I will re-visit
The modern picts,
The viking border people
Comparing *******
And slapping bellies
While giving dheagh shlainte.
They've plundered their last village;
It's been a while since they protected the walls
While sleep sets in.
They raid the pubs,
Raise a glass shield,
Weild a shot glass
Singing shlainte,
The dragon ships have sailed.

How do you get me excited ?
When the evening breeze tares
my thoughts of you .
When the mental images taxes
my reason of right and wrong
When your words tease
my desires for you .
When I just crave your touch .
When I wish to touch your face .
To press lips together ,
savoring your breath .
To sigh heartwise without
the disguise of fear .
Take eternal the heaven of hugs
from your breast .
To share dreams that dance
like phantoms in the flames
of eternal love .
Weild the wild luster
embedded in my soul
from the ages past .
Longing in depth's decisions ,
made and bled ,
for a future truth .
My how you excite me !

The second hand a rapier
The hour hand, a longsword
And the minutes are my claymore
Armored with the twelve as I push forward
The face is the shield
The gears inside by my command spin or yield
My arsenal is time itself, ticking as I walk
Slaying all of my fears with each sound of a tock
The seconds are my soldiers, loyal and true
The hours are my guardians, great, but few
The moments are precious, hold them dear
Time is the ultimate force, weild it to control eternity
Take control of your destiny
Reinforceing dreams considerably
There is a person and future for which I weild tick and tock
And I have the aid and power of an ever revolving clock

People you love
Who know your whole life
They know how to get you
They cut like a knife
You feel great pain
With every word they say
When there are no words
You hear their echoes prey

This brings me to wonder
If it ever occurs to you
That others feel
The same pain you do
When you act in ways
That cut like a knife
Even towards people
Who don't know your whole life

I wonder if you hear yourself
And some of the words you say
And if you hear them
Do you say them anyway

I wonder if you know
How hard it is to love you
When you lash out like this
Toward those that try to

Love you in a moment
Love you in a day
Love you in a month
Love you in their own way

I wonder this because I have felt
Some of the pain you have dealt

Things you've said
Others you've done
All the while I'm trying to love
The person you've become

This brings me to wonder
If my skin is too thick
Because you don't see the blood
Once my heart feels the *****
I try not to tell you
As I can weild a deadly knife
And by trying to hide it
I may be causing more strife
I don't want to hurt you
Or throw things back in your face

Please forgive these errors of mine
My heart is in the right place

September 15, 2009
Hello Poetry Exclusive

Happy Easter everyone!
Yes even all you lovely folk at Google!
Thanks for the doodle (not)
Thanks for being so selectively inclusive-
So open minded and transparent!
Indeed it is a small gesture of bad faith (pardon the pun),
but no less unpleasant for it

I'm so sorry to have to point out to you that you will fail in this ignoble endeavour
Just like so many before you have failed
Just like all campaigns must fail when their core principles are hostility, arrogance, and the increasingly popular brand of cold warfare- selective inclusion

You see the answer to the problems of our world
(yes OUR world, not mine or yours or theirs, but ours):
Is not more war- be it physical or virtual;
It is not more discrimination- be it active or passive; and
It is not to champion only one or a few sections of society- whether by actual good work or mere lip service such as 'doodles'
Putting down the one in a misguided (& half-hearted) attempt to uplift the other is a fool's errand and a dishonourable one at that

You see we have enough division in this world
We have seen enough war and exclusion
Even now there are more than enough cowardly and insidious actors spreading fear, violence and petty resentment through the internet and all your spectacular technology

And what is it worth- this power you have over the www?
And all the information you insidiously and yet blatantly, collect about the hapless user?
What is all that knowledge worth if it does not awaken you to the great struggle of our time?

The struggle to overcome:
Our differences- real and perceived
Our fear of the unfamiliar
Our collective tradition of violence
Our joint heritage of injustice
Our long long history of 'my way or the highway!'

