"turbines" poems
To have them shipped across the sea,
sitting like ornamental drops
tinsel strung around your eyes
pocketed the tree
walking down sunset avenue
reeking of bamboo stalks and water chestnuts
looking for a place to submerge your treasure
with a rattling breath do you deflate
And the Oak trunk that grows unimpeded
hanging her branches
caressing the Spaniard shingles
the clay missionary tabs
touching the stucco with a golden blade
of sunlight
cutting a thousand little strips
to hang about the face
moving a thousand miles a second
stopped in place with the quiet repose
of a yoga state
humming and shimmering
yet let me be sweet oak tree.
And I wander through the canyon boulevard
between the rocky cliffs and the endless riff
of surf-rock echoed off skate parks
and riding the PC
highway hair bedraggled and snaked into next week
lingering bonfire on the cotton shirt
plant for plant
*** for tat
seed to breed
Now dance, you and me.
Insinuation
drooling salivary tongue full
bacon
pigging out on burgers
getting red-eyes from vegans
smoking plants
murderers
We squirt,
relish on the act of dying
all things dying
choking life second by second
dying to live.
Staring at neon fins lining the gravel lot
Koi flickering beneath the celestial night
Suspended pondwater
pondering
In surfce tension
the deep mysteries of life
Tracing the snake through the winding streams
we watch atop the rooftop
Gaia
Taking in the burgeoning
Ocean of incandescent tangerine
and Peyote-light
Cacti hidden somewhere between
the quiet slumber of mindless streets
aligned by formless hands
Drinking the mescaline
air
Twisting the nightly moments
as locks of hair
I curled them, slipping, within my fingertips
tracing the long winding road of Tao
along her shoulders
Enraptured by her sensual bliss
When I finally drifted along the clouded memories
of divine rumbling eyes
she disappeared into the sky
blinking along the Jet turbines
Never meant to be mine
for more than a night
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
Dusk!
With a creepy, tingling sensation you hear the fluttering of leathery wings!
Bats!
Glowing red eyes and glistening fangs,
These unspeakable giant bugs drop into view.*
Fibrous wings furred like a moth,
Big ears are just a membranous extension of antennae.
Flying in search of a flower’s pollen laden froth,
Silent except for the hum and squeak of echolocation.
Trap bats in attics, butterflies in nets.
No rabies feared, no bedbug bites to itch.
Clawed feet ****** and grab like praying mantis pincers;
Bloated stomach slopes like a pudgy beetle.
Jaws manipulate like an ant, excise like scissors;
Soft hair rustles like a wooly caterpillar.
They live in darkness, centipedes do too,
Come out at night like cockroaches tend to.
Skittering through the night like daddy long-legs,
Noses snubbed like bumble bee faces.
Wind turbines endanger bats,
Like fans endanger lightning bugs.
Only one percent of bats are vampiric,
Like only a small percentage of spiders are poisonous.
Dawn!
With a creepy, tingling sensation you hear the fluttering of leathery wings!
Bats!
Bats are bugs, aren’t they?
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 5:04 PM UTC
(Bergen)SEVEN days all fog, all mist, and the turbines pounding through high seas.
I was a plaything, a rat's neck in the teeth of a scuffling mastiff.
Fog and fog and no stars, sun, moon.
Then an afternoon in fjords, low-lying lands scrawled in granite languages on a gray sky,
A night harbor, blue dusk mountain shoulders against a night sky,
And a circle of lights blinking: Ninety thousand people here.
Among the Wednesday night thousands in goloshes and coats slickered for rain,
I learned how hungry I was for streets and people.
I would rather be water than anything else.
I saw a drive of salt fog and mist in the North Atlantic and an iceberg dusky as a cloud in the gray of morning.
And I saw the dream pools of fjords in Norway ... and the scarf of dancing water on the rocks and over the edges of mountain shelves.
Bury me in a mountain graveyard in Norway.
Three tongues of water sing around it with snow from the mountains.
Bury me in the North Atlantic.
A fog there from Iceland will be a murmur in gray over me and a long deep wind sob always.
Bury me in an Illinois cornfield.
The blizzards loosen their pipe ***** voluntaries in winter stubble and the spring rains and the fall rains bring letters from the sea.
