"signalled" poems
Bequeath this Honour from the Eighties' Tribe
To he who Modelled their Choice of Youth then
Synchronise! The Word our Age imbibe
Of Cool Moves, Puppies and Groovy-Pop Scent
This Innocence, Sir, which you Emulate
Through Mischief that Last Good Deed you remind
How we, though Clowned, this Party appreciate
Left printed for Cats to oogle behind
Then that Watch you wore alarmed you to Grow
And signalled your Hour to stand and be brave
Hail, Parker Soldier! Valiant Flag bestow,
Took arms with Locals and fought for our Stay.
And when you Return, those Preppie-Girls cheer
The Nerd and the Suave, Cross-Wrists with you here.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
The coffee *** just signalled, Ready,
So I pour the cream before the java:
A cup of divergent thinking.
There are roads running
In opposite directions,
Sharing points of similarity:
A tree, a sign, me.
Inside or outside the box of thinking,
Using the lower and upper ladder rungs
To paint the same wall,
Prologues and epilogues to the same story,
Lawyers in clown suits,
Children using,
Kittens chewing slippers,
Dogs in litter boxes,
Earth cooling,
Healing and feeding the masses,
Elected monarchies... NO monarchies,
Sleeping in or getting up,
Cursory letter to family and friends
(Though this is coming to an end),
Making love while wearing gloves,
The moon moves east to west
In the blink of sleep,
Churches giving alms and unlocking doors,
Schools excelling,
Parents attending.
To juxtapose is divergent,
Like sobering up with detergent
(You may be clean, but are you dry?).
If insurgents were divergent,
We'd have more convergence.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
The firelight was fading
The shadows grew in size
In the distance if you listened
You could hear the faintest cries
Of coyotes and of timber wolf
Signalling the end of day
Howling at the growing moon
Keeping night spirits at bay
The last piece of the sagebrush
Was burning to it's core
The flames that danced as quicksilver
Now, they danced no more
The fire, once was blazing
It's flames a dangerous height
Was now a nest of coal chunks
to warm us through the night
Four days out and three to go
We'd be in two days ahead
The scheduled trip with this years herd
And we'd be back in our own bed
A smaller group of beef this time
But, that's the way it goes
At least we'd leave the mountains
Before the early snows
Coffee from the morning meal
Was still sitting in the ***
Two minutes in the embers
And it was steaming hot
The first round of watch was up
And the coffee was re done
The second watch, for wolves and things
Needed coffee and a gun
Two went down the first night out
We heard the wolves, but missed them all
They'd been following us for three days now
And at night you'd hear them call
They signalled that the day was done
And that the herd was staying still
The darkness was their element
It was time for them to ****
The fire was near finished
The flames were all but smoke
but that cup of cowboy coffee
put life into this old grey cowpoke
If the wolves kept at a distance
And just kept howling at the moon
We'd lose no more beef tonight
And be home two days from noon
The fire spit and crackled
The night was damp and cold
The stars were silent beacons
To the wolves so quick and bold
We heard them in the distance
Howling loud as if to say
Will you make it through till morning?
Wait until we come to play.....
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
Sands of time
tinkling through an obscure artefact
the light in you as you recognise your own.
Why and how are long-trodden tracks, forgotten
as my mind unfurls with a fresh green vine
whence before the stubborn old clung dry, and crisp,
those bitter octogenarians of perception.
R&M;, those sweet surprises
winking from behind a hidden door
were small shards in the bright crystal of our day
that felt woven only for us.
You trailed your fingers in the lukewarm water
And across my neck, both, at every opportunity
the warmth of the day
to turn to burning heat of us as light and inhibition fell.
'.....a thousand kisses deep', you read
And those you gave enthralled me
Cruel-clever Fate, to plant us as seeds apart
that sad, never understood genus or cure
to find now the curlicues of tendrils touch
And all to make pure, beautiful, joyful sense
our flashpoint clear in its providence.
