Energy.
Twirling around, lying down.
But your eyes are going out of focus.
You make a blurry wish.
You wish not to fall through the couch.
Focus, and you’ll be able to sit upright for a minute.
Then sinking, and shrinking will occur with use.
You haven’t had coffee in two days.
But you’re more coffee than ever.
Empty cups and turning them over to wash and dry.
All day, the conveyor belt rolls toward you.
You need to wash huge pots and pans.
The conveyor belt continues.
Cereal and milk, pouring, pouring, pouring all day.
You haven’t gone to the coffeeshop in a week.
Or anywhere.
Just listening to clicking, and shaking sounds.
Trying to listen.
Energy.
But without caffeine.
Is like roller skates within you.
Nothing gets done until nighttime.
Make cookies at 3:00 am.
Come to life.
Dancing cookies.
Coffee.
You still never mailed that electric bill out.
Power down.
Lights out.
But still-
Energy.
Why do politicians lie
And our wallets deftly pry,
Puff and bluster all the time
Their intent to cheat sublime.
Are we dumb or just naive
Of that talent to deceive,
Smiles aplenty to go round
While broken promises abound.
Why venerate them so
And not tell them where to go,
Pay good money after bad
The whole thing is rather sad.
When we put them to the test
They begin their quest with zest,
But time passes all too fast
Their resolve's not there to last.
We vote them out and start again
And get another just the same,
This conveyor belt of life
Sure to bring us yet more strife.
What solution may we ask
To complete this ingrate task,
Maybe ply them all with drink
Hoping this will help them think.
As to us, let's tune them out
Find a corner where to shout,
Release the loathing and emotion,
Survive the show and the commotion.
Let's be real and rather blunt
Lest our message we might stump,
There is another old profession
That earns its money by the session.
We might as well embrace the ride
Taking bumps full in our stride,
For if we blot out all the noise
They become mere soulless voids.
Shriek permeates bones break
Zigzwang with miasma tang
No one is saying anything
I’m going insane
Crossroads to make a deal
Instead his scalp I peel
Elitist swine high on the mantle
Pleas to stop as I disassemble
Cry wolf flock the sheep
Alabaster hooves on concrete
How do you even sleep?
On a conveyor belt don’t you see
Your packages of maggot meat
You hesitate then bite down and eat
Cannibalistically sickening
Pinky up with red whine to drink
It's important to me
Not important to you
What does everyone do
Another ventriloquist
Another jejune seepage
Another fist up anus
Another one to work your lips
Grrraaaaaaaaahhhhh
Slaves and marionettes
Stand up your the circus
Clowns in cars trying to fit
Rushing to drop knee, oscillate and submit
You don’t know what darkness truly is
Grotesque being where I sit
Trying to circumvent eager dummies kismet
By all means let me know
What your master says dear little puppets
In the comments, middle fingers both flip
Hack and spit
fascinated by the things
hovering in the punishing
sky. both the wicked and winged,
or the bare and featureless. pulled
along in a conveyor belt parade,
a silent march in the stratosphere.
floating forward to the place called
Limbo.
jagged horns pop the
clouds like balloons, withering skin
grazes the twilight. the softest
sky being cut into ribbons as
if it was a present that was
meant to be ripped open all along.
those foggy phantoms following
along. reaping the seeds they
sowed when they were more than
souls.
what a wonderful gift it must be
to hover over this hollow place.
on auto pilot in slow motion
my conveyor belt keeps moving
on a creaky carousel
aroused in boredom
suspended in apathy
a jester on weary shoulders keeps mocking
teasing and picking at scabs
thorny wounds from too much baggage
have abandoned rose petals
in the wilderness of making
I wonder whether I should pick up the luggage
or claim compensation for lost property
yet hesitation sets in
as it is not clear what to do with the proceeds
sometimes I would give a penny for thoughts
of joyful anticipation but fear that the truth
would be unreal
amongst the lonely passage of time
there is hope however
because these days airports never close
flights of fancy can be delusional
dereliction of duty-free travel is a scam
only I can choose purpose and destination
before eventually my ashes end up in a Teddy bear
for care free travelling
The conveyor Belt
Life is a conveyor belt transporting you to your final destination.
As you ride, look around and watch the passing scenery.
Some belts are faster than others, but they all end up in the same place.
Does anything really matter, when there's no escape?
David Cox 03:24 12/11/21
Borneo Pygmy Elephants are listed as, endangered
and they were isolated, about 300 thousand years ago
from their cousins, on mainland Asia and Sumatra
and they are known as, the smallest Asian Elephant
They have shrinking forests, with human settlements
and there’s a lot of logging, with a conveyor belt running
There are palm oil plantations, creating a lot of sediment
and a lot of agriculture, destroying their natural environment
BASKETS OF SAND AND CORAL
Here on my roof on Eastern pillows spread
I watch the “slaves” unload the dhows-
Strong black men with bulging biceps,
Carrying baskets of sand and coral on their heads.
In monotonous repetition they trudge,
From ship to sea wall, from wall to shore,
Each a vital link of their conveyor belt,
As their forefathers have been in ages past,
Passing baskets of sand and coral on their heads.
BASKETS OF SAND AND CORAL
Here on my roof on Eastern pillows spread
I watch the “slaves” unload the dhows-
Strong black men with bulging biceps,
Carrying baskets of sand and coral on their heads.
In monotonous repetition they trudge,
From ship to sea wall, from wall to shore,
Each a vital link of their conveyor belt,
As their forefathers have been in ages past,
Passing baskets of sand and coral on their heads.
How's your old conveyer belt
Are you keeping slim with a little help
Your resistance
Is strong I sense
As long as you don't start to belch
On wings of self-destruction she relishes the panic
In the control room of the living
It was meant to be a family journey from heaven
Everyone on board to enjoy the passage
Then she launches herself as a guided vile missile
Mission nearly accomplished
Seat belts fastened and cool drinks already served
A knowing smile from the stewardess
The airport tower signals a clear runway for runaways
Paradise calling on a flight path to hell
Final announcement we have unchecked baggage
Please alight from the vessel
Puzzled but not unwilling he adjusts to the order
Takes his case from the carrier
He had not packed his belongings entirely on his own
Before placing them on the conveyor belt
Assisted and extended suicide had been in the making
Strapped to transgressions of boundaries
In time he got off the the airbus to help other travellers
Maybe he should take a train on his own
When the jet craft exploded he watched the fire ball
Sad but relieved that this voyage was over
31st January 2020
Today, a screech from a hawk reminded me
Of being in a car wreck years ago, like
The synapse door to my remembrance room opened
And the memory came down the conveyor belt
Into the window of my mind to arrive unannounced
Who’s in control up there? Some little sprite?
Why can’t it work as smooth when I lose my keys?
The memory room operator could use some training
Written: 7-16-2019
Mini Verse Poetry Contest 2nd Place
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Seven medications and I can spell none of them.
I have thrown sleeping pills and pain reliever into the fray.
For the morphine was not cutting it.
I was in dire pain. Then I took a baking soda bath.
Pure heaven, that bath. Instant relief.
Joe ran out and bought all the baking soda the store had.
He had to rent a truck to bring it in. He is crazy like that
When a loved one like me is as sick as I am.
The truck broke down on the way down the driveway,
But I revved up our magic conveyor belt and we had that baking soda inside
lickety split. It is filling up the kitchen, the hallway, and most of the bathroom.
I have enough room to squeeze into the tub, so all is good.
Seven medications and I can spell none of them.
I have thrown sleeping pills and pain reliever into the fray.
For the morphine was not cutting it.
I was in dire pain. Then I took a baking soda bath.
Pure heaven, that bath. Instant relief.
Joe ran out and bought all the baking soda the store had.
He had to rent a truck to bring it in. He is crazy like that
When a loved one like me is as sick as I am.
The truck broke down on the way down the driveway,
But I revved up our magic conveyor belt and we had that baking soda inside
lickety split. It is filling up the kitchen, the hallway, and most of the bathroom.
I have enough room to squeeze into the tub, so all is good.
seems like ten
i had nine million thoughts of you
8,999,999,000 of them were daggers to my heart
the one thought that i held on to was recycled and turned into a message from God
it took me 3,650 days to realize that quality time with you was a sneeze in a thrift store full of ripoffs
now for seven days a week, i move on like a turtle intentionally constipated
i always carry that small wonder like a 15 year old butterscotch disc
at least butterscotch is still a friend of mine....
did you ever read that poem and hip yourself to the internal message
now my heart is on a temperamental conveyor belt
the surgical tools used to fix it have all decided to become animate and retire
the tears from my heart make black roses grow and inspire an odd senility to the whole of me
yes, it feels like another ten....and i thank you from the bottom....
....that i will never get over....
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