Please grow up, think bigger, be better
It is not your prerogative to impose your limited beliefs on the world
It is your duty to improve yourselves and those around you
As we've heard it said so many times:
With great power, comes great responsibility..
In this age of information, you and your ilk weild an unprecedented and unquantifiable range and depth of power
Do not squander it, or you will certainly fail and fall like all those wannabe superpowers before you!

Here I sit still, awaiting the answer,
Awaiting this testament,
Awaiting my retreat.
For soon will these
Closed doors be locked and unopened,
Or pushed to let light in, unshut and unsheathed.

A poor fool am I, who sits on her hands.
Talking in melodies, but ne’er across the land.
Whose voice is a weapon, but only in mind:
In soul, but not earth,
In heart, but not time.

The people have chosen, we stand in defeat.
No triumph,
Their triumph,
Inequality: not deceased.
We’re Animals, savages- away from the fields;
Asleep;
Unmoving;
No weapons to weild.

In silence, pure silence, I seek my revenge.
I seek out their vengeance, But only with eyes.
My mouth is tucked inward, held fast at the henge.
No words will escape me,
Nor actions,
Nor lies.

My heart is not true, so they say, so
I trust.
But my mind does not falter,
I know what is just.

For am I a lost cause?
I know it, I’ve seen it,
I’m not even true in my mind.
But Hope is a strong friend, an outcast as I am:
An outcast that oft leaves me blind.

And now I sit still, awaiting an answer,
Awaiting this testament
Awaiting my retreat.
My heart is a closed door, awaits to be opened.
Pushed to let light in, unshut and unsheathed.

I'm surrounded by cotton-bullet people.
They do not want to fight.
They do not like to be hit.
I know--
I tried a million times to wrestle;
They wanted no part.

I'm surrounded by cotton-bullet people.
But I'd rather weild a greatsword--
Don't care if it knocks me down,
I lose my balance--
How else am I to learn to pick myself back up?

I'm surrounded by cotton-bullet people.
They shy away from me,
And expect me to shy from them--
From everything.

But how am I to live that way?
Will it scare them when I am bold,
And unafraid?

Am I right that I should prepare myself
To withstand
Whatever battles may come?
Or am I just a silly, sentimental *******?
Filled with ideas about fighting for honor,
And about feeling Alive.

I'm surrounded by cotton-bullet people.
But I long to hit and be hit.
Hard.

In know
I'm not strong enough
I'm not in control
I weild top much power
I weild without discipline

Power means not a thing
If you can't control it

I know
I have failed you
Bitter disappointment
Dreams of love wasted
Promises broken

Sometimes you have to lose
To learn how to win

I know
But you don't know I'm sorry
You wouldn't believe me
You don't want to
You can't

Run ragged in moments
Of exhaustive length,
Frantic in metophores
Bewildering strength,
Blinded when critics
Weild axes of death
And asphyxiate quick
In the absence of breath.
Atonement for platitudes
Laid in the path
Of keepers of virtue
Who knew how to laugh
And agreement in principle,
Patterned or plain,
For doing the damage
And shouldering blame.

Marshalg
@theCoalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
13 May 2010

You are a spectrum of danger,
thrown out on the battle field,
a molecular dark riding ranger,
and it's not like a fire,
or a sword that you weild,

A molecular biology occurring in dark,
I,
I can't think in this way,
a bonding of agents-
to fuse from a spark,
creating raw chemistry,
it's why I want you to stay,

Microelectronicmechanical bits spawn,
under such dangerous conditions,
I eagerly anticipate the coming of dawn,
my knees fall weak again,
as you break down more inhibitions,

Sweetly I just can't resist,
despite all the effort I give,
I tip my neck back - as I enlist,
and relish the moment occurring,
an still I hope that I'll live,

No way to fight in this passion,
no one else to come rescue me,
been too long with a ration,
a twinge of unhinged desire,
I close my eyes,
adjusting to see,

It's a magnetism in chemical vibration,
from lack of sweet frequency to come,
an even from deep satiation,
I inhale a last - b r e a t h,
as all my defenses- undone,

I open my eyes an you're gone again,
along with the shining of sun,

As I lay covered - head to toe
in your weaponized Smartdust.

Ma Cherie © 2017

Lets talk
About my power
Its very simple
And very common
We all use it
A pen.

Writting words
Of pain
Love
Joy
Hope
On paper
This powerful tool
Has been weilded by many.

It has the power
To tear countries apart,
Bring about peace
And put into place
Laws to protect
Us and the future
Of lands.

I can write with it
And hurt everyone around me
I have done it
Many times over
Now the final bit of power
I weild from it
Will be my own undoing.

So be careful
With this power
Protect and use it wisely
This pen can create
Or destroy
Which will you choose?

Palms cupped in gratitude
Graced by the Guru my,
Heart runneth over
Aum tastin' like devotion to me
Adorned upon Shakti
Like a sari, sway fluid
I Deer Park it, dharmabomb,
Narayan, God Zeus it
Thunderbolts expressed through this vishuddha
Creative flow I weild like a sword
And touch samadhi like the largest *****,
Datz da 'skin' if you ain't knew it
I get nerdy like a student
And will spiritual Warrior ll it,
In the face of foolishness
Fearless the Path
I protect, and vow dat
Like a buddhist

4/12/17

At 8pm, it is the changing of hats
in assisted living
It is time I releive a woman
from sitting in the dark
waiting for our paycheck to die.
She survived one more shift.
it is my turn at this game of russian roulette.
I meet so many strangers this way,
Each night before I sit, and wait for doors to close
I take oppurtunity to watch one open
Ask the new surviver to tell me their story.
and Write them down.

she moved across the countrey
away from her sister
a divorce from her beleifs.
sister Against God.
I empathize
How hard to move across The world,
pack up your morals
move in with your ex sisters ex husband.
I promptly told her I was polyamorous.
That my lover moved to ireland
To live with her husband
Packed up everything
She did not flinch.
I held this stranger
as she cried on my shoulder
She
in the fifteen moments I saw her
Realized
the world of differences between us.
She can find comfort in solitude
never once knew what I thought
of her Morals
How In my family
we celebrate divorce
how all burning houses are Phoenix fires
abusers can nametag forever
nametag your body is my body
Nametag husband
I worry for her safety.
A woman who doesn't beleive
in the word stop.
Doesn't consider leaving
my biggest fear is those
afraid to weild the word no.
to close the door.

she closes the door
I sit in the dark to my journal
I write down this poem beside a dying man.
the next contestant releives me at 8am.
I pass her the revolver.
I have survived this round of russian roulette.
He died the next night
and it does not feel like winning.
I live in the world of
revolving doors and revolvers
I wish to be the bullet.
pass through their skull as they go
see what they were thinking
In that last moment.

The garden of Eden is no place for fools, but you somehow made your way in
Every step tainting the very ground you walk on, every touch turning flowers and trees to stone
If only you left this place alone
My home
My sanctuary
Is not for you to own
Yet you still weild a trowel and rip up all that I have honed
But what you don't know
Is that I am not helpless
Just because you are destructive doesn't mean I can help myself less
Less than, is all you see me as
Not realizing that I'm more than just a piece of ***
Take a step back
And look at the mess you think you've made
Invading the beautiful glade I call my own
A garden now made of stone
Cold and heartless regardless of the sun shining down
Turns out that sun is now covered by rain clouds
Thunder booming loud
Turn around
See the rain pouring, hear its sound,
Are you proud?
Of all that you have done
You, a hurricane, just having a little fun
But now its time for you to run
Tracking mud over the path of which you came from
But little do you know
That one day you will atone
And that one day
This garden, now of stone
Will, over time, be eroded by the rain
And will return to the mud you have created
Left to regrow, on its own, once again.

