"silos" poems
I think things like "weigh my belt"
That weight dowth felt thy girly wirly smell
hand made
sew maid for two plums pie
I cry I cry I almost pass away
way to the future down
down to below. Oh
how can I
be so
naïve before the summer glow
a basement bash of feet below
below a hazard haggard waist
wasted on the belt loop of his father
a potter
plain before your very eyes
a seismic ray of disbelief
a cobble stone of sticks and leaves.
No
I could be a sailor man
and I could eat things from a can
and inching toward a rubber band
Damsels in distress
they're not impressed by you
or shallow deeds
deeds begin to play
beneath my skin and things that float away
and inching toward the silos of
a tribal super plane
a racecar a racecar
I'm ******* erasing it all
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
The assassins hit in 63
And Camelot was gone,
Inspiration vanished
And the darkness sang it’s song.
*Vietnam escalated
Brezhnev’s Russia loomed,
Africa was eviscerated
And Red China entombed.
*Floating on a long white cloud
The Kiwis were replete
With abundant British markets
For their butter, wool and meat.
*The Europeans went ****
And Britain lost it’s way
When the Beatles and the Rolling Stones
Monopolized their day.
*Man landed on the moon
And raised the Yankee flag
And they shot Mahatma Ghandi
For making good things out of bad.
*The Berlin Wall dividing,
The Cold War tense and spare,
ICBM’s threaten silently
In their silos of despair.
*Bob Menzies ruled Australia
As an amassing of his loot
And his White Australia Policy
Condemned him as a brute.
*Found naked on her tousled bed,
Blonde hair across her face,
Marylin Monroe is dead
The world’s a darker place.
*In the Age of Aquarius
Our children lost their youth,
LSD and smoking ***
And Afro’s were the proof.
*Lots of leg in miniskirts,
High bouffant’s in the hair,
Screaming teeny boppers
Rock with Elvis on “the Air”.
*Giant, Rawhide, Ponderosa,
Martin Luther King,
Kaftans and a cheese fondue,
Abortion is a sin!
It’s a sixties kaleidoscope,
A panoramic skim
Of an era of wonderment
Which you and I lived in.
Marshalg
@the Gate
Mangere Bridge
20th January 2009
Oct 23, 2009
Oct 23, 2009 at 2:25 PM UTC
It is simple, and yet sublime;
Incapturable.
You need not go in,
Take away the man, destabilising the economy
That you so love
Letting them die
You need not assassinate and collaborate,
Scheme and puncture
Spheres of influence that stretch and bubble
In Latin America and Southern Asia,
You need not sign secrets away
Safe and deep
In silos and bunkers
Where Armageddon sleeps.
You need not supply, buy and axchange
Implements of violence and rage,
Picking sides in civil war, tribal conlflict
And bigger,
In lands you do not understand
Lands where the mountains resonate with holiness,
Lands of spiritual awakening awaiting for the young;
Concepts you can’t grasp, that don’t sit well
You need leave them be.
Enough has been done,
Not always with bad intention
But rarely for the greater good
Enough has been said and bought and replaced
Captured, shot at, disgraced,
Caricatured into funny cartoons
Taken over, the masters’ role assumed.
For all the radars and sonar
It seems impossible to listen;
Simple, yet sublime.
Incapturable.
Irreplaceable.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:52 PM UTC
The Cresent Moon Dancing With The Silhouette,
Of Old Silos,
In A Ballroom Of Winter Air,
Completed With Hanging Glow In The Dark Stars,
& Planets Suspended In Spaces Endless Corridor,
Human Life Scarce For The Hours Of Darkness,
Except For A Few Nocturnal Beings,
Mostly Adolescents Sipping Liquid Courage,
Drowning Their Pride With Hearty Venom,
The Creatures Of The Woods Roam Freely,
Scrambling Across Roads And Frostbitten Yards,
Awaiting The Frosty Tears Of The Heavens,
Coating The Land In A Winter White Blanket,
Drops Of Jupiter Perfectly Fall Into Place,
Upon Rich Green Eyes,
And Swim In An Eternity Of Spring,
And Kiss The Petals Of A Sturdy Rose,
The Golden Gates Of Beauty,
Open And Welcome,
In The Cold November Evening,
Mercury Glides Upon Smooth--Vanilla Skin,
Enternal Peace Just On The Tips Of Frigid Fingers,
Slipping Into The Grooves Of Skinny Extremities,
As Gardian Angels With Rustic Gold Halos,
Reach Into A Troubled Heart,
Take Me To The Light
Drops Of Jupiter Roll Down Rosy Cheeks,
Take Me With You
The Cresent Moon Glitters Off A Radiant Dress,
Come With Me Sydney
Bright Light Fills Two Worshiping Retinas,
I Will, I Will
Rays More Vivid Then The Rays Of The Sun Itself,
Then The Green Irises Open,
Sadly It Was Just A Dream,
But Drops Of Jupiter,
Still Lay On Her Pale Cold Cheeks,
And The Cresent Moon's Light Still Slips Through,
Light Resisting Blinds,
And The Trees Whisper A Secret,
Which Was Shared,
With Me
Information Injected,
From A Vile Of Destiny
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 10:21 PM UTC
I have nothing.
so I'll talk to you
while you're in Malaysia
about the innocence of war
and the grace of missile silos.
I could tell you the
grass is blue here
and you wouldn't know for sure.
Don't fret because I'll give you
my soul unscathed and my
heart under no pressure.
You say left is left and
right is right then the world aligns
for all to see that we're
all just the same even
beyond you and me.
He was sworn not to tell
the story of us all and now
we're all turning in circles about
our time here spent.
No one knows our words but
you, me, and that miraculous
invisible wire
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 3:18 AM UTC
The winds howl through the valley
galloping across the fields
gusting into town
knocking down garbage cans
rattling grain silos
shoving highway traffic
stealing people’s hats
blasting tractors
slapping around limbs and branches
knocking live powerlines to the cold winter ground
interrogating clattering palm trees
threatening creaking, aged oaks
They’re just outside the door, now
whispering, moaning, vehement, loud.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 11:55 AM UTC
PREAMBLE
*in the future
we’ll all be perfect
and there’ll be peace forever
and no one will have to complain ever
cos we’ll know
every part of body and brain and mind
and we’ll have them all fixed wherever*
1
in the future
people will not say 'Ouch!'
they will say 'Yum!'
cos we’ll have fixed
the part in the brain
where they feel pain
and it’ll all be pleasure
but the skin point
or tissue point
would all have implants
for auto-repair
2
in the future
people need not go to school
cos we’ll have enough good drugs
to fix their brains
and diamond points in their folds
for life-long
updates and upgrades;
and those Outdates
we'll slow humane-terminate
3
in the future
people will never feel negative
or down
cos we’ll know where it comes from
and flood it with the juices
from the smiley area
cos we’ll know where they come from too
and we can control brain droughts and mind floods
4
in the future
women will not carry babies
nor men either;
so couples can have ***
each strong in desire
and like satyrs in performance
and all no condoms either
and they’ll never conceive
cos we’ll have all the combinations ever
in frozen silos
that we’ll make copulate in infinite
possibilities and impossibilities
5
we’ll still have nations though
cos the Leaders will be able to choose
what brains they want their citizens to have
and all engineered
in the Nation Babies Pods where all babies will come from
so that we will still have
China Mind, America Mind, Poland Mind,
India Mind, Japanese Mind, Dutch Mind,
Polynesia Mind, Utopia Mind, Ideal Mind,
Reptile Mind, God Mind
and so on…
so really you needn't worry;
you'll still have personality
*so really
in the future
we’ll all be perfect
and there’ll be peace forever
and no one will have to complain ever*
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 2:44 AM UTC
I made kodiak cakes this morning
On this beautiful Sunday morning
After I listened to the Gregorian chant of
The Benedictine Monks
Of Santo Domingo de Silos in Spain
Please enjoy some of my kodiak cakes Vicki
They are wholesome just like you
Yummm let's eat them together
Also there are some sliced apples
With a bit of Laura Scudders peanut butter too
These Kodiak cakes warm my heart
Just as your poems do
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
sunrise is lazy this morning
as our awakening coincides with shivers
running up and down cool spines
on crusty concrete floors
sheets and sweating water cups,
that's what we ride for
past waterfronts and freeways,
fast as we can with sleep in our eyes
paisley prints surround us
as i lay and recount our night
flashes of flash lights reveal
strange structures inside of silos,
climb on, climb on,
exploring exploitation of the norm,
art in ways art hasn't yet dreamed
wild animal sounds bounce and billow
around in old grain homes,
while hands keep beats and hearts
are pedaled in shadow onto walls
fire breathing pipes belch into the
calm, black night and attempts to
climb towers are squandered by
men holding flashlights and power
so we fade into the nothingness and find
other metal mountains to explore,
garage doors open up to windmills
and i find myself with knees as
****** and black as the night before us
still, the animals cry out, but this time
it's low and between rushed breaths
that betray a sense of ecstasy only felt
when it sneaks up from behind
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Sitting. On some wooden railing.
Typical movie scene.
Staring off into the distance,
Patiently waiting Helios to set.
The wind tuning to a mezzo-piano sound.
Harmonious really.
I don't have long hair that can nonchalantly flow through space as the wind blows past,
But I have long eye lashes.
And I can glance back and forth,
As if I'm double-taking a beautiful girl walking along the country side,
Noticing the honeycomb rainbows the sun's rays make
As my eye lashes magically refract them.
My mind is racing with thoughts,
Yet ever-so calmly making sense of it all.
Of course I can comprehend my own thoughts.
Most of the time, I guess.
Then in my peripheral vision,
I see a car's headlights flash by.
Light.
It's always attracted me for some odd reason.
Ironically, darkness seems to be my friend.
More so than light.
Yin & Yang.
They're balanced.
As am I.
Gracefully leaping off the wooden railing,
I make my way back to what I call home.
Is it really home?
Or is it just a house.
In any case,
I take one more look off to my right,
Over my shoulder,
And behold Helios gathering the last of his strings.
In an instant,
The threadbare sky becomes darker, slowly.
Magnificently caressing the lack of luster,
By embedding tiny diamonds into the holes that are seemingly there.
Then, Hercules makes his way unto the stage of darkness,
Radiating brightly.
Slowly shutting the door,
Taking one last gasp of air into my lungs,
I look outside at the silos near my house and wonder:
Do you two ever get lonely when dusk falls and everyone has faded to black?
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
On my 5th Thanksgiving
my parents took me to my Grandmothers house.
It was a short drive from Miamisburg, Ohio to Liberty, Indiana.
Over the Little Miami River, past empty harvested fields.
Dairy farms, and towering silos.
Frozen horse troughs, and soon to be rustic barns sheltering small livestock from the cold.
There was snow on the ground and roof, and the cattle, sheep and goats were already having their dinner.
There were no Christmas tunes on the radio of our Ford, but rather “Let Us Break Bread Together” by some local church choir.......... A sadness came over me as I looked at the animals in the field, and I whispered in my Mothers ear........Mommy, do the animals know that it is Thanksgiving?
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
Agitation, despair and its winged variations, you name it
all repressed but still rise to test me
What is my recourse?
I tread lightly on this Escheresque concourse
It’s repeated often, I know
but the pen and keys are my most cathartic release
they’re magma to emerging flames
they’re sedatives for demons and angels alike
that reside on corners of this clavicle
How many steps could you take through my lens, my concave mirror?
Have you felt what I felt?
The brimming, cerebral cauldron bursting, putting volcanic geysers to shame
the questions outnumbering seconds spent since Earth’s nativity
the emotions ripping a rift through which rationality deep dives
it becomes Phelps in unknown depths
your body becomes both a Vatican and a Colosseum,
place of worship and place of war
and you walk the tightropes your vocal chords have morphed into
careful to seem like another replica, don’t wanna upset the blades they all balance on
don’t wanna scare the rest hollow, no,
best to follow and best to follow the regimen:
coffee beans and spice of delusion in the hazelnut syrup,
sip slow
follow the same cycle because change is a cocoon and cocoons ache like the past
keep on pretending to love the workplace
love the norms held over you
puppet strings bring warmth after all
in this solitary world cold as winter missile silos
and just as destructive
So I ask again, have you felt what I felt?
Do the few days in utopia offset the majority on rodent wheels?
Have you risen so high, to satellite peaks, to the best you’ve ever been
only to have the worst waiting on the coin’s parallel?
We flip like saltwater fins and backstroke till a back is left broke
I’m learning to discard hope but breathe in the alternative
I believe in better days, I will carve them from local stone
and build a home upon their surfaces
I now know paradise is a set of blueprints
happiness is no state of mind, it’s a direction to me
you may not notice when you arrive
but you keep going
and that’s the beauty of it
you let it be the wind
It’ll find you on your journey
Tell me again,
have you felt what I felt?
