"turbine" poems
A coconut grove
With one tall wind turbine.
The wind blows amused!
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 5:08 AM UTC
a ****** of crows gathers
over Hamburg, carrion carrying on
with business as usual.
feeding on the festered flesh
of a gentrified populace.
in private jets coughing carbon
they fly from the west on turbine wings,
engines screaming as they dive towards a nation
secured by razor-wound walls
and barb-wire borders.
they pitched a battle in Germany,
convinced that austerity
would ******* the resistance
and give justification to premeditated violence.
but the tables have turned on the thieves again.
we are the end result of your failed policies,
globalization has destroyed our homes.
if your cabal rallies like a kettle of vultures,
you will do so behind closed doors,
cowering in your fortress' halls.
you shall not pass. watch as the power shifts
like the melting gears of torched BMWs.
we will tear the vestiges of your authority down.
we will black out your surveillance cameras,
smash your windows, and block your limos. no pasaran.
flee, while you can still run. this city belongs
to the wild ones, a black bloc, thousands strong,
dancing amidst the tear gas, tossing molotovs.
marching to liberty's sturdy drum,
equal in our solidarity song.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
She closed one grey eye
and watched as
the now
scortched
diamond dust
slowly
settled into a
small
pool at
the bottom
of the bubble.
A tiny heart pounded
like a turbine piston
hard and relentless
against her bare,
freckled dressed chest.
Small beads of
sweat formed
then dried almost
immeditly
down her bare back
and in between
the small mounds
she wore as *******
She closed her right eye and
held the wand
up towards the
bare bulb light.
She watched transfixed
as the once delicate,
man made,
toxic concoction
that was now
a heated puddle
of stimuli cooled.
Then brought forth images
of great stretching snow flakes
and shattered
diamonds reaching
all throughout
the bubble tipped
tool she had
taken in as a lover.
And there will
be no sleep
tonight for the
Down Town dealers
and this delicate
lost soul with
diamonds
in her eyes.
Theres too many
memories that
need to be
tamed ,
too many
nightmares to
give in to sleep.
Stay awake ,
create more time
and consume every bad
thing that's before
you.
Seek out a cold
place in the night,
then stare at the heavens
while shaking
a clenched fist upon
the serpents.
As our world reveals
more another
falls,picks up
a tool and
turns to what works.
Choosing the
easy way out
is never an easy
decision.
As crystals cool
then melt again
another decision has
turned to
death in the
form of a captive
life without
freedom enough to
care or breath.
She walked toward
the window and
stood naked
and high before
the city.
A tear tumbled
and dried
before it ever
left her face.
Another diamond
obsessed ,dreamless
dreamer,
waiting out the
night,dealing with
the madness and
sharing none
of her horrors
with the shadowed
world she was forced
to haunt.
Living every hour
wide awake,
wired and full
of pills.
Desperate for some
other place thats
far away from here.
Slowly
and quietly
dying an older
souls death.
Far before
what should
have been
her peaceful
and merciful
kind of ending.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 2:57 AM UTC
In your arms
Just two days ago but the feeling’s already leaving
I was bent out of shape
I was dry heaving
on my own stupid emotions so
I wasn’t able
to burn the vision of you in my mind
so hot that it stuck
stuck into me like a point in a ***** turning the turbine
and molding the muck
of my reality, in my conscious so clear it
separates from this one from the great spasm called space and time created by…
I don't know why, but, life sometimes separates the score from the assist.
and now i can’t resist
to list
the ball from the bat
the land from the sea
the you from the……
too corny.
I hope that I don’t seem too pathetic, I’m just too empathetic,
and I need to put this to rest:
to me,
I'm afraid we might be
like that bird who had flown from
The nest, and had his body broken by the nets
seizing the life from his chest.
aHH and now how I seem to sling
with a piece of string
a metaphor
back around to tie the knot
around that bird who got caught cuz
Metaphors and me are a package deal.
they allow me to feel.
And in my sweaty palms.
I felt the life leave
after having expected that it would, yet still also hoping that it might not.
But it did.
