The wheel of time churns the disarray dust,
settling on the unstable shelf of my lonesome life.
In the maiming moments of painful perturbation,
truth crumbles in the cauldron of confusion chaos.
My detached mind learns to emotionally disconnect,
cultivates the aspirant ability to evade attachment.
Repulsion frees me from the bond of attraction,
acerbic aversion forms within me a citadel of apathy.
As hard times strikes my private space
the boundless walls of the castle, seemingly impassable,
foil the foray of the outer world to my inner sanctum,
a cocoon of imposed isolation in blissful insulation.
I become a lone prisoner of my making,
captive behind the sensual walls of volatile pride,
find people disappear like mist beyond the horizon,
snap the unseen interaction cords of understanding.
When time comes to travel to the twilight zone,
the instinct of self-preservation dwindles in debris,
the walls collapse with the shattered senile senses,
getting buried in the wreckage of the broken antenna.
New Year ball falling
Colorful confetti flies
Fireworks maiming
Today I hear a jarring circumlocution
‘One solution, intifada revolution’
The first Intifada lasted from ’87 to ‘93
A perilous time to be an Israeli
160 Israelis were killed, 3,100 wounded
after all those attacked were computed
The Second Intifada stretched from 2000 to 2005
a time when 1,100 Israelis lost their lives…
… not to mention thousands disabled
~ and all the widowed wives
So, make no mistake about it:
Intifada revolution means murdering and maiming Jews
something proponents eagerly choose
My Heart ~
the pump station of my love,
my affection.
Like petals of a rose—
the fulcrum of my fragrance...
attracting kindred souls to my life,
like bees and butterflies to a bloom.
Rip my heart open—
you won’t find anything else
but goodness and kindness ~
the fabric that clothes my being.
When broken—
the pain is sharp and immense,
like a twisting knife
ripping a soul bare ~
bloodless,
yet endless,
like a drumbeat
without a drummer.
But it can harden—
stony, cold,
devoid of warmth or grace,
vengeful and wicked...
when pierced by a heartless mind.
Then it flows with invisible venom ~
clouding the brain like a purple haze,
killing, maiming...
capable of every evil.
Like roses—
with a range of wildly different scents ~
so is my life: love, hatred, joy—
kindness and wickedness all imbued.
Oftentimes, it sweetly lingers...
other times, it odiously putrefies.
The turning wheel of time
stirs up the dust of disarray,
that settles in the crumbling cauldron
of disordered life of illusion.
In the maiming moments
of disdained dejection,
truth tumbles in the mélange
of disorientation chaos.
Under the fantasy firmament
psyche in desertic isolation,
embedded in mindscape imagery,
suffering desiccated and lonely,
searches for a novel niche
in self-constructed reverie
to get a spellbound shelter
of captivating hope in frustration.
Dormant notion then invents dream,
steers mind into domain of delusion.
A thing made is destined to break,
but not by the will of the creator,
for whom the sense of time collapses,
making the frame of timeless trance,
where the dreamer assembles relentless
the shifting scenes of desire dreams.
The montage etched by the trail of mirage,
migrating in dunes of desolation,
makes collage of dream in deluded mind
against backdrop of nocturnal oasis.
The dreamer doesn’t see the dawn,
for the soul sleeps entranced deep within,
can’t escape self-built illusory maze,
until divine consciousness makes wake-up call.
standing at windows the day speeds by,
people scurry as ants or inside metal monsters,
always coming to and away,
business of great importance,
hastening deeds so that more deeds may be done,
and more quickly.
Neon signs and gas to pump,
gazing from above,
seemingly moments,
but wasting days,
killing time or simply maiming it.
Our world is filled
with the stench of death
the wolf was never at the door
it was always inside
destroying everything
in fire and blood
in agony and falling buildings
killing, maiming and starving
babies and children,
women and old people,
the sick, the healthy,
the sane and the deranged
the poor and (rarely if ever) the rich
it has the mind of a psychopath
unrestrained by laws or morals
sometimes even applauded
Our world is filled
with the stench of death
I weep salt tears
but it isn’t enough.
The turning wheel of time stirs up the dust of disarray,
that settles in the crumbling cauldron of disordered life.
In the maiming moments of disdained dejection,
truth tumbles in the mélange of disorienting chaos.
Under the scorching blaze of the envy flame,
the desiccated soul suffers parched and forsaken,
searches for the niche of sanguinity in self-belief
to get the self-seeking shade of hope in frustration.
The sapling of irresistible longing rooted deep in desire,
nurtured in the receptive core of the longing heart,
blossoms the flower of passionate hedonism,
luring the being with the illusion of impulsive urge.
In the disorderly squall of divesting dismay,
the mangled mind is disheveled to a dishabille state,
tries to snap the chords of captivating greed,
the psychic cascade of unconcern carries them away.
Chasing the mirage across the dunes of desolation,
the hope of taking life to the oasis disappears deluded.
As the beleaguering storm of disenchantment blows,
consciousness takes the correction course to undo despair.
Mass destruction is happening on a global basis.
People are dying, killing, maiming, hurting.
Sheila is determined to finish her masterpiece.
Her love for her creation is on fire; she is in a frenzy.
The chords and notes she plays are chilling.
They are dangerous and provocative.
Striking terror in the hearts of those who still have a soul.
There is something ominous and frightening about her song.
Her fingers hit the keys with purpose and resolve.
She has left her body, and is watching it now, go on without a soul.
Some empaths have figured it out. Hair stands up on their necks.
The world is falling into pits of despair, yet her soulless body plays on.
Overwhelmingly fragile life is,
It often knocked us down on our knees.
Facing the daybreak has been exceedingly petrifying
where to rise where to set?
Do I even belong here?
A loner I've always been.
From million miles, I shot the star yet fall on lion’s mouth
there's scarcity of rooms to procure all that's hurting,
All that's maiming.
then what's left is all bogus,
A goal of its own to attain
winning or losing I am on the race.
Even so, as I set about to stretch my wings and waggle
No longer could I hobble around.
while all I own is learning to recline on Jesus,
the Master of all the masters
supersede the unfathomable vagueness,
rose brighter when all I comprehend is a grey of tilted shades
He truly is my superhero for life.
it’s what remains unsaid
such words withheld in the dark
like shards of silence
with their razor edge precision
maiming the heart that lies in wait
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
He hit his teacher
And kicked a classmate.
His teacher called for the principal.
She was reading a book.
She suggested me.
I am the school counselor.
I said, “you know you cannot hit and kick people right?”
He asked, “what if they deserve it?”
I have wanted to kick a few people myself.
I had no answer for that.
But got him back to his room without maiming anyone else.
So that’s a great start right?
There.
There is beauty in the world if you look for it
There are times in this world when all is well
There are times when the news cannot frighten
There are people who decide to love and not kill
There are stories that you’ll never read about
Because the endings turn out fine and swell
There are people who help those in hurt and pain
There are times when the whole world is at peace
There are mornings the sun is so radiant, bright
There are days when the sea is gentle and serene
There are times when the world is painless and free
There is good news but it’s never ever newsworthy
The horrors are what sells the newspaper and T.V
The scares put to you every day so dramatically
The killings, maiming and murder, fill the media with glee
There’s good everywhere, but we’re not allowed to see.
David cox 14/08/21
The rumbling and shovelling
Pandemonium and desecration
The killings and maiming of souls
Boko harambee, the harem of
murderers
The genie let loose, murder
incorporated,
Unlicensed to kill
It's the wild! wild!! North on
the brink!
The north overrun
The hounds on the run
The hunt only just began.
Boko haram has taken the
center stage
The grave is filling, yet it takes
more and more dead.
It's the Wild! Wild!! North on
the brink.
(Written on the 2nd May, 2015)
N.B. presently Boko haram, Killer herdsmen, bandits, kidnappers and others have overran Nigeria and overwhelming the Security forces.
Vibrations feral spread across the land
Meek upon earth, then approached the elder
“We are helpless; please help man understand!”
“For he has engaged in widespread plunder
Consumed by desire and ruled by instinct
Killing, maiming and mining down under”
Mother Earth listened, viewing her precinct
Thought awhile, then from God took permission
Spewing a virus, with message succinct:
“Enjoy my gifts, in joyful elation
Live in peace or face annihilation“
04-February-2021
(syllabic Terza Rima)
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