Retail-hunter gatherers pick
clean processed bones, digging graves
with their shiny teeth, studious in
their reveries as they drone

past worlds dumped in the thresher;
the trucked-in fields of film-wrapped
gore splayed lustily before the managers
wound tight in Machiavellian design.

A shepherd herds his flock of
wreathed iron back to its pen, its
skeletal tangle lit in riotous gold by
swords flung from lambent eyes of
pre-dawn’s shunting chariots

Cages shunt and bobble like tugboats
chugging stoic up swimming pool lanes
of nondescript tile, cheered on by shouting
colours to float through archipelagos of
paper towel and chocolate blocks past

the vegemite diaspora, and the arctic
wastelands cased in sliding glass fields of
perfect steady storms as wraiths baked in halogen
ask silent questions of the silverbeet, while

Lana Del Ray’s voice falls like
nightshade—slutty and serene—coating
shelf stackers in a Piaf sadness as the
shelves reach their arms out for more.

The check out chick hatches
a sense of déjà vu as carrots
and biscuits drone towards her
mind berEFT of any twitching
sense of POSsibility that wised
up and flew this leering coop and

deep in her catalogue of grey folds
something stillborn and waxen is
perched on gleaming steel, reeling
out her guts like cassette tape with jerky
nightmare arms and laughing like a
banker watching ***** films, mornings
dull cerise an invocation through
auto-jaws as she bursts out to warble
with magpies in car park’s climbing fire.

In the Boondocks of the Ozarks
Salty caramel smelt of August
Swathes stench of rotten trailer parks
Imprisons barren mid-west dust

Feral fevered kids a hunting
For to cool; shoot up, or drink
Arthritic railroad; tie and shunting
Ferrous old town wretched on the brink

Since the cease of mine and logging
Depletion of iron lead and zinc
Nag horse too dead for flogging
Folks futures draining down the sink

Some respite in the summer heat
RV’s; tourists and campers for trails
Like blackfly plague pick off the meat
Fly fast; escape as another harvest fails

Dark currents pepper darker mood
Intolerance grinds in the daily way
Resentment bread as only food
At someone’s door the blame shall lay

In the graveyard of the Ozarks
Rednecks dance on industry tombs
Burn brown smoke spice. Moonshine sparks
Oblivion; no life. Back to mothers' womb

©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)

Meteor shunting,
in the sky,
with a bucket of dream,
she is a meteor,
in the city,
and the meteor is,
the broken dream,
of the sky.

The air is slow and still
faint puttering of the last barge
shunting coal downstream

city on the edge of sleep, settles
city on the edge of night, darkens

stretched steel and stone relax
cooling to a grey relief

reeds and sedges ripple
under bridges
and on the edges of the river

city in the gaze of moonlight, sighs
city in the haze of moonlight, slips

in the steady wash of tidal waters
and the brackish water of the estuary
come the bodies from the shore.


© M.L. Emmett

Nothing left in this old town
I felt I didn't have much choice
I jumped on board a west bound freight
It was there I heard the voice.....

"Boy, this here is my car"
"You keep the rules, and you'll be fine"
"I don't know you, you don't know me"
"Boy, this car is mine"

I squinted in the darkness
I tried to focus on the sound
That voice there in the boxcar
As rough as any I had found

I asked him where he came from
He spoke but wasn't clear
Everywhere and Nowhere
And right now from right here

Now boy, Keep your distance
Keep quiet, leave me be
I don't like conversation
You keep to you, and I to me

Just then, the train car shifted
That there's the final shunt
You're safe now boy inside this car
The rail men stopped their hunt

He said that there shunting noise
Is the starting of a song
The train soon will start moving
Everyone is moving on

While the cars are stagnant
You know, not moving, sitting still
The rail men all go hunting
For us hobo's , if you will

That shunting sound is heaven
It means we are onto who knows where
And frankly boy, you know deep down
It really isn't fair

I asked him what he meant by that
He said, I've said enough
As time goes by, you sound some smart
You'll pick up on this stuff

The silence then took over
He was sleeping, so did I
He was snoring quite contently
I couldn't find sleep, I wonder why?

