In dim-lit rooms where shadows choke the air,
She rains down fists like thunderbolts unchained,
Her tongue a whip that strips his flesh to bare
The walls absorb her screams; the world remains untrained.
He stands, a battered oak in gale-force scorn,
Each bruise a secret map beneath his skin,
Her venom seeps like poison through the thorn,
While silence carves its canyon deep within.
Yet when he turns, seeks refuge from the flood,
The spineless swarm descends like hungry crows,
“Coward!” they caw, their mockery a bloodied rod,
Defending her while dragging him below.
These brothers, armored in their twisted chivalry,
Forge iron shackles from their shallow pride
They guard the viper’s strike with loyalty,
While he, erased, bleeds out where none abide.
The silent abuse gnaws marrow from the bone:
Not only her wrath, but men who claim the throne
Of enablers, crowning unaccountable queens,
As broken kings are left in shattered scenes.
AN AURA OF MYSTERY-:-
collected
traditional
wisdom
present
pioneer
maximum NARRATIVES
combine
characteristic
elements
unaccountable
happenings
of WONDER
steeped
typographical
phenomena
infinitely
incomprehensible
Believe it or not, I give it my all
To live in a world that’s so senselessly flawed.
Where morale has little priority, and it's
importance so small.
It’s a sickness motivated by greed, it's power permanent and towering tall.
Held by the tail, unjustified tales, expectations,
accusations, and unaccountable fails;
All exhausted so they can rest well and prevail.
What changes could I possibly make, when freedom of speech is all just for sake, and with every good deed, they find a milestone to take?
Remoulding, rebuilding, and adapting for the survival of our sanity, and we endure in hopes of becoming a better humanity.
Phoenix-like I found the morning sky
and ascended into my natural self
which was busy attending to silence
and energies unaccountable, always
waiting to meet the new expectations
of life and earth and stream of time
bringing along new visions
of what might be, has been,
is and ever unfolds itself
to the expectant, waiting
heart and mind.
Christopher M. Swan 2009
Injustice For All
a slap on the wrist
unaccountable justice?
Acosta Epstein...
countless of women are pissed
a signed sketch denier's been seen
Black eyes smile down, a frown
The voices in my head of silent sound
Live weird connected without ground
Look around at all the nothing I've found
Eyes tired unfocused and uninspired
Teeth pulling pliers torture tools for hire
Liars, so many liars, flash flooded fires
The leper that was so very admired
Eyes closed, on the back of eyelids now froze
The red rose of death fills my nose
The list grows all enemies and foes
Ten fingers, two hand, unaccountable toes
I guess this is just how it goes... it goes...
Occasionally, I arouse an unaccountable dislike
Even from those who love me
I don't give any reasons, none at all.
Maybe that's a reason.
But then why don't I dislike them?
I have no desire for perfection at all
It might seem pretentious, but it's true.
I accept everything as it comes. This insidious advice
I heard from the Doors when I was a kid. A variation on the theme of time
And an echo of the end. Everything ends, and not according to a timetable
For there's no timetable, though someone sees it
And knows when my train is coming
But will I attend in time, depends on a happy occasion.
The train will take me to the plane.
I’ll make a change, to get to you.
Otherwise, there’s no me.
Maybe its for the better
No one will be troubled to notice
Such a subtle matter, as someone's absence.
Seems that I lost the thread of
What I was talking about. Nevermind.
Just take me as I am
You know me better than I know myself
Now I feel like a scallop on a scree, who lost the shell
Rescue me under your shade
Look at me with your loving look
That I know so exceedingly well
Give us a chance, while we are here
Who knows for how long this time.
A lover and a brother are heavy.
Recounting the contents of life is work.
A vessel holding unaccountable dust
may be volumes for a biographer’s notepad.
“I miss she real bad!”
Whittled words.
Ponderous, leaky expression
surrendered by gross vulnerability,
and maybe a short lexicon.
A lover and a brother
and their handheld tomb,
this wild man pair in tropical print-
cotton tops mirroring loopy island ladies
under pineapple/banana coronets-
standing shoeless upon burning shores,
bearing their dead love,
gone sooner than hope had promised...
fish feed in a jar.
"kamikaze"
Isn’t it odd
how you always gravitate back to me,
I circle your mind like a helicopter
you watch me
like a moth
attracted to flames,
lit in succulent tender air waves
the others will state their absolute grievances,
it’s a force majeure for preconceived
unaccountable and unavoidable catastrophes
but We,
persist, We,
kamikaze
all artificial
and unintelligent,
other side of the wall
reasoning
bows,
to Love,
always
Love,
gravitates,
persists,
calls us all in
just as debutantes,
there We are,
our insides shining out,
illogically
semi-public
so un-upperclassed,
We are, barefeet dancing
under eye-glass boiling,
serious insects
quartered illogically
'neath microscope petri'd
kamikaze
Love
calls Us all in
debutantes
illogically
troped
“Juliet is the Sun!”,
espouses Romeo;
little does he know,
She is more
than a
soft black-holed velvet galaxy
She's a
Universe, diamond sharp
turned inside out
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Sick and tired,
Of being separated from myself,
I need wholeness.
Too long.
Hurtful, embarrassing.
Unaccountable.
Burdened.
No longer joyful.
Baby steps with outstretched arms,
prepared to fall, furniture cruising.
First footstep on the line drawn sand.
It must be now.
There is always another party.
Not a wake, a celebration.
Take life in,
Find the different.
The bridge is burning.
Use what started the charring to dampen the flames.
Extinguish, watch the steam float. A phase transition.
She gives and loves.
Embrace her.
What do we get from battles and war,
Nothing, a no-win score
Causing war is a sin,
Not to be entered in,
Pain and suffering felt by all
Soldiers' backs against a wall
Where evil and corruption thrive
Struggling to stay alive
It was not in their life plan
To shoot or maim their fellow man
All aspects of life are lost
At an unaccountable cost.
All who live in the war zone
Feel devastated, lost alone
And those of us who are standing by
Unable to help but pray and cry
Needless the loss of kith and kin
What is there left to win?
Nothing because there will be nothing left
Both countries and man will become bereft,
Evil reigns, sad to say
Has this monster come to stay
Perhaps we all have much to learn
Before we see this Devil burn.
Up the shore the rhythmic tide strides.
Twice a day, the army marches in succumbing.
Then retreats, tail between its legs, discharging
Its grip and flooding embrace, releasing, disengaging,
It's ebb and flow, a never-ending sleep-breath sigh.
The tide's hidden master and conductor is the moon.
A general seldom seen leading the troops on the battlefield
Rending the tide as irresponsible, willful and unaccountable.
A creature wail-fully uncaring, inconsiderate, wayward in consequence.
In the woe betide comes, seeping into the castle moats and holes dug by kids
Flushing away the fun of seashore frolics,
dampening the joy and the shrill of beach laughter
reminding us that there has to be a morning after,
After the coming,
someone, not me
has to
clean up
the
mess
and ebb
to bed.
Expressions of my concerns for you, pulling you close to me but despite that you continue
to sleep on me from your journey of the unaccountable. A road to seek your individuality you often express, We took our
hands in sacrament we both said we do now
it seems you get so agitated and tell me you're
tired of this lifestyle.
Have you lost the faith you once possessed?
Am I a mind reader? You keep your frame of mind bottled up for whichever reasons today, yesterday, tomorrow you're persistently showing me your variants of your different faces and mental attitudes, No i'm not questioning myself, am I of dispossession of
you releasing your inner fears and tell me so
What I did do differently that I don't do now?
Lean towards me my child and these situations for I am the way, truth and light, I am
a trusting spirit and let no one take away your faith towards me.
All senses suspended
I float in a deliciously numbing void
The return to consciousness is slow
Small unaccountable sounds assail
My brain
Olfactory nerves sense strange smells
It’s the optic senses that awaken last
Eyelids feel like one ton weights pressing down
Gigantic effort to life one up
A harsh white blinding radiance
Hits my optic nerves
Slowly I perceive tubes and machines
Around me
The picture coheres
Into an ICU
I am en route to recovery post op
How does it feel?
When someone treats,
You like a punk.
As if you are a untouchable,
Moving out, ripping apart.
Ignorance beyond tolerance
Did that made you strong,
But that doesn't happens.
Despaired Hopes diminish,
Like a parchment, in a bin.
That's how it looks but,
The pain , is unaccountable.
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