"steered" poems
Old man, you surface seldom.
Then you come in with the tide's coming
When seas wash cold, foam-
Capped: white hair, white beard, far-flung,
A dragnet, rising, falling, as waves
Crest and trough. Miles long
Extend the radial sheaves
Of your spread hair, in which wrinkling skeins
Knotted, caught, survives
The old myth of orgins
Unimaginable. You float near
As kneeled ice-mountains
Of the north, to be steered clear
Of, not fathomed. All obscurity
Starts with a danger:
Your dangers are many. I
Cannot look much but your form suffers
Some strange injury
And seems to die: so vapors
Ravel to clearness on the dawn sea.
The muddy rumors
Of your burial move me
To half-believe: your reappearance
Proves rumors shallow,
For the archaic trenched lines
Of your grained face shed time in runnels:
Ages beat like rains
On the unbeaten channels
Of the ocean. Such sage humor and
Durance are whirlpools
To make away with the ground-
Work of the earth and the sky's ridgepole.
Waist down, you may wind
One labyrinthine tangle
To root deep among knuckles, shinbones,
Skulls. Inscrutable,
Below shoulders not once
Seen by any man who kept his head,
You defy questions;
You defy godhood.
I walk dry on your kingdom's border
Exiled to no good.
Your shelled bed I remember.
Father, this thick air is murderous.
I would breathe water.
15.1k
Ships won’t be anchored forever
Rusted anchor will break free
Its weight will help sink deeper
With a loud clunk, noise will dissipate
The ship will set sail once again
No weight is heavy enough to overcome
Steered away to distant land
Searching for newer shores and destinations
Away from the land of constraint
Ship will sail safely through deeper waters
Navigating through inclement weather
Forces of nature will test its strength
For the ship shall find the happy shores again
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
They gathered by Williamson Road at sun-up
from neighboring spreads across the Tioga valley.
They came with carts laden with lumber stacks -
with saws, adzes, hammers and sundry tools.
They gathered with the homesteaders bond.
to co-build their neighbor's' dreams.
Sweet music of community echoed off the hills.
Chisels clanged into rock, shaping the foundation,
saws sang into boards to frame a timbered skeleton.
The staccato syncopation of hammers fastened walls
that soon would shelter plowshares, stock and grain.
A smithy leaned over his fire and forge -
chiming iron into sturdy latches and hinges.
Children scurried about mixing squeals and laughter
with exuberant fetching and lifting whenever called.
In two short passings of the sun the deed was done
and a handsome new barn, decked out in a wash of red
was silhouetted tall and proud against the fading light.
Homesteaders gathered at a celebration table
to share a hearty meal adorned by the music
of fiddles, grateful smiles and easy laughter.
Then one by one they steered their wagons home
gazing back at what their labors had wrought -
knowing to the depth of their communal souls
that we are more together than we are apart
Listen up, America! This is the music of community.
We are more together than we are apart.
© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 10:16 AM UTC
grandma did steer the family ship
she always liked to be in command
those who questioned her stewardship
were quickly given a reprimand
her seven children always paid heed
to the orders she'd issue out
they were under her unbending reed
her edicts to them ever so stout
throughout her life she got her way
her dictates were well known to all
nothing but nothing was like her sway
everyone heard what she'd call
though she was a woman of authority
family members respected her stewardship
she had a steady hand like the admiralty
who so effectively steered the ship
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
It is no night to drown in:
A full moon, river lapsing
Black beneath bland mirror-sheen,
The blue water-mists dropping
Scrim after scrim like fishnets
Though fishermen are sleeping,
The massive castle turrets
Doubling themselves in a glass
All stillness. Yet these shapes float
Up toward me, troubling the face
Of quiet. From the nadir
They rise, their limbs ponderous
With richness, hair heavier
Than sculptured marble. They sing
Of a world more full and clear
Than can be. Sisters, your song
Bears a burden too weighty
For the whorled ear's listening
Here, in a well-steered country,
Under a balanced ruler.
Deranging by harmony
Beyond the mundane order,
Your voices lay siege. You lodge
On the pitched reefs of nightmare,
Promising sure harborage;
By day, descant from borders
Of hebetude, from the ledge
Also of high windows. Worse
Even than your maddening
Song, your silence. At the source
Of your ice-hearted calling --
Drunkenness of the great depths.