About an hour later
He sparked a match and smoke
And again from in the darkness
The hobo, well, he spoke

Boy, you are a new one
You could have killed me where I lay
But, boy, I trust your scared some
So, I guess I'm safe today

T'was a time a decade back
Got knifed, real hard and deep
Taken by another jumper
While I tried to have a sleep

Hadn't make that choice before
Most times I'm here alone
But, it was cold and wintry like
And I threw this boy a bone

See, it's dangerous riding rail cars
We are all on here to hide
And sometimes, well then, most times
This is not a pleasant ride

You know you asked my name back there
I ain't heard it for so long
They call me "The Conductor"
I'd give my name but, I'd be wrong

Life out here ain't easy
Your head is on a swivel
Listen boy, this is the truth
Not just some hobo drivel

Even though we're many
You are still alone out here
Some you think are friends one day
Would **** you for a pint of beer

So, keep your distance, bide your time
The choice is up to you
Stay out here and roll the dice
And do what you must do

I listened as he rambled
Sorted words that I could keep
Then as sudden as he started
He stopped, and went to sleep

Do I ride the rails a no one?
Lose my name inside my mind?
Or do I travel 'cross the country?
To see just what it is I'd find

I'm lost with no direction
Staying stagnant, that I know
But, the life of The Conductor
Is that where I want to go

I heard the old man snoring
I huddled up and grabbed my stuff
Between the lines from The Conductor
I guess I wasn't all that tough

Back home there is a fellow
The blues man is his name
He reminds me of this fellow
They could be one and the same

Next time I hear the blues man
Or hear the whistle of a train
I'll think of The Conductor
The man who has no name

Lydia is quiet
going down the *****
by Arrol House
and onto

Rockingham Street
Benedict says nothing
he thinks it best
to let her brood

until she’s ready
to speak
he's seen it
in the films before

where the female
opposite the cowboy
has her moods
or quiet times

and the cowboy
lets her get on with it
while he rides off
into the sunset

to fight the bad guys
or Injuns
or have a shot
of Red Eye

in the bar in the town
watching the dancers
on the makeshift stage
he gives Lydia

a side on gaze
her straight hair
seems unbrushed
her dress is creased

and the cardigan
has a hole
in the elbow
they walk up

towards Draper Road
by the blocks of flats
he says
(hating silence)

the parents
were rowing last night
something to do
with money

or the lack of it
from what
I could gather
through the bedroom door

lying in the dark
seeing the thin line
of light
from the other room

the old man hates
being short
needs dosh
to get

his best suits
and brown shoes
saw something odd
last night

Lydia says suddenly
looking at Benedict
odd? what was odd?
he asks

studying
her thin hands
the nails chewed
my big sister

and her man friend
your sister's always odd
says Benedict
no

more odd
she made me sleep
in the tiny cot bed
which I haven't done

for years as its
too small for me really
but anyway
she made me sleep there

so she and her man friend
could sleep there
he's been turned out
of his digs

as he calls them
and Mum didn't like
the idea but Dad
in his usual drunken state

said O let him stay
a few days
until he gets himself
a place

so there am I
stuck in the cot bed
feet dangling
over the ends

just about room for me
except my backside
gets cold
when I turn over

nothing worse
Benedict says
than a cold backside
well then

Lydia says
after the lights were out
and she thought
I was asleep

I heard this noise
like squashy sound
and I lay there
with my eyes open

looking
at the dark shapes
and hearing
these odd sounds

and the giggles
and snorts and such
Benedict gazes at her
side on

her thin lips
were opening
and closing
like the goldfish

he had which fell
into the sink
out of the fish bowl
and its tiny mouth

was closing
and opening
upon the wet
white surface

then the bed springs
were going gong gong
then silence
as if they were dead

odd
Lydia says
staring
straight ahead

and I never got
to sleep in the end
for ages
what with them

and the cold
on my backside
and the trains
going over

the railway bridge
and the shunting
of coal wagons
so you're tired

Benedict says
that’s why you
were quiet just now
thought I'd done

something wrong
when I first met you
outside your flat
and you came out

with a face
suppose so
she says
and they walk along

Draper Road
to the Penny shop
where he treats her
to a penny pop drink

and 4
fruit salad sweets
and they stand
by the penny

ball game machine
on the wall
and watch some kid
press the buttons

and the ball
goes around
and around
until it disappears

in a slot
and Lydia thinks
to herself
sipping her drink

grown ups
are an odd lot.

You used to cross
Rockingham Street
to the bakers
on the corner

of Meadow Row
and buy 6 crusty rolls
and a white loaf of bread
and carry them back home

to the fifth floor
of the flats
where your mother said
keep the change for going

and you pocketed the change
to save for the 6 shooter gun
you’d seen in the toy shop
along the New Kent Road

and your mother
would butter a roll
and put in a slice of cheese
and you would go sit

in the window
over looking
the railway
shunting yard

and eat
taking in the rail trucks
loaded with coal
being shunted into

the yard and the trucks
unload and the coal
would fall down through
to the coal wharf below

and then you saw
the coal carts loaded
with sacked up coal
and the horses in harness

waiting to go
and you imagined
one of those horses
in saddle and you

taking off across
the Wild West
with your new 6 shooter
in your hand

tracking the bad cowboys
and dropping into
the public house
for a glass of redeye

or lemonade
don’t be too long
your mother said
nearly time for school

and as you ate
the last few crumbs
and sipped
the last drops of milk

from the glass
and wiped your mouth
with the back of your hand
a steam train

crossed the bridge
and you thought
of the bad cowboys
on Bank’s House Ridge.

I should go to sleep but the mind wants to keep me awake
it is shunting along and I tell it
it's wrong to go on,
but go on it will until the still of the night and the absence of light weighs down my eyes.

Tomorrow lies heavy upon this old man and today can do as it likes,and it likes to harass me with memory upon memory and if I close my eyes is it then that I can't see?
can't be still
got no will to resist that look through the gather of mist that is hemming me in.

The needles and pins that stick where nobody wins and they always seem to be sticking in me,
or perhaps that's just a memory.

Either way
today has to go
I know I need sleep
I need to keep myself well and as the ref rings the bell for the third and final round.
I've finally found
a rest

After breakfast
after doing shopping
for your mother
you met Fay on the grass

in front of Banks House
and you lay there
looking up at the summer sun
and white clouds

and the sound of trains
shunting
over by the railway yard
and Fay said

my daddy says
I’m to be able to recite
the Pater Noster in Latin
by the time

he gets back
from his work travelling
what the heck’s
the Pater Noster?

You asked
looking at her sideway
her pale features
catching your eyes

her blue eyes
gazing at the sun
it’s the Our Father in English
she said

what’s the big deal?
You said
doesn’t God
understand English?

sure He does
she said
but Daddy wants me
to learn the Latin

he said all good
Catholic girls
need to know
their Latin

what’s kiss my ****
in Latin?
You asked
she looked at you

and laughed shyly
and said
I don’t know
ask your dad

You said
I wouldn’t dare
she said
looking away

back at the sky
does he know Latin
your dad?
You asked

some he does
she replied
but he wouldn’t know that
I shouldn’t think

maybe
you should learn that
and say that you him
instead of the Pater Noster

she looked anxious
I wouldn’t dream of it
she said
and as you both lay there

on the grass
she moved her leg
and you saw
a blue bruise

on her thigh
turning greeny yellow
but you said nothing
of that but talked

how your old man
had made you
a blue metal money box
to keep your pocket money in

and she listened in silence
her pale features
and blue eyes
holding your eyes

as you spoke
looking along
her lime coloured dress
at the leg showing

the bruise still there
like a fallen fruit
and she smelt of apples
freshly picked

and held to the nose
better go
she said
best learn this Latin

before his return
and off she walked
across the grass
waving to you

as she went
and you blew her a kiss
from your palm
but she had gone

but at least
You said
gazing at the sky
it’d been sent.

complete insanity       and time ignoring the clock ticking       backwards
and forwards a child shunting a cart full of       blocks tumbling      down a cliff       face at the window  where I see a river running through   to the end of year specials where christmas    cake always made with old dough before baking should be let to        rise and fall of the capitalist       approach to sand mining in Kakadu and lead poisoning in tuna       fishing on the lake before breakfast slapping at mosquito’s exploited by greed overcoming the rest of us who are just as hungry and        waiting at the table where i’ve waited for       days has nothing to do       with me can we please take the attention off me        it’s all i ever       here and there is a way forward follow me this way        down children in the deep dark woods lived a little dwarf with a pocket full of thumbs cut from little boys who didn’t keep their noses clean and out of somebody       else’s business to come here today and talk to you about the theory of relative *******       which as you know was discovered by Captain Jimmy the cook or Captain courageous Columbus or Hugo weaving    its way into history before being    put out to pasture to grow fat in a paddock full of Nowegian Wood       isn’t it good that your father is coming home after all these years i’ve waited        so long  for the time to wait       for a cup of tea would be very nice       thankyou very much for coming ladies and       gentlemen please start your       engines of the new age       old methods of brewing       handed down to you on a platter and what do you do you throw it back in our faces       made of broken glass shattered by the news crowds stand outside the palace for days mourning the nations       lossst and found is this way sir broken feet repaired daily  broken hands twice daily  broken hearts sir that’s down the hallway second door on the left in the cliche department sir   thank you sir your time has come i’m sorry it had to end this way      look i’m sorry       enough of that sir       button up       there’s a good chop to the bottom of the neck       cuts air supply and results       instant lotteries are the way to think of the       future is what you make of it       son before you make any rash decisions       go and stand in the poet’s corner and fill in the forms you’ve been given make sure you answer every       question is you must understand the rules of inquisition        without question you must answer every question and make sure you complete every form you’ve been       given make very sure that       every form  is complete 
insanity.