The blood on my hands holds no shame
The more I **** the higher my fame
A god of war I claim my throne
For all my sins I could never atone
The righteous I trample under my feet
They are full of lies and deciet
My crimes I wear proudly on my sleeve
I have no reason to decieve
I hold the keys to eternal judgement
I mead out the rewards and punishment
There is blackness on every soul
Life on earth has taken it's toll
If i could I'd wipe every slate clean
But that is well beyond my means
The system is set, the rules in stone
As is the marrow to the bone
You think me evil, you think me cruel
Remember I'm not the One who made the rules
The scales I hold are balanced and true
As long as you have paid your due
You see no one enters for free
This is just the way it has to be
So toil your lives away in the field
And hope you bring in a high enough yield
Me I'd rather weild my sword
And claim I **** for the Lord

spare me the art form to leave it unto women!
spare me! make prone to ride a horse,
shoot an arrow from a bow, and weild a sword,
don't make me, this! make only women bound
to it, akin to the pashtun, leave me sacred, bound,
to care to the billionth remark as a plumber might,
and yes, revisionist as all might be,
                 for isn't there a fear
that with reincarnartion there
came only come a set number of
Noah compatiorts?
       how are we to esteem, or
indeed redeem the said quota?
who to say failure: without a battlefield?!
  to what altar?! i ask, to what altar?
a couch and a ******* t.v. altar?
you be god or mere boredom?!
      a death in war be a spark,
and above that a flit,
and above that a flame....
    and that means should a congregation
partake in the passed wisdom:
all but one are excused..
   but pray! leave me with an oath
an ancient greek might have said:
that these women bring nothing
but turmoil... and that they should
be left, best cleaving to
    a moment's adrift, care toward
symposium of a wave...
i was never born to be ***...
       and i never will be...
shame...
mind you: i was never born an ethnicity
of vermin... and that's salt,
that's really salt, whether there's a wound
or there isn't one...
have your Knightsbridge and
24 carat plating encrusting copper... have it!
     i'll fall asleep, and have my war
contra crux.
          because, i dare believe,
i have no ethnic boundary,
or a care to remember...
                           that if i had any...
i was never rat, or metaphor...
so i am prone to faking it...
demoralising its significance...
      for a cause i am afraid to ask a: what for?
once there was a tale that a nobleman owned
a horse... and he was the most esteemed
cladden of the sort...
later came the footsoldiers and their banners...
and lastly: i can't believe i just woke up;
i am bound to daydream the past,
and heaving perfect standards of modern technology,
i am with limbs, bound to be without any...
i can't even be bound to a prison to
try to escape it...
                  why did i begin to write poetry,
with poetic populism afright, and the safety card to send
men to war.. if they remain: only half literate...
       i really need gills to breath in this
air... it's too sulphuric: not when my ethnicity
be compared to rats... not again, not another german
scheisseladen in tongue of anglo-saxon...
   if that's how it going to be...
please give me the gift.... cos i sheisse ain't
about to look at the magazines of vogue like
a human, anymore!
you call this human? i call this lesser than animal,
o.k.?! dogs and cats get better treatment
in the west than i... i might as well endorse
a jihad... just to wake certain peoples up.

Maybe it's true now
Like it was true way back then,
You'll never quite meet the president
And you'll end up back home again.
Sometimes in the distance,
You can hear the horsemen ride.
Maybe we could fight to our death,
Maybe we could run and hide.

So send your sons on to the battlefield
Send your daughters to a rich man's bed,
At least it won't be empty, the sword they weild
And we all fall down.

Don't you like to remember the good ol' days ,
When the sun burned in the sky?
When your girls liked to live by their husband's hand,
And the good boys went off to die?
Oh you may not meet your maker ,
'Cause he's left his home in the sky,
So I guess it's just the few of us
Meant to live, pay in, and die.

So send your little boys to the battlefields
Send your daughters to a rich man's bed
Go ahead, let us pay for you,
And we all fall down.

I hate being a damsel in distress,
Lying on the railroad tracks
with a villian laughing behind me
I’ve always fought back
Tie him up instead,
let him squirm in the coral snake pit
I’ve never liked being saved,
Seen as fragile and weak,
Standing here with my pretty dress and rose-petal cheeks
No, I’m not fragile, I’m not weak
I prefer boots over slippers
Trousers over skirts
I’m not some poor, defenseless litte princess
I know how to weild a sword

But then my knight came along,
And while I’d still fight,
There were battles I could not win,
Not without him
And when I collapsed beneath the dragon’s feet,
My knight came
Weilding a sword of tear-stained steel,
The metal reinforced with soul mates’ heartstrings
And he was brave, slaying the dragon
Even as I tried to get back up on my feet and say “Nay!”
The great beast fell, and my knight turned to me
Eyes glimmering with fear
“I know you prefer to defend yourself,
But it looked like you needed me here;
I couldn’t just let him devour you.”
I stepped forward, booted feet suddenly light
And surprised him with a crushing hug.
“Thank you,” I said, “thank you.
I will owe you forever for this, my knight.”
He smiled at me, relief lighting his face, and replied
“All I need in return is you by my side.”
We sealed the promise with a kiss.

But that still doesn’t make me
A damsel in distress.
I’m a knight, too, just like him,
And we save each other.

Who would you be without words.
Without the innate ability to weild
A sharp and bitter taste
To be left without them
No more music no books no conversation no jokes no movies
You've lost the solace of words
You've lost the shield of language
You're losing it.
Even a dog recognizes it's name.
But soon you won't.
Who what when how
Its all words
Without them
What are you.

You awoke in the blackness
A ghost in the kitchen
A weight pinning you to your bed
And here's the interesting thing
About ghosts and spirits and such
Not because I dislike them
Not because I wish them ill
Not because with reason and wit,
Should I weild my pen
and ****
But because
The subtle things are often missed
Things that are better
Than all of this
Are hard to see
With the pressing of the moment
When right and wrong
Are both their most strong
When true and not
Make all else to be forgot
But in the cracks the scientist stoops
Finding missed information
Little treasures and reminders
Of what was lost
In the gap
The smallest of oversights
The alternate worlds
Of pancake batter cooked
with the children
On a Saturday since forgot
Or the trace of *****
on the couch
From the love made last Christmas
The dna of a lover
Hiding under your nails
In our presence
But also separate existence
The shortcut of a conversation
Where words were said
But those heard were not
How is it different from that spectre?
A trick of the stimuli
A preset of the brain
Or remembering that place
Where I last put my keys
But they aren't there.
I find them in a space
But I know I didn't put them there
It must be a ghost!
But if a ghost it be
Does it want me to see
It's misty form
Or hear it's clamber in the next room?
Or is it a subtlety
Come to visit me
And show the moments
Of my life
Lost in the crevice
Never even noticed

The duties of the heart,
And the duties of the home,
Happen to be the same.
They both scream you.
But with the heart of a wolf,
I will never abandon the girl I love.
I am a soldier,
And I will cut down all before me,
No matter how glorified the evil.
And if I must,
I will weild my weapon with one hand,
And cover your eyes with the other.
Just know,
I will do what is required of me,
To protect this homeland,
And to protect you.
No matter how many men must die,
No matter how many rounds I must fire,
I will return to you.
And I will rest until the next fight,
When my soul builds to full strength,
And I know I cannot lose,
Not with you beside me.

I cannot speak of my emotions,
my mouth freezes, tears do not fall
My insanity pours out from my pen,
it slips down my fingers and splatters the keyboard
with blood
I cry
I wonder why
I cannot SPEAK the truth of my heart,
all I can do is weild my pen;
write.

These words can fly into the sky
fluttering iridescent wings,
high on the love and despair
of teenage affairs
They fly through the eyes
of fellow young minds
Light up the deadzones inside
with my voice
I write because I cannot speak,
I write to share my mind
with the ones I love
and with the world

take my words
and fly.

Certain species of insects, birds
Fishes moved by instinctive action.
Animals by certain behavioral code,
By invisible rules primeval hierarchy,
By natural selection of dominant genes,
Identify and select, elect able leaders.
This is true to humans and primates.
The fittest more powerful the cleverest
Are the providers for food and protection.
The mighty conquering over the weak.
Mankind since time memorial seek
Remedial solutions for vulnerability.
They look up to leaders for leadership.

