"underway" poems
Fierce combat in an unknown land
One winner, may the best man withstand
Race against the elements, surrounded by foes
The battle is underway, stock up on ammo
Navigate the grounds, try to stay out of sight
If spotted be prepared for a brutal fight
Time nears the end only two remain
Everything fades black that’s the end of the game
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:53 PM UTC
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Shoulder to shoulder you bands of brothers landed.
Code name Operation Neptune was underway.
You noble breed, not knowing what lay ahead
Just knowing that your duty was called upon.
The bugle sounded, you all answered the call
nobly you waded those waters for all.
06/06/1944 was the day.
The largest seaborne invasion in history.
Yet, you brothers in arms were not caring of history making
Just making it to the beach, alive.
I can but humbly thank you for what you all did that day,
you that lived and those that died.
What thoughts must have played in your mind.
A lone piper played throughout, what courage you all displayed.
No wonder we that came after you, leave you feeling dismayed.
Many wars have been fought since, their courage is also undenied,
but, you, you thousands on those beaches showed the world the meaning
of pride, respect and warrior.
On the beaches of Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno and Sword,
you carved a way in. To end the war.
Nobler people I doubt exist, and soon this 70th anniversary
will fade in time, but not that date of June the sixth (1944)
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
there was a little horse he dreamed of having fame
to win a big horse race where he could make his name
he began to train and run around the course
training everyday to be the fastest horse
round and round he went preparing for his race
with his little stop watch checking on his pace
now the horse ready for his racing day
soon what he had dreamed of would be underway
he went down to the track to his starting stall
waiting for the starter to give is starting call
now the race was on horse he took the lead
running like a train very fast indeed
no one else could catch him he was far to fast
racing on his own as the winning post went past
now he was a champ he had made his name
the fastest horse alive in the hall of fame
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
you,
and me,
we are,
unified souls,
simply, united,
an unbreakable set,
underway, sailing,
like ship and sea,
this two-way street,
you,
and me,
we are,
us. [one].
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
The sky vividly alive, illuminated with the stars and planets
The night charged with vibrant summer sounds
The forest menacing with nocturnal creatures
Who upon our retirement, await to plunder the camp ground
The surface of the lake reflects the high summer moon
So peaceful and calm like an old mother’s womb
A feeling of true freedom like the owl’s evening flight
Time stands still this midsummer night
The campfire dances as we all gather round
Stories and laughter as our marshmallows brown
Peaceful is our sleep as our spirits smile
And even upon hard ground it’s all worth the while
We awaken to the early show so vividly underway
With just a hint of the morning dew the cool humid night has laid
A breeze so mild it forces a smile of fresh new forest green
Busy squirrels and singing birds enjoy all that life will bring
The laughing cry of the loons and swallows on the lake so old and free
The presence of Indian spirits in the surrounding ancient trees
Dragonflies like fairies fly embrace the tortoise shell
Yellow flowers on the lily pads where croaking bullfrogs dwell
Crawdads and minnows reminisce of yesteryear
When we were only children still wet behind the ears
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
the weekend has just got underway
there will be a cessation of work for two days
one will partake of a little relaxation
and one will put one's feet up for the duration
how I like the weekends coming around
I can stay in bed sleeping most sound
the alarm clock not needing to be wound
it'll be deactivated as I snore on my pillow mound
I love Saturdays and Sundays
those wonderful restful days
I love chilling out and lazing about
of this fact there is no doubt
Friday afternoon is the best time of all
one can clock off from work and do very little at all
should the mood strike me this weekend
I might take the opportunity to ring an old friend
the word weekend
is one which makes me glad
it means that there's forty eight hours
of idling to be had
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC
painted frowns on the sunday town
peddling backwards on the underground
sinking slander
thunder-strikes that planned her
slap up shower towel
bloom-faced scowl
kissing kissing kissing i turn my eyes down
beautiful sunlight
road sign canvas
hunger and caffeine fix
walking towards to busier stores
oxford street in the middle of october
remembering my birthday wasn't just for me
relaxing on the submarine
escalator down blue and brown
blue change to black
southern bound
dishwasher sandwich
tea cup bandage
the simple and effective afternoon
bound by thought posts
wandering from my host
tormenting and enlightening
silence and the noise she keeps
playground heartattack
softly spoken words are back
forget to smile on sunday
higher in the afternoon
monday brings a chorus swoon
bluejay on the roof above
sinking in slumber of my forgotten ...