MChallis © 2015

In frustration
he sat down on the bench outside the closed down railway station
and wrote of his dissention.
But in a moment that was lit by pure genius and invention
He decided there and then
to make a statement of his intention.
In fits and starts he penned those parts
that appealed to his sense of duty
but true to form
and as sure as I was born on a
Wednesday
I knew there was no way
the statement would ever be made.
This case is laid to rest.

A stocktaker takes no stock
A paradox?
Point duty can be blunt
when hiding or when on the hunt
but shunting these random thoughts aside
I train myself to pay attention
to the statement that
details tales of an unpaid rental.
But no mention of me being mental or unsound.
No sanitoriums for me
or phychopaths that come for tea.
Just peace
and the bobbing of a broken time that floats in brine
a hat that doesn't fit my head
a statement that I've never read
intentions that I never made
not laid to rest at all
but instant recall is what sets me apart and makes me the best.
Test me
Test me
Testing, testing two three
Just checking in
To check that you've been
listening.

Winking doubled 3 and by 3
he was down by a the an at
the very steepness of the grocery
outlet's little outlet shunting
to passersby his handy vanity(and they liked his dog and saiding so they drooped a coined palm and flatulated giddy tinklings

     he later utilized to *****

A shunting echo
a movement of clanking metal,
hurrying
across the rainy track .
I knew it well,
perchance to sleep.

Thoughts like can't breathe,
Lack of a air
In minds like mirrors shattered,
Without stares
Woeful, tragic, learn to numb
Burning, bleeding, come undone
Fret like this day,
Manic chills
Walk like falling,
Wounded hills
Shapes like vapor,
Rising up
Rage like rancor,
Shunting thrusts
Pain like glass dolls
All the dust
Echoes softly,
Breaking up

Benedict waited patiently(as patiently as a nine year old boy can wait) for Janice at the end of Bath Terrace where she lived with her grandmother in the block of flats behind somewhere on the third floor where he‭'‬d been once or twice to see the yellow canary and stay for tea and why she lived with her grandmother and not her parents he never asked although it puzzled him often especially at night when he lay awake kept awake by the coal shunting railway engine opposite the flats of Banks House where he lived with his parents and sister and brother but Janice's grandmother was a strict disciplinarian and even Benedict was wary of her when he saw her out or when he visited the flat and recalled her saying I’ll slap your behind my girl if you misbehave‭ she would often say in his hearing and he'd see Janice blush and stare wide eyed at her grandmother he stared back up Bath Terrace and saw Janice walking quickly towards him her blonde hair long and fine coming out beneath the red beret her creamy coat buttoned up to her neck he watched her walking she was late she hurried forward he was dressed in his blue jeans and jumper and a pocketful of coins his mother had given him for an ice cream for the both of them sorry I’m late Janice said Gran kept me behind said I had to help with the washing and I had to hold the washing through the ringer while Gran turned the big handle she said I  was too weak to do that bit but I had to do something Benedict nodded he knew her grandmother was a determined woman and knew that when she do something you did it or else‭ does she know where we are going‭? ‬he asked yes I asked her yesterday she said yes if I was with you and to stay with you and to behave don't think she would have let me go if you weren't with me Janice said so they walked along Rockingham Street under the railway bridge and down the street that went by the Trocadero cinema and out into the New Kent Road she chattering about her canary the one he'd seen a few times a yellow bird that sometimes talked if it was in the mood and once when he visited the flat he tried to teach the bird to repeat a four letter word but Janice said don't or I’ll get the blame and be for it so he didn't but he thought it would have been fun have the bird come out with the four letter word to an unsuspecting grandmother are we walking or getting a bus‭? ‬he asked we can walk she said it's just passed our school ok he said so they walked down the subway along the echoing tunnel he singing a few bars of a Frankie Vaughan song she looking at him despairingly he singing it in a country music kind of voice playing an imaginary guitar and making a guitar sound in between singing and then they came out at the other side of the subway and they walked along St George's Road towards the Imperial War Museum where he had suggested they go the previous day‭ ‬he had been there many times especially after school sometimes just to see a particular set of guns or bombs or see the WW1‭ ‬set out in glass cases the small figures of soldiers in trenches and painted backgrounds of trees blown up or no man's land how long are we staying‭? ‬she asked as long as we want he said I may have a go at the air plane controls or see the machine guns and grenades and bayonets she thought it could be boring seeing all that she didn't like guns or bombs or the huge figures of soldiers by walls she only said she'd come to be out and to be him and maybe he would buy her an ice cream or a drink of pop or something she had wanted to go swimming but her grandmother said she didn't like the idea and she thought it indecent to go around in swimwear in the public eye but others do Janice had pleaded I don't care what others do the grandmother said it is you I am thinking about I promised your parents I’d take care of you and keep you safe and I am determined to keep my promise swimming indeed with all those people hardly clothed and some O my God in skimpy swimwear so one can see their parts Benedict laughed when Janice told him his mother had no problems about him going swimming but to be on the look out for children who peed in the water if you see yellow water she said keep away from it get out one can get diseases from *** his mother said but they were going to the War Museum and as they approached the steps he sensed her thin hand reach out for his and he hoped no one especially any boys from school saw him and her and her hand touching his and he hoped that if she decided to give him a nervous kiss it would be the one thing he hoped the boys from school would certainly miss.

I dial your number

My body responds - shunting all blood from extremities to my vital organs
Prepared for the threat that could occur at any moment

My toes run cold with every unanswered ring

Voicemail.

My fingers have gone numb
My heart doesn’t understand what to make of this

You pull me in close and push me away like a yo-yo you were never done playing with

Down
and
Up and




Down

Does the string never end?

I’m so far down now, the yo-yo must be in on the joke
Conditioned to a cycle of deep anxiety

Till every firework feels like it may be a bomb
Something meant for joy
Instead, an imminent threat

You of all people should understand why
I coward at the sign of a spark
You are a vet after all

I let the fireworks hit me, knowing full well it will hurt
And it does hurt. And you aren’t sorry.

I guess I’d hoped for better than cold hands and an empty heart.

See them go..
A million suicidal shamblers, staring out
Hatred and beauty and dilated eyes
And long hair punks waiting for a revolution that will save them. United in disunity, calmed by deaths and shocked by wonders of medicine
Cool and collected, lost and dyslexic
They wonder at the halogen lights and stare at extinguished candles
Catching at the edge of their sight a whiff of angel-smoke
How many were cast out and how many ran
To this mecca, this eden, this dying heaven
Filled with the dead? Who knows
They are the ones who wander in daylight through the city square
Swigging red wine and chanting obscene hymns
Naked millennial drag kings of all they survey
living in art deco flats, old factories and empty rooms
they lie awake and listening to the shunting streets outside
and the symphony of buskers on the corner.
They love each other in wild ******
Dancing to rhythms stolen from slave songs
Screaming, bellies full of claret
And brassic basic dysphoric cravings they writhe and fall
And hum against each others’ bodies
Drawing knives along each others’ veins
And hope,
Frozen,
Waiting for the revolution.

That will save them.

By Jennifersoter Ezewi

As a child, I saw people being criticized because of their various endeavours: the society sees lawyers, doctors and certain white-collar jobs as the only dignified jobs.

Although some lawyers and professors could barely feed then but respected in their professions.

Most youths didn't help matters but thank God, their eyes are open to the beautiful reality. They have gone ahead to garnish most of the jobs they detest to suit themselves, thereby showcasing it with style.

A certain woman called me recently and asked: "what do you do for a living now?" I replied, "I am a sales representative." She started hooting like a shunting trailer. I asked myself one thing, so some people still has this mentality of looking down on people because of their endeavours?

I started representing reputable foreign companies from teenagehood. Travelling from state to state, showcasing some brands wherein business owners welcomes me with open arms. I wasn't doing it for the money then but for the fact that I make great sales for my company even when the products are new. It was fun for me.

Business minded, don't care how some people look at me until I went back to school. As a diploma student, you can hardly catch me in class if the lecturer is not there but nearby, transacting from one company to the other. Until I decided to focus fully at a certain level in my degree days.

I wonder why anyone should be ashamed of his or her endeavour. I also wonder why anyone should mock someone because of his or her endeavour. Success could be very mysterious. The endeavour one left behind today could break another through, tomorrow.

If you are a mechanic, tailor, carpenter, Barrister, doctor, teacher, engineer, contractor, trader, sales representative and etcetera. Be proud of what you do.

I die inside before the whole
a gift of numbness does portend
finding peace within the void
hollow shell is left to spoil
calmness hides the inner screams
looking round at where I live
knowing there is so much more
than what I hold to my heart.

I’ll put aside the fleeting dreams
shining stars not meant to be
by the virtue of circumstance
or my lack to reach beyond
both will leave me in this room
with one as nature’s turning wheel
the other fully on my head
together shunting prospect’s bless.

Reality asks for its due
bankrupting dreams with a check
dollar signs same as hope
the wallet emptied at its request
there’s nothing left to spend
my value reduced to only dust
swirling through darkened halls
enclosed within this living tomb.

Dispassioned deadness is my home
residence feeling like a jail
watching time slip away
wondering why I’m not dismayed
when there’s a roof above my head
shelter taken in cold stillness
bars arrayed on window sills
here I’ll stay with no escape.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170820.

Coincides with first day of fall
and Autumnal equinox for said year,
where colorful splash kindled like tinder.

After I riff flecked about thee August
Autumn Equinox 2023,
this seasonal polymath teached you
fall Equinox will be Saturday,
September 23, 2023, at 2:50 AM,
in Northern Hemisphere
Eastern Daylight Time,
which spoiler alert thy
learned wordsmith (courtesy Google),
when (Our Sun) Welles

(exemplary Citizen Kane)
crosses celestial equator
i.e. (imaginary line in sheltering sky
wherein pantheon of mankind Bowles
above Earth's Equator
from north to south),
a barley detectable
quiet rye hit
(*** on feel the noise)
moment occurs.

Eyesore fissured **** – wide,
stripping crust of planet vied
where survival of fittest futilely tried
to the max, viz (courtesy
badass beastie boys of **** sapiens)
exploited, offended, and violated
beholden hidebound sacred
contractually fragile important obligations
arranged marriage wedded  
civilization and its discontents to Mother Earth,
(more like shotgun wedding)

alarming, blaring, and clanging
sounding Doomsday Clock,
where ambivalence unheeded
trebling cleft noteworthy
wound, where hide rubbed raw
each betrothed nsync, didst guide
generic hominids shrugging indifference
resembling Atlas sized fountain head
scathing tragic misguided
exploitative testament writ large,

where precious resources exploited
**** sapiens railroading, snubbing,
and thumbing nose
despite flora and fauna espied
comprising onced vibrant edenic biosphere
(figuratively) asper dead
serious portentous desperate
global abuse decried
as feeble effort ignoring
inevitable demise doth decide

dismissively prophesying mocking
(burdensome), whence creator cried
resplendent raiment
adorned playfully chide,
sans whirled, wide webbed biota
adorn terra firmae analogous,
quadrants expectant wedded bride
named Gaia, when (dark and Stormy Dan
yells) Armageddon legatee - time ran
out for **** sapiens meaning...

salvation to late for human
fate i.e. as does wrecking,
(falling on deaf ears) plea
as Mother Nature dost allied;
this observer awestruck,
knitted brows, cuz field day, sans
grim reaper will
glory in field day
whar crisscrossed lovely bones
numb skulls pay fealty.

Festive gatherings of
apple cider and pumpkin pie,
a distinct golden jacketed
matted palette well nigh
paints arboreal swath, sans
quiet riot of brilliant
color, that doth belie
rampant terrestrial, unreal,
and venal degradation aye
temporarily turning a (third)
blind eye apathetically, blithely,
and conveniently shunting aside

empyrean découpage citadel
betokens (bespeaks) autumnal arrival
two oh fifty ante meridian
chariot of fire emblazons telltale signature,
one humble human doth
bid summer and his squandered life adieu
courtesy handy dandy blue's clue
flora and fauna begin
to prepare for hibernation.

Onset of harvest time witnesses
courtesy sweat of one's brow
he/she doth reap (and feeling invigorated)
what they did sow.

