Chalky Poems

Storm Rolling In

Clouds rapidly fluctuating, from chalky white to smoky ash. 
Rain falling down from the darkened sky. 
Leaving a subtle scent of fresh earthy tones in its wake.

Soiled soul salvation

Soiled soul salvation
that's what I'm hoping for
can these bent bones of endless sin 
fit through the eye of a needle and
into heaven
Heaven is where the
saved and forgiven go
when their finished bottom feeding
from this poison fishbowl
so, I've read -so I'm told.

What we have in common 
is that everyone wants to know
if there's life after this life
does lt go on forever
or does our chalky soul hit a black brick wall of nothingness
and whisper... "is that all there is?"

Doesn't there have to be a reason for all of this
one cell to a trillion stars never reached
rocket ship wishes
the blind inbred offspring of ego and technology.


Maybe I wasn't the best candidate to gift life to...
didn't pray efficiently
to many insults and not enough praise.
I was a fraud in all honesty
but you can't say my imperfections weren't perfect
I mastered imperfection
that in itself has worth
but is it worthy of better realms...
and what of hell?

Soiled soul salvation
can a bent freak fit through the eye of a needle
and into heaven
maybe I can slither in the back door...
soiled soul salvation
I'm praying for soiled soul salvation.

Hide and Seek

This is different

Eerie

The winds have changed.
The colors fade into
a lifeless, chalky form,
and all life disappears
in a uniform fashion,
as I stand at its edge,
too scared to move.

Even the sun plays 
hide and seek.
And I've volunteered to play seeker.
Who would have thought the sun
was so gifted at playing,
after all these years of
willingly showing his face.

And now I face off
between the darkness
and what's left of me.
There's no rest
for the rest of me.
I lay resting in pieces.

Rest In Peace

One piece left -
it stumbles in the dark.
One piece,
one part to play.
It knows it's still
in the game.

It knows -

To live in darkness
among darkness
requires little of us.
But to seek the light,
to create light
among the darkness
demands effort.

So
 much
  effort

These winds are changing,
and the darkness encloses me
as I watch the flowers,
disposing of each petal,
fade from my view.

The sun wants to play hide and seek

I can tell this one's going to hurt
as I listen to the drum of my
heart beat grow louder.

I call out

Ready or not, here I come!

The Revealing

You see it coming through an opaque mirror,
first signs and last winks, a monstrous revealing
the marks of a construction worker with no blueprint
one who realizes that the edifice is crumbling
from within, the pearl rubbed raw shedding its
chalky dust. At last, you see a built-in purpose,
the apparent form
together with its transpiring apparition,
the grand design arriving in one revelation.
There are no monsters or angels, the brute was always
a shallow sketch of a dilapidation that had to be
drawn before your sight until you saw
hidden beneath the scaffolding of perception,
the beautiful unformed Creator
looking clearly through
your own eyes.

Dunstable Downs

A hillside of walkers gathering slow
blend with the gold medal fields all aglow.
Kites finding freedom, flutter and flow
as looping Red Kites begin to swoop low.

Families with picnics bask in the sun
whilst ice-cream smeared children playfully run.
Dogs chasing frisbees bark at the fun
as strolling events are just about done.

Rooks search for scraps on the Downs chalky chest.
Footballs pace quicker as if on a quest. 
Hypnotic gliders hover like rest,
drifting away, along with my stress.

Serenity cycles. Smiles are on tour.
The wonder of nature is what we’re there for.
The café embraces a coach trip or more.
Benches remember all those gone before.

I view all the tissue-like clouds move along
whilst hearing the skylark sing beautiful song.
The smell of contentment is fragrant and strong.
Our Dunstable Downs is where I belong.

Time Travels Heavily

time travels heavily in rousing screech
to strangle smiles from mind's untold
my waving grimace implored beseech
under shadowed cleft of chalky Wold
where lapping rays of yellowed gloss
and green clings on each blade of grass
to blanket earth in warmth of moss
for breath of steam and bite to pass
but pass is slow as minds there reel
and such the rolling hills show grace
but mountains roll inside I feel
keeping undulating lands from face
my orbit slows and shows refrain
until I circle the sun again

Whitestone Hoodoos

Whitestone Hoodoos

Near where I live,
just up the hill above the airport,
is a place of mystery and wonder,
a place wizards might once have dwelled,
or young warriors wandered in search of vision.
It’s a thicket of chalky hoodoos, sitting now
like a forest of plump petrified dwarfs made of meringue
sculpted by uncountable drops of rain
and whatever it is you might call a single unit of wind.
It’s enchanting for sure,
but largely ignored by the sensible folk.
It’s a place of unclimbable slippery slabs and
crumbly sliding slopes, of snakes with rattles
and succulents with thorns.
I’m sure to some eyes it’s just a barren hill,
and to others an inspiring view that’s always just out the window,
to some a marvelous result of random tectonic drifts
and to a few at least, a glimpse into the past 
when wizards and warriors met 
under the shadow of watchful dwarves 
and ate the bitter root.

(from my third book, SUN MADE FLESH AND FIBER, 2019)

Driveway Rainbows

Soft rain had blurred the lines
Softened the edges
Frizzed the sharpness
Of artistic angst

Smiles drooped,
fingers grew thinner,
somehow reaching out.

The eyes caught the raindrops
Blinked them into dappled blues
Noses spread in humor's humidity
Glasses sliding from their tips

They would all leave
Float away on a
Chalky rainbow river

Leaving us to wonder
Where do they go?


John G. Lawless
©7/17/2023

Chalky Candy Hearts

Sitting in the bowl a bit chalky 
colored story telling candy;
Timeless messages sent melt hearts;

Romance lives within these hearts,
updated verse but still written chalky;
Lovers still trade flowers and candy;

Sweet on you, lips taste like candy;
Sugar buzz from fluttering hearts, 
after taste leaves my mouth chalky;

An old tradition of chalky candy hearts.

Winter Storm

The sun is obscured by mounds of clouds.
Cold descends, snow is frozen hard forming ice.
Daggers of chill cut through every sinew.
Blizzards sweep past, heaping fluffy snow into piles.
Monster Winter has taken hold of the whole world.
Every hill and mount overcast in chalky white.
Naked trees have covered themselves in shrouds of snow.
Chill comes shuffling through every crack and opening,
Sending shivers down the spine and all through the body.
Once a rapid river, now caught in a blizzard, lies frozen.
Howling wind sweeps past in deadening sound,
Hurling snow all around in torrential downpour.

Visible are the snowstorms that rage and pass, 
Leaving their trail of loss and misery.
But who can see the blizzards sweeping within,
Cutting deep ravines through the spirit!

Dec.30. 2023

~ placed Eighth in Brian Strand's 
Second Chance Poetry Contest.

Winter Storm Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Kim Rodrigues

Artists All

He had long hair once.
She wrote alone in her knickers'
drinking German wines.
He painted dark clouds
that never rained.
Savvy punk word-painters
slam down their ill-tempers
with blunt ballpoints of anger.
Romantic poets running in circles
yapping like Yorkshire Terriers.
Overwrought poetess
banging on about 'daddy'.
Overweight myopic philosophers
creating visual masterpieces.
He draws his thoughts
with the chalky dust
of crow bones,
black birds watch
his hocus-pocus from afar.
The shyly brazen, always
sculpting heart-stomping elephants.
She is lovely seen by
the bottom of a beer glass.
Artists all,
all sketching their faces
looking for someone
to pick them up
to play along
with their solitary games
forever.

Moss

The years have not mildewed
for my moss is deep and soft,
it is a fine as baby hair
as thick as an uncut meadow.

Somewhere there are lands I have plowed
over and over,
beneath which are the fragments
of chalky skeletons,
the remains of scant harvests.

Time accumulates a life,
caves and cave-ins layer atop each other,
and above it all
the moss flourishes
to cover an abandoned machinery
that once excavated molehills.
Rusted tools, implements
now all buried
yet still they seep iron
into my earth.

My moss is threaded with clover,
a greening stronger than steel.
I am heaped and rounded
a place for buttercups in summer,
and when a winter-tide
seeks out that velvet plush,
it shall not bite nor crush
but lay as a companion beside me.

Cosmos of Satin Purses

The stars are lighting up dusk’s aftermath
With a million Christmases’ twinkling light
Tiny dots to be connected in a serigraph
Covering the earth with a dome of white
To show us the Milky Way’s chalky path.

A full moon rises bursting with reflection
To illuminate the scene on a muslin scrim
Together nuanced in a perfect confection
Horizon to horizon, spilling over the rim
Meriting telescopic exploratory inspection.

Mysteries hide in these kaleidoscopic universes
Only dimly glimpsed by earth’s passersby
Golden coins in a cosmos of satin purses
Collectibles in the Creator’s successful try
Light of the heavens far beyond disburses. 

FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written November 16, 2022
Submitted to "Beauty of Night" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet

Which One Came From Tennessee

We have traveled to thirty-seven states, the youngster told me.
He is only eight, so this is quite the accomplishment.
I collect one rock from each state, want to see them?
His mother rolls her eyes, as if it is no big deal.
It is a big deal to me; I am also a rock collector.
Sure!

He takes me into his room and pulls a box out from under his bed.
I imagine mica, feldspar, gypsum, glitters of bloodstone and the like.
He opens the lid. The rocks are gray, chalky, and gravel.
“Which one came from Tennessee?” I ask him.
He says “I have absolutely no idea, but aren’t they amazing?”
I think I’ll get him a bag of gravel for his birthday.

A Winter Town Life Frosts and Warm Feel

At a giraffe like height, with eyes in clear view, from a cold icy frosty windowsill, 3 stories high. I see a city forest full of snowy powdery pillows packed and stacked high and also patches of icicle drops. These now all drenched in a natural inked white-out made by and from winter's chest and best.

There also views of the white sheets of frozen tundra and piles of pearly, ivory, fluffy, flaky, chalky, tall mountain mounds. This causes great white high zenith peaks to greatly abound. There in the quaintest of small shy snow-bound town.

Trees are huddled and covered in pure white parka snowflake designed fleece. This creating like a blanket canvas for me the artist. Hidden in an icy little village: A living ice sculpture painting of nature's frosty experiences.

Youngsters do enjoy wintery weather games in their childhood play. Adults in this season has winter’s life priorities of plowing and snow shoveling. The town’s people chat in igloo like shops. This to have hot mint coffee with some toast and a little bit of a great boast!

A frosty winter small hometown scene: yet, a very, very, warm community feel;" and a Yule-Time dream.

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