they said work hard
keep your nose clean
stack your pennies like bricks
and one day
you’ll climb out.
but the ladder’s gone,
the hole’s deeper,
and the air tastes like metal.
soon there’ll be
a cast system—
you’ll be born tagged,
wired,
catalogued before you can scream.
they’ll weigh your blood
against a market index,
sell futures on your failures,
buy stock in your bones.
every hard hour
you break your back
will only push you
further into their registry,
a number on a glowing screen.
and when you spit blood
from the machine’s grind,
it won’t matter—
the algorithm already
owns your ghost.
dreams?
dreams are cheap liquor now,
poured in plastic cups
by the same hand
that stamps your barcode.
There is a need for quietness today,
I listen to my neighbor's toilet flush,
it takes a long time for the sound
to drain away and refill,
I hold seconds inside my mind
between that rise and fall.
There is space for listening,
the trash compactor chews on
when switched off.
I hear conversations
filtering through the air conditioner,
words both distinct and garbled.
Yesterdays hurried meal
speaks still, moments explore
newly opened pocket.
This is not silence
sound moves upon carpet slippers,
yet steps are heightened
by being audible
in a lower registry of depth.
It is I who creates this lengthening,
this processional unwinding of
of unremarkable moments,
a distance between
and marked by blank labels -
every note,
an eavesdropping deliverance.
I come here often, stop,
and from the river bank, watch
the ribs of an old wreck break through
the surface on an ebbing tide.
After all this time it still seems
to crave for breath, to air
its last remains.
Whatever past it has
no longer resides in living memory
but in a paragraph inked
in a shipping registry sunk
deep in the basement
of the Maritime Museum,
or is somewhere forever becalmed
in a photograph,
time frozen on a sepia sea.
But this morning I took it in,
gave my mind
to its hollowed out hull
and let imagination
lift it from the mud and make
it whole. I sailed it
out of the suck of time
and set it upon an open sea
and as its sails billowed
across my mind, I got the sense
that throughout all the wear
of passing time,
it had been waiting for me.
Dashing to the Registry
With my bride to be, to be.
Under blue skies with blue shoes.
Wedding bands and promises,
Held tight, till later…
I do
Fanciful footwork and fireworks
The most glorious country wedding.
Marquees and marvellous speeches,
Swirling and twirling with fabulous friends.
My love – my true love…
I do
Called to a photoshoot,
Practiced in shadows and in light
A new bride – but just for the show of it.
The venue, the dream.
For others to see…
I do
Singing and dancing on stage.
Directors calling and orchestra playing.
The rehearsals and the movements.
Creating something from nothing.
For enjoyment of life itself…
I do
(I do, I do, I do, I do, I do)
Under soaring osprey’s gaze
And the gathering silver eye
I take my bride to the edge of the view
For more wedding party vows.
Paella and beers, close family, and friends.
We dance into the night,
By the light of the moon...
I do
Imagine no more actors
It’s easy to do
Just shut off your TV
And skip the movies too.
Imagine that the actors
All just went away Aha-ah...
Imagine politicians
Who really work for us
Wired with electrodes
That would be a plus
Imagine all the charges
That would just get dropped... Woohoo…
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I was born right here
Like my parents before me
See, my paperwork is clear
Imagine low taxation
And paying as you go
No raging inflation
Prices at the pump real low
Imagine conceal carry
Without registry... Woohoo
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I was born right here
Like my parents before me
See, my paperwork is clear
----------
Facebook meme reporting the war in Ukraine could be ended in short order if we could just get more movie stars to film themselves singing 'Imagine' from their hollywood mansions, lol.
I listen to my neighbors toilet flush,
it takes a long time for the sound
to drain away and refill,
I settle deeper between my ears
cognizant of the cadence
of its slow rise and fall.
The trash compactor chews on
for a grinding stretch after I switch it off.
Uncomfortably heated body-bellows voice out
as a hurried meal speaks on.
This is not silence
minor notes trundle and tumble,
heightened by being weighted
to a lower registry.
Sonic trickles detonate into auricular
spouting’s.
The distances between
unremarkable moments
eavesdrops,
listening to its own earthly poetry.
Yes, there is a child in every grown up
Emerges out when proper time turns up
Those passions retain in the registry
Dormant and suppressed their identity.
I used to run after the dragonflies
Spirits elate when I find them in skies
It was my fancy playing ducks and drakes
I wish to play the same now at the lakes.
I wish to go back to my childhood life
But the clutches of dogmas; a big strife
I wish to glide to a quite wonderland
Cherish the blessed moments that are grand
Shattering the shackles of etiquette
Fly back to my world as an emigrant
There is a child in every gentleman
It’s true, “The Child is father of the man."
Your Inner Child Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Date: 12-09-2021
Chatting with my mum last night
as we often do
I listened intently to her telling
me about one of her favorite
day's out and memories when
she herself was a child
And she inadvertently revealed
what she thought was a
girl's day out no men we're
allowed
What she did not realise was
in fact she was actually saying
and reason no men or husband's
we're allowed
Was because she was on an
Orange Lodge march celebrating
and singing Billy is a hero
Inspite innocently knowing
the fact her own Father
was a Catholic Choir Boy
And what she was singing or
marching for or in aid of
Was mot erely a child waxing
lyricallyabout being given a
day off school
But the very reason she never
got to have her dream church white
wedding but had to get married in
a registry office instead
And why my dad's dad her
father-in-law never went to his
own son's wedding
Because to the truly faithful
Love is not reason enough
to or shall cross the
orange and green
division dividing bell
The Amourette Autopsy
In vesper’s curt caress there seems no bind
To daylight’s brim or morning’s dire decree-
Your vertigo embrace confounded vows,
Within a steel wheeled cauldron we stirred swamps
We hyperventilated hurricanes
Cajoled embraces, arrogated from
your groom and registry and welling eyes;
Celestial bliss, we buzzed God's prayer vault.
We even deemed the telescopic murk
a trough where genuflections might could reach;
You spun away to opium dens, supine,
I could not trace Icarian designs.
You tiptoed the obituary scene
Without your leaving even a toe’s wake-
But in your swirl you must have slipped but once
in its ambitious, enterprising ink.
Oh butterfly why you abjured your wings,
Regressed to the cocoon womb’s staid address?
I wish I could interrogate your wraith
by dream, concussion, disembodiment.
Enraptured by your sallow soft trained tress-
drapes gaped to manifest seraphic tones
of fairness, though distraught by varying hues
that sapience esteems the bends of life
There life is different
other behavior is fine...
In this whiskey store bar,
where the toilet
is american and it is
called pissoir store...
That's where I drink a lot,
and only pay later
of chatter,
much imbroglio
and at the registry...
In the presence of
a notary... but if it is
in the nest of "sinful guys"..
So, I promptly pay,
I'm not a stupid...
I'm chic, Buddy...!
When I try to recall my childhood memories,
My heart elates with those stockpiled in my unwritten registry.
I used to enjoy walking under the trellis of “vines”
The rich “hued” pink and purple blossoms
With their sweet perfume that was really good to “inhale.”
Once, found a bunch of dragonflies moving in a “glide.”
A strong desire tempted me to catch a helicopter.
Ran after and succeeded to “hold” the scaled wings together.
With a big "gasp" stood there silently.
I watched at its striking pods for a while.
It was startled with the feeling of being hijacked,
As the new “clutch” deprived it of its liberty.
I found no happiness.
Slowly, I made my “clasp” loose and let it go
It swayed its wings happily and tried to “soar” high,
But came back and circled me twice with its humming.
My little heart tried to “grasp” the meaning for its actions
It might be appreciating me.
I clapped my hands wishing it good-bye.
Experienced a new kind of joy and realized
“By making others happy, one can enjoy real happiness”
Writing Prompt - Grasp - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Date: 03-07-2021.
Placed: 2nd
The Smiths are such a beautiful family.They have
three lovely children. One girl and two boys. She
was eight months pregnant with a baby girl. They
were very excited, but this bundle of joy could be
a savior and a healer. Her sweet daughter Amanda
was diagnosed with Leukemia two years ago; It had
been so hard on the family.The doctors told her that
Amanda needed a bone marrow transplant.Preferably
they needed a blood relative.Both parents got tested,
the two boys,and other relatives,but no one was a match.
They’re also part of the Bone Marrow Registry. They have
not found a match yet, so the Smith's thought long and
hard.They had to have a life to possibly save a life. After
many days and long nights they decided to have another
child. They were so tired of watching their baby girl suffer.
The Smiths are so hopeful, but they have no idea if
their bundle of joy is going to be a match or not………….............
Contest: Cancer Ivy
Sponsor: Chantelle Cooke
06/02/2021
Twenty-two miles to the Roslyn mine.
Two blocks beyond, ten headstones you'll find.
All dated the same the registry claims,
though the wind, the ice and acidified rain
have disfigured and stolen the names of those souls.
My tears they might wash and reveal some of those
but are wasted. They run down my nose.
The #4 Mine blew out in ‘09.
Now ten graves lay neatly in line.
Each man skipped the Army to work underground,
found eternal peace and never were found.
Twenty got out, then the fan house she blew
from an explosion of black damp allowed to accrue.
Ten lives disappeared in the dust and the fumes
And in the dark they were buried like in Brigadoon
I left by the toll road, crested the pass,
crystal streams from Lakedale my compass.
To a sacred valley of aspen and ash.
Ten decades to heal now, tears looking back.
historylink.org/File/9182
and images.findagrave.com/photos/2020/49
/19026379_61b0f05c-4e3f-4938-82d3-5f06c999da64.jpeg
There is a need for quietness today,
time drapes itself in velvet curtains.
I must move aslant if anywhere needs
to be somewhere.
I listen to my neighbors toilet flush,
It takes a long time for the sound
to drain away and refill
and I dream between that rise and fall.
There is space for listening dreams,
the trash compactor chews on longer,
when I switch it off
bellows breathe in and out
yesterdays hurried meal
speaks on, moments explore
newly opened pocket.
This is not silence
yet sounds move upon carpet slippers,
not muffled
but heightened by being
more awake
to a lower registry of depth.
I guess it is I
who creates this lengthening,
this processional unwinding of
of unremarkable seconds,
yet the distance between them explodes
into acronyms,
labels
for each
eavesdropping deliverance.
I'm only 15 so tell me why you're tempted?
Knowing I'm underage and my actions can't be consented
I'm a jail sentence and a life on a registry.
Are you willing to risk your freedom for a single night with me?
Thats hilarious.
That question never crossed your mind.
I wish I had been smarter and that I could take back time.
I had a fetish..
I liked being the bait for predators in silent temptation,
I liked being in an embrace that could lead to their incarceration.
I liked knowing...
They were willing to throw their life away for me.
Not only did it hurt but it fueled their Illigal fantasies.
I was problematic.
I was toxic to my core.
No matter how much I hated myself I always wanted more.
I keep messages and pictures of
Those who I'd chosen.
Knowing what they are yet their names forever unspoken.
I promised to keep it secret and that promise I shall keep.
Even when he looked conflicted as he dropped me to my knees.
Men knowing better. Men in places of power.
Men far too old for me in a 3 am shower.
I have issues exactly as they seem...
I liked being a pedofiles dream.
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