Center of the rain found lost in the game
under the sky I clown around act all goofy to try not to be found
hey Mr president I heard you like my stlye
Want to sing to me baby I won't be here too long
I got a plane to catch ride to check
Wait for it I summoned the four winds bout to catch a case for it
Send in the clowns we all die slow
no funeral music for me cause I rise early now
would you think I am larger than life
yeah I am the same man that started this fight
can you believe alarm bells ringing truth be singing last night I almost melted in prison
Who can begin should the news reach him tonight
Dear Mr president I waited for lights
Waved at the sky as I kissed life good bye
Struggled with space time and had to bend my own light
now you know my hearts are in this I live for this right
put myself on a throne I would rather kiss life good bye
rule over the world that's not why I died
in space I sit on top the moon laughing
you think I wait for death to come gassing
await my mistake under flames I am exstatic
doom avowed me to freak the world with this magic
cars sound the alarm
autumn delivers it's storm
night time is shattered
window faces watch
our world of broken branches
wheelie-bins gone rogue
when tomorrow comes
boys will collect their conkers
grown men their shovels
Sevens, Shovels, and Spades
Dig, dig, dig. Black soil and stone
Earth worms wiggle , Decay bones
Dig, dig, dig, scatter seeds there
Sprouting, searching sun and air
Dig, dig, dig, To hide our dead
Six feet under, body bed
Dig, dig, dig, create new life
Born of earth, Feed appetites
Dig, dig, dig, Shovel and Spade
Flowers grow from planted pain
Dig, dig, dig, Work never done
Then I see that I'm the one
Dig, dig, dig , out of this hole
Skin so pale and Icy cold
Dig, dig, dig. Deep down inside
Reveal secrets graveyards hide.
Each of them had one
A golden shovel
To sweep away the detritus
Of life’s lingering keepsakes
Scratching the gold-plated spears
Dodging deaths deadline
Struggling to be remembered
Ecologically egotistical entrepreneurs
Pictures, suitable for framing
Polished, souvenir hard hats
Sign waving sycophants
Applauding the arrogance
Of progressive platitudes.
An old woman weeps
The shadow of her home gone
The echoes of her life fading
A Teddy bear lays crushed
Beneath an unseen future.
To the venue we unfortunately got close
And the stench pounced on my nose,
Forcing in a harming dose
And inconveniencing six other nostrils
That lived for only salubrious thrills:
The fattest challenge Rude stench throws
To our finicky population plus those
Who readily glimpse the woes
In the dreadfully non- fragrant
And about them could rant...
But soon questions I began to pose
About corpse their owners ceaselessly froze,
Envisioning all the unacceptable throes
And wondering if their sleeping spirits rose
'Would they ever forgive their hesitating shovels and hoes?'
A SCRAPING OF SHOVELS
From muffled silence
arises a distant drone
…..a scraping of shovels
chattering across concrete cracks
drum rolls of muted angst
…..a scraping of shovels
trembling dominoes
awakening others
….a scraping of shovels
rolling back the cover
of winter’s quilted silence
….a scraping of shovels
earning the price
of an afternoon movie
…a scraping of shovels
welcoming the neighbors
to a frosted block party
…a scraping of shovels
rumbling sound track
of a crystal morning
John G. Lawless
©2.28/2019
Old, weary, sad
Wracked with pain and sorrow
He wrapped the night around him like a cloak
Long had he waited for this eventide
And he had earned it, giving all to family and work.
The wind came up and carried in the sea mist off the fjords
He pressed his cheek against it
The briny smells awakening memories of years at sail
Long days and nights atop the mast
Swaying the crow's nest like the hands of a clock
Ticking away his life in maritime duties ... and damp bones.
Lubbing land now, and ready for his last voyage
Deep in the sea of soil, to rest.
The winds slowly died, mists turning to fog ...
He was ready, and could see the reaper atop yonder hill, coming
He sat down upon the dank ground to wait
The night now still as death ...
Save for the scraping ... of shovels.
Shovels' scraping shows work well done
Keep it up! Congratulations!!!
Service to God is number one
Yielding fruits of commendations.
With the Lord's strength as girding might
Shovels' scraping shows work well done
Radiating life-building's bright light
Exemplified by God's great Son.
Designed perfection had begun
Masterpiece upon faith-venture
Shovels' scraping shows work well done
Thru divine nature and nurture.
Model of utmost excellence
Paragon's best for everyone
Labourers' diligent silence
Shovels' scraping shows work well done*.
*Matthew 25:21 His lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.
