Force Out Poems

Dwell I in a Conjuration

Curled as when unborn,
In amnionic ignorance,
Chaos drifts to outer vacuum,
Flown out to nothing lands.
Left in stillness are but blinks,
Flicks of twitches, nightmare flashes;
The molten shadows, upset ink,
Pouring out a realm of lies. 

Eloi, Eloi, why do I forsake me?
The mind that playing God,
Pretends to be myself,
Perverse passions, dreaded fears,
Thrown at me as real.

I know not when the conjurations,
Are born but all internally,
Only then in hindsight seen,
I lived in pure deception.

There dwell I in mind’s invention,
Years that last but days,
And hours but mere moments.
Worlds that all a blur,
Conceal the coffin’s nail,
Purgerer’s conviction—
Of rat king imitation: serpent knots;
Thus seen—

Squeeze the throat — make glottal stop,
Force out the lizard head,
Still breathing—
Half digested, hydrochloric mess,
Alive on technicality,
Headless reptile forced,
Back out where it was consumed.

Mr Machiavelli

I have been reborn and have soared with aggressive force out of my coffin
 As I emerge from the cosmic womb covered in my Mother's blood
 Now I'm creator, now I'm universe.

Fireplace

An edifice built in gray stone
by careful hands that are long dead,
the mortar gray from decades known,
insides soot-stained from blazes red.
Mantle stone broad across the top,
sporting nick-knacks and curios,
small nails stick out, from them will drop
the stockings, come the Christmas snow.
Long vents draw air the blaze will warm,
then force out to heat half the house,
to give respite when raging storms
knock the furnace’s power out.
The crackle inside beats back the gloom,
this fireplace makes the whole room.

Inspiration

Like magic, it appears
inspiration- a roaring force out of nowhere
spins and steers

filling blank views
with creative visions and flare-
bemuse

reveal
its force to share
zeal

Like magic, it appears
with creative visions and flare-
zeal

Block

Block

An idea forms and your mind is on fire
Your fingers are itching to write
The eagerness builds, the excitement explodes –
Your heart and your soul are alight.

You drop everything. The moment is key!
You rush to your screen or your page.
Fingers on keyboard, pen in your hand
And you wait for the muse to engage.


Then… Nothing.


You stare at the page, lean back in your chair
Fingers on head, interlocking.
But mute and defiant the page stares right back.
Its blankness rebellious and mocking.

You jot down a word or two, force out a sentence,
Immediately rejected, deleted.
For ninety long minutes you take your best shot,
As each futile attempt is repeated.

You’re beat, feeling drained with your chin on your chest;
No masterpiece written today.
After all that struggle you can’t even remember
What the great idea was anyway.

So admitting defeat, you stand up and stretch.
Trying desperately not to feel doleful.
Tomorrow awaits. Perhaps when you try,
Your writing won’t be quite as woeful.

The Rules We Flout

The Rules people flout
Often send them out:
For their replacement a scout
For viable hands I’d tout …
Their exit sure in the next bout
And as sure on their lips a pout.
 
The Rules you flout 
Might your dreams rout:
Agonized squeals force out
Of your agonized snout;
The Howls after a clout!

The strict Rules People Flout
Make them a Piece of Doubt 
Mirror image of Lout.

The Rudiments of Wings

The wings of dream soar high 
to capture the rainbow rapture,
wrapped with chromatic charisma,
weave the tapestry of seraphic life 
with the hued ribbons of passion,
design the elemental latent lattice  
of self-seeking fervent syndrome 
that fails to force out fantasy haze, 
lurking behind the cloud of delusion,
for it has hypnotic leverage of trance
to blow my mind away in the wind.

Wedged by the splitting bevel 
of the slashing time of reality,
the frail fragments of failed entity, 
I feel framed for the irresolute life,
dispersed deranged on the path,
fading in the horizon of nowhere, 
not yet leading to the rainbow
that lies dismantled in the debris,
disappearing in the deep dark sky. 

Aspiring to retrieve the derelict dreams,
I configure the rudiments of wings to fly.

___________________

February 18, 2022
For Brian Strand's Premier Choice No 1188 Contest

Dimple Scars

When you smile too much,
it leaves a trace:
a spot that replaces itself
when you smile too little.
And during those days,
when you look in the mirror,
you remember an smile,
but it hurts when you try.







Notes: Have you every had that dark time period when you're too depressed, and when you finally force out a smile your cheeks actually hurt? 

Notes 2: I have a pretty deep dimple and whenever I'm not smiling there is a black scar-like thing that replaces it. I call it a 'dimple scar'

The Bird

For a long time, he has lived comfortably in his cage.
Has everything he needs. Why go out?
One day, a Master opens the cage door;
wants to show him the world outside.

The bird too afraid, doesn't even attend to go out.
Hides in the corner. Hoping the Master doesn’t see him.
No other choice, it has to be force out.
The Master takes him in the shoulder.

Once outside, He is amaze with all the beauty around.
But wants to go back to his safe place.
He doesn’t really trust the Master yet. 
The Master is patient, knows it will take time.

He has wings but he doesn’t know he can fly.
Little by little; pushed by the master.
For the first time, in a long time opens his wings.
Tries to fly but crash in the wall.

One day, he will fly high.
He will glide with the wind.
He will experience freedom.
He will say, thank you Master!

When To Slap Your Customer

You’re to slap a customer 
Stubbornly sticking to a thousand
For an article clearly worth ten thousand
And he to it, not a new- comer:
Buyers, after receiving your warm Hello’s
Trying  to force out your hot bellows,
For which you could a head clout
And its owner disgracefully walk out!

You may customers slap
Who deny others a gap,
In your shop remembering The Armageddon
Or strenuously proclaiming’ The kingdom’:
Who purchasing spirit poison
And no more picking up what would one’s lips moisten;
One’s butchered interest hurrying to a grave yard
Ta later rise with The Saints, very hard!

You should a customer slap 
Or his knuckles rap 
After touching an edible 
And in minds this becomes indelible:
What could’ve sold itself before the fingering,
Another buyer’s decision eternally lingering…

Aye, the ungovernable customer
Making sentences and no comma!
Partly debating the price of a good
Partly eyeing your wife and swinging her mood:
Be ye right handed,
Connect your sparks-discharging slap to his left cheek,
For there it is urgently demanded:
The Peppery Hot for one full week!

Stop China Abuse

Stop China abuse
Chinese are welcome
In Africa 
I wonder what good 
It is for Africa

This their sudden friendship
Looks strange
Cos they smile 
When they came to Africa 
But angry at us when 
They see Africans in china 

Is really horrible 
To be black in china 
It isolation is insane

Now it has gotten to 
The height of racism
Were all black are forced 
To quarantine

Force out of their homes
Hotels and any of their 
Available accommodation

Same Chinese who 
Smiles in Africa 

Here you see 
We are not their friends 

Is obvious they love 
Our mineral resources
But never we the people

In china still today 
Africans are homeless
Sleeping on the street
Of china capital 
Not cos they can't 
Afford a home 

But no black is 
Allowed accommodation

What a friend indeed

Fixation of War

Fixation of war engulfs the world
To take another person's land in the darkness
Dragging the life force out of good
Shoving change down another's throat
Creating equality that isn't pure or from the heart
Never to return in the womb of new life
Bowing heads of mercy slaughters
No peace of mind
No rest for the wicked
The body of the mortal shell shattered
The light of transfiguration will fade to nothing
The souls within hardens and humility will be long gone

Impulses

Impulses
Electric Signals flaming through my brain
Thoughts are flashing by my eyes so quickly
I fear that my mind is going insane.
A flash of sanity hits me like a hammer
I see the replay from the visions of my past
My mind is warning me not to be in haste 
Becoming that nervous wreck 
On the high way of life that is racing through 
the all-to-familiar lanes of heck.
I force out the tears and then laugh off the extreme energies
that had tried to hold me down 
I flash out and upward like Batman
Chaining down the Demons trying to push down my head and allow my soul to drown.
I beat them down.
I show them who's boss.
Now, even the devil is scared.
The superhero that is my strong spirit
Hits the continuation of this trip
Going past the insanity
Happily, with my friends, they remind me to "Keep with it."

This Paper

This paper shall hold the only story your pen has to force out of you
This paper shall feel the pen/pain when the days pass by
This paper shall be dirtified by the markings of your pen 
This paper shall lay a foundation of expressed emotions
This paper shall fairytale a love song into your own writings
This paper shall unfriend your mistakes leading them to memories written on this paper
This paper shall govern your dreams like a to do list
This paper shall imitate
This paper shall hate and love your ideas
This paper shall be a timeline of events 
This paper shall brainstorm your thoughts
This paper shall mirror your life 
This paper shall make you fall in and out of love like a coin toss
This paper shall burn to ashes
This paper shall decompose to fungi 
This paper shall resurrect 
This paper shall be harvested in a dry forest
This paper shall speak common sense 
This paper shall meditate 
You shall convince this paper it’s all true

Darkness Overcome

The accursed are brave in this place, 
where fear cannot arrest them. 
As for me, I stand exposed 
to the withering darkness that beats me down. 

In these darkened hollows
prayers to God are still offered 
within the diocese of this battered mind. 

And stripped of varnish, my welt-ridden body 
struggles to barricade against the constant 
thrashes thrown up by the dark. 

Yet, as a phalanx of illumination 
makes its charge toward the dark, 
the time has come to push back the night
by the lighted coals of the Seraphim.

And my lips are left to mouth the sounds 
of coloured hues, as each breath is forced 
from my lungs, and my voice finds the tolerant 
tones of dawns luminescence  . 

Once more I have found my eyes. 
And my mouth has gained its purpose, 
to scream a challenge at the darkness 
and be rid of this souless carcass.

And force out the few, who thrive 
in the valley of my dark-day soul.

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