Best Auger Poems
Changed climate is not a surprise
With drilling for gas on the rise
Where can life forms hide
From carbon dioxide
And methane let loose in the skies?
Neo-druids auger gas wells
And add fluids with sulfurous smells!
Are poisons they've tapped
With their magic wands trapped
Evermore by sorcerous spells?
Votes and news seem not relevant
The unrelenting elephant
In all our best rooms
Is fossil fuel's fumes
And toxins we can't circumvent
He greets the rising sun with a puff of black smoke,
Gritting his teeth against the cold and sending up prayers of hope.
On this tractor he sits all day,
Never to stop unless something were to break.
Swinging the auger out to signal the tank is full,
Bank out comes up full speed and tries not to drop one hull.
All day long this is the scene,
So perfectly timed and almost serene.
The sun starts to set,
But they continue to go, for they’re not done yet.
The painted colors of the sky,
So peaceful and stunning in his eyes.
With darkness starting to settle in and cover,
The rice dust will slowly start to hover.
He turns on the lights and continues his rows,
For until the harvest is finished, he will never slow.
Lost in the divine languor of deaths sleep
Somewhere distant he heard the call of his name…
Barely sensing the avidity of life’s gift
Recalling the auger of the messiahs promise…
He rebuked the plea under the swathe of deaths eye,
Again the distant voice demanded of him
Forcing him to recall all that he had once been…
Beheld of the need to carry the word
Forcing himself to his feet inside the dark sepulcher…
Consciousness breached the boundaries of his mind,
With a heavy breath he carped at the pain
Racking through a body lost in the rigid shroud of death…
With each aching footfall he moved toward his salvation,
Again came the command, “Come forth”
The cherubic beauty of the voice persuading him…
Lazarus stepped into the light to live again.
By Sashi. Prabhu(zeauoxian) 1/3/2012.
Often, I glimpse from my roof top garden, leftward,
From the sedentary swing but I know the descent of woodpeckers have soared.
From the vertical column sans a crown of leaves of rotted dead wood,
Once, which was in its own right a magnificent coconut tree where it stood.
Freshness, splendor, Vitality and flexibility of a live tree all depleted and gone,
T’was a pertinent choice for the woodpecker mates to build a home foregone.
Abundantly birdies flock, Pigeons, robins, mynahs, hornbills, cranes and parrots,
On the evergreen nearby tamarind tree, but the woodpeckers my eyes ferrets.
From that eventful day my eyes they set upon,
Their wood pecking bills would on the bark sculpt and impinge on.
A homely hole to drill,
Their head moving rhythmically and looks like a cap with red frill.
Twenty five days back they first arrived I lucidly recollect,
Ten days, a pair of hatched altricial chicks, mates from adversaries’ have to protect.
One morn had me glancing to the oval cavital hole on the bark,
And feasted my eyes on feeding chicks being readied, their lives to embark.
Blissful and content , I recollect now I sat a bit longer to observe and discern,
Glorious hues, auger bill, cap with red frills, of the peckers as they take their unambiguous turns.
To zip across like beige, buttery yellow plumaged darts across the lush foliage all green,
Within, watchable bounds to fetch, insects, worms and saps as nutriment routine.
The chicks I saw they peek out of the shielded barky holes with awe,
Strength it seems to me have filled their wings bill and sharpened claw.
Now I wonder if I can listen to the joyous feminine “chrr”
and the shrill masculine “kwirr”.
As the young chick in the hole frolicking, giving it a try to fly,
Away in the wide world after saying a good bye onto the sky very high…………
Now the mates without emotions, kerfuffle and ado,
To each other, their home and their prying neighbour me have bid “adieu”.
Often, I glimpse from my roof top garden, leftward,
From the sedentary swing but I know the descent of woodpeckers have soared
Brutus Iulius Trois page 02
Where Trojans are there will be Troy
In Hesperia the elder cousins the new Dardanoi
the sons of Silvanus Dardanus shall inherit
and Lavinia's bloodline shall dwindle down
caught by a curse not even Anna Perenna can protect
as the very last drops are given to wolves
Thus purified the Dardanoi become a great nation
As for the house of Ascanius and the true Trojans
Two bright stars that flame and fall
Troy is lost, Trojans are lost
a matricide, a patricide an orphan child
shall escape his curse and rescue Creusa
who cries all alone in Troy's ruins
Where Trojans are there will be Troy
Ascanius did not weep or cry in anger
Ascanius did not try to stop what was to come
doing such things had never helped his father Aeneas
Ascanius placed his faith in older prophecies made
and his trust in the protection of grandmother Venus
with peaceful prayers sent he pleas to the Parcae
Nona spin your finest threads for my son.
Decima give him a full cup of life leave him not wanting
Morta keep your knife idle until after my time.
Ascanius paid the Auger in silver coin
one eyed Merlinius bowed and left
To his soldiers Ascanius said slay me this soothsayer
but the mage Merlinius staged his own suicide
drinking a draft of false death
disappearing some said into the west
Silent stayed Ascanius, keeping secret his son's fate
In time Silvanus Trois inherited his fathers crown
and wedded Julia Dardanus his close cousin
tying the Trojan grafts tighter to their newly Latin roots.
Julia Dardanus died in birthing a beautiful son
she breathed her last even as he breathed his first.
In sorrow Silvanus lifted his son aloft to show the courtiers
as he hefted the babe, he named his heavy burden Brutus.
In true Trojan fashion Ascanius had raised Silvanus his son
In such fashion Silvanus in turn raised Brutus Iulius Trois
He's back
My nemesis,
Billy Mays,
Never does he fail
To amaze
Now pushing "Zorbees"
miracle rag,
And as I watch,
I start to gag
He's taken Vince's
Sham Wow,
And made it his
Holy Cow!
He copied his ad
Near word for word
This blazing scuz-bucket,
This worthless turd
I want to order an "Awesome Auger"
And pretend to be
Billy Mays' proctologist
And clean out this
Ass's ass
I think such a plan
Is first class
I'll get a medal of honor
That's for sure
Cause any more Billy Mays
No one can endure
Climber
by Odin Roark
Reality readied its chance
Ascent of an alpine face
Traversing ice and cold
Challenging steel axe and rope
Such was the pulsating vibration
Facing another dawn
That day
Blade and ice danced slow motion
Penetrating deep into resistance
Echoing through layered centuries
Awakening nature to its presence
Breath became reserved
High altitude remained merciless
Snow-blind eyes squinted thankfully
As yards became feet
Became inches
Became respect for the unknown
Frozen feet
Cinched tight inside
Defiant crampons
Numbly impelled their serrated spikes
The blue iced chorus groaned displeasure
Reminding auger-encroachment
Frozen time was forever resilient
Destiny prevailed
Mortality hung suspended
As will over apathy
Courage over defeat
Found fear had been conquered
Life’s architecture
Like da Vinci ’s Vitruvian Man
Became a frozen tapestry
Life’s proportions
Past
Future
Present
Coalesced
Transformed
Became…
Some might say such a tale
Mere envisages
Penned into a journal
To bide some time
This night however…
The mountain-wall’s next attempt
Huddled in a tent weathering sub-zero temperatures
Sipped tea from his father’s battered cup
A legacy found long ago
Floating atop glacial runoff
Through the night
Ink continued flowing
Tin cup foreshadowing remained warm
First light neared
I solemnly received my first toilet auger
As if it were a knight’s well-tempered sword.
It meant I’d passed my ninety-day audition,
And seemed to me a suitable reward.
And so began my tenure working maintenance
In the nasty nitty gritty of a toxic circumstance.
But I’d scored a small apartment, living duty-free,
So, it was time for starting over’s second chance.
A thousand plus apartments needed tending.
When a work ticket printed, I called dibs.
Seventy buildings built of brick and dreams.
I was privy to the skivvy in all those skeevy cribs.
I’ve encountered many silent tribal totems:
Hindu murti, Christian chi rho, Muslim script.
But no matter the religion of the trouble call,
For every useful purpose, I came suitably equipped.
There were feral cats, roaches, and bedbugs
Infesting hoarders’ floorspace wall-to-wall.
I dealt as best I could with the detritus,
But my biggest stress was over-night on-call.
While paying the price of complete independence
I may sometimes have hammered my thumb.
Though I may be a hack in the handyman trade,
I conducted my final campaign as my army of one.
And I came off a winner.
Sure few ones know where the world's going to stand on
history speaks restless in time civilization after civilization
many theories are taught till today through education
anarchy is reaped there with contrary and contradiction
good people are always trying to feed better conception
but their alacrity does not auger well fully in any condition
so often they suffer mentally from humanity's hypertension
hanging uncountable differences of castes creeds and religions
games of suckers of political power, dominating will of many nations
tuning uncompromising attitude, intolerance, nepotism's maturation
few trying to make the life of this world long through international organizations
restricting harmful uses of desterus weapons by the official proclamation
knowledge of history may help if studied with true scientific visions
if all the nations do not come to think in common platform's combination
then surely one day this world will face dangerous destruction
Off-beat pulse, echoed heart to part,
Separate slime of sweating art.
Body but a corpus, corporal careless muck,
Limbed flubber army legs lashing ‘gainst the yuck.
Mind but memory in meld with melted vision pours,
Trickles of tickled tactile tethers; ancient sores.
A Gelphling gathers Skexy exorcism,
Against a wizard’s litany of prism.
“Some directions,” says I to me,
“Not much to work with, to be.”
An auger delves in mystic vision,
Against the self or whole of catechism.
Trapped inside a poem’s angle,
Body brakes in bend to show it,
Web of woven thoughtless tangle,
Haunted minds in a wanton poet.
The 'now' matters...!
May you see and realise life, 'oh' dear,
without a cloak on any form of fear!
Out in the open - nay light and nay dark,
existence alone that is clear and stark.
Influences from the records of past,
doesn't auger well, but tend to last!
Wavering mind needs perennial feed,
portends fearful future from past deed.
'Now' is true - past and future 'a stew'!
in life, as hunters and gatherers we grew.
Say from 'now to now' and every now anew,
attributes beyond gets you only to hue!
Embrace the 'now' and see all dissipate,
taking or leaving nothing at all to fate!
In this theatre that is beyond realms of mind,
be fixed in the 'now', for 'IT' to seek and find!
My post-mortem may bear the stroke of your hand, in your lap,
On your knees with a single tear so priceless
That may fall on my cold cheek with power to revive, resurrect.
But not this time, not this time.
My virility dissipated, my strength evaporated, my hope diminished
My pain increased, my sadness swelled, my dying delighted.
*
It would be no accident for the entire firmament to welcome the marble statue
Off to the higher ground so sterile and so heavenly boring,
The penurious acceptance committee may not be human but would piss me off!
Well, as Carrickfergus quietly spells out its notes, may I be burned!? –
I support the idea of still being able to choose,
Just to avoid the heavens being shocked by my St Louis Blues.
Oh, isn’t it such a fascist oppression when one is wounded so deeply
That starts circling in the whirlpool of emotional punishment
And yet as an indigent vagrant almost obsequious cannot die nor live without it.
*
What the ledger of life hides no incarnation can reveal!
At the time of my rite of passage I have reached the nirvana of destruction,
No tuxedo, thank you, just a bullet-proof vest.
Walking through a quiet field of death in an early April
Absorbing the consequence of sparagmos like an icicle above my vertex
It dangled with hesitation while being depicted in the singing of blackbirds.
For others it was the most precious commodity found in that dump.
And they came, chump after chump.
The zircon in my eye sharpened while looking through the scope
Repeating the drill again, and again, downing it in a oner
The paragon of excellence that could not be surpassed,
How foolish, and how inhumanely sad!
Incredible! When one thinks of it the thoughts are being turned into an auger!
Blame me for the executions as I go through sepia - the auger through my heart,
Blame me for daring to bring it back from the event horizon
Being on the inside of it and escaping the pull
Give me a chance to embrace my life and play it under new rules,
In the jungle of the Congo like Tarzan, this time – king of fools!
I never wanted an ornament of honour, as there was no honour in it.
Give the golden brooch to the old lady witch at the sooty ‘Meyhane’!
Just sail on under ‘the bridge over troubled water’- and keep sane.
(to be continued...)
Septuagenarian Serenade
By Sy Roth
It wants to warble a fine tune
It wants to fill the night with a pleasing glissando
Rising and sliding into joyful jig
Instead, the brittle vocal chords are ill-defined wolves
Howling at a laughing moon, a dismal lunarscape
Ripe with lingering pains engraved in time
A dusty bin filled with some dismal memories
Working hard to shake out the motes that were in their eyes
Tearful threnody of movement closer to the door.
It wants so desperately to dance that two-step
A pas de deux of clever invention
But the hip sings a screechy declaration
Voids the temptress to ignore the mirrors
That auger the realities of time
Begs for the release of the agents of calamity
Where upturned carpets, lost spectacles
Dings on the fenders of vehicles long past
And missed names and familiar faces fade.
The song will have to remain in the head
Whirling from broken synapse to broken synapse
And the eyes will have to tell them the story of desire.
Angel ascended from the ground,
To anger the humans of the world,
Flying around leaving aggers of dreadful sounds,
Using his auger to dig out dreamworlds,
Ancient augurs of Rome predicted his arrival,
But he only grew huger and so ended everyone's survival.
Angel - anger - agger - auger - augur - huger
Hammers of hate beat the steel
Into a helmet and blade.
Blacksmiths and armorers feel
Proud of the death-bound brigade.
Marching past crowds on the curb,
Clattering heels on the stones.
Later, the crows will disturb
Flesh as it ripens on bones.
Preachers and Popes prate of peace,
Powerless to change history:
Powder, and guns wrapped in grease
Auger what always will be.