There's gravel grinding in my gut; a godless gearbox of grief growling in my belly's black cathedral.
My heart hammers like hell's hooves, hauling the hearse of every hope I ever had.
I eat dirt for dinner and call it divine, choking on crumbs of my own creation.
My lungs lurch like dying engines, exhaling elegies of exhaust and extinction.
Every breath burns a furnace of forgiveness that refuses to cool.
The devil drums on my ribs like thunder made of teeth and tin.
My tongue tastes of tombstones and tar and a sermon spat through shattered glass.
Even silence stabs sharp sanctified hollering hymns of pain through the marrow of midnight.
I am the meat of my own misery devoured by despair divine.
And stll the gravel grins inside me, grinding and glorying in my ruin.
The censorship
Who would have guessed that X should
practice censorship, but it does
A person called Tommy Robertson has
been giving free rein to spew out his
hatred of migrants, mainly from Muslim countries
countries
In Tommy's mind, every migrant is a rapist
He hammers nonstop about the crime
they commit
One understands that the mass migration of
Poor people from Muslim countries are
a problem, caused by politicians, that
have not reduced the inflow, it is not the
migrants per se
Tommy Robertson is a vulgar agitator
who has been giving free rain on X to
to spew his hatred, to the point of defending
Israel's atrocities in Gaza and the West Bank
In Tommy's mind, a good Arab is a dead one
I have tried to be critical of him
But what I write is being censored
None of my criticisms of Tommy Robertson
Once they are published, they disappear
before the ink is dry
One has also noticed that George Galloway
are not saying anything critical, wanting
to keep his audience on X,
The plumber is fixing a leak;
The pipe’s needing more than a tweak.
So for things to improve
He will have to remove
Some wood panels - I’m starting to freak.
Our house, built in ‘80, is old
And it’s paneled, which is, truth be told,
Now considered passé
But was cool in its day,
Though with changing it, I’ve not been sold.
So I’m listening from the next room
As he hammers and drills; I presume
That he knows what to do
For we haven’t a clue
If more leaks, in the future, will loom.
But voila! He just finished and yes,
I’m relieved of a lot of my stress,
For he came well-equipped
To replace what had dripped
And he didn’t leave much of a mess.
On the wall, all the panels survived
And the handyman, once he’s arrived,
Will nail down what is loose
And, as you can deduce,
Of my kitchen, I won’t be deprived.
Who knows how
Net turns ten
Now own to won
Off arm to mar
The sunshine of four
That rise to grow
Their sheep fur
Just like ours
As long as bride's gown
Unlike a fairy tale bird
Whose ribs are light
Off bid to plead the sky
To help pin its way up
Without its mother's tips
Not to get nip by the wind
Unto the back of the earth
But sheep does go through pains
Often off nap time to rest a while
That span through a hell of lifetime
Cum surviving fitness' coat off cot
In the rain where cold hits softly
In the sun where heat hammers
Year-in year-out, as era unfolds
New pit of hope to upshot stained lint
Before ash fill the hopeful wind
And its ash covers the sky
To shy away graceful breath
Heavenly arc shaped its being
That mirrors mercy; merrily wrapped
Off war but shaped games battling light
To shine a drab dragon fuming to see
The beast of night before dawn nods
The argument of silence, absonant,
hammers into the pliant mind it’s hard
nails of craving.—a spirit thusly marred
will yield to any prickle, every scant
pressure to give in.—once the foreign implant
is firmly riveted, a brain so jarred
can no longer trust its levies to guard
its thoughts against the inner, speechless “can’t”.
Quietudes disturb the peace of silent
folk, pounding its forceful will upon their backs.
When, going unfulfilled, a lurching tic
tickles the unstilled ego, its violent
lashes thrash harsh whips in frequent attacks
on the tender flesh of a crooked back.
An echo is felt, touched, recalled,
it drums against our hearts,
strikes softly upon the ringing
shell of being.
An echo hammers upon an open door,
it is unconcerned with any closeted desires,
it is not ours to interpret.
Echo's image comes to us
wrapped within a blossoming,
an ever-opening vowel of vocalic enticement.
Lily-padding slippers tread lightly
yet step loudly upon the mind.
I welcome all dark flowers,
their language is throb and vibration.
I am awakened by the sensual stem,
pulled up into an erotic drumming,
resounding echo's don, the flesh of myself.
Echo is the face of memory,
it is the naming of names,
Echo returns our call
whether spoken or not.
For a moment we tremble like a leaf
that the wind impartially fondles.
© 33 mins ago
butterflies flutter in your presence
bluebells ring the sound of your voice
bold moon gives bright sun a turn
fireflies light when you smile
streams riffle your name
my heart hammers
in my mind
is this
love
BLUE CHEESE AND OLD PICKLES
Looking back at the decades gone by
Over the wall at hammers and sickles
Berlin with a certain oldworld appeal
Just the setting for spy novels, I feel
For me, blue cheese and old pickles
A ‘60s memory that’s now gone dry
Blue cheese veins, a suggestion of age
Old pickles in vinegar make me wince
Some say they all were different times
With the red versus blue secret crimes
But has remained unsettled, ever since
If reading history, seeing the next page
As the bear wakes, an eagle flies again
But glancing over a different shoulder
Only across oceans and never a bridge
Is it now time to clear out that fridge
Threats of war both hotter and colder
Yet nervous tension will always remain
Cheese may leave a tang in the throat
Especially if they’re considered as blue
Pickles are always sharp on the tongue
But was that a dirge that I heard sung
Perhaps it is time to know what’s true
And ignore what all the papers wrote
Violently thrashing and jerking and pulling
It implores me to act
Desperate to stay alive in it's final hour
Reminding me of our pact
It pleads, it begs, It cries to me
All the while concealing it's fangs
It tears me apart inside
It hammers, it pounds, and it bangs
A love earst alive and warm and real
Now cold and cooling yet
Longing to be revived, it's fighting
Refusing to lose the bet
Once nurtured now neglected, alone and afraid
I must let it die
And to ensure it won't return a spectre tomorrow
I'll stare it in the eye
To fix with a hug or a kiss
means nothing much was amiss
When hammers and nails are required
~ the problem is truly dire
Yellow above the dredged-up earth.
hard hats, husky men
bent on constructive destruction,
Brush burning,
they flame throw their wands of
progress.
It all has to be done, done to be mended,
done to be done with.
Nature got too messy,
it overgrew its concrete margins,
it got above our work-booted
aspirations.
Clean-up crews sweep and press
against the head-on-winds
of a riotous environment.
Steel, hammers the seeded mud
crushing it of any taint of green.
Everyone knows this is obscene,
lips and ears must be temporarily closed
like the bleak roads ahead
and those dug over
below our feet.
Enjoy My Life
Feel my death, walk on my life my loved love
Delete everything from our past, starting life
The new, crossing my life, loved by your life
Need you a died life, give him watery wet life
I need your hand and fingers, touch my heart
I am beating you with my hammers in my red
suffering heart, blood is a river the stream’s life
love you, loved you a dusty broken soul’s heart
wipe him, must your slave, kneeling to your being
I will give you everything
from my fate
from my heart
Enjoy
my life
Needed Love
A walker life asks the life, where is my life?
You have no life, you are destroyed, answers life
Walker can not feel love, outcast life, trapped heart
Love was a blurred desire, tears on the window glass
He needed love, poor guy, no money, stay dead life
No money, no honey, says the American saying; Dusty life
I am hopeless, created by foggy psychological monsters
The rats of the soul are my executioner, my blood’s drinker
I needed the love, and hope from my imagined desire
Diamond lady, my dream will never be realized
Living a past vision in my life, this lady loved too far
Oh, a still beating broken heart believes his lost dreamy life
Heavy sigh, weighted breathing, my heart is hammers kind
Remembering the guy who lost love and life, frozen life
Needed Love
Remembered Love
Dropped Desire
Misty Lady
Stopped heart
Mine
Goodbye…
… Life
Oh runescape, oh old school
How someone once gave me rope and chair and knife.
That noob was such a fool.
I have also been a wife.
From rs girlfriends to bots and scammers.
We go through the wilderness and 99's.
Catching chins and pounding our hammers.
The player base declines.
From the bossing and raiding to the questers and sweats.
Raise your crystal grail.
Throw your nets.
And stop trying on that goblin mail.
From killing dragons to dropping red spiders eggs during that time of month at the GE.
To your imbued heart being mine.
And by the way, he is not a she.
Here's to 92 being half of 99
Once was a saint, round and vast,
Whose sight was strangely amassed,
He gave gifts unseen,
A concerning scene,
‘cause giving was getting fast.
Elves, with their laughter so shrill,
Made toys with joyous free will,
With hammers, they’d bang,
And merrily sang,
A chaos craft, standing still.
Then Santa paused in his flight,
And pondered the elves tonight,
“Their chaos,” he smiled,
“Wonderfully wild,”
“The chaos toys shining bright.”
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