3.4k
six-inch heels abandoned
in lampless corner grimy pennies embedded in carpet
rent's due
wedding band girl "fab polka dot frocks"
waterfalling past knees outta place
on casino bus destined for rest under Ft. Worth stars
now, now ********* borealis speckled dice
true love waits
socialite lip balm and bourgeoisie hips compete
in bidding war over which black face triggerpulls
which black face eyes the ground
passerby the red light the green light
all night diner egg on chin coffee-stained porcelain teeth
"I forgave, I think. I forget."
crowded and paranoid in the left lane the right lane
empty and weak and surrender and soiled underwear in ammonia nursing home
children is a word time is a lie the polka dot and the interstate ain't selling
divorce the consequence of acoustic shadows
reblog undo #sotrue reblog
living through x-ray radiotherapy the dotted gown
never the veiny calves or the blush or the eyeliner
somewhere in North Texas shawtys are in the club
shawtys are backin' it up shawtys are dropin' it down
hit me+hit me+hit me=blackjack mishap
the marvel of the wind and of wind turbines
cognac decade brides the epitome of class and natural elegance
standing like oil derricks and treated like oil wells
so secretive and philanthropic
this taxon remains nameless
casino turned dance hall dance hall skinny ties still a thing
this wine is good. is it a merlot? no. this is purely recreational
for birthdays for weddings and Ft. Worth missionaries
10-50 passengers we've got 53, no 54 #hahahaha #whoops #party
who needs unprescribed drugs? me, me (!)
decomposing mascara sweat on brow the interstate no longer lit
polka dots has got the suicide by Manet pulled up
on her iPhone the financial stress which shudders warm-blooded moms
on her lips every mother a librarian every mother a swing-pusher
but digression next to bitterness the lowest sin
edging the cultural gateway of the old west
miracles in and miracles out of tradition following
the slender bends of middle ancient Trinity River
children a word pattycake a game
and time time a lie we left to museum panoramas
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
You in your wait,
me and in mine,
we've brought to a halt
our whole LIFE for awhile
your garden sprouted new seeds
I don't want to live nor die
without you
You've gone willow on me
I blame only me
Hear my plee and re-appear
bless me ágain babe
Pick me up from this dessert land
where only evil passes by to steal
my last portion of bread.
my last earned dime.
I am homeless near your
gold mine and frozen wind
turbines
in your power bless me.
Please fortune maker
build me an abode.
Save me from this homeless
exiled purgatory.
I've paid for my mistakes
I am only human spare me.
~~~~~~~~~~
Karijinbba
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 1:06 PM UTC
Hashtag:weirddreams
In a dream I looked upon a world like this;
The future was here. It was today. It was now and
the wings on birds had malted, and
the atmosphere was spent.
Spent, because currency had proven
worthless.
Hashtag:firstworldprobs
(piles
on top of
piles of washingtonsjeffersonsandgrants now sat
stagnant, Hashtag:getmoney
devalued over time by the American glutton who had paved our roads with imported plastic,
cheap polymers to build empires quickly, since we were so young with so little history so little culture and so little ritual. Hashtag:omgsoboring.
We played catch-up
by simply investing very little effort,
and paying very little respect,
With expectations of getting really *******
Big). Hashtag:sorrynotsorry
Which didn’t end up working. Hashtag:whoops
And so then we just burned up all that money, quite literally, ignited by the last few drops of oil we could manage to squeeze from Earth’s stones.
And its smoke, smelling faintly of our forefathers’ intentions, turned the turbines for our televisions and deep fryers while we sat and felt ourselves getting smaller and smaller.
Then I woke up, and realized it was only a dream.
Hashtag:
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
Power line cutting a thick
Scar across the
Hillside of
Trees.
Signatures of Civilisation; straight
Lines and angles,
Perfect circles. All within
What has none.
Needs none.
Wants none.
Maimed and modified
By the cynical scalpel
Of laziness named Progress,
By incompetent
Surgeons.
Waterfalls tamed and forced
Through turbines.
This naked mountaintop
Was a mile stone
For pedestrian generations.
Now it holds that giant antenna
Like a spiteful eyesore
To those who love
The land.
Power and signals, to sit
In air conditioned comfort
And watch
Nature shows on TV.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC
“Love does not exist”
“Love is ****
“Love is just a word that we make up in our heads to fill our infinite emptiness”,
Is what I say to myself. As if I could drill these beliefs into my head, subliminal messages to soothe my cracked and flaking heart.
These lungs are my own personal generator fueling my skull
Turbines working overtime
Maybe love is the only tangible idea within this existence
Maybe I am just scared
So I bury the idea under the earth, waiting for the tree roots to weave themselves throughout my love
And sprouting a small, delicate oak tree. And one day, it will grow.
And like all flowers or trees, this seed will need water
and plenty of sunshine
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 8:07 PM UTC
I am a catholic in any possible way
I've been with every colors of the spectrum in faith
Living like anyone else in an earthly state
I see no difference, in my eyes all is the same
What makes me different from everybody else?
Am I to be saved while others grow stale?
I grieve for those in pain for their religion
Why do they have to suffer in vain
Browsing in the net I found a picture
a picture of beauty and symmetry I must say
monks down on their knees like stones on a beach
I looked further into the picture and my heart just fell and me knees went weak
In the land of the dancing peacocks they killed Muslims for faith
what sins did they commit? Is it too grave to forgive?
Lets slaughter everybody for its god’s will, we be stiff
Orphan a child, alone, for us to be redeemed
I am a human too, when was it holy to **** another?
religion is a choice made by sovereignty over ourselves
so what made them do wrong for their death to face?
all of them is in so much debt for their lives to be seized?
My soul shatters like glass thrown a million miles
stomach twisted stuck in turbines of fate
prayers for their souls all I can make
cry futile tears for my voice they cannot hear
Don’t respect people for their faith
Provide them with sanctity as humans yourselves
Just protect life for they deserve to live
Live like their shoes are covering your own heel
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
Way past delusional,
I drove, forced down
into ********** by noon,
almost ass-raped by that suppressing sun-God.
And I saw something
confusing, but all to truthful.
A Boeng was coming in for a safe-landing,
strafing the sky,
when a Raven dropped from dim heaven
and got ****** into the turbines.
Crimson-mist, across the sky,
and my car as black as a feather.
I rumbled down this carbon-dioxide tunnel,
crying over love, heartbreak,
too drunk to be alive and
still trying to live,
and you know what,
I have nothing
and I wished that somebody
would hit me.
I don't know
if I'm gonna make it back. I need to be more tipsy
than just this.
There's a girl
gonna be in my bed tonight,
who's boyfriend used to strangle her
something crazy
when they'd fight.
GOD,
I could die in her
red-black hair with its pulverizing smell.
I wish I could offer her something more
at four in the morning, when she cries
and I just grab her close--
never knowing a thing
about anything.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
I met you at the corner under the streetlight
You were staring west, following tail lights
I already knew how this would end
So I said a prayer on my torn and bleeding knees
A plane crashed before I finished speaking
Flames took over the November night
Screams and wails roared from dissipating turbines
I wish they tore up every piece of me
My eyes were steady when the wings broke apart
I stood with the stone on my shoulders
Even when the smoke filled my lungs
I forgave you, I had no choice but to lie
We held each other amid of the wreckage
Engines and fuel went up like the 4th of July
I knew what was going to happen then
So I bought a ticket for the next flight
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 7:44 PM UTC
many of his posts tilted
like trees tired of the wind; wires sagged,
red rusted, but still jabbed the errant cow
when duty called
three quarters a century
he rode the same trail; of late,
he had gone afoot, the saddle too heavy
for him to heft
walking, he reconnoitered
the tracks with more care--hooves of his myriad steers,
a few equine signs of the farrier’s labor
still there, fast fading
his boot prints were
more numerous now, and sometimes
tamped down by the few beasts left
in his herd
across the line lay his dead
neighbor’s pastures, peppered with mesquite,
pocked by fire ant holes; no livestock grazed, but the giant turbines whined, white whipsaws slashing not timber, but blue sky
driven by the relentless winds,
they called to him, in chanted chorus, issuing a premonition:
one day soon, your fence will fall, and the path you trod
will bear no new tracks for other souls to read
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 10:40 PM UTC
It all disappears
replaced by a phantom,
the flickering light of a coal miners lantern casts its shadow along the black halls and it all disappears.
Bevan would spin in his grave knowing his lads could not save what remained of his dream,
and in the lean light of lamplight the nightwatch calls midnight,
and it all disappears.
We were born into a world that exploded with light emitting diodes,and nuclear power,turbines that whine in constant revolution,
a green world, a clean world, a world fit for tomorrow where the future is born from the ashes of sorrow and these tears we would borrow from the seeds that we sow ,
and it all disappears in the fears of the many,of those, who if they had any hope,have it no more,where the door is locked and the bolt is drawn against this brave new dawn,and sometimes it feels like I never was born ,
but created from eggshells and no one tells me that I'm wrong.
