"spearhead" poems
~ Ode to Joy ~
White gold ambassador
canine past eight
soul seekers ascend
(from cirque to seven)
to peak
to peak
to peak
Saddlerock spearhead
ptarmigan
and flute
Christmas trees
in winter glades
over dusted crystal scape
Fissile (eiger) sanction
open shale and tusk
indiscriminate members
roll the bluffs
and ice falls
above the
north face steep
Dead silent dawn
breathless, bitter cold
the beating hearts
and brahmas
warm the spirit
of pakalolo
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
In gravest, gravels of untouched soil,
Spearhead of purple, beyond the pale,
One statue of siege upon a windy foil,
What mires meek airs in all you survey?
Like a frost of summers, you are lord,
To hold that seed in your spiny face,
Depressions of land your promontory,
All up with arms, iron clad as a mace,
Beneath you, the grown motley fields
Are desolate, all flowers bled, blender,
Spiders and birds know you unyielding
The lost aleatory scent of no surrender.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
The loneliest librarian is in the
heart of darkness
I saw him, old, bearded
on three sides book cases
on the open side, a desk
he faces outward into the darkness
drawing notes at their best.
Look away! in the distance
an army and her generals gather
Up ahead, a conqueror
metal jangles, saddles horse
Cries the pony boy:
I miss my mother
let me go back
what does this all mean?
Studying now, the librarian,
notes in check, own pen
scratching, no metals
only and only
his mind and an ink-filled well
Spearhead, arrowhead formation
a king and his khanate lean forward
into the permafrost, snow lashing
wind blows against but cannot stop
fierce wild will
and only the willows weep
Cries the pony boy:
Radically, may I be afraid
of the dead, arms asunder
so much love! so much love!
what does this all mean?
And far, far ahead of this army
librarian sits, silently
loving nothing, everything beside him
he scribbles notes
A love letter? tiresome if so
upon closer inspection...
At the center of the dark dark forest
where a lonely man rides in his kayak
lantern fixed upon a frame, making his boat top-heavy
he bobs back and forth across his body of water
he is haunted
he is lonely
he is a skeleton
Now grand general crosses the Styx
Ice clumps brushing gently against his ships
cold enough to **** a horse, set blood aglow
with blue, so cold it could not rot.
To valley forge!
to valley forge
to forge a future.
And pony boy cries:
What does it mean?
my father is gone, gone before this war,
he once said, it must be, be,
Did he mean...
Finally, up ahead, the librarian draws
untraceable lines, he knows the army is at his door
lonely, shaking, only the conqueror made it
and he is almost dead too.
Scared, sacredly, he finally hands the librarian his match
and sobs, softly, under breath
"Time, time is, time without,
time too
starts anew."
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:42 AM UTC
*Some of my best friends are
The tiny grey cells in my head
For, without these tireless givers
I should sorely want*.....
For I've had.....
The power to recognise the nurturer
Who saved me countless times
Who sewed my confidence at valedictory
Gratitude to Mother...granting me first wings.
The help of a few friends with proffered lifts
Not many, but enough to light the way
Takes but one spark to lead the lost
Cannot discount the value of true goodwill.
The sweet taste of that first, deep love
Who showed the path to discovered delights
Easy mem'ries...looking back, but ****** ahead
Sighs painted on the ceiling in dreamy webs.
The awkward trip down that rabbit hole
Blue lady hanging pretty in the corner
Flies trapped flimsy, on some terylene
Many padlocks loom....to get gasping to you!
The chance to slough off onerous habits
Dive wholehearted into the universe's sea
Gaps to kickstart joy and spearhead cheer
Mentors pass the torch and believe in me!
Yes, some of my best friends are NOT seen
Most reliably spun inside this osseous shell
They answer things and help me find my truth
Thank heavens....selfless amity equals mercy.
S T, 29 June
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
In gravest, gravels of untouched soil,
Spearhead of purple, beyond the pale,
One statue of siege upon a windy foil,
What mires meek airs in all you survey?
Like a frost of summers, you are lord,
To hold that seed in your spiny face,
Depressions of land your promontory,
All up with arms, iron clad as a mace,
Beneath you, the grown motley fields
Are desolate, all flowers bled, blender,
Spiders and birds know you unyielding
The lost aleatory scent of no surrender.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 9:46 PM UTC
In gravest, gravels of untouched soil,
Spearhead of purple, beyond the pale,
One statue of siege upon a windy foil,
What mires meek airs in all you survey?