what you did is yesterday
let go of that and this moment underway
forgive forgive forgive and sigh
smile upstairs and wave yourself bye
all i want is to see is myself through my mothers eyes
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
Cloudy eyes
Broken heart
A sad soul about to fall apart
Telling them how to feel only for them to walk away
Saying no and another message underway
You aren't enough for me
You aren't enough for my no
Nosy and leering eyes
Judging smirks
with loud whispers
thump
ThUmP
THUMP
Banging against your ribs
Calling out only for pain to come
Crumbling pieces blowing away in the wind
Humiliation sinking in
A shaky step towards the street
A stronger one so they meet
Taking off like a plane
Soaring to quieter place
Trembling hands
Blurring sight
Fumbling to get the key right
A hard shove to the sticky door
Brain is sluggish so you fall to the floor
Buried in blankets and memories
only to keep on shivering
The heart feels raw and clawed apart
Piece after piece you build up walls
Only for someone to take a fall
Dragging you down
Destroying the walls
A rejection will always be there but fades to a memory when time helps you become strong
Cloudy eyes
Healing heart
A soul no longer falling apart
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 6:40 PM UTC
Your home in White Rocks Marina you sat; always there to greet your crew before a voyage. Your red sails standing out among the rest. Silently awaiting your Skipper, our own George Hay Kain, as you rested in your slip, anxious to get underway. You wouldn’t make a sound as you patiently waited for your crew to load their gear down below. After quick yet thorough engine checks your Yanmar engine would roar to life, never failing to put a smile on your Skipper’s face. Your stern lines would come off. Your excitement would rise but you would remain still waiting to be completely free. Your bow lines would come off. You then would gracefully back out of your slip, ready for yet another adventure. Onto the Bay you’d go, wondering where you’d end up next. No matter the challenges you faced, whether in the open ocean, or in the Chesapeake Bay; you always brought your crew home safely; you always prevailed.
My personal experiences aboard never left the Chesapeake Bay, however, the Bay was all I needed. Each moment I spent on board; each trip I attended; will remain with me always: My First Voyage with our Skipper, Branson, DJ, and Sam; Chestertown; simply preparing you for the winter; Long Cruise; Hurricane Irene; Your Final Voyage.
So faithful you would be for your crew, for your Skipper; harsh conditions or not. You may not be resting in your slip in White Rocks Marina, anxious to get underway, but you will always be in the memories, and the hearts, of Skipper George Hay Kain, and the crew of Sea Scout Ship 25.
May you now sail freely across the horizon, out on the open ocean,
Kuan Yin.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 2:43 AM UTC
Albert Day was one of a kind,
A middle aged man,
with a much younger mind.
Some claimed he was crazy,
some said "Just ********
some said as a child
he was left brokenhearted.
Whatever the reasons
it didn't quite matter,
for Albert cared not
for the first or the latter.
Let them say what they wanted,
stupid fools with worthless lives.
Bratty kids... barking dogs...
know it all's with cheating wives.
He knew more of them,
then they knew of each other.
What they knew of him,
he had learned from his mother.
He knew he was useless,
nobody could love him.
No wonder to Albert,
that's what they thought of him.
Albert lived in a small mountain town,
a place he believed to know well.
The annual picnic was coming around,
Albert figured he'd go for a spell.
It wasn't like Albert to be in a crowd,
these people were hard on his eyes.
But this year he'd go,
this year he'd be proud,
for this year he had a surprise.
Saturday dawned with a bright blue sky.
Albert awoke with a smile.
He didn't know how
he didn't know why
but he did know today was worthwhile.
Townspeople gathered at Finnigans Park
with umbrellas, and sunscreen, and chairs.
Albert arrived with his mind in the dark,
stupid fools, how they're left unawares.
Alone on his blanket he sat and he watched,
as festivities got underway.
Wondering when to contribute,
his festivities to this fine day.
