Long Laying waste Poems
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My suffering knows no measure
My brother pained me from the start.
He's made my life a source of misery
With each and every...fart.
I'm not sure what the boy's been eating...
But like all his other friends.
Eventually... indubitably... assuredly
It comes out the other end.
There's a farter in the room... laying waste that can't be seen,
Emitting odors while i'm slowly turning green.
With the fragrance of a skunk... and the odor of a rat...
He's killing all our plants just like some alley cat.
He makes life a trial and tribulation
Making sounds nobody can ignore.
While our parents in desperation
Replete with indignation
Weakly pound upon our bedroom door
I look forward to that glorious morning
When he's suddenly dragged away.
While he's holed up in his room
Like some epic garbage tomb
And they snatch him right from where he lays.
My eight plus years have led to sorrows...
He smelled atrocious from the start.
This bathroom troll... has just one goal...
To annoy me with his heinous... farts.
(Chorus)
No matter what my parents tell me...
We should give this weird boy away.
To someone... who's not big on smelling
With a brain that's gone astray.
All I need is for the gall and daring
To free me from this sordid gloom.
And giving me a break... they would happily gladly take
This boy who reeks of noxious fumes.
(Chorus)
The End
*From a children's musical I've written.
It’s not too late for me to turn back
And run the other direction
Like hell on wheels
I’ll still be swerving from side to side
A great fire that has been burning within me
I cannot resist the urge to spread my ways
I am almost like a disease
Laying waste to those who deny what they cannot see
I, like a phantom, am
Weaving in and out of the darkness
Only to find still
I am alone
The shadow lands have been my home
For so long I cannot bear to remember the start
The darkness has been consuming me
For so long it has taken all but my heart
Within that fire where that is burning
I dare anyone to extinguish the blaze
You will fall, trance, in a haze
And fail like all those before you
It’s not that I cannot be beaten
I just cannot be broken
I cannot be disemboweled
By the hands of ignorance and the breed of hate
I won’t call myself a survivor
Because I have died many before
I won’t call myself a martyr
Because…I have died for nothing
…but isn’t that a calling in itself?
I know I have been placed on this rock for a reason
Whether it be called revolution or treason
I will do what I must
And use the fire from within to fuel the passions in my heart and soul
My mission is unknown to me
But I know it is important
My knowledge isn’t in vein
But why do I know what I do
And not know what to do with it
…that is a curse all in its own
So should I be the one to stray from the beaten path
Tha thas consumed so so many before me
And create, break through the norm?
Because so many would fight to keep the same, than to evolve…
So here I stand at my crossroads
Standing in the unknown
Facing the unknown
To venture into the unknown
But I know in the depths of my soul,
That fire, burning passion will unlock the locked doors
Bring light to the utter absence of light in the void of the unknown
Because deep inside…we are all a little unknown to your own self
Use it
And break away
Form:
Hostages kidnapped: casualties of war
After extorting pound of flesh
lifetime humiliation drummed into captives
hammering indelible nightmare
no amount of therapy can expunge.
Lifetime trauma inflicted perpetrators wage
dead bodies littered makeshift triage
death and destruction
exhibit super fresh killing fields,
where sally forth set pathmark
to abominable gut wrenching
ghastly hollow hellscape.
Haunting horrid macabre scenes assault,
batter, clobber, et cetera the senses
death construed as mutual
(of Omaha) collateral damage
fallout populated by zone of dead bodies
littering apocalyptic landscape
rendering spooky morbidly fascinating,
especially from safe vantage point
bajillion miles away
whereby yours truly
hunched over his Macbook Pro laptop
glanced the headlines without further delay
aid convoys moving into Gaza Strip
a tepid hip hip hooray
impossible mission for
overactive imagination of artist
or writer to capture bedlam and melee,
scaring up heavenly sight
for grim reaper soirée
repository for skull and crossbones
as arid (extra dry) winds hasten desiccation
whistling repartee (even from afar)
faintly resembling mourning of Zalay.
Countless hungry ill clad masses beg
the question regarding
purposefulness of mortal kombat
screaming in agony against cutthroat
belligerents who gleefully gloat
laying waste besieging
ship of state and emergency lifeboat
senselessly bombing spelling
likelihood for peace on earth remote
silencing the lambs and yellowthroat!
Methinks spouting protestation
against loosed strife,
courtesy demoniac *****sapiens
where talking heads strategize foo fighters
pointless exhalation of breath
sabotaging, shortchanging, siccing,
squashing, subjecting, et cetera
innocent bystanders ultimately hastening them/
they to untimely and unfair nasty,
shortish and brutal death
linkedin to personal choice of deity
and attendant religious shibboleth.
I thought the layers of dust had settled
over what used to be the togetherness of 'us,'
and buried were our last tarnished traces.
But today, I found your pictures in an album
and my emotions started playing tricks on me.
Thought I heard echoes of your timbered voice
and even imagined your footsteps in the hall
and then it stopped...
When I recalled that you'd fallen again, by choice
but this time I continued walking,
leaving behind the memories of 'me and you.'
They'd returned unbidden as they often do
after being hidden away for years.
Your barks of bitter words were spoken in haste.
Each epithet laying waste to what had been love.
Verbal daggers were lethal weapons
and your voice threw them in brutal battle
and then it stopped...
Because I'd left, but emotional scars remained.
I thought of them as gravestones,
each marking the end of 'me and you.'
We've both moved on since those dismal days
but there are times when I still feel you near
like when I hear piano notes in a song
about a love like ours, gone miserably wrong.
It hurt when I tried tearing you from my heart.
For years I tried to drown out the sound
of your laughter, the touch of your hand
and then it stopped...
My emotions were swaddled in melancholy blue
remembering the music you composed for me...
the unfinished symphony of 'me and you.'
Now, sometimes I wake, and the night is too quiet.
By habit, I reach for you across the bed
then hang my head and bite my lip,
licking the sanguine drop, I've drawn.
The taste of salt is on my fingertips
after wiping away tears I thought were done.
On nights like those I shudder in angst
and then it stops...
When I remember why I finally walked away
and relive in my mind what you had done
the night you fractured the memory of 'me and you.'
Woe betide humankind as it marches on technology.
We had the evil machinations of war,
Of death unleashed from mouths of guns,
And man-made thunder from above,
Laying waste to home and life and limb.
I've heard of evil spawned
From unreined despotic rule,
Of genocide and how it was designed
To wipe out David's Star.
How gas and gun were by decree
Used to grind a people to the dust.
I see evil in the machinations of men
Conniving to cheat and steal.
But it was not Zyklon of the Holocaust,
Or Sarin and Phosgene
That caused a tragedy
Of scale that was unforeseen.
As men stirred from a restful sleep,
As men went about their work,
As children prepared for school,
As wives stirred their morning pots,
A vaporous miasma was spewed from vents
An insidious evil that soon spread
With sinister intent.
No warning or time was given
As laboring lungs gasped out
Their last precious breath
To be overwhelmed by noxious gas.
They fell like flies upon the streets,
In bed, at work,
At crossings of the rail,
At termini of bus and train,
Their destinations changed
With pitstops of Hell
Before Mercy conveyed them
To their individual definitions of Afterlife.
The Passover in ancient times
Had intent and divine decree
And spared the chosen.
But this?
They said it was an accident
Of neglect,
Corporate cost cutting,
Greed for more and more.
Third December Eighty Four
Was when evil came knocking-
Methyl Iso Cyanate or MIC was its name,
And left its mark forever.
Bhopal, I had cried for thee!
~ 27 Jun 2016~
Based on the Bhopal Gas Tragedy
Humanity
The pagan pilgrimage, sun-worshippers frequently make
Latter-day phenomenon, take off on a Bronze Age break
Constellations change position, solstices realign
Tropic of Capricorn peaks, Cancer starts its slow decline
Astrologers reassure us, the end is not bespoke
Astronomers can’t sleep, has a supernova awoke?
Healthy cells deconstruct inexorably from their core
Runaway chain reactions, laying waste forever more
Be that as it must, cosmic cataclysms generate thrust
Comets are slightly nudged, on a collision course with us?
Ancients believed them omens, wraiths of impending slaughter
Those billion ton tailed curveballs, catalysed Earth with water
Modern man searches for answers, drowning in misnomers
Melding PhD honours, with chatbot E-diplomas
Teleporting entangled particles, throws back a hack
Time travelling marvel, rewinds the real Bronze Age back?
Absurdness seems lame, yet concomitantly germane
Hawking conserved energy, by merely using his brain
Newton had a bachelors, kept him celibate stable
He’d balls of steel for sure, alas no bearings on that cradle?
Information cannot be destroyed, only zeitgeists can
Synthesised is truth, in the malleable hands of man
Life’s more delicate, gravitas hidden behind a smile
Like tales that flightless birds, buried heads in denial
Ostriches evolved kick-ass legs, and win the biped race
They dig shallow pits in sand, not complex black holes in space
One squawked this revelation before zooming off to die:
“Humankind’s the sole species, with good reason to ask why”?
Disintegrating dreams
I find I can no longer stand
as this ground about me shakes with might.
Thunderous hooves of imaginary wild horses,
panting in heavy breaths, kicking dust before soiled eyes,
claiming to take down fences
of wire and stick, laying waste in sun dried foot prints
creating a mosaic of dream-like designs.
Spiraling uncontrolled as the artist fades like fall colors,
still trapping hopeless romantic thoughts
locked within reach and just out of sight.
Challenging the earth to steady the plates
suspended above me on thin shafts of deep desire,
spinning like clocks in an opposite direction
telling time it has no place here.
Finding that truth is the enemy, I pull the drapes knowing
doorways will caress thresholds that keep out the draft,
yet allow the sunlight to mimic the scattered shade cooling the needs
beneath a paper fortresses . . . and my heart sighs.
For this is life, in its starkest reality,
and what was pictured in youth lingers in the minds of the old.
Pasting cobwebs for effect and smiles not as genuine as they may seem,
days pass and with them opportunities fly like a crying dove
as morning light counts another moment away from this existence.
Why does it seem that endless possibilities end, forever wishes
drown at the bottom of the well amidst even older pennies,
patina claims the skin in the name of a love
found but not shared, carried upon shoulders,
as nothing else is left but to wait . . .
while my dreams no longer wait for me
Where is our hope?
Waging wars with not sense of direction
Burning down our own homes with no discretion
Fighting for peace with no results
Anger building and no one wants to claim fault
Tired of preaching with no signs of change
Throwing stones at a glass house tryna turn the page
Hope was lost when we realized freedom was never there
Trying to be considered an equal in a world that is unfair
When did the hope leave?
Casting an iron stone with no sense of direction
Anger building all around us like it’s an infection
Trying to make a change with no leader
No one willing to stand up and die for masses
Ready to throw a punch but no organization passes
Peaceful words being lost in chaos
Hope is just a memory lost in his dreams
Marches of peace now lost in the screams
Will hope ever return?
Pass down the words of hope to the new generation
Take away the cloud of smoke and reveal the segregation
Understand we are not free we are where they want us to be
Know that we are stronger together, we can begin to see
That hope is not lost for you, and we can fight
Not for the cause of fighting but to bring forth the right
Casting words and showing strength in a direction
Laying waste to this infectious deception
We are not free because we lack a sense of connection
Without another dreamer who will stop this perception?
From an abandoned sky comes images from on high
tossing away the things that make us sane
Subliminally casting all away to an abandoned sky
from nothing to form or nothing to no were
flying through clear abandoned skies
I have nothing to lose and knowledge to gain
no cares or concerns
watch and waiting
in an abandoned sky
I rise to meet the great new day
I stare into the face of a perfect god
all alone in an abandoned sky lost and forgotten
on a distant plane where skeletons lie in repose
As they deny the twilight cast from an abandoned sky
fragments of my mind's eye lay in disarray
in demise under an abandoned sky riding
in rusted machines or reapers' dreams
teeth of gears gnash and grind memories
from bright eyes reflecting the soul
an abandoned sky full of possibilities
I lie in the cool shade of the skeleton trees on Halloweens eve
I watch snow collecting, covering the carcass of my vanity
under a black abandoned sky in the depths of a winters storms
laying waste to inner landscapes
I dream of future days and tomorrow's nights
as stars of distant worlds swirl n play...
I dance in an abandoned sky
I thought the dust had settled
over what used to be 'us'
but today I found a picture
and heard echoes of your voice
your footsteps in the hall
and then it stopped...
you'd fallen, from choice
and I kept walking
leaving the memory of 'me and you'
It returned, unwanted, unbidden
after being hidden for years
bitter words spoken in haste
laying waste to love
verbal wars were lethal weapons
thrown in bloody battle
and then it stopped...
because I left, but scars remain
grave markers of 'me and you'
We've both moved on
but I still feel you near
in the notes of songs
about a love gone wrong
I tore them from my heart
and then it stopped...
but they left me blue
still playing in my mind
an unfinished aria of 'me and you'
Sometimes I wake
and reach across the bed
then hang my head, bite my lip
And taste salt upon my fingertip
I walk the hall, crying
and then it stops...
when I remember why I left
relive what you'd done
to fracture the memory of 'me and you'
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
June 27th 2017
And then it stopped contest
sponsored by John Lawless