Dec 7, 2021
Dec 7, 2021 at 12:05 PM UTC
in Ohio, Mother
hung our laundry humming,
clothespins in her mouth
in Texas, she made my father
buy a dryer after angry wet sheets whopped her face
more than one blustery afternoon
scarcely a score before
Panhandle winds were often roiling clouds,
black as charcoal, laying waste to everything
that grew and breathed
old men at the feed store talked
about the dusters from back then
and about every drop of rain,
every white flake that fell
I missed going barefoot
and fast learned to hate goat heads,
and all thorny things that thrived
in that flat land
Mother despised the hot winds almost as much
as the cool stares she got from the church women
whenever she opened her mouth, revealing
she wasn't one of them
Mother ended words
with “ing,” the extra consonant considered
superfluous at best, blasphemous
to some
men and women both
sounded to me like they had grist
from the silos in their mouths
my father had lived there
as a boy, swore he would never return
the dreaded dust still clinging to his clothes
when he left for the war
oil money brought him back
but only long enough for his skull
to be cracked dead by hard pipe
his insurance settlement
bought us a place in the Buckeye State
as quick as the lid flapped shut
on our mailbox
Mother wept little
until our first night back
in Ohio, when a blizzard knocked out
the lights, and our two candles burned flat
in the cold
my uncle brought bread, butter
and warm soup, which we ate in the gloom
while Mother told my father's favorite brother
how much we loved the Texas sun
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
Old Winter, he's such a cold gloomy cuss
Know that I know that his bluster's bogus.
I do not fear him - his cold winds caress;
Refuse his dismay - he's only Spring's cusp!
A Spring of rebirth when life blooms once more,
That fills men with love right down to their core.
Comes she with sunshine and flowers galore,
Lightening hearts - a proud show to adore.
Then Summer, her mate, in with a storm blows.
All his great heat drying river and rose.
Autumn, comes then to squash summer's toes,
Giving great harvests and filling silos.
With leaves of bright colors in falling season,
Winter sees then, the chance for his reason.
He laughs in my face and presses his gloom.
But I fret for naught knowing Spring will soon bloom.
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 8:59 PM UTC
ears destined for rust and fallow fields
move smoothly in grime
for men in shirtsleeves
and women laughing in sunlight
silos line the horizon
stuffed to the brim
with pipe dreams and hops
children as shadow puppets
behind clotheslines
herald the bees and honey
thrusting pipes push earthen mounds
echoing coffins’ slumbers
men heave iron and wheat
on a forgotten country road
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
Down in the forest,
Amid the creaking pines,
Are two rusty old silos.
We call them the tin cans.
A brave few will climb them
And balance on the walls
As sentries to those inside.
Encircled in old metal
There's a pow-wow going
Between the chieftan of North Can
And the princess of the South.
Bubbles drift as smoke from their mouths
And their round cheeks stretch in yawns
That betray the distant setting sun.
Our war is over, the chief declares,
But neither side has won.
That's true, the queen smirks back at him,
And neither ever can. What do we do?
He glistens with battle sweat and
His soldier's breath is heavy.
You and I will draw up a treaty,
He says, and war another day.
She acquiesces and signs her name
On a bit of leaf in invisible ink;
He does the same, and both recline
A moment against the flaking metal walls
While the topmost edge of the sun falls
Below the curve of the earth
And the dark branches of the trees
Cradle a baby night.
Up top a sentry calls dinnertime.
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 10:47 AM UTC
Where am I going?
A concoction of darkness and fog
clouds the road ahead. My map
sits somewhere in the back seat,
buried beneath the mounds of
fast food trash and travel essentials.
I wish I could find it now.
A month ago I passed a city. Back then
it was clear skies and bright signs.
Welcome to Big City, where all
your dreams come true. And it felt
like they did. Everything was fast, exciting.
I lived my life by the flashing neon and chrome.
24-hour liquor,
Girls, Girls, Girls,
Do Not Enter.
Thank God I got out of there. In
a city with no stop signs, you’re bound
to eventually have a wreck.
A week ago I found a country town.
The familiarity of skyscrapers was replaced
with silos and rotten barns.
Welcome to Small Town,
Population: You. In the unknown world
of small society, everything became bigger.
XXL
All You Can Eat
Welcome
What once was a race became a conflict
of common courtesy. You go. No, you go.
I had to leave, or I’d still be sitting
at a four way stop, waiting to move.
An hour ago I passed a church.
I wish I had stopped and knocked
on the door. Maybe they would have
let me stay the night, or at least
given me some directions. Since then,
the fog has thickened, making my
fading headlights as effective as a
butter knife on a steak. I want to get out
of this, to find a place to rest, but if I speed
up I’ll most surely crash, and if I stop I
might never find my way again.
Solace comes from a broken sign laying
in a dirt ditch next to a four way stop.
Proceed with caution.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 3:12 AM UTC
The air is charged and ominous,
A stench is settling on us,
Like ashes on our skin.
How did this begin?
Bones held in hands
Took foreign lands;
Fires on sticks
Extinquished the magic
That once held us in awe.
Then the sky's truly lit,
They've fired bigger sticks
From beneath the waves,
Into the air,
Or silos hidden
Below the stars,
With candles brighter than before,
That darken skies,
Turn day to night,
And colour our skin
With ashes.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
A-Ooga Tioga
Sky, mountain and mist rise
with morning breath
It’s crisp until coffee goes in
but no bother for that
instead, searching for sun, kept out of sight
figuring which way is east
Which way is yonder?
still, more you might ponder
As you sink into the lap of Tioga valleys
cradled by ash and oaks
fields of daisy mixed with rye and wheat
spread at your feet
like wedding dress of Mother Nature herself
She says softly:
“Pssst, hey you
Don’t put on those shoes
tiptoe way across my seedy crinolines
lie upon me
Sink in insubstantiality with me
as I draw
rays and beams, beyond
some twenty rolling hills
In our for all future time horizon
you may still be dreaming
indulge yourself in my verdant fantasies
**** up this morning with me
This is Appalachian reverie
hear me like little turkey gobbling
dance with doe and fawn
chase jackrabbit
round and round
Why, even the silos are singing
“Pour me a cup” ”
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
Green before me blurs a wall;
Intermittent orange breaks the monochrome,
Hills behind ****** distinct treeshapes above
The wall-line, trees and shiny SUV
And a little field. Here, the wood is
Weak and termite-ridden,
Here, is a crumbling frame,
And here, no one
Is heard singing, singing—
Éste abandoned for a European long time,
Ése for an American, aquél surrounded rusty silos
a church, a storage unit,
country roads and pick ups
Filled with lumber to
Fatten up the fireplace,
Keep it warm for the winter,
Everyone hidden sheltered in the house
With hot cider and steam and the pine tree,
Surrounded everywhere by a white sea of snow.
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 10:13 AM UTC
Silos breaching the skyline,
Large ****** of the landscape.
The smells of the barnyard are pungent..
Although not unpleasant, really, rather pleasant.
These old farms all along this winding road,
They've stood tall for a century or two.
Their clap board and stone attest to a time
When what was built was built to last.
The pictures taken don't quite take in the charm,
The nobility, the steadfastness, the breath of a solid life
People seem as scarce as hens teeth, not a soul to be seen.
Just horses lambs cows and cats and dogs.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC
Across the reflective fields of Hill Country grass begins to escape its icy enclosure ..Black Angus leave red clay impressions bound for green pastures ..Mourning doves wail their somber retreat as first light exposes the prequel to Heaven .. Blackbirds and smoke from morning bonfires alight , the promise of daylight is scented with Oak and Hickory as fields of cotton appear to ignite . Tin roofs begin to glow , church bells awake villages on the horizon . Golden waves pan Eastern skies , Sycamores sequester abundant sunshine ..Sparrows , Chickadees and Finches gossip without end , Bluejays and Brown thrashers command the fence line once again .
Barbed wire enclosures divide the landscapes , dancing scrub Pines act as reeds , filtering the breeze with the music of natures continuity ..
Blacktop drives ribbon the lonesome acreage , goat herds graze the property frontage . Quarter , Morgan and Appaloosas quietly graze against the backdrop of nineteenth century farm houses .. White silos and red barns , gourd birdhouses , dug wells and smokehouses ..Bantam roosters and hens sift through acorns beneath two hundred year old Water Oaks ..
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 6:59 PM UTC
Period homesteads line Peppercorn Road , meticulous working farms of corn , cotton and sorghum cultivars , rugged gravel drives cut into dried , red clay ditches , Charleston architecture cooling her Summer residents . Double story barns with white washed brick silos , picket fences and blue ribbon cattle .. Sturdy Pole barns shelters surrounded in shamrock clover , the clanging of cowbells as Dairy cows return from her glistening fields ... Catfish feeding frenzies over field corn and evening mayflies , gas porch lights illuminate the family garden with activity in Summer well into night , Crowder peas and Fordhook butter beans , Okra and Butter peas harvested free of Red wasp and Bumblebees as opposed to hungry mosquitos , red chiggers and Crane flies ... Silver washtubs on hot , humid nights , the instant relief of cool well water relieving the pang of harvest .. The creaky screen door and porch ceiling fans , white rockers and good books ...Mason jars filled with sweet tea , hearts filled with adventure and young eyes with sleep .. Coonhounds sing to the ever rising gold Moon .. All was well .. All was most certainly well ...
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 8:58 PM UTC