Like a frost of summers, you are lord,
To hold that seed in your spiny face,
Depressions of land your promontory,
All up with arms, iron clad as a mace,
Beneath you, the grown motley fields
Are desolate, all flowers bled, blender,
Spiders and birds know you unyielding
The lost aleatory scent of no surrender.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
Sweet envy,
I'm envious of how she was blessed by the gods to have looked into your eyes, eye to eye. To study their color and watch how they look when you lie.
She knows the way you blink and how you close them when you sleep at night.
I hate thinking how you've both spent some nights.
The thought of her taking granted of breathing the same air as you boils my blood.
I'm jealous of how she was able to graze her fingers upon your skin, let them travel across your back
and how her hand once held yours... only to foolishly, finally and thankfully let them go.
I curse and bless the day she broke your heart.
I curse each day that I have to live with this jealousy.
Holy jealousy,
I'm jealous of the kind of jealousy you've made her feel, like when you would glance at another girl when you're together.
Or how you'd talk to a girl in a cafe or bookstore when you thought she wasn't looking over her shoulder.
Or how you'd talk to anyone about anything at all without uttering her name.
I'm jealous of how you two probably used to stand across each other in a room and throw blames.
I could imagine countless of scenarios but then
I also imagine I'm the one feeling that too.
I can take that any day, as long as we're together too.
Because the only jealousy I feel is jealousy of your past. This fiery envy towards your history.
****** history,
I'm reading into every words you said like memoirs and piecing every excerpt trying to look for answers. Answer as to how and whyㅡhow she broke your heart and why she did it.
Would you change a thing about everything you did?
I ask and scream these questions to the moonlight.
Yet if you tell me and show me the answers yourself, there's not a single battle that I would win and fight.
Yet I search for clues in every old photo, in every message and through my sly, secret ways.
Must I scour every corner and highway?
So I can come up with answers to my own 'how and why'? How can I mend your broken heart?
Why do I love you this much?
Because above all, I am a revolutionary.
I acknowledge my envy, work through my jealousy and respect your history.
But then again, with every dark history comes the need for revolution and change.
And I am the catalyst who will spearhead that game.
I am your new age.
I am your renaissance.
I am your vengeance, nirvana, revolution and everything at once.
Apr 26, 2022
Apr 26, 2022 at 6:10 AM UTC
In gravest, gravels of untouched soil,
Spearhead of purple, beyond the pale,
One statue of siege upon a windy foil,
What mires meek airs in all you survey?
Like a frost of summers, you are lord,
To hold that seed in your spiny face,
Depressions of land your promontory,
All up with arms, iron clad as a mace,
Beneath you, the grown motley fields
Are desolate, all flowers bled, blender,
Spiders and birds know you unyielding
The lost aleatory scent of no surrender.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
.
In gravest, gravels of untouched soil,
Spearhead of purple, beyond the pale,
One statue of siege upon a windy foil,
What mires meek airs in all you survey?
Like a frost of summers, you are lord,
To hold that seed in your spiny face,
Depressions of land your promontory,
All up with arms, iron clad as a mace,
Beneath you, the grown motley fields
Are desolate, all flowers bled, blender,
Spiders and birds know you unyielding
The lost aleatory scent of no surrender.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC
Who do you think you are?
Digging through the rubble of history
Rearranging it to make YOU look like the innocent one
Who do you think you are?
Stringing together venomous lies
Twisting the truth to spearhead your crusade of destruction
Who do you think you are?
Playing the innocent, wronged victim
When we all know you’re the malicious instigator
Who do you think you are?
Hiding behind a honey mask
When we all know it is not sweet, but sickly
What gave you the right?
To walk into my life
To unravel the our hearts
Mould your self into it
And then pick way at the joints
With your malevolent thoughts
And walk away acting like the martyr
Acting like the innocent victim
And then worm your way back into there
Because their hearts were like Flubber
Willing malleably for your Kruger fingers
Ready to rip us all to shreds
Just who the hell do you think you are?
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
In gravest, gravels of untouched soil,
Spearhead of purple, beyond the pale,
One statue of siege upon a windy foil,
What mires meek airs in all you survey?
Like a frost of summers, you are lord,
To hold that seed in your spiny face,
Depressions of land your promontory,
All up with arms, iron clad as a mace,
Beneath you, the grown motley fields
Are desolate, all flowers bled, blender,
Spiders and birds know you unyielding
The lost aleatory scent of no surrender.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 9:37 PM UTC
1. I live in constant fear
of the goose bumps on my skin, waiting,
expecting the hair on my arms to stand on end.