And everything should be ok but it’s not. And I should feel relived but I don’t. And I should be excited for what’s next but
I just feel sad.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
*I have been studying how I may compare
This prison where I live unto the world;
And for because the world is populous,
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.*
-Shakespeare, Richard II, Act V.I
The world I fathom rhetorically orbits
around the whirr of a dust-peppered
triad of turbine limbs
inbreeding infinitely as electricity's
treaty permits
into a smorgasbord whirl of
processed plastic white
A remedial sun I compose
to counter outside's oven bulb
in the world I do not fathom
Heat's ****** of humidity
is not lost on me
with no canonized sense
even to establish it with
And even my own remedial sun
restricts a reality-knighting touch
with its ozone cage pried open
in unseen haste - a victim
of college's fugitive waltz
encased in the jazz fusion dance hall
of the world I cannot fathom
Is there a dual left-footed
interpretive dance of a carbon dimension
outside of reality's steaming kitchen
to fathom me?
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
I was born in grave clothes
Raised in grave clothes
Unaware I even bathed in grave clothes
I didn't know the extent of my decay
Like the bones were expose in my face but I didn't have reflective glass to see my flesh
I was on a rotten path
Death would have been the only prize at the end of my race
Strongholds wrestled my thoughts and subdued my brain
Bone marrow deep I was linked to Adam
Lord knows I wasn't Abel
Dna tied to blood imprinted on the ground I had more in common with Cain
It's true a heart beat of sin causes death to course through vains
I wondered how could I be treated
Something was missing something was needed
To my shock it was Jesus
Clear! He got my heart beat right
With that resurrection power
Made my heart see light
He changed my life
I started to realize that the same power that raised Christ from the dead
Was the same power that lived in me
That does more than allow me to breathe .
It brings life back to limbs riddle with rigor mortis
It's reverses decomposition brings back what death has stolen
It's uncontrollable like a lighting storm.
It's unadulterated
Once it hits
It's changes landscape like when a nuclear warhead is detonated
Hoover dam generated power
Turbine engine spending power
Lift the dead out of sin power
Tectonic plate shifting, erecting mountains from plains power
By one name only can we be saved power
Second coming cracking the sky power
All knees shall bow and all tongues shall comply power
Corruptible turned into incorruptible in a instant power
Rebirth repositioned repurposed repented power
Turn what seems to be a lost into a win power
It is finish the precursor to the release of infinite power
I could never be the same because the spirit lives in me gives me power
My arteries are laced with a burning flame
A roaring wind, a groaning earth, a raging sea crashing waves
The impact of several elements crush the chains of a slave
It's the same power that said come forth Christ friend walks out the grave
The same power that moved the stone a borrowed tomb turned to a cave
It's the power of the Resurrection
In a world full of aborted life
It breeds conception
In a world that attempts to abort Christ
The church still cries out in reverence
Changed death for us now it's portal
Changed lives of stop watches into immortal
Resurrection power a glimpse into the eternal
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC
Control room
At the center of this desert.. A door way down.. The runes collected for the last 3000 years will finally have purpose.. I enter the welcome rune into the control circle..
)( W E L C O M E )(
A huge railway lights up green.. As the mega platform starts to descend below.. As we reach the lower depths structures light up like a city.. All of them seem to begin a sort of start up sequence...
I noticed the mega platform we are on is heading toward the center of these beautiful alien like structures.. The platform falls into place.. I then enter the permission rune.. The rune is accepted but the control circle also ask for another strange looking rune..
I figured out that the rune it was asking for was the lines on my hands.. I press my hands to the control circle and the entire area lights up lightning blue..
The mega platform then turns into a sort of control room..
Planetary Environmental Control ^
Planetary Metamorphosis
Planetary Turbine 1
Planetary Turbine 2
Planetary Turbine 3
Planetary Turbine 4
Planetary Weapon systems...
Lunar Environmental Control ^
Lunar Dark Drive
Lunar Light Drive
Lunar weapon systems..
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
Unfolding into itself, inviolable
in prosaic self-penetration,
a boundless repertoire
of shape yearns forth surreptitiously
from inscrutable amniotes to claim
time as its own:
Here a thicket
of sycamores, there a baldaquin
of pinnate branches, yonder
a periphery of marigolds, below
a cacophony of hyraxes, above
the corpuscle of a lynx, the mid-flight
jink of a darting swift and moribund
crawl of a mollusk;
Hymenoptera coaxing
their haploid broods into teeming
life as a cell of the swarm
and viviparous apes cajoling
suckling chimerae at the fathomless
fountainhead of a rosy breast;
Higher still,
Cirrus cephalopods traversing
the trench of sky, dandelions
hitch-hiking the drift of a barren plains'
wavering hum on cockchafers'
forewings and a turbine's
bombinating pulse, the chattering
of roots ravenous for depth --
Jittering bangtails the hallowed echoes
of lascivious manes --
inchoate sprout-hood the daedal
nonage of towering evergreens --
the plaintive shrift of elegiac
redbreasts a goad to silent elation --
A likeness unlike
(vocabularies of vertiginous blinds)
(the eyes of ignorance closing)
(the mouth of the mystery)
that spurns the truth of tongues
is nature naturing.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 6:06 PM UTC
- Wheel turns full circle -
Don Quixote would approve
- Windmills used again -
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 1:29 PM UTC
A coconut grove,
With one tall wind turbine;
Every wind blows amused!
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 9:44 PM UTC
Mr Kipling grins
Satisfied he did the right thing
Watching it go round and round
Certain his investment's sound
Sending him a trifle dizzy
While making exceedingly good
electricity
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 6:13 AM UTC
Van Gogh lost an ear
And ****** was born
Something tells me history
Will repeat itself
Is repeating
Roots to grow
Roots to pull up
Like the near future
My star-clock keeps resetting
Connect the dots
I don't believe in accidents
And I'm the most sane I'll ever get
Call it what you will
In the waves and on the ground
Is where I find myself
And yet that's where
The enemy lies
Or say they tell me
Another truth turned on its head
The weight of my decisions
You can't handle
Yet it's not your heart
Frozen to the mantle
In the clouds
Eyes peer down
A ***** on a mechanical bull
A cup transformed into a robot
They sure have eyes everywhere
Turning big sister into a threat
And if we're all headed underground
Why the mixed bait of suicide and peace
Danger or sleep
And if it all happens for good reason
Why the dependency on TV skies
Hearts or eyes
Read the diagram of a head
If it makes you sleep sounder in bed
But the anatomy of a mind
Will put your concrete beliefs in double-bind
Roots to grow
Roots to pull up
The future is here
Our star-clock keeps resetting
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 1:06 AM UTC
Wander worried rambler roam.
Wander down the path of a riverside wood.
Step by step,
Shuffle to and fro.
A Forgotten industry remains.
Man made mines,
Dug out quarries,
Fencing, barbed wire, power lines, and pressure treated wooden poles.
Littering the landscape.
A blood letting favor, favored low.
A hydroelectric dam.
Murky and historical waters enter its mouth,
and then,
exit from its other side.
Constantly ******* and spitting, and churning turbine whine,
Spinning gear stuck,
clamped to the spine.
Luck may have it that these waters may never go dry.
Luck may have it that these currents stay 'live.
Merrily manic, it flows.
Strong and bold,
sparkle, sprung, sold!
Pushes and rolls,
gives and goes.
Cold.
Electric mother glow.
Neon, argon, blazing blast,
to give city speckled lights a mast.
A grip to grasp, to squeeze, to cast,
shadows in the night.
Yellow, orange, red, and blue,
the shades of dreamers,
with their sorrows leaded, heavy,
holy truths.
Unspoken tomorrows, last goodbyes,
mouthed silently at last
in their heads a film score out of time.
The air is baked, the land is spry.
The sun is shattered through prism pines.
I carry myself upon the leaves, of dead footsteps, make believe.
Native footpaths of long ago
and red sandstone trail of men to behold.
Come to this place and let sights be known,
Come to this place and let sights be known,
histories of ours, histories bygone.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
Doktor Plague, it is so, so
Have we met again? Unexpected visit,
I do not pray to thee, I do not believe,
O god, do you hear me, I, non-believer
Whomever gloom down over me?
The tears shower down upon cobblestone
Outside, the blood through my veins --
Sweet honey, pumping, a jet turbine.
Yes, I have mistook the neon “OPEN” sign
as a window of opportunity again.
I, little god, I, lonesome
Aphrodite wails, and the flowers bloom
For I will grasp the executioner’s hood,
my hands encircling, as such silver goblet
Should I call to them, O, guillotine lover
The eden garden blossoms, snug in
brain, the fruits have fermented --
No intoxication could substitute,
thou speaking is nor sober, nor drunk
the big hush, silent actions
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
swift inset of love's Sanskrit,
a thorn of contestations.
make cadence this sensorial music.
centrifugally waiting bodies
to cross Earths.
a plethora of annulments.
lion-telling Sun singes through intersections of infinities:
we cannot wait to quash
the morning, the scent of guava leaves
and the cerement of flour on chicken.
earth-hewn mounds of meat pressed
against beholden kitchen clangor.
declension of memory past wood
and pillars of home. lattices of light
forerunning fingers, let down the curtain.
wind swings with maddened turbine,
afternoons high with deadlock.
of all that is not here, the force
reawakens a long-stumped ******
beating us back to edges ruthless
with angels entirely curved, singled-out,
wings clipped, dancing at the tip
of the candleflame.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
rusty pistons fire
incongruously
in the beat down machine,
coughing up smoke;
makes it hard to breathe
corruption in the break lines,
can't stop the roll
disco jungle funk, dancing
gears, grind and whine
stirring up a
grease monkeys dream,
caress and careen,
danger in the evening
sparks and lust teeming
hot water turbine, spinning,
steaming
*** called the kettle black,
lost reverse,
and no way back
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
These random thoughts
Are mine,
And that finite act of doing
Defines the essence of me;
Vacillate like a squirrel ?
No....not I!
The monster storm I shall ever chase,
Channeling fear as fuel
For the engine within,
A cerebral turbine
Hell-bent on exploration;
The mythic mountain I shall ever climb,
Stains of sweat and struggle
Streaking over her peaks
And jagged edges,
Bleeding wisdom into callouses and scars
For future wars;
And the roar of the rhythmic river
Hurling waves high over
Hidden cliffs,
Her furious fall
A source of energy
And joy for all;
Here I shall ever swim
On a dare, a whim
Or simply because she's there...
Calling!
~ P (#stormchaser)
11/14/2013
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
Honestly I feel as though this entire time I've been pacing back and forth, accruing images of two ice caps slowly breaking themselves apart into tiny fragments of burning pitch that hurls itself onwards into the night, leaving bleeding trails of light as reminders, notes with coffee stains on the edges, written late at night without much light except for what scraps pour out from under the door from the reading light. You want to breathe normally but the bag won't inflate and it's so hard to calm down when everyone else is shaking and crying and prostrating themselves as though they'll consecrate the middle aisle with their cheap pleas for salvation, for their young childrens' lives, and for all the time they wasted ******* quietly in the dark after the reading light went off and even though they had a headache. They sing a song of mutual slump, of tacit awareness of the grandiose ******** of 75 years spent in too quiet comfort concerned with small victories and unconcerned with massive regrets. Then daylight breaks and you have to look your coffee stains straight in the eye and pretend they're just blemishes when they're sores and wounds and abscesses. And before long the paper disintegrates into brown pulp and you hate that you hate yourself because surely someone is more ****** than you. But that's just one moment out of the day, and you live them endlessly, you love them endlessly, overthinking, underthinking, drinking till you can't feel your extremities and then toying with a knife because you know you couldn't otherwise. Then you nick your pinky and realize how ******* stupid you must look, trapped in your own kitchen hearing your wife down the hall resent you more and more, her distaste, stained the color of sea foam off the coast of Cyprus, her frown fixed forever forward toward your back, and her face makes you sigh, and it's the same sound as before, sure, but now you know what is happening when these tiny admissions of regret escape from anyone else's lips. Then the plane picks up out of its nosedive and people cry and hold each other and you feel more dead than if your body had just ended up tangled in the wreckage of a turbine engine, your intestines laced between the blades like the back of a corset that gets tighter and tighter until you can't feel it anymore because you're numb.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
I saw a woman today
Her hair a burnished amber
She showed me her orchard
Her gleaming silver turbine
Her warm red Rayburn
She opened up the door
The wood glowed inside
Golden bricks in patterns on the floor
We spoke about her grandmother
Her man was there
I noticed the way he looked at her
I smiled
It's good to be alive
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 12:42 PM UTC
Two young lovers lie facing the moon
As they read lines of my muse passion
In other to discern the secret of my heart
Air of warm kisses kissed their thought
For they never parted not like we're fated to part
As petals of rose withered from my heart
Yet I am sorry to say I love you
For my mind is hungry and wait to devour you
as storm choruses your name into my heart
Maybe dead will be one to separate us at last
As the lilies attract so my love for you shine
jealousy flown away your love for my shrine
No deception for I filled your dream with kisses
As spinning ***** you reoccurred in my heart
I decide to go for the tree of passion will bear no fruit
In my heart I solely love you as a decorated thorns
Running still as water towards a turbine
Generating bewildered lights in our souls
As the energy continues to revamp our love
The springtide will make us fly as doves
Written by
Martin Ijir
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 9:31 AM UTC
Sand wheezes over the dunes
a fiery sea unfurled
the suns wrath slowly consumes
the last life left in the world.
...
In shade a sidewinder glides
out of a human skull
the home in which it confided
would have basked in the lull.
...
A turbine blade protrudes nearby
turning slowly... to rust
the cause it fought for eats it alive
hope crumbled to dust.
...
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
for a moment, the word stops breathing,
your heart quits pumping and bleeding in the
only healthy way it knows how.
there is silence—and then there isn’t, not anymore,
the sky is shattered by lightning and your
pulse jumps with every rumble, your body flinches with
every roar and the sky is turning far darker than it was a minute before,
the wind is like a turbine, going round and round and round,
tearing, ripping, and seething, you can see the clouds descending,
you’ve been through this time and again and you know the power
this twirling cloud will be rendering, you should be inside,
you can hear Mike Morgan yelling over the static of your TV
“prepare yourselves for the damage this will bring!
hide under mattresses, bathtubs, if you must under the kitchen sink!”
it’s coming your way, it’s picking up speed and you try not to imagine
what has made up the debris, you come to your senses,
realize it’s real, accept the fact that it’s not a drill, you grab who you can,
you shove them down stairs, you start counting heads and start saying prayers,
the cellar is dusty, you choke for clean air but it’s howling outside
and you know you won’t find any out there, metal is screeching,
someone is screaming, sirens are bleating out to anyone who cares,
it takes three men alone to make sure the door doesn’t tear off it’s hinges
in the height of the scare—and suddenly it’s over, you can’t here anything from anywhere.
the world again stands still, but it isn’t holding it’s breath,
it’s watching a thousand electric sparks die a last death.
you push against the doors, you need to breathe better air
and you can hear someone telling you that you need to take care,
but you push and you shove and you break free of your prison,
you climb out to see how your world has faired,
but there isn’t
anything
there
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 2:50 PM UTC
Love is a wind turbine
An animated spinner
That goes round
And round
It has almost
Become meaningless
And in some cases abusive
Especially with you, my love
You may have my number
You can take my name
But you will never
Have my heart
Like a windmill in a tornado
We go around like crazy
When the wind calms
The blades stop
And the mill is torn down
STOP! STOP!
STOP! STOP! Love,
I do not need you
A thorn in my side
Preventing me
From loving
Another
Who
I
Appreciate
Need
______________
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
My wife rolls her eyes
When I point out another wind turbine
“Bird Shredders”
“Pork Barrel for guilty Liberals”
“Don’t they disrupt wind patterns?”
But
When I look up at a stately giant
Broadcasting infrasound across the plains
I remember my nose pressed against the window
Of a 1957 Pontiac
In Wisconsin
Yelling
“Windmill”
As we passed every farm
As my parents rolled their eyes.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 10:21 PM UTC
*you have too many laws biased unto you woman,
for it to be economic to enter
a relationship with you.*
when drinking i've learned that
people can ruin a man's
drunken self quite quickly,
one rude word and you can turn sober,
otherwise on that turbine
it's better to be left in a state of
the "lonesome" self: less sightseeing,
less humoristic tourism
that would otherwise thrill
any other habit other than the one
that might calorie you up...
like fake art in the hands of an arthritis "artist"
smoking dope when disengaged from
his work wasting it all on computer games.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 8:48 AM UTC