"winder" poems
Renaissance Man
mathematician, painter and poet
a genius of an engineer
I wish I could have met the man
or even better if he were here
I would follow him everywhere
absorbing as much as I could
trying to collect his brilliance in a jar
you know most surely I would
his curiosity and imagination
equaled by few mortals ever known
his feats of undeniable skills
his seeds of desire forever grown
the anatomical research he started
unequaled technological ingenuity
the beautiful Mona Lisa's face
the Last Supper reflects his ASSIDUITY
the creator of simple bobbin winder
the theory of plate tectonics
solar power and hydrodynamics too
his thoughts on moving robotics
yes he was a marvelous genius
his love of life will live on forever
sharing his unending reaching mind
we can marvel at this man together
Gomer LePoet ....
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
Then was my neophyte,
Child in white blood bent on its knees
Under the bell of rocks,
Ducked in the twelve, disciple seas
The winder of the water-clocks
Calls a green day and night.
My sea hermaphrodite,
Snail of man in His ship of fires
That burn the bitten decks,
Knew all His horrible desires
The climber of the water ***
Calls the green rock of light.
Who in these labyrinths,
This tidethread and the lane of scales,
Twine in a moon-blown shell,
Escapes to the flat cities' sails
Furled on the fishes' house and hell,
Nor falls to His green myths?
Stretch the salt photographs,
The landscape grief, love in His oils
Mirror from man to whale
That the green child see like a grail
Through veil and fin and fire and coil
Time on the canvas paths.
He films my vanity.
Shot in the wind, by tilted arcs,
Over the water come
Children from homes and children's parks
Who speak on a finger and thumb,
And the masked, headless boy.
His reels and mystery
The winder of the clockwise scene
Wound like a ball of lakes
Then threw on that tide-hoisted screen
Love's image till my heartbone breaks
By a dramatic sea.
Who kills my history?
The year-hedged row is lame with flint,
Blunt scythe and water blade.
'Who could snap off the shapeless print
From your to-morrow-treading shade
With oracle for eye?'
Time kills me terribly.
'Time shall not ****** you,' He said,
'Nor the green nought be hurt;
Who could hack out your unsucked heart,
O green and unborn and undead?'
I saw time ****** me.
2.5k
Ah wuz lookin oot o' mah winder and ah saw this lad
wi' a barry wee lassie gaun' up the hill.
-Wair the **** d'ye think you're gaun tae? ah yells oot.
But the daft ***** didnae answer at aww,
must've been oot o' thir ****** heids wi' E's or summat,
d'ye ken what ah'm tellin' ye,ye daft radge?
-Wair ye're ******* going? ah yells a couple mair times
and finally the gadge yells back to ays,
-Up the ******* hill tae fetch a pail o' ******* watter,
me Ma's hud her fuckin' taps turned oaf by the fuckin' Corporation,
which is a ******* pain in the erse ah had ter agree.
I realised ah knew the wee **** Jack but,
eh wuz an auld classmate of ays and eh's hung oot wi' ma brar n me,
when we wuz bairns oan the Scheme,eh?
-That's a bonny wee lassie ye've goat wi' ye, there Jack, ah yelled,
thinking ah'd nae kick her oot o' mah scratcher
withoot gi'ing her a guid ride.
Ah huvtae sey ah recognised hir as a wee ****
called Jill from the Scheme, a right tidy wee ride
in mah opinion wi' a guid little ***** on hir, as ah recall.
-Mind ye're own fuckin' business, the **** yells back at ays,
takin' the pail in yin hand and the hoor's wee hand in the other yin.
Ah can tell ye ah totally pished meself wi' laughter
when the pair o' they wide ***** fell doon,
Jack breakin' his fuckin' croon n the groond,
ah'm sure he nivver meant it tae happen,
'n eh mustae squashed his ******* bawws
as eh fell doon n aww from the wey he screamed oot,
but the wee lassie cam tumbling doon the ****** hill n aww,
heid n **** oor her fuckin' erse
'n ah could see she wasnae wearin' any ****** *******
'n her ***** was on display under her skirt.
Ah wouldnae expect anything else from a wee hoor,eh?
-Dinnae worry, ah'll com and help ye, ah called oot,
but when ah goat thir, both o them wis deid,
ah thoat o' gittin mah hole wi' the deid lassie n aww,
but you shouldnae dae that, it's no respectful tae wimmin,
'n eywis, the polis might trace me through the DNA,
those ***** are clivvir 'n aw, ye ken.
So ah contented mesel' wi' rummidging through the poakits
o' the lad's jaykit tae see if eh hud ehs payment from the Joab Centre,
but the daft **** mustae spent it aww on a boatil or two o Grants,
ah ken ah'd hae done the same mahsel'.
And there wasnae a penny in the lassie's purse,
so ah thoat ah'd jus' **** oaf doon the ******
'n ask some **** tae call the hoaspital and the ****** polis.
Eh?
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
Like a flower in winder
I lay patiently waiting
For the summer sun to bring forth
Its shine of warmth
As I look to the clouds above
I engulf myself into the slightest
Hope emanating from the
Ever gloomy surface
And let myself forget
My numb self
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
A bumpy track led to the old cottage. The place hadn't been lived in for quite a while but was intact, a perfect timber-framed Tudor cottage. Even the old thatch didn't leak. Just two rooms downstairs with a small lean-to on the back, the kitchen still had a Dutch oven and an old copper for hot water. A kite-winder staircase followed the central chimney up to two bedrooms.
The place was coming up for auction. Desperately I wanted it. At the auction it made four times what I could afford. The buyer did not move in however. There was a story about him being in prison. At this time the farmers used to dispose of waste straw after combining by burning it in the fields, a practice now banned. That's how the thatch caught alight. There was no attempt to fight the fire because no-one even noticed it. Gales later blew in the gable ends, then the chimney crumbled, brambles grew over it until there was hardly a visible trace of the place left.
I wish I could have saved it. It would have been beautiful. Instead I bought a little terrace, then a detached needing renovation, then the one we have today. I got what I wanted eventually, but I still think about that old place sometimes, and how I wanted it.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 7:24 AM UTC
Just hanging around stuck in the background where Echo and the Bunnymen sing sad songs,they're not funny men and I'm not one too.
Going to take my Queen and fulfill a dream,dine in style at Mile End,wend my way down to Nandos,pay for chicken,sticking less to the plan because I'm only a man I travel to Hackney where the wild men of Shoreditch come out to attack me with rolled up newspapers,their capers amuse me until I blink twice, and I see, that my Queens seen it all and goes off in a huff,
Puffs of smoke are no joke when you're born as a bloke because the magic don't last,blast it nearly passed it,the turn off for middle age,junction twenty six on the revolving glass mirrored stage,but I made it and now I'm back in the sun waiting for my Queen to come,my apology accepted along with the promise of a day trip to Poundland,stand and deliver while we shiver our timbers and limber up for the party on interstate four,
sore from the laughter we take a bath shortly after because we like to stay clean,my Queen thinks I'm ***** and men go that way after thirty but I'm not so sure.
I have pure intentions and clean underwear,does she care? I think so but it's so hard to know what she's thinking,she tastes of melons when I'm drinking her in.
In this flotilla where the will of the one doesn't win,we all stick together, whether it's a good thing or not,
but I've got a plan and because I'm only a man it's a good one and so I carry on and she carries me,I meet her mum and she marries me..sounding obscene,I mean I married my Queen,not her mum.
It's all in the spaghetti which I'm sure that SHY YETI'S BEST OF BRITISH - PART 1 doesn't cover,so it won't keep me warm but no harm in me looking through this facebook and cooking a dish,should I wish, for some it's back to interstate four,where the cops will be waiting with a ticket to the potteries and a fine for the finder of the stopped timex watch winder.
where was I
in Mile end?
yes,
going to spend but stay lean as I talk with my Queen,
and so it goes on.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
Last night, whilst I was sleeping,
my dreams were turned into
bubble gum rivers
cascading from my mind in
fruit winder waves, infecting
my body with
artificial fructose and
awakening my reverie
with a sweet
burning desire to
Go!
Do!
Live!
So I follow my instructions
and hop on this candy-covered
illusion and travel,
to a place where sugar can
sprout from my fingers and a
thick toffee sauce
can cloud my brain so I can't
hear the screams of paranoia
that come with
all beauty, and I delude
myself into thinking that
this is life.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 12:31 PM UTC
He had the voice you see,
the timing and the just pause.
He knew how to colour and stretch
a word, just so.
He wrote quiet rhymes:
I’m a winder
(he wrote,
writing as a river).
I love to wander.
Every day I’m different
with stories to tell
of wild otter huntings
and crisp frozen winters.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
Ahem…
This isn’t to give you attention, it’s to give you awareness that the
harder you try to get to me, the easier it will be, to waste your breath trying.
You have been made aware.
Now, I don’t have enemies, I have people who hate me
for standing true and strong, who I choose to ignore.
I’ve been dumb, I’ve been foolish, Ya I’ve been immature before.
But I can proudly say with self respect, that I have never been the disrespect
that they are.
Threaten me, call me things, glare at me all you want, be a hater!
You won’t wear me down. You can’t tear me down.
So try all you want! You’ll look like a clown…
[Bridge & Chorus]
Because…
It’s time to grow up now, it’s time to forget how.
Do it the best way you think you can.
You’re unclear of what this song’s about, but I know I’m no longer in doubt.
Make sense of it the best way you can.
I’m a WHAT? Well… I’m glad you think so.
I do a pretty good job standing strong for the things I believe in.
So thanks for the reminder! Rewind your winder
But realize you’ll never win, you are never getting in.
Rewind your thoughts, consider my foughts
and the abuse I let myself take from your words
but you haters are the ones who’ll rot.
… do you really wanna rot?
[Bridge & Chorus]
I do what I can to make sure you’re outta sight, you’re outta mind.
Anything to make sure you don’t drag me behind
to be hit by your talk, I’m gonna stand up and walk!
Right past the ones we all try to ignore…
[Bridge & Chorus]
[Chorus]
((I apologize for the slightly darker message. But I hope some of you find it inspirational.))
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 7:25 AM UTC
Empty
Inward
Outside the inside takes the over the top
Keep up the up work
Out the kinks
Livin' the dream above ground
More abover than above
Supra-above
Über-above
Hyper-everoverabove
Concrete creeks with side-winder dreams
Above cracks to keep the windows' hollows
Not open.
Never open.
Above open
‖Again‖
Lysergic acid rhythms
Circadia, Dustin (where is that? Here. what time is it? Now.)
I emptied this and that and found the Atlantic ******* Ocean
But only the ephemeral waves
Upon waves of æther
---necro-above---
Ecstasy of the senses
Only after all
The nothingness opens like a wrapper
From whence it came
(What is the "us"?)
Can the we join the us and still get along with them.
Where does the Earth and the water come from
And why does it sojourn here?
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 3:38 PM UTC
*Jonquil rain bar approach , delta method
time beau stargazer in earnest
Fine line arcadian pest derecho , pinpoint
waiver unit substitution Jericho
Albamarle sinister unit torrid recuser perpetuity
cisco propulsion Easter wig nam propulsion
Archangel rock deliver jetsam
Harold ****** sonic shift mercury wind bag space
candidate turquoise nine beam analyzer Sinbad nine
Winder ground archer nine sound pet neighbor tyrant
dime loser terrier loose figment stroller ten nimbus*
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC
I treaded through the snow
Lost no limbs
Heart thumping to the tempo of my feet
Step after step
My eyes as frozen as the foreboding tundra ahead of me
I stopped suddenly,
Eerily,
Legs stiffened like
The sporadic pale wheat stalks
growing fruitfully across my neck
I looked around
and suddenly found myself on the other side
ravished
with the devastation that the
Winder ruthlessly spread
using it's red nose
and
trembling fingers
Black solar eclipse
eyes
Pulsating
in and out
Teasing
time
Altering
Space and the earth and
your carnivorous smile your
red vine
lips
rosy cheeks blazing
with
temptation
the
red apple
the
cooing
goosebumps erupting on your
forearms
from the
devils
careful finger work
I thought it was intimacy
but it was only a
touch without thought
without feeling
without a
future
or
past
Some
moment that stood out
amongst the millions of others
that
lit up your Christmas trees
and
held your hand when you were sick
Said
the
I love you's
over and over
until my
Heart
was full
and
disgusted
over and over
Until I felt my stomach disintegrating
into soil that
can never be
fertile
for You
or Them
It's a
patch in a quilt that stays face down
cold and muddled
on the bed that
no human body
except yours
can sleep in
I see you,
trying to,
interpret the
tail coats of my words when you can't even find their source
Bathroom stalls
coated with my
guilt
Two flushes
hand washing
Thorough
You're
Thorough You
pick up your purse
the clink of the
gold chain
slaps the floor
You exit through the door
I'm
sweating profusely
and I
pray that if I fall down and onto the murky salmon tile it's only when I hear the faded clunk of your heels making their way down the hallway
Give me some god ****** dignity
gone
The god ****** dignity
you washed into the sink that
sits in front of my
mauve plastic bubble
just to
mock me
Salmon pink tile
that kissed the
fangs of a thousand vicious hees
Dead
in an era I wasn't even born into
The sun is in my hands and I have no more feelings
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
You think they'd just be lying about.
Strewn away from society like the brave little toaster.
But alas...
They persist in existing in drawers and 'hind doors of cabinets aplenty.
If only a watch would give a moment of time in my hand,
I'd rip it to pieces and turn into feces watch pieces lying there dead.
I wonder the winder has thought this thought through that watches have turned from metal..
To tiny parts made of plastic and trinkets and trinklings of junk on which they've settled.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
Hidden-
Now seen
Summer is coming
Winter is passed
Winter is past
Winter is pacified
White sheets conceiling black ice and hidden lust
Shone bright against clear sky the glimmer blinds, lies
Summer is coming
Winter is over
Winter exists
Winter will never leave
Bright sun and thick air surround and subdue the grey,,
Lust has its way and love sighs away
Winter has love
Winder hides lust
Shifting snow spurs on those who wander and solidifies the doubt
But summer,
Summer is here
and Secrets and lovers must be torn asunder
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
Her skin shines like a newly smoked earthenware
Beauty glows on her like the colourful scarlet
Of a newly married hindi woman
And her perfection; so refreshing as the early morning rising sun.
She is a lady;
Yes! A lady of class
Full of Glamour like the glitz awards
The African night sky with her stars of hope are nothing
Compared to the grace that adorns her.
Her smile lights up my world
Love; her greatest charm
Smile, her sweetest perfume
Her words are more soul touching than the hard-bop tone of
Lee morgan's side-winder
She is a woman ; An African woman , the best of women
The sound of her name sends chilled thrills down my spine like
Water from a fountain quenches thirst in spring.
Nhammie as i passionately call her,
So have i missed every single minute that flew past when we are not together
I stand tall like the great iroko tree amongst great trees to mention her name;
Nana Ama!!!
Yes! Nana Ama
She is a woman
An African woman of substance and of Great virtue.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 9:24 AM UTC
I wonder what its like to look at a mirror, stare at your reflection and not want to reject it
Eject it into a vat of ether so it burns slow like tuna casserole
I know i shouldn't be writing about these things but its been haunting me since i was 16
Still young and somewhat pristine but no one went my way like cards on a riverboat, I've hid that feeling for a long time with an overcoat
Made of self deprecation and little derivation from that formula of running from things i cant see, but you cant avoid your own feelings
When they hammer into you like nails on a wall,
Its a winder I'm still standing up posted like a ghostbuster in city hall...
I wouldve been gone years ago, bur music saved me y'all.
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 11:51 PM UTC
All my thoughts are questions.
But why is it a question?
Why do I ask?
How can you say its a question?
It ain't even a task
to look for answers in the net
But **** I always forget
the questions in my head
What was I thinking about?
I ponder and think
then I saw something not related to anything
a new question is born
let the cycle end
but then again
curiosity killed the cat
I winder why it's not a dog
always in repeat
never to end
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
The vines grow inside my body,
up from the ground, into my thighs,
down from the sky into my eyes.
It overcomes into my mind
warping and wraping until I find
my heart turned violent
inside of my chest.
The only thing untouched in this mess.
The vine it spreads
it goes and it heads
curving down going around,
my lungs look like overgrown gates.
Closed for the winder, and closed from hate.
The vine it reaches,
for my inmost being ceases
the part of my know one cares
the part of me I dare not share.
Calm, Cool, Collected me.
The people who watch
they think i am a statue.
Letting this vine,
make crime,
in my life. I guess they're right,
I dont want to nor do I fight.
The vine sprouts
up from the ground,
my warped mind, can't seem to decide,
Does the vine belong?
or should I bring it down.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
I was cold
and you were there
untouched
alone
no one claimed you
you caught my eye
you fit nicely
slightly big
how I like it
warming me up
people staring
jealous your around me
I know they want you
you know they want you
they know they want you
now you lay quietly
on the blue couch in my room
so still
yet ready for my touch
I dont know where you came from
or who you were with before
but you make me happy
when your on me
on chilly summer nights
or winder days
keep doing what you do
oh grey jacket
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
Tied by this life and its circumstance,
I watch the mainspring unwind on what could be the final chance.
It's a Ballet dance,
for every pirouette we get
a silver star.
I find her with her slender fingers on the winder, she tightens me and time enlightens me once more.
And if Renoir could paint me as I see the silver star approach me, catch the magic of the present on the canvas in the frame,
what then would be the name,
The pastures of a night in Paris?
In the event of my demise
I want no cries to mock the frigid air,
but in that event
I shall truly miss her
until the night in Paris
springs green again.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 12:34 PM UTC
i look like i am jittering but really i am partying
to heavy metal and christmas all over the fucken world
i get down with my tapestry and i really let it out
i sew sew sew wherever i go, partying is definitely the way to go
you see i try and not worry what the voices
and i be positive, yippee i ay
i don’t support the raiders, they ****
i hate supporting manly despite them being a good team
u know i am mental, but i write my voices out well
you, who tries to go to ****** hell
this weekend i am off to sydney
to look around the shops and eat heaps of grub
please buddha please, don’t make me die yet
i am too positive for this world, but don;t make me die
unless you mean death as in death metal
like WASP and iron maiden, that is so rad
and thanks to iinet for fixing my phone
i just hope it doesn’t break down
have yourself a merry little christmas
with a ***** and a beer
from now on dad is going to yell out oh my ****** dear
we wish you a merry christmas
happy to be cool, like me
i am the coolest dude in canberra
ya see i a writing so i don’t get angry dude cause i am a positive dude
jingle bells batman smells robin laid 2 eggs
for winder woman who got milk out of her ***** flying QANTAS hey
ta see hay is in the paddock where the horses are, it’s not in here
BRIAN PARTY IS COOL MAN
and in a straight way i liked patrick cause he was funny
my brother chris was cool too, so am i
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
Trees swinging and swaying
Winter wings bellowing
Fallen leafs collecting
More time to spend raking
What becomes of a garden without its green?
Once we met but have parted ways
The sorries, forgive mes and I love yous we once said
Lasted no longer than the spring rains
But the memories made always stays
Stay to make days long and nights cold
To make life somewhat lonesome
Relationships and trees
I don't see much differences
Both grow and flourish in spring
Wither and shed with the Winder's dry wind
Requiring much care, nursing and tending
Still without assurance of surviving
I have made a handful of friends
A garden I intend to proudly tend
All broken branches to bind and mend
Its green must know no end
I am irrigating till spring comes around again.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
The music box grinds down to silent rest
Between a crone’s rheumatic, weathered hands.
A simple enough trinket, she'd attest,
But quick enough to answer her demands:
Her brittle fingers wait for it to cease,
Then seek the winding key, its battered brass
All lacquered in patina, thumbprint grease
And dusting left undone, its fragile glass
A testament to things left well alone,
A dancer wrought in crystal finery
Awaiting his accompaniment’s tone,
His patient poise the winder’s reverie...
Returned, rewound, to tabletop in time,
The music box begins, again, to chime.
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
Here alone again
Different from last time
Getting back from just hanging out
Instead of hanging out just to get back
College has changed me
Perhaps too much
Maybe not enough
I wonder if anyone back home would recognize me
I winder if they ever think about me
Do they miss me? Those friends of mine
We promised that although we were going across the state
That we would never stop being friends
All of us and our promises
Like the soft sound of raindrops on the window
Slowly falling away, until they all collect
and then fall away all together
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC