Long Engineered Poems
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Morning On The Mountain
Glowing cathedral spires of the gold mountain range
Rising with the sun above the reflective ice lake
Between deep green sequoias tops
Passed, and down below the pine needled path
Stretching on thin rust colored winding road to those still sleeping
This bundled feast that feeds the eyes and feelings
Greeting the morning explorers grasping
Waking, on the new dawned day
Yawning men with their warm breath turned instantly to mist
Lifting in a cloud of thick steam, as it passed their lips to speak
Frozen temperatures on their exposed encampment
Reminding them more cold is yet to come before they reach the summit
They were engineered to climb the mountain
It’s in their DNA
They climb it because it’s there
It is their living and their livelihood
The trees can only watch
And wish they could
Eventually they all fail,
especially the ones made of blood and hope.
Despite the sustaining support,
the perseverance,
eventually they all fly too far,
span downward, stretch beyond
the expectancy of nuts and bolts.
Then there is this:
there are bodies and other vehicles.
There are trains pulling ghosts,
the drowned and crushed
reflected in a puddle of sky.
Eventually the infrastructure
of destruction
leaps further than the steel,
it springs ahead of the flesh.
The overpassing and over arching
find their roots elsewhere.
Then there is this:
bridges rise above the engineered;
the aeronautics of earth planted ideas.
Hope finds
other ways to cross over the gaps
others have left.
Pillars Fall
Pillars fall between swift moving clouds collapsed
They were once white fluffy ghosts along the coast
Statues watch suspiciously at a distance
Recognize their engineered solidity secure
Their facility for beauty, at play inside the mist
As history deforms, goes on into the fog forewarned
Structures hold themselves together tenuously
Marbled and clean relaxed
They too fall between the cracks
Pillars come apart for lack of care
Love barely holds them in a coupled hand
A formula somewhere in the distance
Turns cylindrical objects into powder over time
To become the gray serene
Pillars hold themselves together
Follow swift clouded logic clear
In a crash they fall collapsed
Being Inanimate has detractors
Advantages unseen across the ages
A sound echoes from the past
Disappears like laughter silenced
Or a pillow soft, objects lost
Pillars dissapear
MEAT-steroid cows with mucus.
CHICKEN-lame,frightened,grown in six weeks without beaks.
SEAFOOD-tainted and contaminated. FOOD-sprayed,pesticides.genetically engineered seeds.
AIR-polluted,chem-trails.plenty of carbon monoxide. WATER-poison algae,oil spiills
WALKING-breathing is dangerous,no oxygen,no trees. TALKING-Speaking out can get you killed.
MILK-Full of pus from over stimulated titties.
RELIGION- separates and
creates fanatics.
POLITICS- fasted way to die. Like Martin ,Malcolm and JFK ....It gets worse If you join; So pick
your poison. Or not!
STANDING- in buildings is life threatening too.Innocent lives of every hue. Every religion
and every race. Who's responsible for this early entrance into heaven or paradise? Follow
the money on that day...Who got paid for nine eleven? And if you lived past that day, You
still have to choose your poison... So ..PICK YOUR POISON...Or not!
Reverse Engineering a Surreal Eden.
To grow a mountain, - - - - - right!
In, an old jam jar, yeh right!
Of clean soil, Soil! Isn’t that soiled?
Such a seed could be, soiled and would be exclusive;
Perhaps part time growing in window box?
May save the roof? No rain mind, just a tarry dim sun,
Breezed by a filthy wind ; alone!
in its eroded scraggy day, while
expanding, a different slice of the colour green.
Pushed skywards, it all looks the same!
What about Apples and Snakes?
and our engineered countryside,
of plastic and glass, filling allotments,
with mirrors for the gods! And soured bogs.
Eyes only open at jar breaking time
Its stop tap, but no tap to stop, too late,
And – the mountain? We shall keep it
Under the bed, so it can’t be seen.
I write not as a dreamer alone—
but as one who has peered
through the quiet galaxies
of the cell.
There—
where ribosomes turn
like patient mills,
and strands of code
coil and uncoil
with ancient precision—
we have begun
to send our smallest messengers.
Not soldiers of iron,
not crude intrusions,
but particles
measured in billionths of a meter—
engineered whispers
moving through the blood’s red rivers.
They arrive
knowing your language.
Programmed
to the grammar of your genes,
to the private dialect
of your cells—
a medicine written
for one body alone.
They do not wander.
They listen.
They find the misfolded protein,
the silent tumor beginning its theft,
the artery narrowing
like a road forgotten by the sun.
Then—
with mathematics gentler than surgery—
they repair,
unbind,
dissolve the error.
And when the work is finished,
they sleep.
Their code instructs silence—
no empire,
no conquest,
no lingering hand.
Only a correction
in the long manuscript
of the body.
Imagine it—
a future where illness
is met not with blunt storms of chemicals
but with quiet librarians
walking the corridors of flesh,
returning misplaced pages
to their rightful place.
