Trumpet declares all out war
And that heavy iron curtain of fear
Eclipses the sun and invites chaos
In vacant hearts of men into monsters
Halloween Night: the monsters
Now dance to the tune of the radio
Raiding the stores, jumping bridges, chaos
Entombing the stretch of this blood strewn street
Parlors gorging on endless waves of fear
Riding hysteria, imminent war
O great catalyst of war
Twisting the minds of men into monsters
Diving your hands in that great pit of fear
Now throbbing with screams from the radio
No fences nor faces can save Maple Street
Now plunged in the throes of sweet sultry Chaos
And we call it Chaos
This boiling of minds all stewing with war
Once masked with humanity on this street
Now reveals good neighbors make great monsters
Skies of martians (n)or men, the radio
Hissing, twists the knobs and tunes in to fear
And when that curtain of fear
Draws, and shadeless light casts on the chaos
And the broadcast fades on the radio
And mere fiction rescinds the throne of war
What will we make of all of these monsters
Scattered about in a daze through the street
Where there are minds of fear and war,
Chaos reigns and calls to the sleeping monsters;
Tune in to Welles’s radio on Sterling’s street.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
But the arsonist in a world of carpenters.
I’ve got matches at the salute,
wired blazoned between my every ashened knuckle,
heart beat furious
I’ll be this worlds iron furnace.
Their flames dance and sprawl
through flaunted finger
and slide of hand,
I’m the psychopath
and these flames children to command.
I dwindle fractured beaten to broken
hardly live to bless lips with breath.
I’ve but one choice,
to torch this world to a forever neverness
or stumble shadeless,
a shadow to brush past life to exist to view.
Always wishing to make a difference, to move, to make new.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 12:18 AM UTC
there's a crazzzy devil
in
the white house
twisting our nation
into a denizens den
a tub of **** in a suit
ascending ***** matter
in
a clogged toilet
a black plague
we have a president with the attention span
of sea clams
an emotional ******* drip of impetuosity
a spiraling fit of rage
a snarling delusional dog
narcissist in a warping mirror
a pathetic complainer
a cyst on the body politic
clot
open sore
seething pustule
piggish **** lover
gangsters dupe
fascist wana be
heil heil
god your a pile
making Russia great again
licking Vlad's *****
protecting your assets no doubt
and hissing tweets
at war with with only everything
and figments of a disturbed imagination
a real windmill killer
his mouth
the devils mark
a yapping compulsive lier
forked tongued fury
possessed to a fault
by the vainglories
of money and ego out of bounds
the biggest and the best
at being
the very worst and a pest
grand royalty of ridicule
*****
a ham ****** cartoon nightmare
and clumsy stumbling bore
a seething volcano of perpetual excrement
reading from the book of chaos
aberrations of enemies
a war room president
at war with his own citizens
huddled in a panic chamber
burns and cuts himself
with his own hot sharp words
as there thrown back at him
a bully getting bullied
a ripper getting ripped
the brains of a lizards eyelid
in a shadeless socket
pulp hearted orangutan
menace to society
his mottled soul
like a black sun
on the verge
of a black hole
a hell mill of decrepitude
a dark creep creeping
tarnishing our beautiful country
lights dim
America
there's a devil
in the white house
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
*It stood on a throne,
Made out of lime stone.
It was clothed,
In colorless gold.
It wore a shadeless crown,
Above its brow.
Its heart was frozen-
From winters night.
Its soul was diced,
by Jack Frost's knife.
It stood alone,
In its quite abyss.
Dismissing my stare.
Though it was free,
It looked lost at sea.
For, I waited to hear a plea,
But it was silent as a willow tree.
Time passed-
And it started to bow
To the brown earth beneath its feet,
To the blue sky above its crown.
Though, the journey was over,
And the final Goodbyes were made.
I could never forget the pride in its eyes,
Or why it stood so still.
For to this day,
I question if I'll every discover,
If the White Rose knew,
Of its wonder?*
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC
" From The Picture Taker "
Shadeless
Shameless
My hat is off
With my smiley
Ready to take off
and launch for anybody!