He studied the husbands,
he stared at the wives.
Watched the kids as they played in the sun.
His patience wore thin,
yet he still wore his grin,
reaching into his sock for his gun.
It only took seconds to squeeze the trigger.
Just seconds to see them all fall.
He thought to himself as he watched them...
stupid fools.... you don't know me at all.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 3:20 PM UTC
Last night I watched in silence
At the end of the road in forest deep
I hid amongst the trees watching in awe
As gypsies dance while others sleep
Under the violet hue of evening sky
Haloed by evening's golden moon
I watched gypsies dance and sing
As flames from bonfires leaped high in the air
Dark haired women in shawls and beads
Happily dancing and twirling without care
Casting their spells of magic and enchantment
Performing their honeyed seductions
Blended with aphrodisiacs of scent and sound
Gypsy men with kerchiefs around their necks
Hoops of silver adorning their ears, singing joyful songs
Children laughing, dogs barking
As if they’re singing right along
Oh, I so wanted to join them as I stood watching in awe
Envious was I of their freedom and joy
Caravans painted in bright images and colors
Tambourines jingling as velvet shadows danced in the night
Skirts swirling, gold and silver bangles on their arms
Dancing 'round the bonfire's fiery light
Accordions singing, with happy notes from a fiddler's bow
As they sang and danced barefoot under evening moon
In the coming dawn once again...
It will be time for them to pack and move on
With a last meal served...
The caravans are readied to make another journey long
"Gather yourself up gypsy girls
Wonderful as it may seem…
A gypsies’ life is never their own
Time to move on
Time to find another home
You must have gypsy blood
In order to survive"
As their wagons move along dusty trails
They'll be looking for a place to camp
A place to call home... at least for awhile
A place to hang their colored paper lamps
Until...
Suddenly- a cry rings out
"Stop the wagons, ring the bells
We've found the perfect place
The perfect place for magic spells
Tomorrow brings a brand new day!
Let's feast, dance and make merry
Come on let's get things underway"
And so...
The journey goes on
And never ends!
"Gather yourself up gypsy girls
Wonderful as it may seem…
A gypsies’ life is never their own
Time to move on, time to leave
Time to find another home
You must have gypsy blood
In order to survive"
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC
You and Ingrid
bummed a ride
on the back
of the coal truck
the spring holiday underway
Ok
said the coal truck driver
but keep
your heads down
don't want to get
pulled over
by the rozzers
and so you both
climbed in the back
of the truck
settling down
between sacks of coal
covered over
by tarpaulin
with just a slit
for light and air
and you and she
just sitting there
she clothed
in an old green dress
and cardigan of grey
brown scuffed shoes
and grey socks
you in jeans
and blue shirt
open necked
and sleeveless
patterned jumper
never been
in the back
of a coal truck before
Ingrid said
mustn't get too *****
in case Dad finds out
and leathers me one
you watched
as she sat there
in the semi-dark
gazing out
through the slit
at the thin
aspect of sky
hands on her knees
biting her lip
been once before
with Jimmy
but then it rained
and we got drenched
you said
what did your parents say?
Ingrid asked
nothing much
you replied
Mum moaned a bit
but the old man said nothing
just stared
as he blew smoke
from his cigarette
through his nose
God my dad'd go mad
if I had done that
she said
pulling her knees
together hands
holding on the top
I'd not be able
to sit for a week
he'd beat me such
she added
moving
with the movement
of the truck
you said nothing
knowing her old man
seeing him often
walking through the Square
swaying with the *****
or seeing her mother
bruised and battered
crossing to the shops
enduring neighbours' whispers
for a while she was silent
looking through the slit
as the sky drifted by
as the truck moved
you swayed
side to side
her shoulder
against yours
her arm touching yours
the smell of wet washing
and of yesterday's dinner
captured on her clothes
seeping in your nose
now and then
she spoke
of this and that
of kids at school
of names called
of hair pulled
and how she liked it
when she saw you
enter school
and your kind words
and helpful ways
and when the driver
pulled off the tarpaulin
to get out sacks of coal
daylight blew out
your eyes
and made you smile
and cheered your hearts
you shared the sandwiches
you'd brought
and bottle of lemonade
factory made
sitting on the truck floor
she nibbling a sandwich
and drinking shyly
from the lemonade bottle
after you'd wiped
the top with the palm
of your hand
her eyes on you
her lips open for words
her knees pressing together
to keep the balance
as the truck
moved on and away
just you and she
on a bright spring day.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
Come follow me in the Turnpike trail
The story will unfold in more detail
It was a getaway to Pennsylvania on Thanksgiving Day
It was a group bus trip being underway
The group was conversing
We made a New Jersey Rest stop
It would be 15 minutes tops
Later when we reboarded
A Female passenger’s announcement, “ I am missing my purse”
All the passenger’s amazement of “What on earth”
The Female passengers checked overhead and under her seat on the bus
Now it seems this situation eventually involved us
But there was no vision of the female purse
The Female passenger wanted to go back and trace her steps at the Rest stop
However the Tour Escort stated that if she goes back, the bus will leave her and continue on
But mine you this is a rest stop in the middle of nowhere
Then all the passengers responded in orchestral voice outburst, “Let the woman go and find her purse and we shall wait”
Being the Tour Escort was out numbered, the Female passenger did in fact go back to the rest stop while we waited
We all prayed that the passenger would find her purse
The Female passenger stated earlier that her house keys and money was in her purse
However when the Female passenger returned she was able to retrieve what she thought she had loss
Her purse was found safe and sound
I later told the Female passenger, “You are really have a lot to give thanks and you have a testimony to tell”
But for argument sake, what if the female passenger didn’t find her purse?
How would she get home being in reverse?
Especially not having any money to be transported back
Well thank God we don’t have to think on that
The Tour Escort got a lesson in truly think and what if you were in this bind
“When a passenger you seem to ignore it’s the passengers chant it becomes a word of explore”
This day was definitely a give thanks in every way
The play we saw was “A Wonderful Life”
Now relate that to the purse
A situation that was at hand, but with a good ending being the caravan
But notice how everything seems to flow
The almost loss purse fits in the go
A Happy Thanksgiving indeed
The Female passenger was able to proceed
Her testimony being her voice
All the feast trimmings being our choice.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
I’ve been on the run
and I think you’ve known.
I can’t stop this fear,
I’m caught in the headlights like a deer.
I’m back and forth,
you’re south while I seem to be north.
Polar opposites?
Those attract, don’t they?
Or am I making up excuses for me to stay?
See, I’m not quite sure anymore,
it’s always been that I’ve had one foot out the door,
ready to run
with no worries under the sun.
But now there’s you,
and I’m actually contemplating what to do.
Our love is like a hurricane; damaging, epic, and beautiful.
And when I’m with you, it’s something so youthful.
Now the fear’s dissipating,
and what’s next is what I’m anticipating.
For the first time there’s promise,
even though our relationship is the furthest thing from flawless.
I’m still running, but I’m not running away,
I’m running to you and the journey is already underway.
You’ve changed me for the better, and I can’t disagree,
I love the thought of a forever with you and me.
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
She used to be alive
Not hanging on by a thread
Not worrying if she’d survive
She was living life instead
Then the lights went out
And the fears began to shout
And she sat in the dark with no desire to face another day
Out of place, out of grace
She retraced all the ways she had failed
Then she thought why waste another day?
There’s nothing left to say
Nothing left but today
Plans already underway
But there must be a reason to stay
Aug 9, 2023
Aug 9, 2023 at 11:24 PM UTC
ageism
mob mentality
of the boys
you were
faith
in these
the footprints
of a left-handed
boy
doubt
unicorn sickness
as so
rumored
gentility
duster
of my father’s
bookmark
identified
by her picture
day
invite
final resting place
god already underway
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
i won't have to
touch you, to
feel you.
peel back your
scalp, so i can
see the real you.
i could caress the answers right out of your mind
rob you blind
of your tattered old heart.
i could turn it into art.
make it better than before..
i could flourish you, grow you..
take heed of my words,
because you'll choke on yours.
underminding my ability
to have you weak in the knees,
won't help you walk.
you can barely talk.
your knees will still be weak,
i mean you studder when you speak
at least to me.
because you know your mind's at stake,
and if i want,
you'll be mine when it's late.
when the sun is underway
you'll be here
doing as i please, and what i say.
that's why you hesitate.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
Princess Lollypoppy is going to school
Albeit kiddy school, it's still school
Many friends will she make
Possibly some hearts she would break
Maybe now's a good time for her to gather her troops
For the kingdom she intends to overtake
Surely three and four year olds will listen to her
She'll give them lollies in exchange for their loyal regard
Her plans are in motion
A coup is underway
Wait a minute, what is Prince Lollypoopsie doing in the door way!
