Long Splicing Poems
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Words are Going Missing
Words are going missing……and no one seems to care!!
Red lined!! Redacted!!! Clandestinely subtracted!!
Their meanings have been undermined
to alter documents - long signed
cater to the lunacy
that altered words will set us free.
Words are being conjured…gene splicing gone awry
because our conversations may be heard by passersby,
someone may be offended
because our language wasn’t blended
certified as neutralized
words no longer “Super Sized”.
Words are being muffled….silenced by the mob
demanding that we serve them – fresh corn- without the cob.
Words are being “weaponized” – the arming of perception
a conversational “Cold War” – exchanges of deception.
Words are going missing……gaps upon the pages
trapped within this horror…….a poet’s heart still rages.
John G. Lawless
12/1/2015
I’ve heard it said . . . our future is in peril and deadly danger
Those close to us are listening, to the whispers of a stranger
The Word of God lies hidden, in the depths of cold despair
Lying buried under lies and hate
Deceit hangs in the air!
I’ve heard it said . . . that bankers are a privatised cartel
Hold monopoly on our futures, past and present times as well
Write the policies of the World, through corrupted CEO’s
But we’ve been down that road before
That’s just the way it goes!
I’ve heard it said . . . A President elect, is what is needed
A parasite or paedophile, twisted jokers unimpeded
Both hands are drawn, unholy as voters standing vexed
Voters drenched in cold abandon
As zombies standing hexed
I’ve heard it said . . . pandemics are caused by EMR
Evidence of 200 years lends proof they do so far
From recent Star wars project days, Musks satellites laid low
To Bob the Duck and Quantam Baby
Radar and radio
I’ve heard it said . . . New Babylon is surely on the cards
A collusion of musicians, choose to play the Devils bards
Bloodcurdling revelations, sacrificial lambs to savour
Iniquitous borne melodies
To trade for Satans favour
I’ve heard it said . . . RFID’s the only chip we’ll need
A Beastly brand of ownership, to mark the Devils seed
The cadence upon the wind Lord, as it rolls
Unknowing next for whom
The Bell it Tolls
I’ve heard it said . . . our leaders calling out for martial Law
Agenda 30’s rapid rise to being, without a flaw
Shadow governments pulling strings on all our borders
Screams of Angels drowned beneath
Our New World Orders
I’ve heard it said . . . the authors of the codes aren’t flying blind
Re-splicing of Mans D.N.A is foremost in their minds
A pocket full of posies, all fall down
Culling virus’s prevail
As we slowly drown
I’ve heard it said . . . our prayers alone are the only comforts left
Our souls He’s dealt a losing hand, the Lords love stands bereft
Armageddon’s on the horizon, End of Times
Our future in the making reeks
Of ancient nursery rhymes
~ You’re the Mender of My Fences…
Time has a way of rusting out the wires
or rotting the posts off below the ground
and then the horses would go a strayin'
any place that the fence had fallen down
So you have to ride along the fences
specially after a big winter storm
Always being alert and diligent
to make sure the herd will come to no harm
Most times it might be just a little thing
like splicing in a tiny bit of wire
Other times it’s an entire section down
that’s when things can become a bit more dire
It seems you always know what tool to use
to keep our fences standing tall and strong
Just how to keep this wandering stallion
from doing anything foolish or wrong
You have a gentle way of fixing me
whenever doubt starts to rust out my wire
You are the mender of all my fences
the keeper of my heart’s deepest desire
I've lost my train of thought again.
Even if on trial, I tend to derail.
Even on track with Maglev intact.
I broke out in front long past bullet speed.
A bat out of hell, quick time villainy.
I recount losing that thought so quickly,
faster than Berry Allen feet velocities.
Cannot catch what's too fast to see.
Some people obviously say, "we are
only humans, that we are helpless to
our biologic afflictions."
Some would go as far to say, "All that
makes you unique, another would
attribute it to a genetic mutation.",
"Our own condition itself is human,
and we are victim to the will of nature."
A precious filtration system weed
out and decides what is best for
the preservation of a species. A
delicate process that isn't fool proof,
falling prone to error. Allowing zealots and
charlatans to artificially inseminate this process.
Removing naturality from the environment.
Entirely re-designing and gene splicing.
Easy baking babies made with test
tube gravy. Modifying the gene-pool
prioritizing Human logrolling,
steamrolling dormant efforts
in favor of biological engineering.
That shouldn't concern the terrain
originate. The soul of a future humanity
is part of the plans of Highest High.
What a sight to see, imagine the view
from the zenith peak? I'd tweak, my electrons
would be firing so fast the high multitudes
increase. The speed would like some ecstasy.
ecstatic till the static no different
from the TV screen. It gets hard to decern
when CERN keeps hadron colliding all of
our memories, effective immediate collectivity.
I deserve to know the blueprints of my eyes...
You deserve to know why the rose dies...
I want to know God's compromise...
You shall know how Love writhes...
Your eyes were designed to see death...
I see the world, I see life, I taste breath...
You see suffering, you taste soul falleth...
I witness love wonderful, I feel God speaketh...
You mistaketh moments, for Eternity's birth,
you confuseth care, for justice calleth...
Do my eyes lieth, teach the Devil's spelleth...
Your eyes dreams distorteth,
they corrupteth what your heart seeketh...
Why must the rose dieth...
So to live truth pureth...
What truth does the rose liveth...
All that cometh in the Shadow, expresseth in the Shadow, of the Shadow passeth...
God's compromise your eyes spilleth,
revealeth risk righteous...
God gambled with the grave, to spawn spirit, to sow soul rebellious...
God fell for Freedom, shattered Itself for the stars, for the sake of raw consciousness...
What does God searcheth for, does God great pain possess...?
God seeketh heat in ice, pursueth pain in living purpose...
Is God the Architect of Good and Evil consequence...?
God is wise and weeping wilderness,
the lust of creative intelligence...
God compromised His eternal innocence...?
God became a diamonded metamorphosis,
panoramic pulse in prowling permanence...
Does Love not make life real...
Death makes life real, as love makes you feel,
so too, death be your soul's appeal
for self sacrificing survival,
to endure the relentless ritual of mind vital...
Is Love a prisoner of prophecy unlawful...
Love is captive of a curse called carnal,
you see, Love is a procreative energy primal,
flesh fanging nerves of the physical,
exhilaration of ego inflamed emotional,
atomic sparks splicing matrix mental...
My heart is designed to see Life total,
I am a fire fed by faith phenomenal...
Take me, to where Love learns no more
of suffering heartbeats sore,
to where the sky wants no more of thunder galore...
I cannot take you to where God need not explore...
J.A.B. 03-12-2025
If only I could be ElaineScisorsHands,
under tonight's half moon;
on the precise sec past midnight
I'd creep into deep shadows
and slice evil in two.
SLASH! SLASH!
Black cats and black rats and
even blindass black bats,
would go cross-eyed with terror
feeling the ominous... impending global doom.
I'd swing my long black cloak round myself and,
hop on its tail, and be swooped up by
the howling winds, setting me off on my aim.
SLASH! SLASAH!
I'd cut out chunks of infested flesh,
pluck out pink, rheumy eyes with
their bloody stringy bits-
slice up and stab all evil doers
in their deformed spineless-backs.
Once I've made full circle round this orbital globe-
chopping and dicing and splicing, I'd
swoop back into my dank hovel,
with my cloak pockets glug-full and,
long shiny serrated blades dripping
coagulated black blood. I'd reach for
my engraved crystal goblet and,
drip blood in ...PLOP! PLOP! SWIPE! SWIPE!
then wring my cloak tail of every gruesome drop.
Wholly satisfied, on this grave Halloween night,
I'd feed my dark side on the dark side of the moon.
* note my FB name was Elaine Petgrave
The blender switches on,
The Clock starts ticking.
Stitching it's imprint,
Into Existence.
Each Instant,
Different.
Gears whirring,
Agitated, Stirring Emotions,
Splicing, Thoughts churning ,
Forcing Conforming,
To the vortex That's forming.
Conflicting Actions,
Unconscious Reactions,
Robbing Our Satisfaction.
We Keep on Running,
To the Next Attraction.
Unaware of the distraction,
Keeping us in Line.
Trapped in Times Design,
It Defines your day.
How Long you have to Stay,
Then Sends you on your way.
There's even Time to Pay.
Never Enough for Play,
So throw none of it away.
Attached to every move,
It fills all the Grooves.
Smooth and sly,
It slides on by.
Flying beside you,
Guiding, and Dividing,
Perfect timing.
The more fun we have,
Seems as it were cut in Half.
Yet an hour in sorrow,
Feels like no Tomorrow.
Your Faithful Companion,
A Wound mender.
Or your toughest Contender,
Keeping you in The Blender.
after each sip of coffee
her lipstick stain blurred and deepened
just like her untold stories
fought for, finding ways to
come back to life,
reshuffled.
scars she had inside,
scratches she sealed with a pinch of salt,
were the silver shadows coming back
to taunt, to haunt,
to suck her soul to the bones?
oh, to smell hazelnut fragrance
again and again and again;
did she find solace
through the masochistic pain?
little did she know
she was the remaining teacup water slipping into a drain
after a rain.
drowning in the void,
trees scarred by a lightning strike on a purple night.
the fire beside her
looked extra orange,
stairs looked extra grey.
the voices inside her head
kindled a new trembling fight.
same old disgust,
forming a heap of rust,
here, there, and everywhere
feeling a force of upthrust.
was it windy enough
to scatter her into dust?
shall she
discover herself buried beneath
the twirling tides,
leading to roller coaster rides?
no ifs,
yet remaining buts,
splicing the even thoughs
with discarded thoughts like driftwood.
only,
only if she had the audacity
to turn the rock into
thirty shades of blue and blue.
only if
the chlorophyll-less leaves could photosynthesize,
the vacancy,
perhaps,
wouldn't crash like tsunami waves.
she's just her,
her and full of her;
quicksand blooming beneath her feet.
up ahead,
the melancholy hill
whispered,
she owed herself
a meeting with the stranger wearing her skin.
Bubbling babbling burbling banter from the bar..
Sup hush….memory lane trip...Proustian rush..pleasingly tickled.
Plushly ebbed…spidery beer swirls webbed…lace whirls..grace dimpled dappled jar..
Perch...parched pagans besmirch..sip...druid fluid drip..Iris’s secular church..
Venerate yesteryear dips…commemorate Faustian fillips....teasingly pickled..
Smug treacle toned thatch rugs hugs sturdy slabs.. shrugs..
Tugs tussling tree torn trusses and trestles....
Trumpets tradition.. crisp crumpets in flames..sedition flickering..
Like sassy strumpets calling each other names…playfully bickering..
Remember the surreal cast….gayfully ethereal echoes..
Beacons blush in the embers of the past..
Classy pubs dripping with polished pewter.. parochial paraphernalia…ballsy brass...
Crepuscular charms. splinters splicing smokey shadows..
Wafting whispers.. across tobacco tinted tainted times..
Whistles whetted..quaffing…quenching ...cavorting with crannies..
Carousing with nooks naked in timber flannelled panels..
Canoodling on fecund bulbous bales farm foraged.. freshly fashioned...
Flirtatious follicle flicks....gurgling guffaws, raffish rascals' whisky whimsy..
Courting curious covens..sporting prosecco cackle cacophonies.
As sons become dad..in turn perched with their lad..
Lady lawyer betwixt a pimpled tyro…local employer, bumpkin on the giro..
Museums of marvels.. hoodwink misplaced metaphors..
Laced with a house pour of moreish memories of before..
That without impunity the nub of a pub..
The bar.. a community hubbub hub..
Gracious Landladies…loquacious Landlords..
Sagacious stars...near and far..
We raise our jar.
For our home from home..
A public house..
Ta..
The bruises and burns
From her cooking and washing pots and pans
Her former hands, so dainty and soft
Have now become coarse and calloused
Scars from knives on her hands and her thighs
Cuts from slicing dicing and splicing
Several produce and foods to provide nourishment for you
Yet you disregard her efforts and don't appreciate her when due
Wives, daughters and sisters everywhere
We were always seen as the 'weaker sex'
But we rose and fought our best
To be admired and looked upon with respect.
We succeeded and made the world realise
That women aren't only knowledgable kitchen-wise
We have gifts talents, achievements and dreams
Which makes the world better more than. those can believe.
Happy Women's day to all my wonderful females
We are worth more than rubies and are as competent as the males
I'm proud of all of you for the battles you fought
Let your smile shine brightly like a beacon come forth.
Happy Women's Day