Pinprick needles
pushing up through my skin.
2. My mother can’t sleep through the night,
constantly checking for some visual sign
of telepathy, her cheek permanently frozen
to the screen of her cell phone as she lies in the lightless room.
3. My sister’s habits habituate
into those of a lightning bug in the daytime.
Unusual and unexpected, five toe touches
on this carpet’s edge, seventy-two
fingertips on her own eyelids.
Idly fidgeting until it is time
to zip around in blinding light.
4. Day after day I am weighed
down by mountains beneath the ocean’s surface,
chained, hovering just above the break,
gasping for dear life and
screaming for salvation.
5. I can’t control my thoughts
(my thoughts control me).
6. Thought bubbles in my head
only float for a little while, clouding
my vision and crying for their lightning,
as thunderbolt after thunderbolt stikes—
anxiety sounds like the color black.
7. I lie on cheap sofas spasming and sweaty,
skyscrapers of disappointment
looming over my miniscule banged up
Toyota of a body. There’s a dent on my side door.
8. When I sit, still as a smudge of black ink
left over on my thumb, I pray that the vending machine
won’t steal my money—I only have two seventy-five in my pocket.
9. I call my dad. He is the messenger.
10. Any two words can spearhead a revolution; my eyelids always lose and the floodgates break down, the people in the streets scatter for safety.
11. If I think about the future, the sky becomes one gigantic storm cloud, the world becomes a tornado, and everyone survives but me. The heavens turn dark and I am thrown
into a world made up of a computerized font. Courier New.
12. Courier New is very monochromatic. An angular typeface. My face is pretty round.
13. When the storm ends, I am black and white with exhaustion, a pressure washed pane of glass, waiting
to again need a thorough cleaning. The pressure washer comes every few days.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
throw some words here
throw some words there
mental up in air
body rooted in ground
mouth spewing words here and there
here and there
can never stop
even under watchful eyes or
judgmental minds
words move clumsy with expression
throw them around there
throw them here
nothing said isn't always clear
so what, what are you saying
whats the position
what games are you playing
take five
words here, words there, words gone, words never said
what does it mean when you say i love you in bed
does it mean one day we'll wed or just end broken like the lot of 'em
what are the true meaning behind these things
what makes them words
words words words words words words words words words words
sword sword sword sword sword sword sword sword sword sword
a fine tuning here, a tinkering there, once there was words, but now, swords everywhere
swords falling, stabbing, penetrating the hearts of many
run
run
run
its no use
words can be sharp like swords
swords can be dull like words
drows in drow
awaiting the next move
the alpha signals the pack
advancement to spearhead the operation
a scene of vengeance, dread, anxiety, anger and darkness
a scene of implicit clues; a reflection of reality across the multi dimensions
SDFHTRGFDMGEF<$ERERJ$TKERFDLWE#$RUt
89024pe3:
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
I am drowning
next to the sea, with you.
Drowning in the crashing wave-sounds,
and your voice.
The white-bright sky
with its sharp birds like spears,
sees us: you whispering in my ear
and the sea.
I am speaking,
but my words are crashing,
blending with the coursing tide
and your words
I am caught here,
hearing the sea, seeing you.
blinded. And my own words drowned,
and unheard.
Only the sky
with its spearhead birds, can know.
But they are both helpless, leaving
you, me, and the sea
Unsung until the last.
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
and suddenly my **** was a brussel sprout
in a pickle jar? fine, fine... leave the ******* to the
Indians and the Chinese; because a second Japan is
coming - all because you're an educated hoo-ha lady
making me want to cut my **** off and powder
my cheeks rather than roll in the hay with you...
you used to be so much fun when you weren't educated
by that ****** spearhead of feminism directing you in
only one direction... listen... it won't revise and accumulate
all the areas of interest that men had into one coherent
seagull gobble... you can't just walk in with feminism
and revise everything with it alone...
oddly enough, i don't even want to touch you -
the implementation of sterilisation was best designed
by feminism, while all the old farts and Vatican
gypsies had all the fun, we were downsizing
our erections and ***** juices; will make the bedroom scene
look like a democracy for sure - one way or another
the Chinese ****** to a billion, the **** ****** to
over a hundred, the Indian a billion to add -
we decided on a Scandinavian model -
which means, in our multicultural society
one bus every hour... imagine! one bus an hour...
the stupendous recollection of what if Saturday night
didn't finish with an angry man walking home
in the fidgety night of kicking things around -
and the jealousy ticket goes to?
you know who i have been glorifying like
a Jew.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 6:29 PM UTC
My life is my behind me
And I'm looking in a mirror
A year passed by
But did I do enough?