O river, I see drifting
Deep in your flux of silver
Those great goddesses of peace.
Stone, stone, ferry me down there.
3.6k
One star lit night I sat down to write, A Little short poem about dragons and kites
Though In nature they do differ still the similarities remain,
One’s found in a fairy tale adventure the other in a child's small hand to entertain.
One has sharp teeth and a mouth that spits fire,
One holds a boys dream of a future aviator to inspire.
They both have long tails, though ones lined with ribbons the other lined with scales
And magic wings that lift them up higher over the highlands and vales
While catching a ride on the back of a strong wind gale
One lives in a cave and the other a toy box,
One sleeps on a rock and the other hangs from tree tops.
One’s tamed by the pull of a kite runner’s string,
The other steered by a dragon rider straddled between its wings.
One’s made from myth, legend, folklore and fear,
The other made from the design and blueprint of an inventor's mind's idea.
Ones made of sinews, muscles, flesh and bones,
The others made of a cross wooden stick frame over which cloth is stretched, and sewn.
Ones enchanted by wizards and knighted by kings,
The other’s to cheer up a child's heart and fulfill all his wishes and dreams.
And now out of my head my subjects take flight,
Now I do find there's no more to write,
Of the different and likes between dragons and kites.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
Growing up, my grandmother always tried to hold me back from the girl I thought was my best friend.
Her name was Society.
My grandmother made it very clear that I was not to associate with Society and so that is what I did
for a while.
By the age of 7 I had an impressively large entourage of friends, whose parents also steered clear from Society.
We watched movies, made hot chocolate and talked about our hopes and dreams.
However just because the light burns bright, doesn't mean it's going to burn forever.
By the time I was 11 our coterie had fallen through.
The more we grew, the less we would hear our parents.
11 years young, and completely detached.
All my friends were now strangers.
Society was the only one I had left.
I always desired to be equals with her.
I tried so hard until there wasn't any ME anymore.
I was caught in between fitting in with the world and becoming estranged from myself
Society dug up every last seed that all sane adults plant into their children.
Mum raised me to believe that every inch, every atom and every molecule inside of me was worthy of love.
Society had taught me to pinch and pull at my body, accusing every bump, every scar and every imperfection for being some of the many reasons I was alone.
Society led me to rip every mirror off of the walls of my life.
"You don't wanna see that" She would whisper.
She was wrong until she was right.
For every 1 thing I found to love in the reflection,
Society would find 3 things to hate.
Society had taken the sparkle from my eyes because the other girls couldn't see past the glare.
Society silenced the protest in my gut because there weren't enough people on my side
but as I moved on to better people
I realized she was all a sham
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 5:44 PM UTC
As you start your new adventure
With hope, excitement and longing
I wonder about that greener pasture
And the dreams it might be growing
And as I muse, reflect and ponder
I settle with but one impression …
Whatever dreams are there and yonder
Are worthy of pursuit and possession
Please know of my sincere affection
For all the kindness shown
You steered me in a new direction …
A mentor, none better have I known
Your support so kindly imparted
Will be both missed and treasured
Lovely, generous and kind-hearted
A friend by whom friends are measured
I wish for you happiness and health
Amazing travels, both near and far
A future filled with such joyous wealth
But for now, my friend … Au revoir
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 3:09 AM UTC
So they hacked some computers.
"No big deal" you may say,
"Since their influence steered things
toward the right way"
"They just didn't respect us,
that's why the attack.
So I place all the blame
on the Dems and Barack"
"So we'll get nice and cozy,
Vladimir and me,
since there is just so much
upon which we agree"
"We want to be strongmen
who'll shape history
and we're both such examples
of virility"
"And we'll handle the media
through fear and attack
to ensure truth and balance
shall never come back"
"Admiration and power
is what we adore,
it's the one greatest cause
that we truly live for"
So, Mr. Trump...
When you're there in the Oval
and Europe's alarmed
'cause in Prague and in Warsaw.
the Russians, well armed,
have crossed o'er the borders
and come to reclaim
their former domininons,
then who will you blame?
So why this great bromance?
What's your motivation?
Why would you align
with Vlad and his nation?
Could it be business ties?
Or maybe high debt?
Or maybe dark secrets
you wish they'd forget?
