Pickaxe Poems

Spirit Past

Despite the bellow of loved ones,
you've chosen to go it alone. 
Thus far you've immunity to folly and mishap.
Now you're long overdue but nobody knows
you've left no itinerary nor coordinates
There'll be no search and rescue
upon that avalanche of arrogance.

The pickaxe has slipped from your hand 
sliding into the sweet blackness.
Days layer upon a twist of broken bones
Blue ice licks its own thickness into a groan.
You've reached the black pinnacle of the purist alone.

Under a robin's egg sky
on the throat of icy cliffs
The alpinists ascend
a blizzard of sorrow and bliss.
Sowing a string of prayer flags
into the white heart soil of spirit pass.

Steady the float

Here rest my oars.
A killick thrown to the school of fishes,
To still my boat from the peering waves.
Fishy-wishy scatter as water splatters,
Like wood chips flying when the pickaxe strikes.
A ship draws near, but my killick blocks its kiss—
Its stale mouth might stagger my rest,
And send my gathered fish fleeing the net.

Much of the mud my killick swallows,
So the wave won’t tug the boat an inch.
More students from the school must reach my net.
A long wait beneath the twilight-dimming sky.
Yet the fish market waits for a refill.
The cool breeze begs my eyes to close,
But hunger bites hard with its mocking teeth—
My killick just has to steady the float.

The Grind

The Grind

In Gielinor's realm, where legends reside,
A hero emerges, with nowhere to hide.
From Lumbridge to Kharazi, a journey untold,
With pickaxe and sword, a story unfolds.

The grind is relentless, the hours they blur,
Woodcutting, mining, a monotonous stir.
But whispers arise, of glory and fame,
To slay the great dragon, and conquer the game.

From barrows to bandits, a constant fight,
Forging ahead, with unwavering might.
Each skill a triumph, each level a gain,
A digital odyssey, easing the pain.

With friends by your side, a camaraderie deep,
Sharing the burden, secrets to keep.
The memories linger, the laughter, the tears,
A timeless adventure, conquering fears.

So raise a tankard, to Gielinor's might,
To heroes of old, who battled through night.
For in this realm, where legends are born,
The spirit of Runescape forever will adorn.

Love Embodies

What love embodies is set in stone
Only a pickaxe can break
What's truthfully there, damage prone
What the heart wants is stuck with a stake
Maybe I’m the pickaxe who destroys all love
But I will never be so sure
Because the pickaxe can be anything, a gentle dove
I don’t know what love has in store
All I know is that love still embodies
Anyone who sets me up a glance
My heart seems to take many vengeful hobbies
But hey, my head won’t move it’s stance
What love embodies is set in stone
I’m the pickaxe that breaks
What's dishonestly there, lying prone
I must stick my heart with a stake

Sheer Fall

Top of the world, Ma —
See those little fingers down there?
Those tiny rivers runnin’ thru the valley —
You fall, you won’t be repaired 

Gimme pickaxe, gimme rope-ladder
Gimme both McKinley and Everest 
I think best at highest altitudes
I’m hottest at my grooviest 

Sheer fall —
You’re goin down
You’re goin down all the way
(2x)

You know the Donner Party was up in these parts 
And they ate each other up
Much like those handsome boys from Brazil
Who were tryin’ to win the World Cup

When you finally scale that mountain,
Of course there ain’t nobody to witness 
And then your ego sends the avalanche down 
And you’re a sacrifice to physical fitness 

Sheer fall —
You’re goin down
You’re goin down all the way
(2x)

Other Ears

As if by other ears,
you hear the trees cracking,
a black ice splitting the sky,
a pickaxe laying bare
night’s white bones.

Sleepers arise
still dreaming of such things.

A cave, and inside
that carved-out ear
the dreams of others’
troubling you
into a kind of love.

And was it you walking
angrily away
driven wild and shouting,
with a night-gale roaring
in some other ear?

Teaching Chimps To Speak a Few Words

Teach them just enough words to know
a pickaxe from a pencil…. just a few practical words
for practical applications, not too many,

otherwise they might turn into poets,
and god-knows we don’t need any more of that.

Teaching Chimps Words

Teach them just enough words to know
a pickaxe from a pencil…just a few practical words
for practical applications, not too many,
The chimps could build dog kennels for dogs,
shelves for their tools. Park benches for
other more elderly chimps.
Humans on the other hand could 
curtail much language education,
perhaps needing only enough words
to tell chimps what to do,
leaving them more time
to shout incoherently into cellphones
while communicating 
almost entirely in emojis
even more than they do now.

Teaching Chimps Some Words

We should teach the chimpanzees to read
the names of certain things. Objects like tools 
for instance
then label the tools: hammer, saw, axe,
screwdriver etcetera, then screws and nails.

Teach them just enough words to know
a pickaxe from a pencil…just a few practical words
for practical applications, not too many,
otherwise they might turn into poets,
and god-knows we don’t need anymore of that.

The chimps could build dog kennels for dogs,
shelves for their tools. Park benches for
other more elderly chimps.
They will, of course have no use for words
like romance, religion and politics.

If they wanted to fight among themselves
(as chimps often do),
they could simply go back to grunting,
screaming and throwing sticks at each other,
as we used to.

I might have made a miscalculation,
maybe tools for low-tech apes
eventually leads to holocausts and Hiroshima.

Perhaps after all,
we will just teach them how to write poetry
for those who prefer their muse 
to scream and grunt a bit.
Then maybe we can start on the dogs and cats;
force them to play the piano for a living.

Just Climb

Though dormant, your strengths are still present...
within the silky staircase of God woven DNA.
Just peel away layers of perceived weakness
climb through the fiery muck and mire...
through acidic jive-devil clawed lies.
Climb with a pickaxe of love and faith.
Shed decades of doubters and layers of deceivers.
Buoy the desperate dreamers, along the way.
Climb until ogres cannot reach your lowest high.
Until jealousy no longer bangs a cymbal against your mind.

An enriched life awaits those with fair intentions.
Climb as if every step, uplifted the heavens.
Climb until you smack your face against the stars.
                         Just climb.

Miss Andry

Miss Andry, you are truly a mystery. 
You have Revealed yourself as Artemis and Lady of Ephesus to Many. 
Miss Andry, you're mother nature that Roars like a lion and your voice thunders time after time. 
Miss Andry, you're the root of most religions and goddess to many nations. 
Miss Andry, you're the role model and idol to women all over the world, and even worshiped as queen of the Amazon women long ago.
Miss Andry, you're Strength was revealed when you transformed into your twin brother Apollo.
While Transformed into Libera, the goddess of Freedom, you have forgotten your attributes of Justice and Mercy.
Miss Andry, your Heart is cold and hard as the statue of liberty, not even a pickaxe can penetrate your disharmony.
Miss Andry, why do you treat me like you do? 
Why do you blame me all the time? 
Haven't I tried to love you through and through the passing of time? 
Miss Andry, MIss Andry, How can I get through to you?

Mountain

MOUNTAIN

                                                   I
                                                 used
                                            to be stable,
                                       dependable, granite;
                                    a mountain holds an echo
                               like a lover’s kiss. Once holy parts
                       of me are crumbling away, eroded by betrayal
              ~ that shifting precipice, integrity ~ that landslide, my honesty. 
              ?   How long does it take for a mountain to become a boulder?  ?
           Geologists know the answer but you don’t care, you have a pickaxe ?
   and the desire for security. If a woman asks you to give up your mountain-ness,
no matter what she needs the rocks for, in exchange for her love, refuse indignantly; 
                                       it is not a fair trade.

Reluctance Refinery

i represent an
invisible wall to
you
everytime you walk
by
i wish i was a
magician only for
you
everytime you walk
by
i would create the
most amazing art for
you
everytime you walk
by
i would totally
erase the maze of
confusion for you 
everytime you walk
by

the bridge of
rejection sends my
inner fear into
ascension
i want to fall off
intentionally when i
imagine the natural
scent of you
internally i do
jumping jacks
internally i do
squat thrusts
externally i do
speed walks
externally i do the
shy guy stroll
everytime you walk
by

i guess i deserve to
be the ghost as
practice for the
sport of your
resistance 
i wish i had a
pickaxe
i wish i had a
mallet
i wish i had a
poker....anything to
to help extend my
arms
everytime you walk
by

now the day is done
now the night
becomes the
masterful bully
now the dawn of day
teases me with its
indecisiveness
now the apex of the
torture begins for
me again
everytime you walk
by

The Burial, Translation of Paul Verlaine's Sonnet: L'Enterrement

The Burial, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet : L’Enterrement

I know nothing as gay as a burial !
The grave-digger who sings with his pickaxe in bright thrill
The church bells from afar reverberating with their svelte trille
The priest in a white surplice whose joyous prayers hardly in denial

The chorus boy with his voice fresh as a girl’s,
And when at the bottom of the hole, all warm and snug,
The coffin nestles in with the tumbling in soft tug
Of earth making the corpse’s eiderdown, the lucky devil’s

All this looks to me quite charming forsooth !
And then, all those, stuffed plump in tail coats’ sheath,
Mourners whose noses redden while receiving tips

And then, the proper concise speeches stuffed with advice rare
And then, with bulging hearts and glorious foreheads glistening
	Hail ! The sparkling heirs !

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2013

Rewards of Love

I seek not a robe of glittering pearls and rubies shinning bright
Give me a modest dress only not shorter than my height

A handcuff, a collar or may be, a shackle heavy and tough
The adornment for me should compliment the stature of my love

My foe wishes to improve his stature or he wants me dead?
Does he seek my turban of glory or he seeks my head?

A pickaxe  in my hand I have and fervour of love in heart
Do not fail me, O tough rock! Stream of milk* start

The treasure of ideals and vision aren’t on trees to pluck
For wealth of sensitivity, anguish and pain, one would need my luck

Seeing human sufferings, Yamin, causes torments and pains
Put me in the cosy arms of sleep, where peace and serenity reigns

----
* Reference to legendary Asian lovers Shireen & Farhad. Farhad dug a rock to start the 
stream of milk for the sake of his love.

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