Senselessness Poems

The Altar of Your Love

I see your face,
a keen imprint in the fog of my longing.
The world dissolved into dissonance,
hard edges sharpened by the heat of you.

I reach for you,
not with hands,
but with the kind of inferno
that licks at the walls of the soul.

Love me—just enough
to stop the senselessness—
to make real of the rush
I drown in every time you 
look my way.

Shelter me like the flame I’ve become,
smoldering, slipping—
searching for absolution
in the quiet violence of your arms.

Give me something.
Not the world.
Not the stars.
Only proof that I am more 
than a dream at the altar 
of your love.

Insanity

Morning glory,
The mountains stand in brown nudity,
There's no shame in being mighty echoes the wind,
The air is taut with the brooding silence of a storm,
It will rain tears sooner or later,
And the roar of affliction will cut through the silence,
The rage of war will be a din,
Churning cataracts of unceasing wants,
Our hunger refuses to be quenched,
We are obsessed with ambition,
Drunk with desire,
To taste the elusive glory,
Of phantoms dancing on the apex,
Like shifting hues playing charades with overdosed pride,
We chase the wind and  fight for the mountains,
Who will speak sense to our senselessness?
Who will stop us from storming the gates into the city of madness?
Who will stop us from claiming the lofty place of dark desire,
As we sit on the throne of insanity?

knife crime

Cut throat 
Cut knife 
Its double edged life
Blood drips 
Life slips
Whispers gone away
Nothing to say
Young lives losts
Souls gone forever
All because people think there clever 
Brainwashed into senselessness 
Adding to there so called cleverness
Innocent angels
Dirty devils
The sense of all evil
Big or small
Should have no knives at all
Bring in a license to use
Up the age limit
Use a permit
Lets save lives 
Don’t use knives

NONSENSE

It is nonsense,
Because it does not make sense.
Not because there is no sense,
But because you are unversed
And cannot make sense of it.
Because it is esnesnon,
It is nonsense,
And above your intuition.
It does not make sense.

It is nonsense,
Because it lacks sense
And has no substance;
Conceived from a debased instinct,
Of a delirious, senile and manic concept,
From a senseless conception.
This is nonsense!

And you lack a sense of the concept,
Because you do not have enough sense
To comprehend the senselessness of the nonsense.
This piece is nonsense,
Because it does not make sense—
Because subsidy is gone,
And it does not make sense.

Love For Sail

Love was in the wrong places
Out of luck, there'd none at all
Veered cross his eyes on faces
Ebbed men and numbers to call

Twilight drops an altered star
A Shephard field of lept sheep
Knight, armor, pixie friends bar
Ensues shambles wakes asleep

Time's that love takes a ferry
Id's was naught the main issue
Might next time there's no hurry?
'Ewes then fairies they'd won't do.

Thistles caught tweed bows untied
He'd seen somebody, seemed sold
Anyone, mind-freeze, shame; pride
Night shows, fine cuisine, digs gold.

Cautious, his are bottomless
And hers, plainly cupboard bare
Snaps, lest he'd be penniless
He'd share the ring. Ring bearer

'Tis times like this, hopeless
Help's on course, though bit too late
Entertain the senselessness
Need your eyes fixed seize your fate

Cruise control seems storm ahead
All deckhands, drop anchor --goal
Raised sails, prep boarding, unwed
Divorce, tagged chief walls, single

They

They think of their next meal,
and the cut of their clothes.
They talk of events they have
no ability to change.

They spend their spare hours
watching others contend in
pointless physical contests.

And they congratulate themselves
on being so delightfully normally.

F*ck that.

I'll earn my bread by their rules,
but they scare my heart away.

If my art is fashioned for myself alone,
at least it is true -
an honest pursuit of the reality within me,
not a pathetic attempt to conform
to the senselessness beyond ...


6 July 2023

Right Turns Hard Times

Right Turns Hard Times
David J Walker

Only a scooter as if 
a Scooter 
       was just a toy

The memory disguised 
as an errant thought
Brought tears of joy

To a man returning to a boy
Before he could possible 
die alone at home again and again

Alone becomes his synonym for a
A European Fone 

Disconnected from
a forgotten number
	Written on discarded paper

Memories default into faultiness 
Thoughtless defaults into
a sign of senselessness 

The old the deaf and blind 
Await whatever is nameless 
                        but next

The blind man on the scooter
Stopped at the corner 
                      perplexed

But still attempts to fit in and
Cannot comprehend 

The times and how behind 
He has become 

The scooter turns the corner
                 And he is gone

Hear Earth's Gentle Moaning

We go about our lives as if with no clue
that all around us things on earth are dying
as other “great’ activities we pursue.

Good habits should mean more than simply trying.
For many crimes, mankind should be atoning.
Humankind, BE kind, or you will be crying!

Prick up your ears, and hear Earth’s gentle moaning.
Hear it in the oceans filled with our debris.
Where she chokes from all our filth, Earth is groaning.

Hear the silent shrieks emitting from each tree.
With forests razed – oxygen is depleting.
Extinction of creatues already we see.

This senselessness we cannot keep repeating,
or a deserved tragic end we’ll be meeting.

March 12, 2021
for D.W. Rodgers' While Mother Earth Gently Moans Poetry Contest

John a Peace Maker

John Lennon was all about peace, love and hope.
Like Ghandi and Dr. Martin Luther King Junior,
he wanted people to get along, to love each other.

His death was the ultimate betrayal of his life.
But in another way, it reminded us of the futility of murder.
Of the horror of it, of the senselessness and the sadness.

I picture him planning his life prior to his arrival.
He agreed to this horrible death knowing it would help the world.
Reiterating everything he taught in his songs.

That we need a Yellow Submarine,
that the world is full of happy people.
That we need love, sweet love.
In his death he was also teaching us.
Forever teaching us.
Thank you John.

The Senselessness of War

The senselessness of war

As you waved your goodbyes.
Tears swelled up in my eyes.
As I feared what  all parents dread.

You left full of life.
Leaving a son and a wife. 
And you ended up getting yourself dead.

Now the battle is won. 
We're so proud of you son.
But why did it end this way?

What was it for?
To lose a son I adore.
I really don't know what  to  say.

There's no sense in it all. 
No sense at all. 
The senseless taking of life.

From your wife and your son.
And you're  adoring mum.
Why did you have such  a short life?

We won the war! 
Was the cry with a roar.
But did we really win that day?

With the passing of life. 
The despair of a wife. 
No, not at all, I say.

                                                                             Michael Williams

Sentinel's Watch

He wouldn’t give me the time of day
if his watch was on fire –
the one I’d started running for.

I’d go seriatim on the trail
while speculating about
traversing more
uneven terrain still
just to catch a glimpse of him.

Anyway…

Once I settled
into a pace he faded
from my line of sight.

Lacking in sight, a little lost, 
I pushed farther
than I’d gone before;
then the course took
a sharp turn.
 
The same old scene
gave way
to a novel panorama:

Things might be looking up!

The horizon smudged at first,
my vision foggy
with expectation.

How can you appreciate
the senselessness?

It took a spell to
feel your presence.

I looked again.

You were clear this time.
Delineated –
offering water in the rain:
Redundant
with comfort.

The rest
then faded from view.

The one I started running for
unworthy of a first
much less
a second
backward glance.

If his watch were on fire
then I guess time flies?

I see it now:
Still advances 
need not burn.

For You

I can hear the sounds 
cackles of the birds
drowning out the world 
the noise, the senselessness   

what does matter
does it matter
  
I've my own distractions 
destruction, biding at my time 
but is it really my time 
or a sentence to live in a trap 
where there's no way out but death 
  
but is death really out,
and if so is life in 
I like to believe I'm in 
reality, 

not living a fantasy 
where everything's the written word 
and life is left long ago
to bleed out in the night 
  
I don't know 
wrong, right 
is there a line,   
what if I dare cross it tonight? 
 
but I care
I do care
it's time to live
it's time to live,   

call to me
come on over 
let me be that lover

where the winds strike
music beats 
romancing the moon and the night

I will listen 
you will hear
what really lives, 

beyond
the greens, the blues
merging
breathing, gasping
grasping for me, 
grasping for you

Be Still My Soul

Have not we all made our acquaintance with struggles, troubles, and trials?
When we met them, we did not say, "Happy to make your acquaintance". Nay,
When we encountered them, we sought to avoid them like the plague or other
Painstaking fellows of ill repute.  On many occasions, we have found ourselves in hard places of blooded eyes, rendering void our abilities to discern heaven's good graces.  Some of these places were instituted by God, and others were created by us to our own perils and sorrows.  Hard places, troubled faces, slowed races, misleading traces, untouched bases, shoes without laces, empty unflowered vases.  Unresolved cases, too few resorts and oasies, too many loses  and
too much waste. So here and now, I do cease and desist.  I pause my cause and slow my pace. I resist and refuse to persist in this my self-directed rat race
Here and now, no matter the strain, I stop and get off this runaway train.
Here and now, I still my restless heart and halt this my senselessness.

051809;posted 091419
This poem was started in May 2009 and completed Sept 14, 2019

The Battler

THE BATTLER
Looking at life as a twisted road,
with unknown holes waiting to explode,
and driving with pride, is a lonely ride.

Stress attacks like swarms of burning bees,
nerves of fireballs between pinball trees,
and no money to buy,not even a tear to cry

A battler bleeds from desperate needs,
with spiritual scars, a soldier of hope,
and tattooed memories surviving to cope.

Time in front, visions of a future in fear,
followed by the past,
throwing knives from the rear.
Good battling bad, behind life's battle shield.

Life upon this road is an endless battle field.
Reality seems surrounded by empty senselessness.
The battlers blood flow is belief,
trickling through a skin of grief.

A hero,
with will to share and care,
stay brave, battler, stay brave,
You will find glory,
in this Battler's story.

Make Sense

make sense
even when they 
don't recognize
even when they don't 
care 
even at the point of 
rejection 
even at your weakness
even when you are 
not who they think 
you are 
let your common sense
speak when you 
make sense

make sense
you must not 
be popular to 
create
you must not be 
Intelligent to be 
the best 
actually who is 
intelligent???
are they this ones 
popular 
I wonder what impact
of sense they bleed 
cos is obvious they 
as life stands they are Just
popular yet 
make no human sense

make sense
yes cos the world 
is close to senselessness
we are blind to see
yet we see but still 
don't see 
common sense 
is now senseless
to human 
it exist so few nowadays
ego has eaten us deep
ignorance has buried us blind
now we sing the blues of 
shame in a world
we destroy everyday 
no wonder I pray one day 
to see a world that 
make sense

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