"unturning" poems
Our mother, Gaia, shall never die
Though for us I cannot speak
When Terra does turn her back to our kind
Our might shall seem so meek
Roaring flames do lick her skin
While Chaos’ storms do rage
But Mother Earth will retreat within
And turn to a blank new page.
Zeus will fall when the skies go black
His wife, Hera, to follow when families dissolve
Once the gods fall there’ll be no way back
And hubris will be our final resolve.
Chronus may falter when there’s nobody alive
To observe the passage of hours
When the clocks have all stopped,
Gears unturning under toppled clock towers
No grandfathers left to chime.
But Gaia will live on in sleep so bereft
Long after we’re lost to time.
With no men to wage wars, Ares will fade
Athena too as innovation runs dry
Aphrodite may weep when there’s no love to be made
Hermes, when there’s nowhere to fly
And though our sun will live past our end,
There’ll be no chariot of gold
No homes, no hearths for Hestia to tend
And no music for Apollo to behold
We have long lost one of the faces
Of Artemis, the huntress under moonlight’s reign
And civilization (so-called) now erases
Pan, the wild god, and his sacred domain
What next, I now ask, shall we bid our farewell?
What aspect of humanity lost?
As we stumble along nearer to Hell
Whom shall be the next forgot?
But fear thee not, for life’s most precious gift
is the transience, the temporal nature of Earth
All will change, all will shift
and perhaps a different Cosmos may birth.
Once the stardust settles, a new something to arrive
And we shall perhaps there meet once again
Tied by fresh cords of fate to share new lives.
And all the while, she’s waited for us
Watching and loving those souls immortal
Taking new forms now from different dust
She’ll rejoice and rebirth the primordial
They will rise and then fall and eventually make way
For the pantheon of a new universe to arise
Perhaps not all will look the same--
But close enough for essence to find.
Sep 5, 2023
Sep 5, 2023 at 3:54 PM UTC
Is a boulder wedged
Betwixt thy chest
Bearing weight
Of moving – beyond
Dost thou push against
The peak of unrest
An unmoving
Sought to abscond
Accursed encumberment –
Zeus, come urgent!
Trade distant
For the fond
That feeling lost
To pebble tossed,
Skipped
Across shallow pond
Do you even care for
Did you ever – more –
Stop to think
Or consider at all
What precipitates –
The flood – the rain –
Is the same which
Prompted the roll
For I have no brake
So, to break – my fate –
Is what remains
To break my fall
Now all I hope for
Is coming – war –
To bleed me
Dry and dull
Passion – passed
Regiment – collapsed
Atop sword
Of your own recruit
And yet I stand
Hand in hand
With fallen
Soldiers – resolute
For I am leg-bound,
Surface-drowned,
By pit
Of fruitless pursuit
A victim still
To down-turned hill
And resolution
Most astute
The storm is done
But not the burden
That drums –
A thunderous applause
A wound that heals
Still yet conceals
Heart held
Together by gauze
Bless me – rid
Thine Sisyphus –
Of that stone-still
Chore you bore
Why must I carry
What once was merry
Now bruised,
Shattered and sore?
Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 5:33 AM UTC
. . . like a
small **** on the road.
You see, from the eyes of a man who has nothing but himself
to be fooled by the world
and hopes for a better day
or year,
I thought I was different
like I could change the ways
of the world through my own
visions but none of them
seems to work at all.
You give a *** from the streets
a crumpled bill and
next thing you know
he'll blow it all with
what he never had
for a long time
but I believe I would've done
the same because no Jesus
without a penny or dime
would waste such generosity
in this world and I
only believe in monks
who can discipline themselves
but monks are useless.
I have tried several approach
to make a difference
but nothing ever works
and sometimes I dream
with my eyes open in
broad day light that in
the dream I have the loudest
voice in the world
but even so, all ears are plugged,
all eyes are shut and
all hearts are pale.
You either die poetic
or amongst the ones
who have unturning eyes
but still you end up
in a box.
No small amount of
light could ever penetrate
the dark unless
the light is the focus,
and I just made that up
whatever that could mean
to anyone.
You can never be a
successful writer
without good advertising
and marketing nowadays
and with this awful
writing style I have,
I don't count like
those microscopic
sea creatures.
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 3:06 PM UTC