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
Oh won't you play a little game?
Your life will never be the same
Please roll the dice and stoke my flame
I'll scar your back, you'll howl my name.
Let's not let rules get in the way
It's such an easy game to play
and baby, once it's underway
I'll lead your pretty heart astray.
I am temptation, wicked sin,
suggestion dripping from my skin,
dark secrets writhing deep within
my name a whisper on the wind.
I've torn so many souls to shreds
while hearts decayed and tears were shed,
delight would fill me as they bled
once exiled from my harlots bed.
So heed my warning, hold it true
then cast it ever far from view.
Take your turn, then when you're through
let me be the death of you.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
Please, don’t be shy- join us for the baptism and the requiem of both destruction
and creation. Bring flowers to both their graves; bring flowers to both their births.
Teeth corroded with a lust for madness, you smile, though tears
stream down your ***** thin cheeks. Trees, burdened with ripening
despair surround you, their tenants long gone and their leaves long shed.
All searching for life; all fearing their deaths.
There is an immense amount of beauty in the burning of an old
house, of old pictures and blurred memories. As this occurs, a paradox is formed, from the striking of a match,
to the collapse of a foundation, to the blackened snowfall of ash.
The creation of destruction, the destruction of creation. A flaming catalyst fluttering
downward through the muggy autumn air, a blazing, kamikaze
butterfly plummeting down toward earth. Drop one into a pool of regret,
which, unbeknownst to the world, is flammable. Let it lick and devour its prey;
let it paint the land red. And as you allow flakes of tarnished life to blanket
the ground, and the shoulders of your shirt, the divine intervention that is
creation is underway, and in the midst of destroying, you have created. Space!
What entity is responsible for such indescribable beauty. How wonderful it is
to look out and see nothing, all the while seeing everything. What a magic
it is, to see life growing within that very nothingness.
But, do not fear the fraying of man’s existence. Marvel at your creation.
Liberation of death! Confinement of life!
Insanity can be one sad, beautiful thing.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
Of all of the days to sleep in this late
Why did I have to choose today
The revolution we'd been planing along
I'm sure was already underway
I grabbed my bag, thank goodness already packed
And headed for the door
I ran out so fast my dog was aghast
My feet barely touching the floor
When I arrived at the park
I saw none of my friends
There were old ladies knitting shawls
Old men playing rummy and gin
I was already there
So I refused to go home
The revolution got canceled
And I wasn't informed
So I stood up on my soapbox
And yelled listen to me
All the old folks gathered round
As I gave the greatest of speech
I talked of how long
We'd been beat down by the man
As I went point by point
Of my intricate plan
There came weakened shouts
From a few in the crowd
While the hearing impaired
Wondered what all the fuss was about
We all moved to the street
With luck a Boy Scout happened by
To help all the old ladies across
But only one at a time
We surrounded Dairy Queen first
Because they have ice cream soft serve
Which goes down so smooth
When your wearing dentures
Next we did a flash mob
In the local Right-Aid
There were old women swinging purses
And old men waving canes
They all slowly shuffled down
The adult diaper aisle
Where they stripped the shelves clean
With raspy giggles and wrinkly smiles
Things were running so smoothly
According to revolutionary plans
We were creating social havoc
And sticking it BAD to the man
In the middle of the craze
My cell phone it rang
It was my radical friends
Wondering where I have been
I'm a tad bit embarrassed
That's the least I can say
In my mad rush to arrive
I went to the wrong park today
So I snuck out the back of Rite-Aid
As the swat team arrived
If I had a conscience I'd feel bad
In leaving my new old friends behind
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC