Best Bulldozed Poems
My words were rewritten until they became yours
As grammar and syntax perfected your thoughts
Pages lined with highlighters polished me to extinction
I wanted to resist all of those good intentions
Yet I knew you wanted your best words for me
You weren't listening so you couldn't hear what I was asking for
Poor boy me I lacked the courage to say it loud enough
I felt my voice become tiny as my heart disappeared
Sure my words were somewhat awkward
Still I had things to express that way
My rhythm was imbedded in the word play
You crumbled my granite and turned it into clay
It happened slowly a bit day by day
I was there hidden in the disconnected details
Crystal blue eyed observations to share
Becoming myself on the verge of aware
You could have found me there
My words weren't lacking weight or substance
Like a series of road signs I pointed in a certain direction
I wasn't looking for polished perfection
What I desired most was emotional connection!
The trip must have seemed hard
You couldn't see past the curves in my road
It was to difficult to decipher my emotional code
So instead you bulldozed through my mind
with a big truck weighted with your own heavy load
If only you could have lingered and waited
Maybe you could have been sated
My words were interplayed and related
The strength of your ego I had not anticipated
In your wake I was left dejected and frustrated
There had been points of interest along the way
sprinkled star dust amidst the Milky Way
Beneath were gardens in which you could have come to play
There was no rush, I wanted you to stay
Until my liquid thoughts were morphed into hay
There before you
I had erected statues of delight
adorned in billowing fabric made of light
Perhaps you were blinded by my bright
unexpected in the middle of the night
You could have occupied my pleasure
Below my surface a spring fed treasure
A gift for you beyond measure
You could have witnessed the essence of me
Even though you came so close
you just couldn't see...
This is an old one that I have significantly reworked.
Through the mire, lie rows of houses,
in fact there all around,
This is suburbia the sprawl,
Spreading in all directions,
Concrete and steel surge upwards,
Indigenous trees bulldozed down,
Roads dark alleyways fester,
Behold this was once my town.
Weaving through leaky tunnels,
Stench permeates foul air,
Organization of the multitude,
Rats in a Rubik’s cube maze,
Where else can we go,
peasants of urban growth,
Incognito behind our masks,
Eyes burning, smog chokes,
A caveman of bricks and mortar,
Blind man who doesn’t need light,
Awoken from my life of slumber,
Searching for the high ground,
Find a weird monstrosity,
Towering above my head,
A ski slope, shopping mall,
I only seek, milk and bread,
Never seen the future coming,
Perhaps looked, the other way,
I helped create this Frankenstein,
To call it civilized would be a mistake,
Once reaped what was sewn,
Now concrete over everything we see,
Where in hell, has the sky gone,
Dystopia now, Can this really be?
COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE (43)
Sponsored by Brian Strand 18/02/2021
Squatter Jack
have you lived awhile in west Queensland,
out in the red soil dust,
where the crows will pick your eyes out and,
bore water is a must,
have you seen a thin and starving cow,
not a blade of grass to eat,
the timber`s gone no Mulga now......(13% protein in leaves)
just the deadly summer heat,
the squatter flogged his paddocks out,
too many cattle there,
he thought good seasons were about,
but we know they are rare,
so now he tears his hair out,
and cries poor bloody me.
we`ll have to subsidise the lout
when he whines so publicly
the old cow bogged in the dam today
and there she`ll likely lie
the crows will take her eyes away
before she gets to die
scrub Mulga`s tucker in a drought (Mulga tree)
on the bushy limbs they`ll thrive
where some mugs had it bulldozed out
no cattle left alive
then the rain it comes after years of drought
and the grass is green and sweet
they`ll forget the bad times have no doubt
till dead cows are flyblown meat.
by D H Johnson.
He speaks for the uprooted.
A man of sorts, a twiggy Buddha.
He who interprets
the conferences of frogs,
the unpublished works
of kestrels and voles.
He’s an advocate for the underbelly
of a microbial heaven, for every kind
of uncouth animalcule.
He speaks for the bulldozed,
the displaced. The native and
the nomadic.
He tracks the sins
of yellow, metal Caterpillar’s.
He glides over bogs with the frogs.
He moves under tree shadows,
if there are no tree shadows
he takes a bus.
He talks to the bears - they tell him
how things are going in the suburbs.
Swimming pools and trash cans,
have still to be negotiated. There must be a treaty.
He is leafy, kits and coyote love him,
Whistle-Pigs chirp like sparrows; blow their noses
to trumpet his approach.
When ducks quack his many sermons
shotguns misfire.
He is a preacher, a teacher to tics and turtles.
He is the Green Man,
he is not a straw man,
or a hollow man –
he is green
at least for now.
I can feel you
I can touch you
I crave you
I desire you
I want you so bad
I can't get enough of you
You consume me
I close my eyes
And you are there
I've conquered several habits
but you remain my addiction
You are my ultimate high
my greatest addiction
I need a fix………..
I need you to flow through my soul
But you are no good
You are my kryptonite
Like venom flowing through my veins
I may be sober
By I am not free of you
I need a fix
A quick fix
You are my happy place
Without you, I don't exist
You are the puppeteer
and I'm your puppet
Powerless to you control
and influence
You are the air that I breathe
But you are toxic
and polluted
The more I breathe you in
the more I disappear
I need a fix
A quick fix
How can I defeat you?
I need you
, but you are no good for me
If I stay with you, I shall really die
Where is the silver lining?
I want to live
But you are my life
I want to stay positive
but you bulldozed my positivity
I can't beat you
As long as you exist
I am forever defeated
You are my happy place
and my quick fix
I need you to flow through my veins
for you are my ultimate addiction
and all-time high
Alexis Y.
1-03-2021
He speaks for the uprooted.
A man of sorts, a twiggy Buddha.
He who interprets
the conferences of frogs,
the unpublished works
of kestrels and voles.
He’s an advocate for the underbelly
of a microbial heaven, for every kind
of uncouth animalcule.
Ancient is he, yet as fresh as tomorrow,
in green ponds he fishes for sunlight.
He plumps grassy pillows,
quilts nests for the slumbering and slippery,
gardens all dewy meadows.
He speaks for the bulldozed,
the displaced. The native and
the nomadic.
He tracks the sins
of the truculent muckrakers,
the yellow iron caterpillars.
He glides over bogs with the frogs.
Slips between the stringy and tall,
if there are no forested ways
he ambles where the wind ruffles.
He talks to the bears - they tell him
how things are going in the suburbs.
Swimming pools and trash cans,
have still to be negotiated. There must be a treaty.
He is leafy, kits and coyote love him,
Whistle-Pigs chirp like sparrows; blow their noses
to trumpet his approach.
When ducks quack his many sermons
shotguns misfire.
He is a preacher, a teacher to tics and turtles.
He is the bosky bedfellow, not a straw man,
or a hollow man – he is variegated and verdant,
a green man for me and thee
at least for now.
When you force Mr. Zelinsky
to feed the Putineers who’ve bulldozed Ukraine.
That’s when I’ll pressure Israel
to give Hamas’ Gazastanis more grain
Walls shattered, roof falling apart
Dark, desolate and dreary
A haunted house with zero activity.
Very lonely indeed!
An unclaimed property
The land acquired by the city
I have seen the lonely house
Bulldozed to its death!
Where’s the soul’s house, I surmised
I heard it loud and clear: Where I sat
Trumpeting laughter and life
Spewing boundless energy!
A bench where the house once stood
An epitaph reads:
“Surely goodness and mercy
shall follow me all the days of my life”
There once was a blacksmith at Danville
Who made so much noise on his anvil
That the neighbors, one day,
Quietly hauled it away,
And bulldozed it into the landfill.
Faith alone accomplishes absolutely nothing,
unless your faith is put into action.
The only time I've ever seen faith move mountains
is when they were bulldozed by contractors prior to construction.
*
I will pay one million dollars to absolutely anyone
who with their faith can move Mt Everest into the Grand Canyon.
*
I felt a small tremble below
And knelt on the floor ‘cuz I know
Something wasn’t right out of class
And a second much bigger blast
Left crumbs of glass from a window
Who is aware I can follow
Into the sun, I mean shadow
A family of grades amass
Breathtaking view
A mushroom cloud did overflow
And blanketed the afterglow
From the effects of the jet gas
That took the freedom to trespass
Instantly my school was bulldozed
Breathtaking view
5/25/2016
5 Words Contest
My 5 words are: WHO WASN'T EFFECTS
BREATHTAKING FAMILY
Those that went before him
Were promised an orphan
By the brutality of the elements
The pestilence of society
They were the pleaders of history
The wounded veterans
Of internecine strife
Victims of little prejudices
Whose faith in the probable
Had been shattered
By those profound revelations
Woe the iron-bound skeptics
When he- a dreamy scholar
Intellectual in times before
It was fashionable to be a freethinker
Bulldozed the great rock
Against those false morals
And put up a philosophical defence
To release the human mind
From the shackles of centuries
Of directional misguidance
They- with inspired confidence
And (one might say)
Controlled reflex
Drew a smile as from a catalogue
Oh there was life in that smile
And leaning on the years
Found intellectual companionship
In makeshift ingenuity
He battled selfishly
Against those callous endearments
And sentimental mountebank sporting
Not on musical instruments
But on people’s obnoxious egotism…
You might think
This anonymous sage
Earned a medal:
There were demonstrations of affection
Tempered with epileptic passion
And resistant impulse
But his social corpse
Could not be sustained by precedent
And was soon ousted
By those immortal phrases
About humane civilization
His roving energetic mind
Pregnant with unexpressed thought
All those volumes of memory
Delineated by consternation-
Withdrew from mother’s apprenticeship
Into mazy fairylands
To spend eternity.
Forgetting is a vain refugee camp,
Madonna, for still these walls get
breached, amidst the daily, frenzied
barter of honed art for bread,
While slaking arid, thirsty hours with
bits of loving, or even in deep sleep's
opiate-laced salve; your shrill wail
ricochets on palisades of silence,
Wrecking dreams, when your arms
thrust out, ghost-like haunt heart's
corridors to pained remembrance
of your hearth bulldozed to jagged
Rubble, grating deep your ample
loins that Gaza noon of nightmare,
hooking deeper yet the piercing
scythes of questions as regards
Your fate and of your son's. Again,
the mind turns, tosses on this bed
of dusty shards and tear-anointed
debris as you once more scream
Your picture-perfect, front-page,
silent pain, yet made more potent
than all sounds heard down old
Palestine when wailing, wreathed
The wretched walls bedaubed with blood
of innocents, when wanton death and
mayhem, too, by Herod's mighty hand
decreed, made firm, held sway.
1/27/21
"Styrofoam"
It's not hormones, testosterone
Or Pheromones
I was at the crossroads
Moved towards what was familiar or unknown
Never did any good to postpone
I can really feel it in my bones
Nearby all these Madrones
Time has shown
In and out of all these biomes
The elements shaping the land and stones
Hung up the phone
Then came the dial tone
I've sinned, and I've atoned
I regressed, and I have grown
Sippin’ out of Styrofoam
In and out of different tidal zones
Had to get it on my own
It almost always was homicide if their was a broken Hyoid bone
It was always kept a secret or widely known
They're really focused on drones
And clones
Yet they also want to continually probe
And spy on the entire globe
Was close to the cosmos
As well as the locker of Davy Jones
From here to Nome
Always been a rogue
After the motherlode
Sometimes I was on paved streets, or often I was on dirt roads
Staying composed
Solving problems with or without the use of codes
Before the doors are closed
Meanwhile, people still having continual episodes
Got it done smoothly, or I just bulldozed
Those
That attempted to oppose
And stick their nose
Into my business, that's a no
Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe
Catch a tiger by the toe
Took them out with the undertow
Quickly they sunk below
Or by going blow for blow
A.K.A. Toe to toe
The same could be said for many, including so and so
The flesh and organs beginning to decompose
Food for insects, vultures and crows
It's not a hoax
Did the least or I did the most
Put it out there or was a ghost
Got it done easily or cut it close
It's gross
Far too often was comatose
Because I overdosed
Couldn't stop myself, or follow advice from my folks
I know, what a joke
Even though I've been woke
I couldn't stop my addictions, or say "Adios!"
More than just words being wrote
It'd do you some good to take note
Humans at each others throats
Quick to gloat
And to go right for the throat
Especially over your affiliation and how you vote
I either did or didn't have a rain coat
Humans quick to find a scapegoat
We either were or were not in the same boat
Stood sturdy like an oak
Behind continual clouds of smoke
And enough alcohol to make a moat
So that a boat could stay afloat
Wally some call him Zip (fed em black duck) (crow actually) Kakadu song man of Gulf town
Karumba Australia
Stay alive in 55 and 56 said the roadside sign..
As the Ford Mercury whizzed by on local Brisbane time...
A flat head 8 jumped into a muffled roar...
And Bronco Don gave it its head full bloody bore..
Bill Brummell was a waiting Aunty Nell was coming by..
And of course she'd bring the Johnson's little grubs like Mark and I...
So we lurched and wobbled cross country to the coast...
And aunty Grace was awaiting for sure shed cooked a roast..
So I followed cousin Wally about the Cleveland farm..
And watched him eat a melon from the inside without harm
Cut a hole put his head in, call him melon head?..
Just like a giant white ant this I say god strike me dead?..
Down in the valley my love is so low...
Sang old Slim Whitman on the valve radio..
old Don bought an inter truck a droving we would go..
to the Moonie floods back more than 50 years or so...
then Zip some call him Walter, he got a grand idea...
went to shoot some wild duck with a threeoh and some beer.... .303cal
so he lined up a wood duck but a crow got in the way..
so he reefed and pulled the trigger, just tough duck is all he'd say...
yes these ducks had big black feathers when talking they said ark...
(not like them squeaky yank crows)
Wally plucked and filled the stew pot says its duck or just a lark..
Drunken ring barkers were hungry scoffed the lot in one quick feed...
And they were farting feathers till the crowing parts were freed...
Don Johnson...
OUR MATE WALLY...
Oh they call him Wally Brummell and some just say old Zip..
He wrote and sang about Kakadu on the radio a bit...
Hes seen the passing of the horses and the drovers all gone too...
The rain don't come cos the trees are gone from Brisbane to Barcoo....bad hey...
Old trees that had a life force, as strong as me or you...
Killed by the ring barkers axe and bulldozed burnt so blue..
But if the desert reclaims its own, if the hungry farmer knew ?...
Would he let a sapling live its life, from Brisbane to Barcoo?...nope...
Don Johnson..
http://www.scullywag.com/kokoda1942st...