Long Constructing Poems
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The groom will keep his name
whilst she will change hers
to his. We talked over these things
as we constructed a home
that would become home to the new couple.
Some laughed when they asked us
to construx the place.
We put four corners up using poles
we used untreated lumber
interconal and external leaving the walls hollow
we used cobb to fill the walls
we found it best to
construx in quarters
building
to where the bottom of the window would be
and then ramming the cobb into the agapes.
we used cob and concrete
and drove rebar into the softened material.
we put concrete blocks and slabs of stones
in the pre dug trenches
and pour concrete in the bottom before
we began constructing box type walls
that we packed from the ground
and nailed them in place using
the bobcat.
separating the two materials allowed us to
save time by separating the cobb
which meant both parts could cure
separate and we could
continue work
not worrying about overloading the wall
and allowing errors.
we put a barn type roof on using tin and plyboards.
we used a faux stone decorative brick
on the exterior
the place looked authentic and brick.
Inside we used a natural stone ledger panels
to give a Desert look to the inside.
Certain areas inside used sheetrock
which we used mitered edged We cedar
and stained and shelaced the wood
and painted the sheetrock a cream color.
the center of the place had rammed earth walls
four walls that didn't touch but were
join together
using pallet wood
from the floor to the ceiling.
the pallet wood had been treated
with borax and stained.
we explored building topless and bottomless boxes.
and drilling holes
in the dirt
installing poles
and places the boxes around the poles
and filling them wi cob
on our next project
we'd use the same system
to creat rooms with this structure.
and would use te
large beams to
create a roof.
that would use both plyboard and tin.
sixteen by sixteen
centered windows
Don't know if you've ever had this affliction
This affliction called Grumble Tummy
Sometimes quite humorous how it vocalizes
With some very strange sounds quite funny
Haven't got a clue what's going on down there
Thought it might be constructing a dam
In an attempt to divert some stuff it's not fond of
Like beets and brussels sprouts from a can
Don't think it appreciates processing that stuff
Would rather have ice cream and pop
Guess it's not wild bout my changing lifestyle
It moans and grumbles nonstop
Told my tummy you better get used to it
It's what you can expect from now on
Asked to keep the grumbling down to a roar
But it's allowed from bedtime till dawn
© Jack Ellison 2013
Lament to cruise control..
Once in a while you see the natural
not a thief taking a spot to mental morph
their workboots into bare feet.
Transparency in their statutes,no strategies to tie their beliefs to thoughts and actions mimicking make believe.
the truth they feel they need
Constructing fences and walls to hide a plunder of lazy conspiracies
Everyday Everyday hiding everyday buckets of shrunking heads
A giant of warfare bullying, Freedom's a monster
who directs their belief into this is how you should be, but you cant look at me
because I hide behind the white walls of ice formed cement,my torn Jean's lament
Broken fears ,whispered ears
will never find a place to celebrate
Broken hearts, broken pockets
City conspiring no way to win
searching the dead for souls to win over
A giant, a good death,a soul trap
Theres just off and on
Prison is more than what meets the eye,
Her beauty is more than what meets the eye.
I don’t want to be a third wheel, just you and I.
No one can type without pressing you and I.
Prisoners we all are despite being free.
Some might be behind bars, some in bars.
I say again prisoners we all are despite being free.
Age is not a qualification to be a prisoner,
So is masturbation, when one is addicted to it.
So is a disease, cult and finally death.
All which can’t be controlled by drugs which are taken hourly.
I say again prisoners we all are despite being free.
Marriage, by choosing to marry, we commit our lives to one person,
We sign up for a life sentence.
I say again prisoners we all are despite being free.
Careers we choose dedicating our time and energy to,
Building and constructing its foundation day and night.
Through blood and sweat we pump our energy.
As staff, corporate members, politicians, innovators, artists and many more.
Our career clocks tick from seconds to minutes to years to decades.
I say again prisoners we all are despite being free.
There are many bones in the lake.
King Fishers and Great Blues
carry the small ones away
to weave them into platforms
high in the wind whisked sky.
They are always looking for more,
so also is the fisherman with his scouring net
trawling these waters.
The cops are out hunting
for the unlicensed and strays,
there are plenty in these lawless times.
The bone-taking fisherman
snags the bones
that the birds cannot carry off.
Back in his shack,
in the low tangled woods,
he is constructing hollow forms
none of them yet complete.
“Loneliness is a terrible burden,”
he tells the half-made
skeletal constructions.
The bones are impatient
to be works of art,
and no longer want to found
murdered or drowned.
Snow plows rumble in the night. I wake up
for tomorrow already applauding the sunrise.
Sol is turning slushy ice to diamonds
while unknown workers dig the world out again.
Even before the light
dances around the corners of eyelids
paw marks kick-up, blue-chipped coruscations,
bullet points on a surfacing whiteness
highlighting what should be shown now
in a natural order of revealing.
For a while, the land is shoveled up,
cleaned and rolled into paper-light reams.
Whether the earth melts to mud
or grows glaciers in backyards
let us be grateful for the next round,
of the laws of subsequent happenstance.
The winter will be helped along
with the steamy breath of labor
and the prayers of those who only watch.
We are cleaning up the dead spaces,
constructing viewing platforms
for the fur-fluffed and the wingers
who survive
for more new Lazarus moments
still buried beneath tomorrow.
Diode Side pumped under water laser show!
Off loaded. They stood by the ferry: watching
and waiting. The ferry was a tempory ordeal: they were
constructing
a tunnel. And since this much attention all funded
by S.S.W.Inc (secret Space WorldInc) allo
audeince a laser show showed promise for excitment.
Man we unloaded equipment into the night. I was angry I had
a date with Bla;Bla Controversy( I had to postpone it
I knew that getting out of her line made me
lesser and more unlikely to be a permanate fixure in her life.
people always speak bad about loose and mean women, one thing
they never tell people is often they open the doors up conversation
and having something to talk about ften was the perfect script
for romance. Engaging and meaningful conversations often had
different defintions to all involved. Finding someone who read from your book of understanding
often gave way to getting it easier. man begging a woman is fun: but you don't know the stresses it causes
until what you are trying to have or gain is either yours against ownership: or lossed
due to someone wishing to stay in control of your emotions. I doubt if being puppet to someone who's been teased and ridiculed would be nice her revenge to the world
that wronged her could mean trouble. Understanding Calmed shores makes vacation more exciting! Them Bikinis aint drawels!
With calloused fingers, and ink-stained hands,
A poet prepares for battle.
Searching for the calm in the storm,
Paused, poised, and still.
A deep breath in.. a long exhale;
Their pen becomes a weapon.
The power it wields, undeniable;
It spills truths, immeasurable:
The blood of a shattered Nation.
The pen: a weapon; a battle-cry.
Rallying masses to follow its lead.
Demanding justice, answers, and equality.
The poet, constructing, and carefully crafting;
Their words, building momentum.
Lighting a beacon, leading us all -
Towards a beautifully rare Rebellion.
I love this nasty game of a combination of
leisure and life where the trouble maker becomes the victim
and the product of that crafty pencil of our imaginations
is translated into a true life story told by the welcomes
of roses, gloriosas and saffron crocuses.
silk so tight on a flesh so mild
can sexualize a nearby stone
and with the first half of your luscious castle,
the throne definitely stays beneath its delicate walls,
strongly preserved for the exotic union of my everlasting presence.
The hips’ salvation matches your lips temptation
thereby constructing a pix exaggeration
to inflict a fixed subordination on me,
making it count at six erections already
as I’m lost in a mixed contemplation.
Oceans gushing out of the sun and trees standing on the clouds
are perfections of a world only known by the census of two.
Our citizenry well enforced by this mighty affection
and bodies well protected
by the magnitude of such penetrating jealousy
strongly fighting against any threat of liquefying its refined honey
and adulterating its rare tasty wine
put the art of intimate knowledge into re-evaluation
and the strength of the art of sex
very close to the question mark of moral bliss.
Such wealthy lavishness with all positive alteration
to any kind of belonging is evidenced
by my accepted foolishness so honourable.
Words alone are unworthy because the probability
of using all existing letters is not sufficient enough
to mold a brick out of a thousand many
in building my bridge to your heart.
The dog goes still and tilts a heavy head,
To catch a whistle pitched above the wind;
I watch the clouds, by unseen fingers spread,
And wonder where the boundary has thinned.
They say the sky is scripted, line by line,
A closed-off room where only we are kept—
But then a pulse, a stutter in the design,
Wakes the silence where the stars have slept.
Does He allow for fire in foreign cold?
Or is this just a trick of tired sight?
The scripture feels too small, too neatly told,
To house the ghosts that flicker in the night.
The men of logic ask for iron proof,
A heavy weight to anchor down the soul,
While I sit quiet on the cool night’s roof,
Watching the fragments drift to make a whole.
We are not gods; we are the ones who stare,
Constructing altars out of stone and fear.
Whatever breathes within that thin, sharp air,
It leaves a question hanging in the clear.
And if it’s truth, it won't be found in charts
Or measured out by how we name the spheres,
But in the way it unstrings human hearts
And leaves us small, beneath the grinding years.
Then, the sudden tear—the curtain drawn—
Revealing depths where ancient engines hum;
The terror of a dark and nameless dawn,
The beating heart of all that is to come.
Not iron ships, but light that knows no name,
A vast unfolding of the hidden mind;
We stand beneath the roar of solar flame,
And leave our narrow, earthly truths behind.
Oh, how the heavens open, wide and vast,
To swallow up the pride of what we knew;
We find our place within the mold at last,
Drowned in the awe of all the bright and new.
To gaze upon the infinite is prayer,
And God is waiting, breathing in the air.