March 12, 2019
When shovels scrape
and make screeches
like fingernail grates
on blackboards,
you know the job
is almost done.
As shovels designed to scoop,
when flipped over and made to rake,
shriek their embarrassment.
A man once knelt beside a mirrored pool,
stared into the eyes of a faithless fool.
An empty soul who made a devil's pact,
to turn away from truth in search of fact.
With no light to shine on this troubled trail,
he then became lost, then slipped and fell.
Leaving all he knew for a promised lie,
he lived in darkness til the day he died.
Now all alone deep in his earthly tomb,
he ponders his choice of eternal doom.
He is kept awake from his peaceful sleep,
by the mournful hymns while the widows weep.
Sometimes he hears the sound of shovels scrape,
he knows another fool has sealed their fate.
3/10/19
Scooping up my pain with these shovels as I try to write,
embracing all I lost in a life I never knew I deserved.
Keeping forgiveness and empathy in my clear sight,
and trying to remember all the love I have reserved.
I was scraping these shovels and they quickly swerved,
so, I take the dustpan and try to make things right.
Should I excavate the anguish and forget the pain?
Maybe the torment will cease and I will be free.
I could only hope that the happy memories remain
allowing this woman to be no one else except me.
The scraping of these shovels has made me see clearly.
The chafing and attrition have taken my life in vain.
The metal on the cement gives me relief, yet fear.
It screeches and moans the emotions I never knew
I’d feel when I looked at the world in a shattered mirror.
Believe me when I say the scratching is so true
as I live a life of abrasion with my construction crew-
explaining the scraping sound to all who will hear.
March 10, 2019
John Lawless
The Scraping of Shovels
If it weren't for you
I'd still be scraping the shovels
On land hinged by drought
Digging for achromatic memories
Beneath phlegmatic coarse woody debris
At trackless fields of feelings
In tenacious grip of my fingers
I would be scraping gravels from dessicated plains
Each path winding to you through echor
Would have lost existence
Left untrodden for eons
In limerance of your enigmatic charm
Bolstering labyrinth of emotions
Would have looked down upon
Lacerations on my vulnerable heart
To unearth dormant seed of your presence
To lighten pebbles and dried mud
And moisten it with my tearful soul
09/03/2019
There is a loud sharp scraping of shovels,
digging another grave;
this a daily event in the graveyard,
oh, death comes like a wave.
When our life time has finished we must leave,
and beloved must grieve.
We cannot hold back the shovels scraping,
and cannot hold back death;
for our time left is ever an hourglass,
yes, until our last breath.
Listen to my words and live for each day,
even when you feel gray.
No matter how much pain dwells within you,
find happiness and joy;
never become the person that you hate,
don't let revenge destroy.
Be strong and be a finer example,
just be the best sample.
Let go of the graveyard scene and of time,
find things you love to do;
collect friends like flowers in a bouquet,
even if just a few.
Live your life without dread and gloom looming,
and all joy consuming.
______________________________
March 8, 2019
Poetry/Rhyme/Time and Scraping Shovels
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1122-160-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
There once was a man who loved rakes
why pay when their there for the take
as the leaves go pell-mell
he shovels like hell
then he rakes , and he rakes, and he rakes
There once was a man from southern New York
who planted the shrubs with a shovel and cork
heal to toe he did dig
like he did at the rig
yes he dug, and he dug, and he dug
There once was a child from Saskatoon
so little snow, he shoveled with spoon
he snowballed it up
but it melted by sup
so he scraped, and he scraped, until noon
There once was a poet who started to write
for a contest, that fitted just right
so he limericks away
it is all fun and play
as he writes, and he writes, until night.
A Scraping of Shovels Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Lawless
3/8/19
Shovels Scraping
Standing quiet so as not,
to cause a riot.
Boots are heavy full of grit.
Hair is matted and full of sweat.
Muscles ache,
with move they make
Blister blood,
mixed with mud to forms a horrid crud.
When I signed I must have been blind.
No amount of money could,
make this job funny.
Then a shout from the gaffer,
come on you slackers.
I can‘ t hear those shovels scraping.
With a glance I smoke my tab.
I‘ m sure its not me that’s been had.
Working hard I am done,
a breather has to come.
But it wont be long before,
ill sing my song.
A jug of beer will be in hand,
that I will stand,
with money in my hand.
As for my toils ill get my spoils,
spend it with my friends.
Then a shout from the gaffer,
come on you lazy slackers.
I can‘ t hear those shovels scraping.
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