I do not want to think
that it could be such things
but the Russians sure look
like they're pulling your strings.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 8:30 PM UTC
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth—
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth—
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?—
If design govern in a thing so small.
3k
Yesterday,
Tender pursuits
Ordered
by shortened expression
And personal amusement.
Pleasure was channeled
by uncanny imagination.
Ignorance was developed
with years
of sheltered nurture.
Endeavors were focused
Through heartened dreams
Waiting eternities to age.
Today,
Life is starved of dignity,
Lead by the breath of humanity,
And trailed by my past.
Kindness overshadowed
by needless mockery.
Confidence diminished
Through thoughtless faults.
Purity saturated
with uncertain willingness.
Competence choked
from the flairs of society.
Tomorrow,
Independence is a necessity
Steered by Today,
Speckled by yesterday.
Motivation should dictate
my verdicts,
And challenge perils.
Agonies lifted
Through sanguinity
Virtue grown
Only through praise
From the satisfaction of many.
Yesterday, today, tomorrow
Immersed in today
Is the root of my future.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
The clock ticks, a persistent sound
So timely, predictable, comforting
Straight like a board, simplicity is complexity
The small hand is their conductor
Pup-petting their very motion
The walls creak the sound of despair
Longing to be relieved from their shackles
Hollowing out their insides, Revealing their holes
Concrete, stucco, asphalt
Solidifies their existence
The board mocks their silent screams
An empty canvas to be scribbled upon
Steered by the gestures of its very strokes
Tainted by the smell of the ink’s sweet high
A reflection of their inner thoughts
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 1:55 AM UTC
Shiny shoes, black suit, red tie, red waist coat,
Wasn't ever enough for you? I try
Looking my best every day, take note,
Yet you still will choose him over me why?
You know, you two should not be together,
My disloyal brother, doesn't have a say,
They say young love never lasts forever,
Should’ve steered away, gone the other way,
My true brothers, my friends will stand by me,
Betrayal is the path of a rebel,
I’ll take the last stand and you’ll never see,
This face will skip away like a pebble,
I know that this conflict will end in war,
You’re like the others, just without a core.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
AMERICA, THE BEAUTIFUL?
Were you aware that our nation opposed Haiti's revolution for democracy in the early 1800s; that our nation's war against Mexico that began in 1846 resulted in our taking half of Mexico for ourselves; that our nation defeated Spain ostensibly to liberate Cuba, but actually established a military base on the island and furtively gained de facto control of its puppet government; that our nation seized Puerto Rico, Hawaii, and Guam; that our nation had fought a brutal war to subjugate the Phillipines; that our nation had opened Japan for trade with us with threats and gunboats; that our nation created an "Open Door" policy with China to exploit it economically; that our nation engineered a revolution against Colombia to create the nation of Panama so we could build the canal through it; that our nation sent 5,000 Marines in 1926 to Nicaragua to counter their democratic revolution; that our nation in 1916 intervened in the Dominican Republic for the fourth time; that our nation in 1915 intervened in Haiti for the second time, and so on. Imperialism, not democracy, steered our nation's decisions and movements.
Did any of you learn about, let alone study extensively, any of these flagitious Ameican acts and policies as you sat and squirmed in your high school American history class? My surmise is that you did not. But I bet you were required in at least one of your classrooms sometime between 1st and 12th grade to stand at attention, as it were, and recite the Pledge of Allegiance as you saluted the flag in the corner. My riposte: What does it matter if our flags are waving, if our spirits are flagging?
Epilogue: Most importantly, never forget that it was the two evils of slavery and genocide that propelled our nation into what once was the most influential nation on Earth.
Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 8:52 PM UTC
Resume: Jewel de Saex
Address: Lost somewhere up the hills.
email: [email protected]
Tel: + network not available
Summary
Hire me if: you are looking for an adventure.
Clouds, gorges, and I never disappoint, for we can cry.
Education
Bachelor, Mistress and Widower at the University of Zoya, majoring
in Life Sciences, with a minor in the applications of horseshoe magnets.
Expertise
I know them laws of attraction well +
New languages: both Silicon and Carbon-based ++
Magic, luck and fate.
Experience
For years I steered a boat
riding a rough river that
passed storms every day.
I was the rain-maker, I can
bring tears to any passing cloud
by my mere hand-gesture:
(all the dough-kneading.)
I was also the chief gardener
for Loz, whose farms at
the other end of the Earth
I visited by the switch door
in my old photo-albums each day.