Earphones on my near shoulder
Acting like a sthetoscope
Just to hear my beating heart;
Not only twice but thrice
Nakedly seen on my left chest part!
Chapter recorded by a clapper...
Says--- our story start from now.
Days seemed to be an hour of vow
So share the wisdom feeling you and me
Originally from the picture taker
Even if the captured photo was taken as a selfie!
And we can made within ourselves an artistic soldier.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
Its cold.
I'm cold.
This polar vortex, part two I might suggest, has taken all the warmth that was left.
How? Why?
These are the confessions of a desert rat.
This gelid waste land, not quite a tundra but close, has taken everything from me.
How am I to live in such a place as that?
Survival of the fittest is what Darwin had in mind, but did he realize that over decades and time the fittest have gotten fat?
These are the confessions of a desert rat.
All the others, that have been here all their lives, have no idea I'm still trying to survive.
This frigid winter is no place for me.
I miss my warmth, my sun, my shadeless trees.
Why have I come to a place that doesn't belong to me?
Looking back I thought this place might be a new start, but instead this longing and pain grew in the deepest crevasses of my heart.
It's been three years time, its still cold.
I'm still frozen.
A desert rat in the snow.
Is this really how I must go?
These are the confessions of a desert rat.
to be continued....
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
Shadeless shapes shifting
Back and forth and upside down
Not sure what is real
Nov 9, 2024
Nov 9, 2024 at 1:48 AM UTC
Like lightning they became blinded,
this was because of someone else's accord.
Projecting this and that unto the ether.
They became less striking
That was not the problem.
Merely an award,
a dispensation for their shadeless slide.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 6:21 AM UTC
What a small room - my finger traces dust across the plain table.
What did Grandma DO here? I glance around for electrical sockets - none to be seen.
Her life was spent staring out the window, at 3D life, but only seeing memories.
I go to the wall and test the switch
a bare light bulb illuminates an area with a hot plate.
"Jesus", I mumble.
Why would she live in this shabby room?
Was this a punishment? Like a place where a nun would live?
No, I self correct in my mind Gramma was the sweetest person on earth.
I walk three steps, twirl and flop on my back, on the bed.
Dust explodes off the bare mattress in the sunlight
slanting through the grimy, half-open, shadeless window.
I wave and blow the dust away and now I'M lost in memory..
She was ninety-three - I never heard her say an unkind word
In that tiny, sand-papery whisper of a voice.
She always wanted me to sit in her lap, she wanted to brush my hair.
From 10 on I was bigger than she was and afraid I'd break her.
"Don't you worry over ME", she'd say with a chuckle, "I'm an old piece of leather."
Her cheeks were pink and wrinkled like old rose petals. Her hair a white bun.
"I miss you Gramma", I whisper.
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 10:29 AM UTC
If I think back to those cold afternoons
where noon felt as cold as night
I wish I could have gone back,
traced lines on your eyes and mouth
Draw myself a map
The streets and hills that rest between your house and my memory
are empty
The words I didn't have the courage to say
stay trapped in my chest
With nowhere to go
it gets carried in through the dim light that poured into your shadeless windows
To your matress,
on the floor of a bare apartment
And makes a home between our bodies,
lingering in that space of regret
The words slipping through my hands before I could measure their worth
to you,
or anyone.
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
how does gold get into a fish’s eye?
eye
open
eye
staring
never
chances
missed
gold
fish eyes’
cupid
loves
glitter
attraction’s
O flash
finis shadeless
nothing windows
shutter reflection
aperture unblinking
lidless eye
creature’s grasping
contorted gasping
portal gaping
self’s
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
...In honor of my red maple, cut down yesterday
and one from my childhood
__________________________
My father had the tree cut down
Drought finished it... after a couple years of blight
A hundred seasons
Spreading sweetness
commanding grace
Mom took pictures of it
coming down
Neighbors with lawn chairs
Ring-side seats
for the aerial gymnastics
this circus of snarling saws
Dad joked about selling selling tickets
backyard picnics-- a Red Sox game
While silent photos watch
she surrenders her shadows
to the terms of light
stumps, dust
stages of death
the good-bye of a friend
What must that Yard look like now?
A shadeless glaring lot
Excuse a few silly moments to mourn a tree
to remember lying on flagstone
after sweeping them off
(They must have circled her trunk once
kept finding more as I worked with a broom)
building a sweat, a fort, my private place
under the tree that offered shelter
My father worked too
Trimming, raking, mowing, cursing her keys...
Maple keys...
that when you stamped
had that satisfying snap
of plastic bubble packing
Says he's gonna buy a new one
...sterile, hybrid, keyless kind
...so I was tired and lay down to watch
white clouds float in the bluest sky
I can remember...
...daydreams...interrupted... Air Raid Warning...
..Noon...
Then clouds again
...and I was with them
She talked in leaf language
and had much to tell
When her song part came, I slept somehow...
Since then years of singing in my head
At the end of the world
when the young man left
I lay on a hammock under her
When music turned...Savage
Hers? The same...
presence... yearning...rooted... direction
this letter says. “She's fallen”
a slab of trunk for family members
A neighbor will have firewood for years
Her memorial?
...in my front room
to set coffee on...
to lay magazines....
But I will find the rings that belong to us!
Cut her song from tangled voices
in anxious traffic
on clearer days— when clouds won't float
but grasp, instead
a sky attempting a silvery-blue
...the cooler shades of memory
From the lawn chairs—groans, apology!
“ Not many trees like that one!”
Not many lives have majesty....
I used to think the wind was born in her arms
...then spread to all the other trees
Keep trying to remember what she said...
but there's only her hush
...and the rings that belong to us
Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 6:28 PM UTC
a shadeless lamp
lit her face,
" i'll teach you how to dream,"
she told me in her room
broken and beautiful,
she was 32
red hair.
she had freckles
on her *******
and lost eyes,
desperate grey
eyes
like a coming storm
that offered only heartache.
her name i can't remember.
it was a kind of whiskey,
she loved whiskey.
she said it again
"i'll teach you how to dream"
but i had surrendered
many times
many years ago,
somewhere along
the road
to nowhere
and she passed out during the act
and the rabbit
was dancing in the ditch
and,
so i finished.
"don't you get it," i whispered
through her snoring, my hand
on the door ****
"we were ******
broken
a long
long
time ago."
the screech of the garbage trucks brakes
and out the door I went.
tonight she'll have her arms around
another lonely man.
Santa Fe at sunrise
no better place for feeling so low....
Mar 9, 2023
Mar 9, 2023 at 2:01 PM UTC
"My Lord," the tall man says,
"I'll eat that
and more,
carefully as if it had thorns-
I want to confirm your worst fears about me.
It's premature burial,
without hope-
I pray to its shadow.
Nothing's changed except
it's about the blood-
and maybe not.
I was careful of her,
I let her love me;
her softness and midnight sighs-
don't ask me why.
I've no idea what I'm doing.
A world of bald white days in a shadeless socket.
Sufferer of Aloneness;
I know you won't understand this,
but that's the sum of it."
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
Nightless days,
Shadowless suns,
Specks of dust,
Among the sand.
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 3:25 AM UTC
Bill knew the facts;
He lies abed.
Lifts up his eyes
to the shadeless
naked light bulb.
The Bay of Pigs,
that fiasco in 61.
Kennedy was ******
Castro survived.
The Agency
out to get him:
Pres JFK,
not Castro yet.
Conspiracy
they call it now.
A turkey shoot,
to take him out.
Bill had met him
in the White House,
good looking dude,
had talked briefly.
22nd
of November
year 63.
Bill lies smoking.
Framed Lee Oswald,
the patsy, then
taken him out.
Bill sighs out smoke:
Warren report
a ****** whitewash.
Cover up their
collective ***
Bill was young then,
a young green horn.
Then came black ops:
Other places,
other people.
Those arranged deaths,
those “suicides”,
set up protests
in foreign fields,
regime changes.
Bill recalls now
that **** agent
in East Berlin.
Held her down firm
in the washhouse.
That spy in Rome
who had a fall
Bill had arranged.
Time past time gone.
Bill watches smoke
Grey white twisting
on the ceiling.
Long ago now.
Little conscience;
Little feeling.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC