A young discus thrower hurls the discus with all his might
It lands, churning up the soil somewhere nearby
The discus thrower is happy, or perhaps disappointed
If his rival has managed to throw the discus further
Let’s try to give these competitions some meaning
Is there anything in them, hidden behind the obvious
Behind the victories and defeats – perhaps a thirst for a little power,
A sublimation of war, or, conversely, the peaceful labour of farmers?
Or do competitions serve as a consolation for those
Who cannot or do not wish to compete?
But perhaps someday, another time,
When discs are made to order,
Tailored precisely to the thrower’s palm.
Speaking Your Mind
Every time you
don’t speak your
mind these things happen:
snails do
aerobics, flamingos update their
details on
important apps, palm trees spill
out Amish hats, combs beg to
eat
lemon pie, stools memorise
flame thrower literature, and
gravy animals, who live in
the clouds, help out
swamped midwives.
Terminology:
Crystal booths in a nocturnal snow.
significant downpours of shedding stars.
This said, feel free to scatter, scrabble or mash.
Words are fungible,
many still believe that poetics
do indeed belong to the fungi family,
though some have been classified
as many-limbed Triffids
of the squishy kind.
Now throw moondust at the reader's eyes:
Obscurity is essential, however, first create a window
that opens to reflect the thrower.
Rain down upon the moondust until mud takes shape.
There are no words for this process,
so, make some up.
Flourish:
Without a final flourish the poet is left with a turgid puddle
avoid turgidity at all costs, especially puddles.
Sprays of celebratory tinsel
or globs of gore are always effective.
Reaching for the stars with a palsied hand
will jerk tears out of a slab of concrete
eventually.
Swiftly leave the space you are now occupying,
other's will be impatiently waiting to craft their next masterpiece.
I began playing this game with myself
So at any moment you are holding something
How would you kill an intruder
I mean some of them are obvious
Throw the tea then use the cups like enamel
knuckle dusters
Deodorant like a spray
Handy flame thrower if you have a lighter in your hand
Toothpaste takes some thought but if you can squeeze it onto your hands and go for the eyes
Hairdryer and plug
Like a pair of Noon
Chucking blades as I charge towards them
Sometimes good to share
Pen would get the wickedness treatment
Spooning eyes out on stalks
Balloons depends on what they are filled with
Tell them
I will
Not one psychopath in here
There is definitely more than
Took me eons to work out
Mainly tricks in may
A brill
I ant ain’t an auntie
Started working on scenarios on stairs in water
Has anyone ever been xylophoned to death
Actor and filmmaker, Michael Landon -
his shows were addictions folks couldn’t abandon!
As a javelin thrower, he could have gone far.
Once injured, he changed paths and became a TV star.
On “Bonanza” he played Little Joe.
It was such a great family show.
Among brothers three,
the cutest was he.
They were ranchers (if you didn’t know).
All his life, he had struggles, but Michael persevered.
Twenty-two times on TV guide’s cover, he appeared.
On “Little House on the Prairie,” he was a loving dad
just like in real life! His death from cancer made me feel sad.
The Powerful & The Powerless
A tiny girl looks up
and stares at the sky
She hears loud noise and sirens
But she doesn’t understand why.
She is still so very tiny
That she can barely talk.
She still drinks from a bottle
And has just learned to walk.
Her brothers and sisters are small too
Coming from a loving family
But that family has no hope
Of defeating the enemy.
Men so big and powerful
Who have military might
With guns and drones and bombs
That they cowardly use at night.
Evil ones give money
For tanks to run people down.
All the powerless have to defend themselves
Is a stone they pick from the ground.
Then the powerful seize the stone thrower
And imprison that small one.
They humiliate the helpless one
Cause for them, that is fun.
Some pretend to be victims
Using lies about their past
As an excuse to oppress others
Who aren’t in their power class.
But those who’ve truly been oppressed
Instinctively give a hand
Because having their face kicked to the ground
Is something they understand.
In his heart was an intense glow
After his seeming superb show:
An unsurpassed Philistine Throw
Until whistled “A Disallowing No”
That nearly javelin blood flow
Stopped from his head to toe
And a seizure wired like a blow …
Clear that a bank account won’t grow,
A once hot spirit is icy snow;
For all this rousing with the cock’s crow!
Now a bow is sick and tired of an arrow,
A once healthy Toyota awaiting a tow.
October
Mowing over
Buy blower
Flame thrower
Leaves smolder
Smoky odor
Feeling bolder
Getting older
written on a gloomy, rainy
day, October 25, 2021
dermatologist
flame thrower on steroids....
pain
He is a fourth grader
Sitting alone during lunch recess
Sure some call it lunch
I call it lunch recess
Because it is.
No one sits alone unless they
are in trouble. I sit across from him.
Let’s call him Levi.
Hey, Levi, why are you sitting alone?
I’m in trouble.
what happened?
Nathan is the worst thrower in the whole world.
I threw my cap at him, and he threw it at the teacher
and hit her. So now I’m in trouble because of his
bad throw.
The logic is so easy.
I have to hold my smile down hard.
So are you guys still pals?
He nods.
Tomorrow though, he tells me.
It’s not my fault he’s a bad thrower.
halloween madness
And so it is there inside
As it always is
This thing with a life of its own
What do I call it?
A friend, companion, bed fellow?
This ravenous thing in my head
Which controls me and drives me
Guiding me to Hell and back
And there and back on and on
Doing what needs to be done
To satisfy its thirst for blood
A total ing cliche
The axe man in the forest
The knife man in the mall
The shooter in the college
The grenade thrower at the mosque
You see I am the psychopath
I am one of ten people
With this special gift
Not the one that kills but another
The ability to become 1 of 10
Ten lifetimes in one
A priceless gift from the Army Experiment
This failed to make a super soldier
It made me instead
I am Jacob's Ladder
I am LSD
I am all the bad things
I am the thing that will hurt you
I am the creature of the dark
I am all that you fear
The cliche of death
So be very ing afraid
For now I must kill
“It did not look like suicide to me,” Lee, the novice detective said.
“It was suicide,” her partner stated firmly. “Open and shut case. Solved.”
The last seventeen cases he had solved were suicides.
“But she was stabbed in the back eight times,” Lee protested.
Her partner coughed loudly and indicated they should go outside to discuss it.
“How are four perfect x’s wounds in her back suicide?” she asked him.
“Have you ever thrown knives?” He asked her.
She shook her head ‘no’.
“She was a great knife thrower,” he said. “She just threw them up in the air and laid down.”
Lee stared at him. Was he serious?
“The ceiling was only nine foot high,” she argued.
She decided to speak to the medical examiner until she discovered that he and her partner were twins.
Eight days until retirement! He thought.
Eight days until I get another partner she thought.
Determined to re-open his last seventeen cases.
A funny thing happened under the big top
Heard a great ruckus and decided to stop
Stuck in my head and a commotion rages
I saw animals free and people in cages
The hippos were on the flying trapeze
And the mini circus had lost all of its fleas
The monkeys are playing the part of the clowns
Throwing pies and chasing the children around
The gorilla is the hairy lady and the strong man
He is also the knife thrower and the juggler just because he can
Over there I hear the goats who are bleating
For they are swallowing swords and fire eating
You may think this is a joke
I see the giraffe way up on the tightrope
Another thing that is out of the norm
Is the zebra up on the high diving platform
The bears are on horses doing the trick riding
I see lions with bullwhips and the ringmaster is hiding
And just when I think I have seen it all
The elephant is now the human cannonball
You may think this leaves us sad
Or perhaps it makes people mad
It's the end of the circus you may fear
But for me I cant wait for the show next year
La fille dans mes rêves
(french title)
For why do I exist?
If love only exists in my dream
And for why do I breathe?
If you exist not at all
Shattered Ghost, hiding in the black of night
Blinded by love, frightened to a cold death
Blood flows into the seine
The knife thrower flirts with her heart
Like flames dancing on cathedral steeples
The pain falls from the clouds, they call it black rain
Demons and gargoyles staring into the night
Lovers walking by, unaware of the fright
Love will soon become the knife
Death will become the red rose upon the breast
Unforgettable
In an unmarked grave
Mon Paris
A Collaboration between Arthur Vaso and Wardha Malik
I'm sorry it was the plan
For you to play the deceiver
I've learned that it's not personal,
It's just the setup of the Schemer
It may not have been my fault,
But really, it's not your's either
You were born a flame thrower,
I guess I was born a flame receiver
But I'm not bitter
I learned to be a flame eater;
Understanding the fire
Makes the burn a little sweeter...
But I'm still sorry it was the plan
For you to carry out the task
Because ambivalent feelings
Are the inevitable aftermath
I've learned to forgive
And let the past be the past;
In the end, I got stronger,
And a chance to laugh last
My feet are on higher ground
And walk a smoother path;
But every time I see fire,
The flames wear your face
As a mask
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