Common type of implements utilized
when gathering in of crops
include small sickle, big sickle,
darat, gandasa and small axe et cetera.

The hand sickle is used to harvest crops
like wheat, maize, barley, pulses and grass etc.

Big sickle (Darat) used
to harvest fodder from trees
silent whoosh of sickle
signals harvest hew
and/or raking leaves,
which I eschew.

Already crisp cool mornings
sun kissed mine cheek
refreshing air wafts thru longish hair
trademark characteristic property
aging pencil neck geek
attends brief bathroom charge coffee
exotic brew jolted kidneys leak
***** not kidding water closet doth reek.

Especially third season upon us mortals
Montgomery county, Pennsylvania
said geographic real estate sloughs
(i.e. sheds) summer dog days
necessitating shuddered windows
disallowing natural aeration
to circulate thru unit B44
cozy one bedroom apartment.

I will stave off clicking on the heat,
as long as possible,
yet invariably come first frost
yours truly will renege
and surrender creature comfort,
albeit climate controlled temptation
similar when global warming
quite evident predicated upon
Farmers' Almanac prophetic prediction.

Though ecology minded
quick acclimation to unseasonable
hot or cold temperatures
finds me adjusting thermostat dial
mainly to thwart palmar hyperhidrosis
regarding turning on air conditioning
during sweltering triple digit
(Fahrenheit) thermometer readings,
versus absent sweaty hands
courtesy old man winter arctic blast.

Ah... remembrance of wood burning
stove late papa lit,
to dispense chill pervading childhood home
324 Level Road christened "Glen Elm"
within national (local registry)
when Leiper family initially occupied estate
at that time (think early twentieth century)
merely intended as summer getaway.

This time of year finds me
to reminisce and wax poetic
nostalgia more pronounced,
particularly as aspiring wordsmith
orbitz the sun seemingly
with greater rapidity
twelve months cycling at light speed
ruminating, punctuating equilibrium,
and narrating mortality

accentuated when flora and fauna
exhibit metaphorical raiment
presaging Mother Nature's fall fashion show
linkedin with approaching senescence
prompting generic garden variety **** sapien
to rue his transience upon oblate spheroid.

Gentrification impossible mission
thus thy lovely bones will subsequently
become repurposed into  ashes
sprinkled hither and yon to and fro
across elysium fields
of happy hunting grounds.

The homeless queuing up and waiting for the park to open
to grab an hour or two before the day breaks them yet again and the sandwich man comes around at ten with soup and bread they break again
at midday, halfway, somewhere some way some one comes to read a passage from the bible which is about the strength of it,
do your bit and rewards will come, (the church being worth a tidy sum)
begging's just a business but maybe not for those who beg.

Missions spawning missions when the answer's in inclusion,

tarred and feathered whether or not and it's usually not because a lot of the time we haven't got time to think to ourselves this is a crime and what a crime it is,

never mind we'll disregard the young and haunted, the hunted, shutting out and shunting off such dreadful thoughts.

we
will take the cat out, dog out, budgie out of control,
everything squawks,
everyone walks away,

the peaches are almost ripe now
but they're ring fenced
and
it's an offence
to take a bite,
we might anyway
it being only halfway somewhere
someday,

I'm tired of being tired of it
time to do something about it.

Apply the fetish with intent
or submit with bent desire
both are sides of the coin
paid to stoke the thankful *****
the once forbidden steps aside
to the path of craving’s want
asking only that all involved
play their part in the charade

predilection is the term
for what’s desired in the heart
a slight taunt of the world
to satisfy the steady burn
stoking fires by give and take
shunting shame in their wake
none shall regret the aftermath
when the culprits are ourselves

a shot follows the trigger pulled
two may play in this duel
maybe more if there’s a crowd
prompting hoots for much more
faint utility left behind
whispers of what was meant
and all that’s left is lust’s desire
that adherents won’t deny.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20190310.

Walking in criss crosses down a straight road
Taking time to shrug on another tired load
Shoulders bent, glints of sweat on red brow
Different ways to figure out if you make the cut
Crawling through the sand like a mutt being put down
The sound of trains shunting in the dark
The heat of a spark, individual and searing
We're hearing ourselves for the first time
Turns out it's the worst time, unleashed to unwind
Shooting blind, forgot how to be kind, just pull triggers
It figures, history reflects, war is a word in every dialect