Best Inclines Poems
As I pass through time
in my physical vessel
I connect the rhymes,
balancing them on my mind's trestle.
My consciousness detaches
from emotion and commotion
and intricately latches
onto an outstanding, expanding notion.
At twenty-three and so onward,
with every new midnight,
and every new songbird,
my mind escalates to a new height
brilliantly brightening my eye's light.
The novelty of these audibles
inclines life to be anything but probable.
Voluble are my audibles,
relieving my eye of it's monocle.
I focus and listen
to the cosmic sounds physics has given.
Seeing the sounds, all the compounds
do abound and surround
everywhere amongst these grounds.
Strategy is imperative when dodging the chaos.
Seek those audibles which avoid pathos.
Embrace the novelty, embrace the ambiance
for the moment now is all transience.
Wrap around me
just so
string yourself through the needle of time
chase the froth of foam lipping the tide
let my nascent heart tap with the tip of your toe
samba, slow dance, make romance
Oh wrap yourself around me
just so
slide down the capo across the strings
through this opening in cosmic signs
birth the waiting wonder of my love mi corazon
limb to limb entranced, your head inclines
Wrap yourself around me
just so
just so
pluck me from the moving melody of rhyme
dip with me as the moonlight strides
let my petals curl with the click of heel I love you so
samba, slow dance, make romance
Wrap around me
just so
*Meant to be sung to Peter White's song “Life Story”.
i've seen it several times
someone motioning, flourishing
waggling, swinging, curving
hunching, moulding, stooping
pulling shapes, a twirling
a form, a delineation, shadows
fingers, tree branches, winding creeks
sometimes a head inclines
obstructing the cityscape
what are they listening to?
what are they talking about?
we've done it, we've become greenwood
sometimes a jungle
i've done it alone after dropping you off
cold storage becomes publicised
i've done it
i've done it, yes, i've cried in
the car
alone
Africa, beautiful continent
Dreamy echoes fascinate
Giraffes heighten inclines
Jurassic known linger
Madagascar nestles offshore
Primates quest reform
Savannah tribes umbilical
Visioned waves x-ray
Young zebra
And so I write…
not for the clamor of being known,
but to keep vigil with what will not be spoken—
those hushed and hollowed spaces
where sorrow gathers like dusk,
unannounced,
unwilling to depart.
I write
to lay gentle witness upon the wound,
to trace its sacred fracture
without flinching from its remembering,
to press my spirit against its quiet architecture
and learn the shape of what endured me.
I write
to consecrate both the breaking and the becoming—
to name the wisdom buried in ruin,
the strange and steadfast grace
that lingers in the aftermath of undoing.
And if truth be told—
I write to recall myself
from the far edges of forgetting.
To gather the scattered fragments of breath and being
and speak them, softly, back into form.
For even here—
in the most forsaken hollows of the soul,
where light feels like a long-abandoned language—
something remains.
Not loud, nor luminous at first glance,
but patient…
and unextinguished.
A quiet and unyielding ember,
veiled beneath the ash of all that was lost,
waiting not for rescue,
but for recognition.
Something that, against all undoing,
still inclines itself skyward—
still remembers the sun
as if it had never been forgotten.
And so I write—
to bear witness to that remembering,
to call it gently by its true name,
to follow its faint and faithful rise
until it becomes light again.
Sidewalks and skate parks;
Old swimming pools drained.
Kickflips and split lips;
young ankles sprained.
Aerials and Varials
and being called a punk.
Tail taps and grip tape;
and tricks that take *****.
Exercise that is ramped up;
balance in a curve.
Backflips and Bearings
now don't loose your nerve!
Ollies and wallplants
it's no passing fad.
acid drops and nosestalls
Not just boys being bad!
Ramps under carports
and falling and pain.
Daring and doing tricks
again and again
Inclines; expression
and Five Oh grinds
Nollies and ledges
and friendship that Binds.
Go away Mr. Policemen: Just let us be.
Skateboarding is not a crime!
So let us Skate free!
The Monk of Mock has fled the flock caught knocking up a tween.
(She brought to light the special rite he sought to leave unseen.)
With profaned eyes they agonise, their souls no more serene
and at the shrine the flutes of wine are filled with kerosene
by men unkempt who once had dreamt but now can dream no more
except when bellowed bellies belch an ever growing roar,
which churns the seas and whips a breeze that mercy can’t ignore,
and in the night, though filled with fright, they try to end the War.
The slow and quick are hurling bricks and fight with clubs of rage
to break the chains and cleanse the stains of life within a cage,
but yield to stings of armoured things that crush in every age.
At crack of dawn, a broken pawn, in pools of blood and fire,
attends the wounds, in blood festooned (the waves flow nigh and nigher),
while ghetto towns are burning down (the flames grow high and higher);
and in their wake, a golden snake is rising from the pyre.
Her knees are bare, consumed in prayer, applauded by the Friar,
and soon it’s clear the end is near - while magpie birds conspire,
the lowly worm is made to squirm while dangling from a wire.
The line was crossed, the battle lost, the losers can’t deny,
the residues are far and few, though smoke pervades the sky.
The cool wind’s cruel, a cutting tool, the vanquished ask it “Why?”,
and bittersweet, from Easy Street, the Pashas’ puffed reply:
“The rules are set, so don’t forget, the rabble will comply;
the grapes of wrath may make you laugh, the day you are to die.”
The down and out, they knock about beneath the barren skies
where homeward bound, without a sound, a ravaged raven flies.
Beyond the Walls, the morning calls the newborn sun to rise,
and Peter Pan, a broken man, inclines his head and cries...
End
1.
Narcissus
There's a lot of room left in your head yet, my brother
There probably always will be.
Yours the realm of sliderule order
The self-denial of the man who believes in Facts.
Your feet planted firmly on the Earth
While your head inclines to the stars.
You could well serve as God's measurements taker.
Your home is the cloister,
The sound of sandal upon stone
Will usher you in and usher you out
As you pass through the halls and cells
Of your ruthlessly well managed life.
The quiet warmth of candlelight
Has always shone in your eyes.
How much I admire your strength and discipline,
Yet how much the more do I pity you,
O Master of the Mind!
2.
Goldmund
O what a lucky ladies' man you've been,
My darling, handsome little Goldmouth!
Kissed them all and not a one cried
When you left them.
There was too much of your mother in you for that.
The libertine's life was the road you followed,
Running ahead of wilting youth.
You saw the plague and its silent horrors
And killed two men yourself,
Got a taste of the gallows,
Yet lived to tell it all.
You lived much, suffered much,
Burnished your soul to its final brightness.
When you fell and broke your ribs
To breathe your last in icy waters,
Alone beneath that dark, unpitying Winter's sky,
Mother called you back.
beauty's honey sight
inscription carves over heart
ellipsis..........inclines........
In her slippery salmon swim
And red streaked Crawdads chute
Into her eddying pools
To stare at her from beneath rocks.
Whitewater rapids challenge men
To stand against her torrential frame
And face her, screaming out in pain
Torturous centuries of ecstatic rain
To be her solitary stone
To stand against her all alone
A true man to soften her cold soul.
And who’ll be her Reigning Lord
Echo her insanity
To lover her shade and slippery slopes
Crevices’ waiting, sharp inclines.
Once a current in the sea
So filled with green and mystery
To her a man did rarely come
Then, pulled up by curious shapes
Like lambs, in white puffs she flew
And traced her shadow cross the land
Till the puffs released her soul
In little flakes, gentle and slow
For a time entombed in frozen snow.
There men saw her as a sprite
Reflected in her cage of white
Men chased her form of watery light
In dreams that came hard in the night
Her body lucid, long and lean
A cold corpse, frozen to the earth
Blue hair, bent arm, frozen knee
The sun took pity, broke the back
Of the ice block and set her free
So through high mountains, cliffs
And rocks she trickled
In a gathering streams, in rivulets
Of tears, mouths open
Her bosomed skin slipped as ice
Pain built up the rage within
And sorrow brought it to the light.
Green – the color of fast and deep
White – the foam that came in waves
Along the long and joyous vein
She spreads her long body
Knee bent, her heavy breasts pinned
Blasted, rippled by the wind
She’s touched only by old earth’s hand
Its gravity like a naked man
Basking in her pools
Her faces and belly ghosting him, a mirror.
Watch her through the thickening trees
Her body sliding toward the sea
A torturous rape, a rapid ride
For all who’ve hung upon her side
Hearts pound, as she shrieks and sighs
With each down stroke a demon dies
Within the man who’s bourn the pain
Endured her crushing fingers round
Who’s felt the pound of her breasts soft
Been beaten by her to the blood
And awaits for centuries her cold flood.
What is a sand box? I'm getting confused
A hydra of meanings that's much overused
A Soviet missile that goes very fast
A hollow shaped mold - hot metal to cast
When building an arch to empty as planned
A poison dart tree - hura crepitans
A tray filled with litter - a toilet feline
A gadget for trains to tackle inclines
To roughen fine paper for calligraphy
For qualified shrinks a great therapy
A safe place for software that's dodgy to run
Or just a kid's play pit to have lots of fun
Space Rock Climber was born to the void
On an asteroid named for its ores and metals
Orbiting the sun one year after another
Morning never comes
Day never breaks
Silence goes on forever dead
A 10 year old son abandoned by parents
Who moved back to their home planet, Earth
The boy climbs rocks for a living on a rock
Food ran out two years ago
The climber turned to stones and minerals
Surviving on dirt sustenance alone
Rocks stay in place forever with their flavor
Easy to hunt down in craters
Black skies scream at the stars
Lack of atmosphere, depleted air
Low oxygen, no spare tanks, parental lies
Laid out on the platform of dark horizons
No one lives for long in outer space
Parents should not leave their children all alone
Like so much liter waste and weightlessness
He forgot their names
Embraced the great beyond as his domain
They had no room on board the ship they said
If only he were a little lighter
Perhaps he would fit between the gold and silver
Shipments of such commodities are revered
Rock climber has no name
It is not needed in this environment
Temperatures run from the sun
From hot to cold as is expected
Climate fluctuates that way in space
The young man stays the same
Stands on solid ground
Time sets no limits on the day
As the asteroid tumbles on
No doubt it has directions figured out
A barren rock is not a proper home
If he could remember, he would forget
It's for the best
Abandonment is not healthy for the mind
Mom and dad left him minors tools
Smiled and gave advice
They told him to climb high ridges
And wave good-bye
It is a trial out in space
Cry’s go unheard and serve no purpose
The vacuum of the void defines survival
This is the only world he knows
Rock Climber goes up the granite inclines
To find minerals for his soul
He grows too old to work
Then something happened
As luck would have it a collision just occurred
An asteroid hit his little world
Hurled him and his rock back home
Finally he would see the Earth
Enter the atmosphere in a hurry
Just in time to tell his mom and dad
Don't worry! Don't burn alone!
I'm here so we can have a blast together
When I was younger, I have often wondered
Why is the eighth month not called October?
Was geometry wrong
When it named the octagon,
Or was this a mistake wrought by the calendar?
'Augustus' seemed such an ugly name too
It sounded like someone who has the flu
Plus, I've always had this pet
From a childish pang of regret
That my birthstone's colour wasn't blue
Oh, would it be that I was born a month late
To be a ‘child of autumn’ seemed so great
Instead, it's been quite a bummer
To have birthdays in hot summer
Though I suppose Mom and Dad just couldn't wait!
But, in recent years, I've changed my tune
About being born on the eighth moon
For there is so much fame
Behind this august name
My date of birth is now to me a welcome boon
For while the man whose name this month honours
Might not possess July's fame and splendour
He satisfied the Romans' wish
To implement an age of peace
And so the legacy of his reign is forever revered
The strength he lacked he made up in understanding:
Roman men saw repugnant the title of "king"
So he knew to bide his time
And rose the ranks in slow inclines
To not repeat his predecessor's death by stabbing!
He knew too well that he could not climb alone
Delegation was key for his path towards the throne
Dealing right to win the race
A mastermind masked with modest grace
Always walking with one foot set upon the gravestone
I do not believe that stars dictate our destiny
But there is much to learn from their history
By giving August a retrospect
I have grown profound respect
For this bleak yet beautiful, immutable part of me
I’m offended by ‘ski slope,’
they should be ‘ski inclines,’
they’re insulting Asian people,
have those fools lost their minds?
I’m offender by ‘Black’ Russians,
when made by pale people,
I’m offended by ‘cow’ boys,
for excluding the bulls!
I’m offended by those who will
mock diversity,
the world would be much better off
if more folks thought like me!
I’m offended by gun owners
who protect their own lives,
it’s unfair that they show such strength,
when I can’t protect mine!
I’m offended some gay people
realize they’re really straight,
why did we even give them choice
if they were going that way?
I’m offended by fast food joints
that serve children French fries,
and when they change to apple slices
I’m offended my kids cry!
I’m offended by the government,
oh wait—now we’re in charge?
Then I hate the fools who protest us,
who do they think they are?!
I’m offended by those women
who take their husband’s name,
but happy when husbands take hers,
that just makes my whole day.
I’m offended when I hear people
say judge by ‘what’s inside,’
don’t these fools know it’s bigotry
to ignore someone’s hide?
I’m mad at those not offended,
don’t they know it’s currency?
And that there isn’t a person
more offended than me?
I take offense at the right things,
and that must make me rich,
poor folks always hate their betters,
that’s why they moan and b--ch!
Do not tell me how the world works
when I want things mended,
you're why we have no utopia,
damnit, I’m offended!
Power points of dimensional spinning graphs are largely placed in cement viewfinders in aerated office space with dome foam chairs. Dome foam chairs are the salt of seats and seating is considered important for lengthy discussion tables whose droning voices appear to form no conclusion yet get salaried by the milliseconds. Thousands and thousands of bold shining gold bullion bars mean thousands of printed bull speeches. But leeches sit on beaches and sip nectar out if the environment they consider their haven. It is never really demystified, added up, or fractioned the carious deeds instead they are multiplications that divide and fracture causing much disharmony in a mustard coloured cereal bowl with many crunching sounds. Cresphontes calls crethus and cynortas then danaus appears in a silvery crown on a semi misted horse. For to be a simpleton at that time was to sport a dimple on ones forehead and bow easterly but only when a westerly breeze was chatting to northern flames. The burst of southerly inclines meant the little trotting army could approach from every angle and therefore a fisherman or shepherd could be made very alarmed and run around flailing arms in the air shouting aloooooo alllooooo alllooooo but no apologies were made to these innocent harmonic workers of the lands. Blup blup fishermen and Barr baaa basalt shepherds left their careers and began work on the structures that would stand to signal power. Processing plants of today are akin to planktonic paintings upon the grounds and are an eyesore to behold. Many an eyesore is many an era in waste. Napoleonic Neptune numbers nurturing ninety nice nimble nymphs nautically. Beam then. Go on beam. Great big grin. Split level chin wobble. Fantastic isn't it? Z autobiographical Z at seven jumping tennis balls in a stew pan to thirteen moons on motorbikes. Z xxxx z