Skills
Jugglery, innovative use of cutlery, reading runes, plucking prunes,
riding boats on dunes, talking by eyes, hearing by sight.
References: Not available even on request.
*NOtes:
+ Turn pages back and you always find, only one person was in love.
++ I can decipher the meanings in the lispings of cherubs and angels.
I understand the cloud and the river, as of men in any tongue.*
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC
It has been grasped in my fingertips,
The reins that have steered my conscience,
The compass that has guided me through the wilderness
Of myself,
Forests and vast landscapes sculpted by trepidation,
The flowing river of guilt that flows between the cracks
Of my positive façade,
The tables are starting to turn,
The piece of mind I have allowed to dictate my actions
Has shifted towards the edge of a cliff,
Left to plummet to the jagged rocks of my insecurities,
The storm clouds are rolling in from the horizon,
Guttural claps of thunder erupting,
Pulses of lightning striking the last of my happiness,
Shattering it into a million fragile pieces,
Left to burn in the heat of the growing tension
Of my worries,
I'm slipping,
Clinging onto the edge and not looking down,
Not looking down at the twisted fate below
As if I would be staring into the smouldering depths
of hell
I'm too tired to hold on,
I have to let go,
I have to fall.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
When I was a child, Pan was my friend,
With others I refused to play,
Except for those reminding me,
Of that long, lost, youthful boy.
Playing along and following the pond-
To the stream that led out to the bay,
Just a ahead in the woods was where I called home,
A land of adventure and joy.
As time went along,
I was forced to grow strong,
Veering from my childish ways,
My life steered off course, by that Pirate, of course,
Swabbing decks, cleaning bilges,
Slaving through days.
Nine years hence,
Spending many a *****
Its back in the woods I reside.
Be it a curse, that might sound right in verse,
My heart yearns to be back, living life by the tides.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
She takes my breath away,
effortlessly.
She reads my mind like telepathy,
I forget my lines.
Stage fright.
Held dearly in her own mind,
profound and wicked insight.
I was a deer in the headlights,
blinded by this one of kind.
She said,
don’t worry it’s fine.
And now i don't mind,
just my business,
and my existence is clear.
She steered me through choppy seas,
laid down her policies with honesty
and showed me how to live properly.
guided me through dark times,
stuck to my side like a shadow,
told me i was deep even though I was shallow.
Still my pal now though,
and best friend too,
now i’m investing my nest egg with the best egg
and making omelettes out of our scrambled heads.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 4:37 AM UTC
they shout.
A collection of my closest friends
and confidants
implore, plead & demand
my index finger move
only inches to squeeze
the trigger of the pistol.
Pull the trigger!
My arms are quivering--
the chain smoking hasn't helped
steady the nerves.
I'm having trouble looking
at my victim.
Pull the trigger!
He's my best friend
but also destroyed whatever life I had
as he continues spiraling out of control.
I can't focus at work,
I'm afraid to go back to my own apartment--
letting him crash for a while was a bad idea.
My nerves are shot,
I'm emotionally drained...
I'd do anything to make it stop.
Pull the trigger!
They keep shouting in unison--
all people I trust implicitly.
They've never steered me wrong before,
they sympathize,
can't stand to see him erode away
what's left of my life.
Pull the trigger!
They're right.
There's nothing I can do--
what choice is left?
My head vibrates
from their chanting
my eyes are watering a little--
thought I'd be sobbing.
A deep exhale...
quickly raising the gun
to his head--
Pull the trigger!
He's sobbing,
whimpering like a wounded *****
When he looks at me,
I can tell he understands
and sympathizes with me.
I whisper,
"If you don't
get the help you need--
I'm going to do what they want."
After I holster the gun
to stunned silence,
I walk away...
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 8:41 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Abdul and the pirates
Often used to boast
How they had impunity
Along the Somalian coast
Taking ships whenever
The opportunity appeared
Holding them for ransom
So the ***** could be shared
Then the Maersk Alabama
Came into the sight
Of Abdul and the pirates
Quite to their delight
So they came aboard
Making their demands
But the unarmed Maersk crew
Took it from their hands
Abdul and the pirates
Had no idea at all
That they would be the ones
Eventually who would fall
So they took the captain
Who had volunteered
To become their hostage
As towards home they steered
Hoping they could reach
The Somalian shore
Where they would be successful
In demanding much much more
Abdul and the pirates
Had no idea at all
That they would be the ones
Eventually who would fall
A team of Navy snipers
Were quietly on the case
Looking for a target
When the order was in place
Abdul and the Pirates
Unwillingly complied
And that perhaps explains
Why it is they died
Abdul and the pirates
Had no idea at all
That they would be the ones
Eventually who would fall
So they took the captain
Who had volunteered
To become their hostage
As towards home they steered
Hoping they could reach
The Somalian shore
Where they would be successful
In demanding much much more
Abdul and the pirates
Had no idea at all
That they would be the ones
Evenually who would fall
Abdul and the Pirate
Aren’t around to boast
How they had impunity
Along the Somalian coast
Quite unfortunately for them
They’ve become burnt toast
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
Just now, laid out like your favorite uncle
gone before his time with auntie stretched out beside,
I woke to the perfect metaphor for the too-bad,
so-sad, too-fast nature of time—or maybe
was a simile, as in: the way month upon hour slips away like…
Like…like the runt daisy in the bouquet from
the ex-lover you never wanted to hear from,
least loved bloom among a fistful of beauties
never smiled upon at all—Yes—least of all,
this wasted flower, its whole-milk petals yellowing
And (like time, lest your forget) fluttering, broken-off,
to the coffee-stained and salt-strewn
countertop…like that, indeed, or something close.
That was on my mind as I half awoke—but stirring entire
the bundle of words
of the ideal image
died (yes, sad)
in its place:
I thought of writing some clever tale
how waking up the flash of a line
of the perfect literary device
some glowing simile or metaphor
(how time is the flight plan of a hummingbird
and before we can begin to grasp the next orders
barked at the co-pilot, the captain
has steered the thrumming craft from sugar water
to sheltered branch, and what moment passed between
is one of many such ticks and tocks, the aggregate
meaning that when we wake up
suddenly 30, 40, or
deceased like your dear uncle,
it never seemed like time was passing at all)
slipped away from me—wait, I’m getting there—
and the words’ escape and time’s escape
were somehow one and the same…
But no, I thought, too precious.
Besides, it’s for sure been done.
March 30, 2012 4:02 a.m.
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
They were each other's apparently,
Shrouded by the words: "Till death do us part".
*They actually meant: **"Only until-
Someone new crosses our path."**
What happened to honesty?
Where did loyalty disappear?
Replaced conveniently by deceit,
Morality sits in the rear.
With ulterior motives,
Promises are made; I've seen a million.
I'm not being cynical,
Just practical in opinion.
The heart, hence, is stupid.
Steered purely by dopamine;
And that's why we have a brain.
Do not dwell into the irrational,
Tread carefully,
Life is a tricky mind game.*
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 8:11 AM UTC
The music's best on the dark
side of town, I heard. It seemed miles
from home, after waiting in a long traffic jam
But the lights finally changed
from glamorous shining to dull neon, covered in smoke
drifting up from drifters outside the Black Cat.
By the fluorescent green sign, a cat
was painted, its fur dark
as the alley I stood in, engulfed in smoke.
The cat perched atop Miles
Davis's trumpet. Bums hassled me for change
and a few drummed on buckets, jamming
with a harmonica player, synched as jam
and peanut butter. I stepped into the Black Cat,
and from the facade saw no change.
The lights turned low, the club dark
as the alley outside. A Miles
record hovered through the smoke.
The people chattered like bees, smoking,
waiting for the players to jam.
At last, the bass player laid down a line miles
long, the drummer chinked in, and the cats
began to groove. They chilled my bones with dark
melodies, pounding through spooky chord changes.
Soon sunbeams shone through the storm, they changed
to an upbeat swing tune. The horn smoked,
hitting riffs unheard, astounding the dark
faces gazing on in awe. They jammed
endless as the ocean. The cats
started to play a popular Miles
song. The crowd hollered in Miles'
memory as the horn steered through the changes
with the skill of the legend of the Black Cat.
The band, nearly invisible through the haze of smoke
thick in the air, strawberry jam,
soon faded to dark.
Miles Davis’s ghost flowed through the smoke,
awakened by the chord changes, grooving to the jam.
The hippest cat alive or dead, now he plays in the dark.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 11:06 PM UTC