Leaders comes in all walks and sizes.
Those of esteemed virtues, acclaimed
Legendary status, heroics chisel in stones.
If tyrants unopposed, dictators idolized,
Anarchy reign from their distorted minds.
Fake leader corrupt nation kills democracy.
In God's name lift ****** sword of aggression.
Once they dictated on the throne and send
Thousands innocent sons and daughters
To castration and death. Charismatic,
Beguiled us, woo us with crafty oratory
But corrupted to the core as soon as tasted
Drank the sweetness of absolute power.

Leaders formulate laws for peace and progress,
And nation building, and not contrived laws
To suit themselves, their families and cronies.
God of all the prophets, the clergymen,
Of Kings and Queens, of dukes and Lord's
And God of the decent common man.
Send down to us blessed leaders
Who will lead by outstanding, fine example,
Who will lead us in good and trying times,
Who will not, neither womanize cheat or lies,
Who will make promises and delivers,
Who concerned about the environment,
Who weild their powers with empathy,
Who simply deserves to lead us.

They must be talking again,
Asking how to connect spiritually in a way everything isn't rocky,
Human consumption and group therapy is worth the memorable experience of how to use God as a gift that only is welcomed when the days of reflect on Devine historys memories is affective in ways to heal society but abuses the rest of the month to weild swords against unhumanistic boards, and realities. ideas that fail towards world's against humanity is a factual source to pull from like wiki,
He's been able to research the facts so let's remove it's mystical matched anomaly.
All is and I've mixed "reflection" and am not the other reflector as I become both as one in morps between equalizing the pressure
Now as a middle man to world's I'm learning and retrieving pictures from all to become the accepted moral support of everyone with the sacrifice of only being nothing I was born of
Or born from just light shining bright holding all dreams and escapes that fullfill the death and transformation of all plus others and add some..

Triangle on my head &
Handgun!

Many daggers to the heart
It's important to weild this turmoil
Into a fresh start
Exhausted maze over lapping days
Weary of trust that freely gave
Drained of laughter in earlier ways
Have I become stripped and bare
No more armor to spare
For it's heavy stature
Failed to compare

Liars sit on gilded thrones barking orders into intangible every-*******-where and we plug our ears and we hum our throats hoarse but we still hear it.
We still hear it.
We hear everything.
You ran away and for office and I know what it meant and where it ends but I don't recall the lines of revolt forming like ants in formation against you. Neither do you, you *******. Doesn't matter. Never did.
We know everything.
I know late night talk radio vocabulary and I weild it like armor to protect me from the ******* conspiracy and the wild denials of things we've always known and I'm left cold and run-on.
I saw everything.
Inside the backrooms where the ******* deals get made there are secrets passed like currency and this gets exchanged for that and we're all smaller and less and our souls are laid bare before hungry jowls and damp fingers.
Everything is negotiable.
You want to stand, sycophantic, before me and prattle on about values? You value nothing. This is nothing. You cut up and sell the American dream to the highest bidder and sleep sound as houses while we burn with impotent rage and the gnawing feeling failure provides to giving up.
Everything is for sale.
And maybe, just maybe, we deserve you.

Eliot,

I thought you had thrown in the towel 2 weeks ago.
HP, suddenly, went off the air!

Communicated with a few of my HP mates, Nat n' Stevo, Vix in England.....enquiring whether they thought this was so?

The universal horror that HP may be no more hit us all like a brick wall.

Truely amazing what an global impact your little poetry site weilds. What an impact you, directly, weild to a whole spectrum of worldwide creative people.

I'm sure, initially, you had no conception how this idea would mushroom. How much importance we would all place on your continuity to provide.

One day you will die....and with your departing soul shall fly the lamentation of a host of worldwide poetic tragedy, for we will all have lost something of immense and personal value.

My thanks to you for your inspired creation and your willingness, enthusiasm and sacrifice to maintain it.

We would be quite lost and distraught in a world without your unique and wonderful brainchild.

I felt it was important to let you know this.

Respectfully Sire.

M@Foxglo­ve.Taranaki.NZ
17 August 2024