Cracked open my breath breaks away, and the inside exposed,peeled like the petals that rose on some bloom,the shrivelling doom, a vast mushrooming cloud,
and it makes me feel proud,
as it all disappears and we all fade away.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
i’m awakened by the
climb of the chime of your
mirror bell as you zip
above me like the shadows
of the golden metal that echo
in my ear.
but it seeps so strangely under
your clenched fists, as i watch
you pedal and ascend
one knee after another,
as sweat condenses on the
handles, and streamers sputter in the wind.
all i recognize you feel is blur,
and the substance we need
to pedal, fill your mouth and
choke muscle and tendon,
as our cartilage crammed turbines rise and fall
like the pant of your lung as you tricycle
away from the choker covalently
bonded to the first of all that matters.
yet we giggled - we snorted,
while printing the memory
on your chip as the disc swerved away.
rue had let you run over my
toes with our red.
you rose and fell over
the unseen ivory bones; and i pleaded for
a motion of cyclical squeeze more
potent than a chip and a
wheel gone awry.
such as our disc shattered
in two, i stooped on our
step with palm under arch,
limp from the stubs of nails
that bled out like thorn bush
creaking to the zip code that a
tricycle is no bicycle when one
wheel decides to drift away.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
we stopped believing the agora of the mind
our souls empty rooms colliding
full of amnesia on incessant roads
walls of flesh we were on the edge of terror,
steel confused with clarity
souls plucked like nails inside ruins
suffocated tales & archives of illusion
the shadow is closer to the center only
in the diaries of the blind
no hole of god is dead, we ***** fresh prophets
with inviolable gaze
for the sublime and holy in our sweat
believing is seeing the most lethal duel
the one and only the fake divine
who thinks alone on a road with no views
he planted spotlights in their eyes
for everybody to see only the world in his arms
hate kept in empty milk bottles
life is this schweitzer, passers-by were saying,
it has taste but only in foreign countries,
with their fists in pain caressing concrete asphalt turbines
as in quick sands no muscle was moving
carboard smiles unprotected against the evacuation of desire
wooden language didn't invent choice
no decomposition of the edges the totalitarian thought inside
the narcosis of time merciless
the clouds lost their sound we still don't look at each other
no hypothesis of sight no discharge for humiliation
wither souls made history grappling bending
twisting nonconsensual reality
no destiny for the allegory of truth
there are no angles of sight
facts become beasts
holy cannot be anybody's name
repelling of the heart beat
Mar 11, 2023
Mar 11, 2023 at 10:12 AM UTC
We the people,
floodwaters rising over Kansas City banks
and marketplace levies,
are channeled into rooms
the size and shape of shadows
to be given direction,
to give direction;
waiting our turn to be
churned through turbines.
Our mass is growing stagnant
by this massive
**** This feels like surrogate thinking.
Our water is wasted on greco-roman men
chopping up districts into blues and reds
dividing and conquering the ocean.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
The purest stranger
in my life
has jolted me
with a million volts
of sheer-excitement.
I crave the electric-feeling
she sends through
my entire body.
I am supercharged
at the very thought
of creating static-friction
with her between the sheets.
I will be her dynamo,
will spin her turbines
like she's never felt before.
She will buzz with radioactivity,
enter another dimension,
scream for more energy
as I split her atoms
with sexy-fushion.
There's something
totally magnetic,
extremely attractive
about starting a new
sensuous-reaction
with a total stranger,
especially her.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 10:40 PM UTC
knots and weaves
windward gales quickly deceive
ever moving the undertow
constant curves dip in the winds and below
blowing off the waters deep
leaving a mist so sweet
hand to cheek
blue waters press further
possessed by the wind
willful turbines stay in sync completing the cycle
shaping and sculpting the swells
creating an undertow struggling to be free
choose to swallow in pleasure
choose to wallow with the pain
an answer returns with demand
beating fists upon the sand
the wind answers back with violent command
to the tides, to the swells, to the surges, hit the rip current
so powerful, so aggressive, she intimidates
all to catch the craze
ocean, she see's and waves
man is met
sized and weighed
Terry D’Arcy-Ryan
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
of recent days
the solar panels
and wind turbines
couldn't ALLEVIATE
the cold indoor climes
thereby causing the folks
of Texas to freeze
under the many inches
of thick snow
how they all hankered
for that old fashioned
coal generated
electricity
which would ALLEVIATE
the boreal conditions
atrocity
Feb 19, 2021
Feb 19, 2021 at 6:33 PM UTC
Furnished rooms, refined cooling
An angry Sun, a helpless ozone layer
Lavish resorts, palatial homes
The Ents are silent in their prayers
Roaring turbines, whirring motors
****** waters, crying to be set free
Clicks and clacks, a touch and a swipe
Birds fall to the alien magnetic field
Travel the world, not fast enough
Dig and mine, crashing harbour wave
Fossils spent, air wears the smoke
Dinner is served on the tectonic plates
Every day the water becomes a little fuller to the brim
Every day the air becomes a little less thin
Every day the world becomes a little too big
Every day the land becomes a little less green
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 2:11 PM UTC
Fields of green is surely a lovely scene
unspoilt of man's vision!