How clear and fine, luminous, perfect
your touch and kindness and intellect drew
these feelings from myself, not forgotten
but rather, felt in that day anew.
an older......deeper.....creature are you
curled in dark and bookshelves and things unmachinated
You're art, and never be apologetic
your sorrows, twisted mad moments and lust
sift through you to paper, golden dust
and I find you entrancing
in no hesitation
still, I find I've one eye on the snare.
A red orb signalled our day into night
red wine and red running beneath my skin
I see you so clearly my dear, in mind's eye
and know the feel of your hair in my hands
and your elegance contrasts with slyness and salt
and the glint in your eye with its knowing purport.
Forgive me, I cannot relay
all I felt
forgive me, I cannot I know, more I can give?
but know, incandescence you drew from me surely
for you, kindred soul, have reminded me- live.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
Rolled into town
With a chip on my shoulder
Big as a boulder
Footloose and free
I went to my woman
I stood there and told her
I thought we should fold her
Now it's just me
Love isn't easy
It's more than a game
You play what you're dealt
And there's no one to blame
Do something wrong
It's more of the same
Love isn't easy for me
NO....Love isn't easy for me
Needed some time
Found an old city bar
me and my guitar
Had two shots and a beer
Had me a drink
From an old, cracked fruit jar
Thick as coal tar
What it was, wasn't clear
Love isn't easy
It's more than a game
The players may change
The result's still the same
Think too hard on it
It'll drive you insane
Love isn't easy for me
NO...Love isn't easy for me
Went to the jukebox
Put some cash in
It was just then
my phone, signalled me
My ex said hey baby
Let's try it again
I counted to ten
It's my guitar and me
Love isn't easy
It's a new kind of hell
You think you're ok
But, you never can tell
Instead of in love
I wish I'd just fell
Love isn't easy for me
NO...Love isn't easy for me
Rolled into town
With a chip on my shoulder
Big as a boulder
Footloose and free
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
Sadness never signalled us a sign from the cosmos,
left us to decipher the bones of history in quest of omens.
Unheeded, despair overflowed us like a desert sand storm,
buried us in credit ennui and economic laissez-faire.
World leaders formed escalating groups, G-5, G-12, G-20,
still the banks camouflaged in oppressor's language,
invented derivatives against all uncertainty, save their own,
till Wall Street acquired the stench of backed up urinals.
Only when the desperate sallied into the world's streets,
emoting songs that gushered from the wells of outrage,
did rolling blackouts of democracy unearth the buried cities,
freeing a wind that whispers ruin in uncompromising sunlight.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 9:42 AM UTC
The word was out around the street
Tonight, behind Giannis bar
There would be really something special
From the bluesman and his guitar
For locals not for punters
Just for those upon the street
You'd better bring a lawn chair
If you wanted a good seat
The word spread fast and no one
Would miss this once they heard
New works from the bluesman
You had to take in every word
The bluesman was a legend
In this flawed, dark part of town
He only played back in the alley
That was where his show went down
At precisely eleven seventeen
The bluesman took his place
Upon his beat up orange crate
In his same familiar space
It was just like a cathedral
Underneath the golden moon
Quiet and forboding
As he started his first tune
The alley was the bluesmans church
As he sang to the street people
But this church had no walls or pews
No bells, it had no steeple
The bluesman sang of love and loss
Of dragons, ships and gin
He sang of Shubert, Bach and Liszt
He sang of constant sin
He looked but he saw no one
He was zoning, all alone
He sang songs of faith and hunger
Time to give the dog a bone
He played and drank his med-cin
For sometimes he got dry
The bluesman had the crowd entrapped
Beneath the shining moonlit sky
He talked of how his smoking
Through the years gave him his sound
It only took me fifty years
I'm surprised I'm still around
He sang of love and window panes
Of jealousy and trust
Of walruses and potholes
Of people turned to dust
As people sat in wonder
Of this prophet in disguise
You could see a certain twinkle
Deep in the bluesmans eyes
Gianni, stood off to the side
Timekeeper of the show
He signalled to the bluesman
One more and we must go
He had to close the restaurant
Turn the lights off in the back
So the bluesman took another sip
And grabbed a song from his minds pack
He finished up with something
Singing songs for all who came
He made them feel it was their heartsong
Although he never said a name
He sang of waitresses and barkeeps
Pawn brokers and of guests
of family and train tracks
of watchers and of quests
He finished up and packed away
His crate and his guitar
And he collected appreciation
In a two quart mason jar
The crowd left thirty dollars
almost ninety cents a seat
A fortune to the bluesman
And the folks here on the street
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
"You don’t fall in love like you fall in a hole.
You fall like falling through space. It’s like you jump off your own private planet to visit someone else’s planet. And when you get there it all looks different: the flowers, the animals, the colours people wear.
It is a big surprise falling in love because you thought you had everything just right on your own planet, and that was true, in a way, but then somebody signalled to you across space and the only way you could visit was to take a giant jump. Away you go, falling into someone else’s orbit and after a while you might decide to pull your two planets together and call it home. And you can bring your dog. Or your cat. Your goldfish, hamster, collection of stones, all your odd socks. (The ones you lost, including the holes, are on the new planet you found.) And you can bring your friends to visit. And read your favourite stories to each other.
And the falling was really the big jump that you had to make to be with someone you don’t want to be without. That’s it.
P.S. You have to be brave."
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Well they arrived by night the street cars light came through the curtain
So sharp
Their bags were packed tight trapped to backs to leave now or asap
They went
The car was lamborghini leather bound
Driver look round to greet them, Lets go
Gliding up a vain took a left at Circle Main
Drive through red lights heading North to Lungsville
The black and white chess pieces blocked the roads and signalled to Motor bound brothers to stamp on the light heading North
"The Bridge is wide open"
They went Hail Mary hoisted sails they flew like new born's
Over the water
Fulfilling their prescribed Destiny
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
From Chundanthuruth to Madrid
I was driving
On an errand
That was not really urgent
In the car, a song
Not actually sweet
Not even beautiful
Was playing in a hum..
Whenever I got bored
Looked at the sky
The sky too looked back
Once I winked at it
Teasingly..
Since the sky could not wink
Closing one eye
It shot a frightening glance
At me; said
" get lost, mind your business! "
I kept driving..
Beyond Kalamasseri
At the container road signal
Stood a man
Signalled to stop
No sooner did I stop
Than he got inside
And sits authoritatively
On the seat to my left
Regarding my song
Neither too sweet
Nor that beautiful
With contempt..
(In looks, a gentle man, infact a rogue
I said in brackets )
Though Idid not like much
I asked him his name
' Life ' he said
Ah!
Since it was my first
Encounter with "Life"
Asked his initials too
Without paying heed
Life played a song
I did not like
Life played another song
I did not like at all
Life played a different song
I did not, did not like
Life played different different songs
I did not like
Life played song
I did not like
Life played song
I did not like
Life played song
I did not like
------------
Malaamparamp, moolampilly
High court junction
Marine drive
On the way to Madrid
Life kept on playing
Different different songs
My "I dont like, I dont like"
Continued
Life again played a song
I did not like it
Again I did not like
Again and again
I did not like
Life
Then
Played a song
I liked it a bit
I liked it a bit more
Bit by bit
I liked that song
Liked the song
Liked the song very much
Liked only that song
That song became mine
That song became me
What to say;
I even danced
To that song
Just then
Just then
Once again
I asked Life
His initials
Laughingly it said
" Life.PK"
(Translated by Vijayalakshmi Murthy)
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
Within four walls I felt restraint
That pushed my minds own metaphor
And as my lips began to dry
Her scent entwined across the floor.
I dropped my stare as shadows danced
And felt those ills that burnt in me
As bile raised to rear itself
My heart felt pain so bitterly.
But all around were tiny views
That brought back doubts in magnitude
And then I saw the chimney breast
That signalled peace but hid regret.
And seas took hold in swirling rage
As gifts of love from other’s age
And eyes that winked as acid tore
Whilst ravaged hearts could take no more.
So when she spoke I heard a voice
That mocked my dreams forbidding choice
And as she threw those words at me
The slate felt cold on withered feet.
I felt her pain which frightened me
But slowly stood & turned away
I laughed at blame imprudently
Than face the truth we live each day……..
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 12:12 AM UTC
It turns out the show's only just started when the fat lady's sang -
'Tho mum had told me it'd be over when Mrs Jones came on -
So imagine my surprise when she burst into Kool & the Gang.
It was at this talent show; I'd come to see this smoking Orang-utan.
I'd seen the mediocre 'Mystico', the lacklustre 'Lassie' and a small man named Ron;
It turns out the show's only just started when the fat lady's sang.
The final act was to be signalled with a gong and a bang,
Then out came Mrs Jones, the size of the entire Yukon.
So imagine my surprise when she burst into Kool & the Gang.
I guess it was a perfect example of yin and yang,
And since it happened Mrs Jones is quite the local icon.
It turns out the show's only just started when the fat lady's sang.
It'd seemed like she'd be better suited at a competition eating pie, or meringue,
At her local diner with her 20% off coupon.
So imagine my surprise when she burst into Kool & the Gang.
The bass kicked in, she belted it out and the whole audience sprang
Into frenzy and boogied, like night had been and gone.
It turns out the show's only just started when the fat lady's sang
So imagine my surprise when she burst into Kool & the Gang.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
To the Enlightened Healer take to Pray
My Swallowed Ego for his Bow to Heal
In his Reddened Mind deny his Best Day
And submit to Therapy his Triceps feel
Ever the More his Circle's Motto adapt
To Reconsider this Two Week's Defeat
A Warrior he is; Such Pool's Walk protract
And make the South brace his Healthy Conceit
But during this Event a Blessing cries
Which the Lone Star Maiden rushed to his Aid
A Few Soft Words; Then a Rub on those Lies
Allowed most of his High-Nosed Debts be Paid.
It was their Time. To heal Divorce's due
A Spectrum appeared; And signalled his Cue.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 6:12 AM UTC
-Life-
Was the cruellest of gifts It gave us
Hope, but it is a coin tossed too often,
For within moments
Breath,
Beats,
Blood
Coursing through this vessel
To keep it upright, motions of every fibre
Never one without the other. But breath is
Fleeting, one stops then another moments
Now becoming less time life now evicted stops.
-Reaper-
That exhalation that signalled the end, taken
From you, stolen by this hand of bone
And kept like a trinket, something
That he has held to many times,
Lost,
Forgotten,
Dammed
Ones who he misplaced in that darkened place.
He was just one of the keepers charged with
But the flow from their to here. but all
Things have a purpose and so
This existence now claimed by another.
-Soul Keeper-
Was the cleaner of what was before,
Life's distractions, deaths fingerprints,
Where cleansed from this orb of
Thought,
Conciseness,
Essence
Of what was, two shades spiral,
One white one like a smear, some where
More of one, never one purest
Pearl or charcoal . There was always a
Hint of light or dark in every orb held.
-Scales Of Judgement-
We are weighted not by the flesh or the bone,
As they are nothing once the soul is gone
Life,
Death,
Rebirth,
Are the ever moving cogs, but some
Are broken to be put in a place
Where the broken things
Live,
Rot,
Decay,
In that place never to be reborn, this is
There end place of limbos playground.
All are judged on the scales showing
the aura of there lifes deeds
Be they heaven worthy or to the pit
There moments burn, but some are
To far gone, and in limbo they stay.
The scales are the defining moment of four stages
Life,
Death,
Energy,
Judgment
On this final journey, are you worthy, to be
In the light or darkness, to be reborn or
To the nether place of broken toys.
Live your life, but remember judgement
Is only three steps from life away.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
A little dot of light in the distance
Signalled that they were on their way home
She was waiting at her own insistence
As the trawler drew closer through the foam.
Her man had taken another man's place
And he sailed with yesterday's tide
But their baby was due in only three days
She wanted him back on dry land by her side.
It caused her to reflect on her father
He'd been lost in the'53 spring tide
That had raced down the east coast of England
Brushing trawlers and ferries to one side.
They called it 'The Big Flood', it was really that bad
It happened unexpectedly
Two and a half thousand, including her dad
Were drowned and swallowed by the sea.
January thirty-first into February one
The storm raged like no other before
Then it turned out to sea and was suddenly gone
Leaving death and devastation in it's maw.
The trawler was pulled into the harbour
And her husband jumped the jetty and ran
He took her into his arms and she worried no more
He was home, he was safe, and her man.
©Joe Wilson - The trawlerman's wife & the 1953 spring-tide disaster...2015
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
I hear
Lamentation
They would always start the chants by daybreak
Waking me from my already-light slumber
Allowing me to rub my weary eyes for moments
Before the deep chime of the bell signalled daylight
I could never understand
their devout worship
as they fell on their knees
murmuring words unheard to me
But somehow there was something about the air
Perhaps it was the incense always lit at the altars
Maybe it was the quiet drone of their prayers
Other times it must have been the sight of nature
Years and years I spent in its hallways
Always longing for the world outside
Dreaming for the odd heaven-sent journey
That would sometimes come flying my way
Now I have different dreams
Shown to me in elusive conical shades
Driving the roots of every reverie
Deep into my very core
Flashes of other years
Distant images unknown to me
Illuminated by every hue and colour
Lulling me gently
But what it is to dream differently
Yearn for the silence in the world
Creeping up to us on dusk
Sweeping apprehension
Finally I returned home
Dropping all my weight
Pressing my forehead over
to breathe.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 10:43 PM UTC
Dyslexia, mixed messages
Everything so confusing
Susceptible to misusing;
A 'B' becomes a 'D' instantaneously
And screws things up simultaneously.
A short trip from insanity to inanity.
Fiscal confuses with physical
Turning laudable into laughable
So quickly eyes can't disguise
Whether one means the skies
Or perhaps one means this guy's.
If read, confusion and contusion
Seem like quibbling over siblings
But things like read and read
Only different when they're said
Take un-signalled turns in the head
And instead come out backward,
Which should be spelled backword.
Muddling and confuddling resides
Issuing thundering broadsides,
Rendering and sundering any
Blundering inadept ineptitudes
Like some kind of garbled beatitudes.
Some take hostile attitudes.
Wheedling and wheeling away
Beetling and saying it wrong;
Maybe a song can be written
And some tongues can be bitten,
Taken aback by words taken back,
As the Raven said "Never more!"
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 4:18 AM UTC
men with anger fused with patience
standing at their red light stations
Flying on the freeway heaven
I-10 west and half past seven
smoothly gliding to my home
nighttime sings with traffic moans
driving under bridge-forged caverns
red lights make me sit in patterns
looking at the saddened faces
I met the I-10 homeless cases
cups in hands speak speechless phrases
fill the street in endless mazes
there and with my own conviction
signalled him my own intention
rolled my window to the line
and gave my brothers peace of mind
drivers thumb their nose in spite
never knowing what it's like
watching no one do what's right
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 2:04 PM UTC
I reached for you this morning
Smooth, soft skin usually needing my warmth
But that 5'2 angelic body was gone
Flew from the nest at the earliest hours
Between 2 and 3
I looked for you under the sheets
Hoping you didn't fall too deep into slumber
You were crying on my chest
Just before the lights went out
You signalled to me you were comfortable
As the drool fell from your slumbering mouth
Too cute is the way you sleep
Half on me while your feet dangle off the bed
So baby have a good day at work
I'll see you tonight
Come home quickly
I cooked you dinner this morning
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 6:46 AM UTC
I wonder if you decided twenty years ago
That this was the life you wanted.
If heartbreaker was tattooed into your
DNA ink flowing mixing with blood if this
Was what you wanted your legacy to be:
Fingers ghosting down girls' throats
Lips planting promises into their brains
Where your promise is a distraction
Where you start to lose traction on
Everything. But her.
How long do you intend to break them Down while you wait for her to
Say something that matters to you.
There is a war path where you step
And it is littered with crushed beer cans,
Cigarette butts, hand grenades and
Bombshells.
Is this your legacy?
It precedes you.
I should have known when we first met
That your smoke signalled fire
That you would burn everything to the
Ground. No village is safe around this
Destruction.
But go ahead, because this means nothing
To you.
With your fingers inside another girl
If you close your eyes, she'll feel the same
As the girl who's ******* with your mind.
And if they taste like cheap ***** and
Regret, if their skin leaves traces in your
Sheets, if their feelings leave traces in your
Brain, well, that's just a consequence of
The no-strings theory.
I'm sorry I'm so bitter because you're
Always in my thoughts and you don't have
ESP so you can't know this and I can't tell
You. I'm sorry I'm so bitter because you
****** our friend in more ways than one.
I'm sorry I'm so bitter because it
Wasn't me.
I would hate myself for being another
Tongue you wish was hers,
But the closest I can get to you is through
The heat of your skin, and I want to know
How to twist you inside out.
So I'm sorry this is messy and confusing and emotional but
I read what she wrote and
Threw up my heart. You did this.
You'll keep doing this.
I can't stop wanting what I'll never have.
Happy ******* birthday.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
We came as a strand of life from the source.
The estuary signalled creation, and finally; the residents spoke back.
There she was on the veranda; a Costa Rican sunset.
He sank pills with beer, and then he promptly disappeared.
And when they burned down the library, all humanity died.
The pixels flared upon the screen: now she is dead.
I surfed meteorites and time, just to see you again.
She planted the seed, then laid down in the soil.
She’s married now I think; I care not to check.
A woman took over God’s role: The results improved dramatically.
E. J., Coles-Jordan. (2014). An Equal Society: A Necessity for Cultural Revolution. Journal of Made-Up Thoughts and Wisdom, 1, 1-9999.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
turned self hatred to ego death
order out of chaotic mess
I have sinned, I must confess
from denying that I am blessed
for I’m a vessel for the power
big and bright, to which I cower
self-protecting, sad wallflower
procrastinate my finest hour
my heart expired, my talents latent
the Universe frowns at complacence
signalled for change in ways so blatant
uncovered what was truly fated
so “no more!”, I said aloud
in a tone uncanny and proud
gathered the few truths I found
stood for justice, stood my ground
wielded tools for reinvention
based on only good intention
so whilst my past begs for a mention
I’m better pressed to break convention
break myself and forge another
birth my own daughter and mother
court my own subconscious lover
love yourself, then love each other
because life’s too short to **** yourself
it’s got that sorted, watch your health
harness your power, know your wealth
you’ll gather dust sat on that shelf
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 10:04 AM UTC
the day light was wrong
so it stayed there until the night dance came,
and everything flew apart from our hands that were
to used to tools that had old roads, later
we’ll go on up
and see what the hell we were talking about.
we’ll live normally, and will see every intricate part
of the carcass
(s)he will have a familiar grace
and behaviour behind our eyes;
bleeding out.
signalled by our sleeping embrace.
to do the same;
falling in windows
painted in silence
since we’re both off today
and our new place needs work;
paint streaming from our hands and nails
that makes no sound.
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
The sun blazed and caused a significant amount of precipitation to ooze out of my skin. The woman who sat next to me filled space enough for two but paid for one. Me, the unfortunate one who sat close to her was praying that no one else boards this atrocity of a public transport vehicle. The sweat on our skins made our contact uncomfortably more intimate than it was required for two strangers. It made my skin curl with disgust.
The little old lady stood at the bus stop with a silver wash basin half filled with her catch, fish. She signalled and the trotro staggered to a stop.
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 3:39 PM UTC