Circumstantially, my life became hell
Death and tragedy were glaring me in the face
And yet, my response was
"Bring it on, *******
They did
And for a short time
It seemed they were winning.
I was assaulted and lost friends
Due to events surrounding it.
I lost loved ones
To death's spearhead.
I was sad
I was lonely
I was anxious
And I had every right to be.
An eating disorder had drawn me in
And lured me with his lies.
The end seemed to be approaching
As my abuser came back to work
And I could not even speak of
What he did to me.
However,
The fact that I could choose
Whether or not to care empowered me.
I stopped giving him what he wanted:
Control.
I took that back
And it feels spectacular.
My bulimia is almost gone
One more month until I reach remission.
This was done because I made a choice
A choice to stop the madness
That controlled my life
I took that back
And it feels delightful.
As for the tragic passings
They linger with me still.
They remain like a bad taste in my mouth
But I don't want to spit them out.
I remember each individual
As more than a tragedy, but a person
I remember them in life
Rather than in death.
I finally can control my memories that I replay.
I took that back
And it feels incredible.
So, in reflection
I took my life back
And it couldn't feel better.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
Love is so crazy let my love beauty agree
Love and beauty are not in direct conflict
beauty is so charming and love is so frenzy
Beauty is to submit this is the love verdict
Love takes beauty to go just hand in hand
At times rivals make them to be head to head
Love is of its kind and beauty is of its brand
Beauty is real the target and love is spearhead
Let my love just submit let us burn in the fire
Let us be at the top to find just eternal fountain
Like a true lover of beauty allow me to admire
My love is golden and your beauty is crimson
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 5:36 PM UTC
it does not know
which direction to point
so many mouths
so many opinions
the whole afternoon
sitting on my neighbor's roof
it just keeps vacillating
and whining
the whole afternoon
I have been waiting
for it to find a foothold
and to point its spearhead of anger
directly at the heart
of the storm
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 4:57 PM UTC
"May we never forget the crippled, wind-beaten trees,
how they, too, bud, green and bloom. May we, too,
take courage to bloom where (and when) we are planted".
Yes, the Tao has a metaphor for them, 'the useless trees',
twisted, turned down, bowed, not for the saw mill, of no 'use'.
Like my son, screaming ****** ****** after being crushed
By a Roman Catholic imperial, masquerading as a medical worker.
Same as I was, neutered as a newborn, for my father was given
a vision of my birth years before it by Thee, to protect it.
So, two of my older brothers were ****** to death in the crib,
For the psychic terrorism, 'the suck', thought they were me,
a molecule of the cross I bear, bear for Thee, to save Thee.
Were you not born of woman, and must you not protect yourself
as all life on Earth must? Do the future exterminated quarter
of a million Americans, of which you might be one, not bear
that cross, responsibility to defend themselves, life? What
must '...We(e),...' do to stop the criminally insane 'opening
of the country' way too early's plan to premeditated ******
the people en masse, to liquidate their assets and ases, as well
as cower the polity into voting more conservative, if not repub,
cowering the country to the global oligarchy's spearhead's, the
repub conspiracy's, agenda of humanity's extinction by the axe?
Do those climate crisis bent, useless trees, "Live To Tell", as I
have to warn you if you're not taking bullets you're making them?
(Thanx to Mohatma Gandhi's, BR. DAVID STEINDL-RAST's,
Madonna's (from her CD and song "Live To Tell")
above quotes and great worx, respectively.)
May 3, 2020
May 3, 2020 at 9:31 PM UTC
Cornelius had holed himself up in his study,
Reading useless books, nursing an injured arm.
He'd obtained a spearhead to the bicep and now,
Turning a page took a dozen seconds,
Countless moments he'd see repaid,
Shaken loose from blue upon gloves,
Clutching gold cages keeping innocent blue,
From knowing the truth.
It was the most he could do to contribute,
His skills were taken from him presently,
Pain forced relent when pride refused to back down.
Past war rage kept his blood boiling,
From a mason's window he saw Sharin's legacy,
Conversing and lifting sodden spirits,
Bringing dry to the drowned,
Mirth to the melancholy.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC