Long Blur Poems
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Chainsaw Poetry
David J Walker
The blum blum
Purrr
Blum blum
Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Ignition of the
Whirrrrrrrrrrrr into
Action
The attraction of
A curio crowd
Loud
with big gulp glops of dripping
snow cones drops melting on the summer
mountain of a westbound sun
they have all come
to see me cut
Poems out of Pine trees
And catch prose
In the breeze
Of a hot grease
Smelling salts
Tourist trap gas station
Not even
On the map
To some other destination
The chain saw whine
Drowns other sounds
As I cut
Four letter words
That rhyme
With Pine
The blum blum
Purrr
Blum blum
Prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Ignition of a blur of
The naughtiest words
Learned on the playground
Found and impounded
Into poetry
As the parents hide the eyes
Of the kids and stop and watch in shock
At the artistry of
Chainsaw poetry
(my friends i wrote the piece below in one long exhale. i did not change a word but
rather let it sit as it fell. could the writing be improved. yes it could but why try to
create a masterpiece when finger painting is so much fun. you have greeted me with
wide open arms. you have been a great support at a stressful time in my life. so here
it is from my heart to yours.)
they are those who ride us on their backs
send us on journeys to places they built
one chess piece at a time
they put into words
what we knew
but could not say
why am I telling you this
there are wonderful poets here
choose a dish
visit their buffets
taste more than one feel
give it a whirl
experience worlds you'll never find on a mac
visit their vivid dreams
drive one of their soap bubbles
ski on the end of a needle and thread
discover the barely open doors
the naked flesh between the creases
displays lined in scrap paper
that one can absorb eyes closed
crawl under and over the sea
tunnel the milky way to a brand new galaxy
witness a sky that like curtains part
peak at what is on the other side
life is short play nude
spend a bitty bit of time
with bitty bits of folksy folks
on a striped colored blur
they are special the poets who live here
so do yourself a flavor
put on your roller blades
and go for the tricycle ride of your life
here is the best part and get this
(i hope your holding your breath
and turning red white and blue)
some of their poems rhyme
some of them even use styles
here comes the huge reveal
( unlike me who is not really a poet
and doesn't actually know it)
they use good grammar
extensive vocabularies
and here's the kicker
capital letters
and proper punctuation
go figure
which they also use
well that figures
there are great poets here
you do yourself a disfavor
if you're only here to write
and not here to read
On a night of mystery, under a velvet sky,
I wonder, where am I truly, in this vast and foreign universe?
I walk on familiar streets, meet familiar faces,
but I feel like I'm floating in a strange dream, a labyrinth of shadows and hopes.
I wake up every day, repeating the same gestures,
the same breakfast, the same class, the same bench,
the same dusty books, the same suffocating routine,
I laugh at the same jokes, but I am not here, I am nowhere, just a ghost.
I float, but I feel like I am wilting, melting into an ocean of lost dreams,
I watch someone else live my life, with a smile that doesn't belong to me,
with dreams that don't fit in my mind, with empty words that have no echo in my soul.
I wonder, when did it all get lost?
When was the last time I knew who I was, where I stood, what I wanted from this bloody chaotic thing called life?
Now, everything is noise, senseless static, a cacophony that engulfs me.
I try to chase after memories, a version of myself I barely recognize,
a faint shadow, but present, a trace of a child chasing a fading sunset,
hoping that maybe, just maybe, it will guide me back to something, to someone.
But every step forward pulls me back,
further from who I was, further from who I am supposed to become,
like a never-ending labyrinth, without exit, without beginning,
as if I had been thrown in the middle of a story I was never meant to star in,
and now I'm just trying to find my lines.
"Where am I?"
In this world that spins faster every day,
I remain still, watching everything I knew blur into an incomprehensible nebula,
"Am I even here?" Or have I just become part of the background, forgotten, irrelevant, lost?
Tell me, if you find me, will you remind me who I am?
Because right now, right now I don't know,
I don't know who I am, where I am, if I still am.
Contemplations For Joanna
Propulsion forward through the entropy toward the finish line
Expulsion toward nothingness from a population in decline
Repulsion formed at courts of corruption by the degradation of mankind
Convulsions inward turning as we strive for the refine
Emblematic overtures containing muse inspired compositions
Hippocratic underscores as medics train the next physician
Beaurocratic paper wars that only perpetuate division
Problematic pain forewarned as they complicate decisions
Bereft alone defiant and cold am I a mirror of the times?
The heft of clones insurgent and bold shimmer and blur the lines
Of scientific ethics and progress’s path toward whatever is redefined
I can’t bemoan the young or old of their right to choose not to heed the signs
Retrospective consideration for what cannot now be changed
Circumspective commiseration for the broken, poor and maimed
Introspective observation for those left out in the philosophical rain
Irrespective of their willingness to endure the tough topographical terrain
Mandatory monuments erected in effigy’s of history’s celebrated men
Placatory compliments detected as they try to mass converge and then defend
Allegory statements rejected as he crucifies his friend
Laboratory engagements infected by the genomes final end
Abrasive conversation that hurts the sensitive of soul and sound
Pervasive consternations that work their way through the mind then come back around
Evasive rules of aberration as they put me in the ground
Invasive tools of interrogation remove the wise from the profound
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz 2025
There at the back
of my mind like an elusive form…
Out of focus a blur in my inner reality
never dreamt in nightmares
waiting to be born.
It evades my light
from my thoughts, from my inner sight…
It scratches at the edge of my spine,
a coming doom, a world-ending revelation,
that haunts my waking life.
Dreams like nightmares still born
in the afterbirth of my fears.
Unknown or unfelt but linger on,
Haunting my consecrated grounds…
like images in a flash of light,
high on psychoactive compounds.
But all in memory or in my deepest illusions…
Dwell, these shells of ghosts in my history,
in my vision, in my being, my foundation of soul.
There it sites staring back at me, daring me
its eyes, like lost visions…
Can’t focus or remember anything.
Only twin points of crimson fire reeking
smoke from sanity…
drifts through my mind…
mingles with my waking realities.
Each a different page
in a book I try to read.
It lingers like a stifling aroma!
Of some unknown embryonic blooms
I scratch the thing
at the back of my mind,
its shimmers a black Aura…
and I scream inwardly to stifle the fears,
That linger like wraiths from dying nightmares.
It haunts my waking world
it colors my thoughts my feelings.
I can’t place a finger upon this pulse,
the unknown something
That may come or something has begun
and can not be understood
or undone…
As doom hangs in the corner of my inner mind
like suits eaten by moths of memories
skins of dead beings,
things or people
linger like shadows upon my soul.
Wreckage from a lost world.
No matter how hard l try
I can’t deviate I can only lie
awake at night
and read to drift back in
to the wastelands of dreams…
My life is like a mirror
Views in it are usually clear
Some break it into pieces and it becomes blur
Some see me quiet
Also yearning to listen like a parrot
But I am noisy when formal ties are cut
I am a lone wolf but sometimes God sends
A lot of friends
But take time to heal how it ends
Always wants to open up
But my mind ticks of the last break up
Then I wrap my feelings into a tight envelope
I am the most special person
Too blinded with what has been done
And opening to my peers is like climbing the highest mountain
Don't get me wrong
My heart softens with a very sweet song
And something I relate too long.
(Dedication: For men and women of goodwill
everywhere, regardless of spiritual practice or
religious affiliation -- on this Vesak Day.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Glimpse stillness deeply and follow your heart;
Linger on sure breath with conscious control;
Intuit more clearly as awareness starts;
Meet both life and death with right action bold.
Play beyond feeling where no thoughts can go;
Subtle knowing sums where knowledge sees blur;
Enlightenment springs from creative flow.
Note soul's sure outcome as Spirit now stirs;
Indulge from within a deeper knowing;
Reach for a pure touch that lights the darkness;
Voice hints yet unseen in precious feeling;
Awake to sure nudge that floods awareness.
Now watch your fond glimpse indulge compassion;
Align steadfast dream in righteous action.
Leon Enriquez
13 May 2014
Singapore
Everyday I rise above the horizon
In a hope to see a new day.
I could see the smog everywhere
Making the visual's blur for me.
As if hiding some truth
Behind the natural scene.
The morning dew on grasses
Made my feet wet and cold,
As I could strongly feel the positive vibes,
Energetic, confident and bold.
As the day grew bright
I watched the birds chirping sight.
People are busy in their daily lives,
As life seems to be harder than sharpness of a knife.
In the course of earning daily bread and butter,
People are striving hard to make life much better.
At the end of day,
When the sun sails to dawn
I have nothing to complain upon,
Since today I learned something new
That is experienced by very few.
So till the next sunrise,
I will wait with patience the whole night
With the stars and moon shining bright
Prepared to face life's daily fight.
She still lives somewhere behind the ribs—
that teenage girl, all sharp corners and questions,
knees pulled to her chest in a room
no one ever really entered.
You can see her sometimes
in the mirror’s hesitation—
in the uneven chop of kitchen scissors,
in the stubborn black box dye
that never quite holds the same shade twice.
In the tattoos that blur at the edges,
inked like dares she made to herself
just to feel something stay.
Now there are dishes in the sink,
a phone buzzing with reminders,
small hands or heavy expectations
reaching for her—
asking her to be solid,
to be steady,
to be grown.
But she’s still learning
how to stand without shaking.
Some mornings,
the sun feels like an accusation—
burning through eyelids
that bargain for five more minutes
of not being here,
of not remembering.
Because memory is not a story—
it’s a weight.
It’s a fog that clings to the lungs,
turning breath into labor,
turning simple things
into mountains with no paths.
And her brain—
it does not sing or spark
the way people say it should.
It hums low,
flickers,
runs on survival settings.
Feed yourself.
Keep them safe.
Make it through today.
Everything else is static.
Still—
she shows up.
With chipped polish and tired eyes,
with love that feels clumsy
but is real in its persistence.
With a voice that sometimes trembles
but still says,
“I’m here.”
And maybe that’s where she’s found—
not in some grand revelation,
not in becoming whole overnight,
but in the quiet, stubborn act
of staying.
Of being both the girl
and the woman
at once—
holding her own hand
through the dark,
whispering to herself
like no one ever did:
we’re not done yet.
I hath seen many
days, A bleak
passing blur. A blur
for mine meagre
senses to grasp,
To give a thoughtful
mote Some note to
any of my woes. A
stirring pond my
thoughts, Pondering
on my dismal state.
What meagre value
doth a shell hath,
Weighed against the
oceans' vastness
unbound
Is found wanting in
worth. All efforts
of mine at insight's
light A minor to
hopelessness's major
hold
So mot seasons of
life pass us by
Whilst gloom
cradleth us sorrow's
sons. Lone and torn
in a world of
sorrow.
Without a heart what
will hurt? But flesh
which with time
heals Why ponder on
peace?, knowing
sorrow cradleth all
life. And so to soar
above sorrow is to
lose one's mind. Rip
said tethers and
find freedom,
binders bounding you
to a lower hell Why
stay bound to life
when said bondage is
to sorrow. Why not
embrace the flitting
darkness between a
blink and make it
your last