Hurtling Poems | Examples

Again

enslaved to the cyclical void,
abused, confused, and paranoid
of that endless—(somber schema)—
cyclical void, enslaved to the?

sheer gravity and that friendless
somber schema.—Of that endless
wicked, whirling, said wanton wheel
and that friendless, sheer gravity

of motion which sent atwirling
said wanton wheel, wicked, whirling,
hurtling through hell? a meager twitch
sent atwirling of motion which

shook all things fused.—And all this spell:
a meager twitch, hurtling through hell
and paranoid, abused, confused
and all this spell-shook. All things fused,

The gate opens inward

Ghostly fear forms, a dark gossamer web,
caged my consciousness once cradled by bliss
but try as I might, my pain did not ebb,
hurtling me down a bottomless abyss.

Feeling grief-stricken, situation grave,
my weary, groaning soul godforsaken,
searched for heaven’s gate, so that God may save
me from dark despair that left mind shaken.

Trauma bonding with fear no more, I paused,
shifting to heart, pushing open love’s gate,
engulfed in bliss mists, pure intent had caused,
breath by breath reshaping my earth life fate.

Walking the path of light, God-search I start ~
He dwells in the cave of my glowing heart

DAILY GRATITUDE THE JOURNEY

Today I’m grateful for the journey I am making
on this spinning orb through hurtling through space…

because as the native nations understood:

Between who I once was
and who I am becoming
is where the dance of life takes place

Zen mode

can we term love as the piercing pain of bliss
heightened rapture we are unable to bear
presence set afire by Divine Mother’s kiss
even as we burn we remain self-aware
whilst hurtling down an ethereal abyss
wherein strangely we’re poised with nary a care
trusting God’s sublime currents to carry us
which is assured because we ride His bliss bus

Express Train

Door open,
hurtling loud and at full speed
towards my destination,
beneath me a blur 
of mounded ballast
and withered grass,
the world coming into focus more
the further out I look -
graffitied fences, factories 
still wearing the soot 
of steam trains from decades 
before, a mountain of stacked
wooden pallets, car wrecks
piled four high. 

Late sixties, on my way
to work on the 7.10 
from Alberton, all stops 
to Cheltenham then express
to the City. The station names
flash by, Woodville, Kilkenny,
Croydon, Bowden all pass dreamlike 
through a disconnected stare.
A vague residual left by the thoughts
back then still seem to slop
around my memory. I can feel
panic claw on the window
trying to get out.

I arrive fifty five years later,
on time, here, a world away
looking out on a soft fall
of summer rain. My journey 
has gone by all too fast
on the 7.10 express train.

Struck by Cupid's Arrow

He stood before me
a beacon casting light
that kept me burning.

How we wished to be
in perfect harmony
in body and spirit,
transcending all bounds.

As he gazed on my face,
I saw waves of emotion
rise and crash	
in his deep almond eyes,
and I became a river
hurtling down to join
the mighty current.

When he whispered to me,
honeyed words of passion
in the enormity of silence,
I blossomed
into 
a red tulip
of love.

As he played on the strings
of my heart's violin,
I got tuned
into an alluring 
symphony.

When he held my palms,
I evolved into 
a beautiful painting
on a blank canvas.

When he cupped my face
to stamp on my lips
the seal of love,
I became 
a flitting 
butterfly.

When he lifted me up
in his arms,
all the stars came down
to see the spark in my eyes
wondering if it outdid
their combined luster

I continued looking deep into his eyes
and he into mine,
our souls mingling and melding
in a sensuous indulgence!

The Mouse with the Hat

A great-big mouse just dashed by me
dressed in a suit and tall striped hat.
I thought I could not be more shocked,
but then here came an angry cat.

While hurtling by in hot pursuit,
he shrieked, “Hat snatcher! Dr. Seuss
made ME that hat. Now give it back.
Why this transpired, I can’t deduce!

Look In Their Eyes

Look in their Eyes

Who do you believe? Look in their eyes.
Is there the gleam of zealot or fanatic,
Or opposition to a pack of lies?
Do you see a sane man or a lunatic?

Do you hear the bluster of a liar
Who thinks by talking big he will seem strong
But only manages to stoke the fire
By saying what we know is right, is wrong?

Or do you see a man of strong belief,
A man of honesty and selfless principle,
Whose freedom would be stolen by a thief
Whose hubris makes him think himself invincible?

The day of judgement comes, the future’s beckoning;
We’re hurtling headlong to a day of reckoning.

Born to die

Headlong you rush towards your 
perceived, intended destination.
Eager to reach the journey's end.

Forgetful of an indifferent grave that 
awaits with a cold embrace of dirt
offering scant, uneasy comfort.

Speeding, racing, hurtling through
the hours, days, months, years –
inexorably pursued by relentless time.

Oh, intolerant, weak creature!
How you are haunted by this 
undeniability:

Dying 
You are, from the moment of your
birth.

GALACTIC TRAVELS

Where should I zoom to, perhaps to the Moon,
And on my way will juggle with millions of stars,
I have whispered to a Comet passing by real soon,
To please pick me up, as i plan to visit Mars.
Most of all I want to feel the star dust on my face,
And hear choirs of angels as they upon me gaze.
My wish upon a star,
To swim in the Milky Way,
I long, to be in the Galaxy, 
I dream of such a day,
I want to feel the sands 
Of Mars, run through my hands,
Hope to see shooting stars, and also Meteoroids,
But terrified to see a hurtling Asteroid,
Wish to explore many other Galactic planets,
Google, my best friend right from the start,
Though neither of us sure of the stratosphere’s
Patterns, so advised to be sure, to take with me a jacket.

NOISE

This world is full of noise,enough to burst,
your mind and destroy well being lust,
noise from traffic on ground and air,
from telly,s ,radios and everywhere.
Gies a break we aa bellow,
makin mair noise for fellow,
humans who walk the same path,
work it oot dae the math,
as oor cousins wid sey across the watter,
haud oan a meenit ah heed yer call,
whits wrang wi noise does it really matter.
Aye it does my fairweether freends,
caises pain in yins lugs and heid,
those wi issues hate this aa the time,
produces anxiousness and depressed need.
Get tae the wids trendies cry,
wildlife an trees wull help ye fly,
even in the daurkest realms of root,
tae mony bodies causing mair noise.
Jumpin in secluded pools delighted shouts,
or faaing fae the heevens oan broken sheets,
flapping ,twirling adrenalin urging,
Bikes hurtling alaang secret paths,
get oot the wey comes the noisy cry,
Lets shoot the craw and leave this place,
seek oot the spots tae find yer solace.

Time escapes

Time is a funny thing,
A fluid, jumping, bumping, running thing.
It’s something you can never catch,
You beg for it to speed up, as time drags on,
And you’re just waiting,  and then…
Bam
You’re on a speeding train hurtling along a track.
You drag your feet and try to turn back.
You beg time to just slow down, turn back
Let you savor the journey.
One moment you’re a kid, begging time to just speed up, 
You want to grow up fast.
Then all of a sudden, faster than your head hits the pillow,
You’re an adult watching time speed past you.
Everything is moving   too fast, and life is too short.
Your kids grow up faster than you did, becoming adults in the blink of an eye.
And you wonder
Where did all the time go?

Powder Blue

Powder blue.
Postman Raleigh frame,
Wheels that were thin and far from de rigeur at the time.
An ode to the horrors of Shelly with its salvaged parts,
None matching saddle and outmoded bell.
Smooth plastic pedals.

A Gift.
Not as I had dreamt,
Mag wheels with fat all terrain tyres for grip.
A torrid lean toward machismo and impressive stunts,
A mode of movement, demanding awe.
Trophy as much as vehicle.

Summer followed.
She earned my respect,
Her visage lost initial thoughts of ugliness.
For Frankenstein’s monster tore fast and flew,
Threw wind in my face, took my breath.
Grazed elbows and knees.

Barry Sheene.
Randolph Scott, John Wayne,
I became all of those, that hazy summer.
Chasing bad guys across imagined prairies,
Hurtling down race tracks unknown.
Winning hearts and trophies.

Funny now
My memory of where she went,
Evades me, time has ridden past, fast.
The bike I once called Mary, with love,
A nod to the author of the dark tale she reminded me of.
Beautiful powder blue.

Wings Across the Cosmos

   Hurtling through the universe
     wings across the cosmos
   Maneuvering midst galaxies
     his body a joystick

   Experiencing a heady freedom
     like no man before him ... 
   What did he lack ~
     Why return to a broken home

Home sweet home

Heavenly body, hurtling forward, carrying me home.
Home to where my heart is, home to where my family is,
Home sweet home.

Can you never go home again?
Will it never be the same as my memories?

I need my familiar things, familiar ways
I need to replenish myself; renew the ties that bind
Repair the bonds that must be stretched so far, to where we are now.

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