Long Assembly line Poems
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By day, I followed her around and watched her every move, for she was bigger than life itself. But when the sun went down, she would change into her uniform and go out into the summer evening. Busing it she'd go to the local factory and work on an assembly line. They made confectionery sweets there, and when the boss discarded them for being broken or imperfect, he allowed the staff to take them home to their families. I'd sit at home doing my homework, waiting for her shift to end. Quite often I would be too tired to stay up until midnight and since I had school the next day, I'd go to bed by nine. In the morning I would find a box of pastries called Palmiers in french palmyè, sitting on the kitchen table waiting to be enjoyed.
When the sun came up we would both sit at the kitchen with a tea in hand and talk before I had to go to school. When she hugged me she smelled of spun sugar with a touch of fixative from yesterday's hairspray. All around her was a peaceful presence, as I enjoyed the warmth of her capable strong hands. That was close to sixty years ago and still today if I stand by a bakery counter taking in the scent of cakes and sweets I can still recall my mother and the way she moonlighted just to make ends meet.
Another feather in my cap of feelgood memories from days of yonder. Tune in tomorrow for another story in my lifetime.
The End.
Santa Clauses were to be molten and reshaped into Holy Cross bunnies
on a mega 3D printer but then the app somehow went wrong
Chocolate trickled and trifled and mixed with fake season’s greetings
King Kong and Godzilla leaped off the assembly line with
Witches on lolly pop brooms and then the whole show went viral
Mephistopheles aliens with marshmallow ears danced merrily
Suddenly truffle snakes in seductive icing sugar bikinis tested tempted
cotton sugar candy apples as big as paradise vowed and allowed
They all swirled swished and tumbled to cacophonous tunes that had
to be labelled as retro and neo-modern-classical rap-sorties
At the exit of malfunctioning malls the Easter display went a tad pear-shaped
as soon as the rabbits slipped out of their hats and mounted the chickens
The mistress and master of ceremonial clangour had at problem at hand
and some egg on their faces thus they squirted and squinted
They pondered and squandered with no solution untouched for the task
how to make more profits and be politically correct just the same
‘Megalomania’ and ‘Mega-High-Money’ the respective CEO’s of ‘Turn water into
wine’ and the start-up ‘Chocolate Merry Go Round for the Soul’
Could not fail in this venture as not to have their heathen bonuses
dissolved into cocoa mousse splash
After meetings and brain storms pilot studies and polls they decided to craft
a whole new religion (the Independent Unseasonal Reformed Epiphanists)
Fortunately the United Philistines of Consumption were too busy to notice that
the newly created faithful were simply rehashing an old dogma of money
What a shame that those lovely chocolate coins have gone out of fashion and
That Buddhists would not want their spiritual model to melt under the fig tree
09th April 2018 Written for the contest Easter 2018
Brand new thermonuclear detonation devices for sale.
Fresh off the factory assembly line!
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Optional deluxe customization package available that
increases the maximum payload to 20 warheads, each
delivering a 15-megaton yield.
If you have been waiting for a recreational detonation
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For prices, please go to www.recreationalbombs.com
Act now, while stocks last!
Notes:
1) Buyer eligibility is subject to a routine background check.
2) Mental health issues do not disqualify a person from
owning, transporting, operating or launching a nuclear
or thermonuclear detonation device.
3) If you have concerns about the legality of these devices,
please be assured that your right to bear arms is
guaranteed by the Second Amendment to the
United States Constitution.
4) And remember:
BOMBS DON'T KILL PEOPLE. PEOPLE KILL PEOPLE.
- In memory of the La Vegas shooting victims –
9/11 Wasn't Heaven. Take it from one who was there.
Corpses, body parts, impaled bodies were most of what I saw there.
9/11 Wasn't Heaven but not because of the horror I saw.
On 9/11 I learned to hate. I never felt hatred before.
We were all instructed to bring to a certain section anything that may contain DNA.
A hair brush, make up kit, anything that may identify the forever lost in this grave.
I spent most of my time on what was known as "The bucket brigade,"
an assembly line of us passing buckets of debris with hope of saving they who were buried.
Every now and then something caught my eye.
New visions of horror never thought could be seen by I.
Someone with a heavy push broom pushing debris
and then that someone stops suddenly
and picks up what appears to me
a piece of carpet very carefully.
After my closer inspection however of checking the carpet out
I then came to realize, it wasn't a piece of carpet. What it was was someones scalp.
The buckets kept coming, never stopping, never ending
but still out of the corner of my eye kept drawing my attention.
Like a zombie I broke away from the bucket brigade
I think I was beginning to feel afraid
of what it would be
that was drawing me
and coming with every step much closer to me.
I bent over and picked up a mangled Barbi doll.
"Are you going to come across the corpse of a child?
This doll may have some DNA
of some poor child lost in all this decay."
With those thoughts I made an about face
and made a B line to the DNA place,
I deposited the doll
and then ran off like a frightened child.
I Had To Get Out Of This Place!
I no sooner got home
when guilt hit me like a thrown stone.
While showering all of the days grime off of me
I broke down in the shower and cried like a baby hysterically.
"How could you be such a coward? How could you run off on all of them?
How could you abandon all of they who aren't dead and still living?
How could you be such a coward? How could you run and hide?"
I've learned since then that I wasn't a coward. I was traumatized,
but sadly to this day
the only way
I live with myself for running away
is because it wouldn't have mattered anyway.
My presence wouldn't have made a difference. No One Survived.
By-lanes of my mind
When I write, its verbose;
When I don’t, I am short of words;
Write with flair and respect, brevity is a gift;
They remind me as my jargon filled words they dissect.
All this is internalised,
The lips quiver, pen shakes in hands that shiver,
Prove it, prove you’re not redundant,
I don’t care, even though I know,
I announce with a reluctance,
Accusations of plagiarism, lack of character
Clash with inspirations and new ideas
In the by-lanes of my mind.
Be hard-working, be ambitious, be selfish,
Go easy, nice &slow, be selfless & kind,
Drop a ‘why’, before you’re like this,
And watch a dance of doubts take place
On a pile of now rotting, what was once innocent bliss
In all of this, clarity I must find
In the by-lanes of my mind.
Losing to a six-inch screen,
What do you mean?
What they think is an addiction,
Started as an interest or just a connection,
Last I remembered, they assigned a task,
Quickly build something was their ask,
Obscure, DIY, mundane
Genuine stuff that wears no mask
Not efficiency driven factory line production,
Effervescent, slow burning, WIPs, one to one banter
Through my perceived small screen addiction,
I promote everyday connection.
Ideas are trivial,
Your words a bore,
In exchange for truckloads of attention,
That we unloaded upon your door,
You must give more.
You put the cart before the horse;
In delivering this undeserved fame, is what I said;
Now, a talent, an assembly line of heroics I must find;
This is the thought racing through the by-lanes of my mind.
Like an old car out in the field so it is with you and God's Glory
With all of it's paint now peeled it's original beauty you can't see
No longer does it have any value as the engine doesn't even run
But what if it was all made new as you've been in the Father's Son
What if all the rust was sanded away and the engine you replace
Wouldn't that just be the Lords Way with His abundance of Grace
A new dashboard and seats inside shinny new chrome all around
In this old car there wasn't any pride until one day it was found
And with each day that now passed it's new beauty began to shine
Still it's original cast, but looking like it's just off the assembly line
For that is why it was thought though many couldn't see it at first
As you too have been brought and yet you still continue to thirst
All the parts have been set aside He's just waiting for you to pull in
The reason why Jesus died was to restore you from the effects of sin
Or He could even arrange for a tow as He will do whatever it will take
You don't need a coupon you know for in this offer ANYONE can partake
Proverbs 6:31
But if he be found, he shall restore sevenfold;
he shall give all the substance of his house.
As you too have been bought and yet you still continue to thirst
A ref. to Jesus telling the woman at the well, John 4:10
In about a million years or so gone by
When I was an apprentice for the big man in the sky
Got promoted to production on the man assembly line
But I got no instruction re the ultimate design
While my Lord made woman with her lady glamour glitz
He made them soft and streamlined with so many tempting bits
But I just kinda struggled with my man assembly kits
I really couldn't figure out where each component fits
But every now and then the boss would come along
And never failed to tell me if I'd got the details wrong
One day he shook his head because the shoulders were too wide
And he chuckled cos I'd left the plumbing on the outside
My master gave me praise for assembling the feet
For ten toes placed, five on each side, he thought was rather neat
The head was where it ought to be complete with ears and face
And apart from those few dangly bits not much was out of place
The only problem was I had just one component left
Couldn't find a place for it which left me quite bereft
My boss then dropped the bombshell that this was all a test
I've fitted nearly all parts but had to use the rest
So it seemed to me that failure was to be my certain fate
The last container's label read one human male prostate
I had a massive problem if my test I was to pass
And so I checked the manual...
Ahhhh!
Embodied
By David J Walker
As if I were a Ford or Chevy
Or an Old’s 88
Classified by year and make and
Model, registered and taxed and
Licensed with the local government
A product of an assembly line from the
American Big 3 proudly adorned with
Airplane like fins and flashy chrome bumpers
Popular in my generation
Parts interchangeable with the few
That are still truly original but more likely
Remanufactured to my specific
Specifications
Some admire the stressed and aged look
That comes naturally with the milage
Others like us restored down to the
Last detail
Keeping us in a garage, taking us
Out on sunny weekends, showing us off
At nostalgia shows playing the music we
Can sing to.
I used to name my cars as if they had a soul
I remember them now as I pass a junkyards
And wrecking yard where they disassembled,
Used parts sold and the rest smashed into a
Coffin like metallic wafer, the sent off to the
Recycler.
In the workshop of my waking hours,
I am the maker of my own day,
Crafting moments with a DIY attitude,
Twisting fate's threads with hands unbound.
At 6 AM, I pick up my tools,
Coffee grounds and ambition,
Mixing the elixir of caffeinated dreams,
Stirring in the alchemy of determination.
The clock ticks, a relentless metronome,
11:11 winks, an angelic muse,
As if the universe has a sense of humor,
A cosmic jest in numerical ruse.
"Make a wish," they say with a smirk,
As if dreams were granted in seconds,
But I'll forge my own destiny, thank you,
With sweat and grit, not ethereal reckonings.
No celestial arithmetic can guide these hands,
Turning the wrench of daily toil,
In the cacophony of self-made symphonies,
I dance with chaos, a rebel in the coil.
Lunchtime, a respite from the assembly line,
Sandwiches wrapped in brown paper,
I nibble on the crumbs of inspiration,
Savoring the taste of self-made capers.
The afternoon sun spills its golden ink,
I dip my pen into the daylight,
Scrawling plans on the parchment of possibility,
Mapping out a future, bold and bright.
5 PM, the whistle blows, a release,
Yet the DIY Day is far from done,
For in the studio of the evening,
I sculpt my leisure, a masterpiece begun.
Dinner is a feast of flavors and reflection,
A banquet of self-appreciation,
11:11 appears again, a cosmic wink,
Mocking the notion of divine intervention.
"Make a wish," it whispers with a smirk,
But I've outgrown such whimsical fancy,
For in the sweat of creation and the grind of will,
I find my muse, not in numbers but in the dance of circumstance.
So, here's to the makers of their own destiny,
The dreamers who wrested the real from fantasy,
In the DIY symphony of moments and minutes,
We find our purpose, our own sweet serendipity.
Jesus would you walk with me
To find the true pure Easter egg
12 hours of daylight so we must start early.
For, there are many dropping them.
On every open corner, one seems to be placed.
Not even in hiding but trying to be viewed.
Some appear to have been missed many years.
With grass and weeds covering.
Ruined to its core from deception.
While, some have created their own eggs in labs.
From the wisdom of science and scholars.
We know these by the scent to bypass
Then, we have many that have decorated.
So ,elegantly to catch the eyes of idols.
Beautiful in appearance but rotten within.
Guide and direct thy feet Lord.
For, this world has created so much division.
In competition to build the greatest egg.
While, leaving out the true manna meaning of God.
Pure as honey off an untouched beehive.
Not corrupted by the hands of man.
For we have been given the true gift of the Holy Spirit, but as then ,many still seeking their own glory and praise of man. On Easter this is the Day Jesus raised from death and has given one's access to die to the sinful nature of death and raised up a new spiritual living being to be purified into the likeness of Christ, A Child of the Living God. That God's Spirit might dwell and reign within.
In, writing this is not to judge Easter egg huntings but to find the true gospel from the ones that were killed that you might inherit true wealth eternal life , not from ones seeking to profit. This, earthly world spirit is still in feud of all outwardly traditions of man, instead of inwardly of the Living Spirit to renew the mind to conform to things above. Not of the seen but unseen hidden mysteries and treasures to be as pure gold going through the furnace burning out impurities to shine as a gem of God's assembly line.