This is the promise
hidden in the smallest scale:
that healing
may one day arrive
not with thunder—
but with a whisper
too small to see,
yet wise enough
to leave the body
whole.
California Fires Fueled By Das Don Trumpeting Hot Air ©
Dante's Inferno chokes breathable air
fiery flames fuel
state of emergency
president did declare
despite his disclaimer global warming
"FAKE," no matter glare
ring obvious indisputable proof, nonetheless,
the commander in chief
blatantly doth jeer
and doubles down ‘bad
environmental laws’ mare
reed with water
shortage explains conflagration,
oh...,and while he takes
a knee in prayer
(re: home companion fashion)
Thee Oaf blithely vouchsafes
courtesy, sans colorful swear
words plus (purportedly,
unbeknownst to him
marijuana laced powder milk biscuits
giving him courage - er chutzpah
as if he needed any) to veer
way off script of late spluttering, spouting,
and even spewing outrageous claims
that (YES) extraterrestrials rank as chief
villainous figures as
nonpareil arsonists this year.
This Lake Woe
begone Wharton warrior
no stranger to attribute blame,
where unidentified flying objects
affected intergalactic collusion
(hare brained scheme hatched,
engineered, and brooded
while holed away in his
Trump Taj Mahal) from
outer limits of
twilight zone) fair game,
not averse to accuse
Norwegian bachelor farmers
falsely, and even
Grimm folklore characters,
not outrageous to name,
he will continue to repeat falsehoods,
and later subsequently quote
himself without shame!
Analogous, how said month name
September under went
ramifications throughout millennium
steeped in blood thirsty antiquity,
awash with torment,
where most twenty
first century mortals
oblivious to such lawlessness
wretched ultra-violent revilement
existentially going about their
daily and weekly business
attuned to requisite
employment as punishment
particularly if role of stoop laborer
earnings them niggardly pay
for meager nourishment,
there would be negligible
leisure time leant
to mull, ponder or scrutinize
such esoteric rubric
as preponderance of
ancient civilizations set precedence
contributing to present
without passing judgement
if in fact possessing
aggressive curiosity hellbent
interest and/or acutely fervent
trenchant awareness linkedin
with what human engineered,
sans preceding millennial development
events came about
to bring the here
and now space/
time continuum habiliment,
where a sniveling, groveling, and
conniving foo fighting beastie boy,
would be loathe to believe,
nor not in the least
interested - gives a rats a$$
what farcical betterment prevails during
this current year
two thousand eighteen, versus where
drama evidenced by
nothing "FAKE," nor unclear
substantial archeological recorded
treasure trove evinced severe
of prior momentous human quaere
orgiastic epics Bacchanalian
(distilled from ancient Egypt,
classical Greece, enlightened Rome
peoples played primitive organs
(viz, sax and violins) out across
the then world wide web
wrought permanent pressed
customs within part
ridge didst app pear,
in a tree, reverberated
millenniums later, and also asper
among named twelve months,
particularly when Ides of March near
plus seven days of week.
Assimilated
We humans have engineered a society where nobody is allowed to be different
And you are compelled, without knowing why, to behave similarly to everyone else
Everyone’s life has been meticulously planned out and willingly accepted without question
Nobody has bothered to question why they are doing this
As they find peace in knowing their life has been planned for them
But I saw the hidden horror awaiting me with that lifestyle
And so I chose to be different and carve out a new path
At first, it was barely noticeable to the masses
Nobody bothers questioning a child about their actions
And as I grew older, my differences became bolder
That is when society drew its eyes to me
They attempted to dispose of me quietly at first
Punishing me with a few scars that weren’t visible
And a reminder that I need to stay on my intended path
I complied at first, but then I ventured out again
That is when they attempted to turn the public against me
Firstly, it was my family that expressed disappointment
Telling me I was an embarrassment to them
Just quietly obey, and they might just love me again
But I didn’t give a damn, so I continued on my path
That is when they decided that was enough
They feared that this would spark a fire they couldn’t put out
So they tried to dispose of me permanently, calling them accidents
But I stood bravely until the end of my new path
There was a blinding light awaiting me
And as I stood there basking in the light
I found happiness for once in my life
Then everything became dark
Imagine ! Engineering a Surreal Eden.
To grow a mountain, imagination right?
In, an old jam jar, yeh right!
Of clean soil, Soil! Isn’t that soiled?
Such a seed could be, soiled and would be exclusive;
Perhaps part time growing in window box?
May save the roof? No rain mind,
just a tarry dim sun.
Breezed by a filthy wind ; alone!
In its eroded scraggy day, while
expanding, a different slice of the colour green.
Pushed skywards, it all looks the same!
What about Apples and Snakes?
and our engineered countryside,
of plastic and glass, filling allotments.
With mirrors for the gods! And soured bogs.
Eyes only open at jar breaking time
And – the mountain? We shall keep it!
Under the bed, so it can’t be seen.
.