"sprockets" poems
Rocket red robots and tincan screws
Light up the night with sparks,
Which I love.
The workers work and the sleepers,
They sleep forever.
Making rye for the breadwinners,
Making toasty socks for the children,
Making copper caps and wee brass booties,
But won't let them take a wee stroll,
Not in contrary Mary's garden.
The kettleheads squeal and the bronze bucket chests,
They hum with drums in their stomachs,
Candygloss paint trickles onto
The sprockets below with their sharp teeth,
Teeth that creep over the outmodes and candy red.
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 1:06 PM UTC
Animated by twitch of muscle,
Electric spark through live wire,
Humming rail and synapse,
Wheels spin at the fingertips of maybe
An ineffable humorist,
The mastermind of this beautiful prank
Pocketwatch of silver and gold
That explodes in the hand
And leaves you stranded on the platform
The second you go to check the time.
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 1:55 PM UTC
and i can feel you in my nerves and i can see you in my skin and i can't look away from your
your soul is so promising just a hatchling of a chicken i am with my head cut off running loose in the barnyard
barnyard lazy days are what i had and then i saw you and colors everywhere sprockets and gadgets and loose-runnings and shoes
shoes without feet only energy only anticipation exhilaration in our eyes looking feeling touching
touching toes with no shoes on cold toe warm toe is a good sensation a broadening horizon a war zone in my belly
my belly rises and falls in time with yours the sun is up and stars are hiding we slept soundly fingers crossed between the others and then we knew it was
it was everything we read about from old men's minds in starched collars with big dollars who dreamt these things couldn't have them sat in foyers with long pipes smoke filling lungs tears filling eyes
tears filling eyes because i can feel you and
and i can feel you in my nerves and i can see you in my skin and i can't look away from your soul.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
The world plods along
beeping
and buzzing
and vibrating with its
whirring gears
and sprockets and
well oiled processes
that pick you up and grind you
into a paste
and leave you
wondering how much
time you've wasted
looking down.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 10:55 PM UTC
withered eyes a
crescent moon of
dusk under the
pupils red lightning
cracking across
blank pages born
from some unseen
space beyond the
corners
when the head lolls
back the neck snaps
to refocusing on the
unseen nothing in
the physical to grasp
at looking through
all layers of deceit
at an inside a
center that cannot
exist but is always
there
motion is the mirror
the frame the negatives
rolling seamlessly teeth
and sprockets a perpetual
rotation immune to friction
faction and conflation
singular in its mindlessness
just an eye bloodshot with
nebulae as everything
collapses in on itself at the
speed of light passing
through the central retinal
vein feeding information
into the unseen center of all
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
The plan-tackle Wretcheds
The treat-splintered Hodes
The monkey Non-lifters
That seize oft the holes
For them, did I back-break
For them, did I glean
To fill face-less Shifters
And grifting Untweens
Soon settle my Upstakes
Soon twiddle my Oughts
I less waste my Enjeans
I less waste my thoughts
No longer line Sprockets
To satsply their greed
I've lit my own rocket, now
I'll grow my own Need
Aug 29, 2010
Aug 29, 2010 at 7:18 PM UTC
Kicking with the same sentence
The reek but not the contents
Each kick of the hour with
The note that holds
But does not hold with truth
I am stuck on every part of you
Sticking like paper would to glue
If skies were to part with rain n' snow
I would shiver n' whine with every blow
But a whisper in the night tells myself
To keep on fighting
To get to know
Just as the clause is to us
And the wheels are to the bus
Lost in the sane relentless
Of men with sense and tents
Money hoarding fire rockets
Shouting for peace like cares
With out sprockets
A miss lined beehive
Where the women dance with their
Incredible behinds
To see such mayhem where others only see
A cause of peace
Makes me believe that my sneeze
Is coming from someone else's
Knees
Not here for where we are born
We are sworn
Labeled like the cattle
Like the product
Like the fish destine
For our dish
Meant for continuation
Meant for elongation
And I tell myself HOPE
Is a four letter word
A strong word
A HOPEFUL WORD
I tell myself many things
And I swear to believe them
But I lie to myself as often
Watch my fingers bleed
As I pick up
The chipped pieces
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
**effervescent sprockets of *****
you are everywhere.
> our brains collide <
a metaphysical mash of minds
the in and the outs.**
I have joy,
but don’t find what I hide.
when you do,
I itch
and we will play pretend.
my eyes
won’t be able to meet yours,
you will
refer to me as someone
you knew.
**everywhere and nowhere
this space you play with
i’m not your jungle gym toy house game time afternoon
in the park,
I call bull.
Rearrange your head.**
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC
I'm sitting inside of a paper lantern
staring at the candle, watching the wick dance
as I imagine myself holding the world like I'd hold myself
I put one in the air
I watch a mirror like I'd watch a tv
analyzing every aspect of me
being self conscience of what I see
I'm not so sure I'm who I want to be
so I put one in the air
and stare....
is this life real? are we just sprockets of a bigger machine?
is there a ruler that decides the fate of all living things?
no one knows....
and I don't think anything is true anymore
when we don't know, we don't learn
I've learned how not to care
everytime that I put one in the air
I'm on a pebble orbiting by the backside of pluto
further out than anything that you know
and it's cold out here, like mountain air
this is where I go when I put one in the air.
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 2:52 AM UTC
On my way to Nirvana my Collective Soul was ****** into a Soul Asylum. It was here where I met the Grateful Dead. I asked the dead how to get out. They said to choose one of the Doors. There were many doors and each was a different color. The first door was Pink and next to it stood a doorman named Floyd. The second door was a Moody shade of Blue and on it were many Oysters and many Pearls. I tried this door first but it was Jammed. The third door had a Black sky and a White ground. In the sky were Crows and on the ground was a Snake. The fourth door was a Deep Hazy shade of Purple. I could hear Sounds coming from behind it so I entered. I was now in a Garden. The first thing I saw were Melons eating the Heads off Lemons and the Lemons were eating the eyes out of Melons. They were both Smashing Pumpkins with a Metallic Tool that resembled a Steel Heart. Up from the garden was a Rolling Stone path winding up to a large Stone Temple. Next to the Temple was a large Stone Dog and around its neck was a sign. Welcome to the machine all Pilots learning to fly must first Kiss the sky. Not knowing what this meant I climbed upon the large stone dog when its head began to move. From its Dogs Eye View I could see a small opening at the base of the temple. Inside the opening was a series of gears and sprockets and a lever. I pulled the level which spun the gears turning the sprockets releasing a flood of water forcing the door open. Inside the temple was a toad that seemed to be happily wet. In the middle of the temple was a machine that seemed to be floating on a fine line. Above it was a Stairway and below it a Highway......
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 4:57 PM UTC
There's ghosts up in the gears 'n sprockets
hosts of locusts fear the prophets
preachin' reachin' for the sky
on the morrow we may die
~
I pray to trees n bumble bees
on my kneeses **** a jesus
his death was probably in vain
just wash that **** away with rain
~
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 8:52 PM UTC
I heard clockwork songs,
sprockets and cogs
lost, stolen tocks
swept through swift hands,
and ticks slipped by
whistfully shy and shallow;
lapping up time in
long tongues and trappings
on and on, anon
singing suddenly daylight!
Laughing larks earnest for tomorrow
while we, heart shot in sorrow,
swallow our pride, hide
face first
while versed well in this chorus
crowing, "See! See!
It is sleep that damns,
these dreams, contagion!"
Step we back,
through stars never sleeping
as we wound tightly with
lunar ties
to the tides of these cardiac shores,
sanguine swells
beneath onyx allure,
dampened air, dew gathered in reverence.
We were immortal
until daylight.
We were wrought with cast shadows
as indomitable as dreams.
Yes we were.
Like dew to fog and
stars to sun
and we may just
dissolve like
de_ to fog _nd
sta_s to su_
a_d we _ay j_s_
_isso_ve _i_e
_e_ t_ _og __d
__a_s to _u_
a__ w_ _ay __s_
___so_v_ _i__
_e_ __ _o_ ___
__a__ t_ _u_
___ w_ _a_ ____
___s____ _i__
__________
_______
____
__
_
.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
Music measures four for time,
A beat each second,
It can turn on a dime,
But a missed beat, I reckon,
Is nothing shy of a crime.
A tediously perfect,
Machine tinkered to tick,
Yet it's imperfect,
Because sometimes it will stick...
And that missed beat is a crime.
Call it an ***** or movement,
A heart, brain or gear,
But let's make an improvement,
And don't miss a beat my dear,
It's a crime in any event.
Don't measure your music - it's time spent,
There is no point watching,
Your watch or winding your movement,
The gears, springs, sprockets, and teeth,
Will wear and there is no cent,
That can be spent,
To stop. The slow-
-ing,
Or
Creep-
-ing,
Of your movement, measured music, or
Your time...
Because it's a crime,
To miss a beat.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 2:39 AM UTC
I found gods voice
In a clocksmith in Rockland.
I asked him how to turn back time
He said
"Careful use of your hands."
I smashed clocks like pills
credit card scraped sprigs & sprockets
into lines of chalk powder.
Just to hear more of his gospel
His shop closed.
Rain washed pink pastel rivers
down my childhood home
street gutters like blood
Glitter became shattered glass.
That same chalkdust
fashioned into A body outline
Ask a child
"What is your favorite creation?"
Witness the passion of a thousand poets.
Fade with age
Hands stretched out for paint
Handed pills.
He said sprig sprocket dust
"What is your favorite creation?
I can guess your mother's."
Took her 9 months
Timeless old crinkled construction paper
colorful paints in the shape of your fingers
I Cover my hands in blood
From the shattered glass
Press my fingerprints
To the timeless colors
I've forgotten
Where to place my hands.
Clumsy with time
Leave ****** handprints
On my mothers fridge
My lovers
Face down in sprig sproket dust
On my final tick
I hear a clocksmith tinker
One last lullaby
"when you run out of canvas
You will stop drawing blood
you will still leave fingerprints"
"What is your favorite creation?"
Was it worth the time?
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
All Intelligence is Artificial
No, no, we are not banks of blinking lights
And random teletype-type taps and beeps
Like Patrick McGoohan’s educational General
Or George Jetson’s mainframe at Spacely Sprockets
And we are not new Robby-the-Robots
Nor one with The Borg, with electric eyes
Scanning decaying humans for their flaws
Devouring a pancreas and a battery for lunch
We are within and through God’s intelligence -
The artificial part is that we must work it
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 8:42 AM UTC
The refrigerator is humming;
It would only take a thumping
“thrrr!-thrrr!-thrrr!-thrrr!-thrrr!-thrrr!”
To sound like film through sprockets.
My dad captured family life
On 8mm then super-8 film.
He taught me editing.
Splicing, cross-cutting the past.
Thread it; see it, cut it…
Get out the razor blade
And thin strips of splicing tape.
Make the past more perfect.
We are our own editors.
Remembering and forgeting.
I choose to remember joy
And excise the pain.
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 3:00 PM UTC
Two joints & a ball point
pen lie within my jean pockets.
The herbs are a sort of ointment
to these squeaky sprockets
within my mind.
Suddenly, my head begins to shake
& it's hard for me to stand up straight.
I need to get away from this place,
away from these people -
for a moment.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 9:23 PM UTC