Which seems build on everything
plus adding pollution!
In between swaying trees plastic bags
lot's of cans and rotting rags!
Any idyllic view fly tipping is common
saving money the priority!
With a touch of pylons and mobile masts
and those wind turbines to.
Land spattered with concrete and steel
in despair helpless you kneel!
Completely drained at what's being done
over two centuries plundered.
That's detrimental to earth's natural order
continuing to **** the resources!
Certainly will take it's toll on civilisation
like the Mayans obliteration!
Has this happened before and now replaying?
The Foureyed Poet.
Sep 30, 2011
Sep 30, 2011 at 10:16 AM UTC
I feel it coming on the breeze…
A wealth of shivers
Renews my identity
Harsh like a torrent
Licking my misery
Call it a balm
I call it “anemology”
Uncovering the ignorance in me
What can renovate the heartless
Still morgue strung with darkness?
None but breeze
None but Serenity
Sway the trees
And uncover the forest of me
Turbines on the hill
Bend me to Your will
Childlike branches
Snap like evergreens
They bumble and burn
To tumble and turn
Call it a mystery
I call it “delivery”
Uncovering Wasteland me
My arms are pumice
My feet are clay
I fall from malice
A thousand times a day
None but breeze
Can refresh my fidelity
None but breeze
Brings me to my knees
Call it the calm
I call it “Sovereignty”
Uncovering the darkness in me
I feel it coming on the breeze
The freedom of recovery
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
A perfect entity:
Past life regression as a metaphysical act of war,
Held still in flashes of light from beyond mirrors, captured in essence for sake of eternal memory, martyred for sake of one or two moments of hallelujah before total collapse,
Divinity! Break the silence! Moan your lovers name! *** into oblivion! Leave pieces of your kaleidoscope skin on the shellshock floors of echo chamber bedrooms for someone to find and remember you by!
Listen! The voices of the great suicide angels crack and bleed through stereos! This is the last great art form! This is how you establish a dialogue between yourself and abyss! The black hole named God will take your calls but will not return your light once it has left your eyes!
How beautiful you look like this, defending your faith from the hawks of war, eyes lit by the turbines of jet engines burning fossil fuels on towards confrontation, hair falling in waves around a single demarcation point that reads: THE ****** AND THE SAVED,
Try hard not to think about where you fall on any kind of spectrum,
Be fluid and give only vague directions,
Paint self portraits out of what you can learn from static,
Static is the only way our gods know how to communicate,
You have to tread lightly around an ego so fragile,
Return home when the damage is done,
Home where you were a Joan Baez marquee moon in my memories of sunflowers!
Home where you were a Carl Sandburg eulogy read in tripping staccato!
Home where you leave your lights on all the time to ward off spirits!
Home where your shadow climbs higher and higher into the night and leaves your soul behind!
Home where you listened for the sounds of Pagan rituals through the walls and hoped to find salvation in a chanted chorus!
Home where you let the deep red shades of a thousand electro shock patients turn your machinery towards eternal rest!
Home where I love you as a perfect entity in radioactive decay!
Home where you love me, and my great way of forgetting
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
I'm a daredevil with the wordplay
I'm the father nature of words
I cause metaphorical earthquakes
I create verbal distortions
real-time gravitational pulls
My words create wormholes
for you fools
I'm never one to get caught up
With those three-lined time wasters
Small words are for felines, not dog chasers
Now watch me enter your ear like q-tips
Whether you recite this mentally or with two lips
Watch my words blossom then spring like tulips
My tools are to equip, I do this
For the sake of being an artist
We are now in the future
You can be a man that is heartless
I swear his organic heart was replaced with turbines
YouTube it, google it!
We are now in those times
Enough about those lives
Let's embrace my current state of mind
This current age, only a fragment in the stain of time
Minimum wage has me working over time
Maximum rage could be the case if I let go of my
Elusive state, I'm in a place where my conscious mind
Has embraced all of my thoughts upon these words of mine
I hoping that these words can turn to wine so that all can drink, then have high spirits
We are all passengers upon our own body's can't you feel it?
lag and latency upon your current actions
tell your brain to move a finger, then see what happens
It's crazy that only 10% of our brain can be accessed
Is this a myth or a fact?
I have yet to fathom
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 11:32 PM UTC
Now I sit here, fully depleted.
God rest my heart
Until it is seated.
Finish mine effort
Save your rockets
This is the age of last resort
I sit under a dead moon.
I fathered 3 young children,
Never knew ‘em.
Time tested, now
I’m out.
Triumphs, bargaining.
Quiet turbines churn today.
What soul, this land?
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC