Yes! day and night, inside my roaring shop,
pounding my heavy hammer ceaselessly
against the hardened anvil Poetry,
I ply tough steel into a pleasant shape.
Working words cleansed of cheap and easy trope
which would debase my art’s due quality,
I craft a blade, or else a spade, to be
the prying prod of clever penmanship.
But sometimes, in the silence of sorrow,
my forge sits still, uncluttered and unmanned.
My arduous tasks exhaust me, and I say
“Let what labour’s left be done tomorrow!”—
For when my mind and vision wallow bland,
It’s best to rest and recover for a day.
In my chair, I sat, pure as the light/
When the Holy Spirit came with its might/
An outward explosion, a thunderous purge/
To banish the evil, to cleanse and emerge/
But I was a Saint, a soul unblemished/
Calm and serene, a power replenished/
Confusion stirred, its effort in vain/
Lightning crackled, I felt no pain/
Booming thunder, a storm's command/
Yet I stood stronger, my spirit unmanned/
The third attempt, a futile endeavor/
Power profound, fearless forever/
From ashes reborn, Hell now my home/
A fire unimaginable, I stand alone/
The Holy Spitit's trial, what did it achieve/
A Luciferian Saint with strength to believe/
The unspoken Fear
The weight of care, a constant hum,
For my son, my love, my fragile sum.
His needs are vast, his needs are deep,
A constant vigil, while I barely sleep.
I fear the shadows, the unseen hand,
That could steal my strength, leave him unmanned.
Who would hold him, with such tender grace?
Who could meet his needs, with the same embrace?
The thought of leaving, a chilling dread,
A gaping void, where hope lies dead.
My heart aches with worry, a constant tear,
For his fragile future, and my fading cheer.
But I will fight, with all my might,
To shield him from the coming night.
To find the strength, to carry on,
Until the dawn, when shadows are gone.
A bus in the hand,
Is worth two that fail to land,
Or fail to stop on demand,
Because they are needed,
when trains do not run as planned,
Or there has been slide of hand,
From drivers on a mission unsanctioned,
By those in command.
The good news is that the bus in my hand,
Stops within walking distance at my command,
Which is a lucky break for my chances of
staying above Ground,
Longer than planned,
With heart and lungs feeling needed,
And legs that are no longer unmanned,
With a good dose of natural Vitamin D,
That helps steady my hand,
And gives my brain a chance to expand.
So, I thank buses out of hand,
When I am tempted,
To wait on a bus that was scheduled,
But with no intention to arrive on time stated,
on the electronic notice board,
That those in the know never take for granted,
Whenever the word scheduled,
Remains unchanged,
And there is a near enough bus on hand.
,
In shadows cold, you made your stand,
With all the nerve yet none of the spine
You broke my heart with a ruthless hand
The bed you chose, I wish lies unmanned,
A ghostly hollow of your design
In shadows cold, you made your stand
True friends arise, they understand,
But your treachery wears a warmer sign
You broke my heart with a ruthless hand
You left me here to face the sand
Your whispered promises malign;
In shadows cold, you made your stand
Each tear I shed is carved; but you planned,
Yet still, I rise from this decline;
You broke my heart with a ruthless hand
Oh, taste the bitterness claimed, unplanned;
The price of trust—now pain entwined;
In shadows cold, you made your stand;
You broke my heart with a ruthless hand
Clouds in a Walmart mirror.
The galvanized roof is
eclectically painted and rattling
its shifting shadows.
Some mutter,
hurry to the unmanned checkouts,
some seek a deeper shelter in the
sporting goods aisle's
The distant sounds of fire engines
and sirens,
a howling chorus of trepidation.
Outside in the midday gloom
parking-lot geese
are forming escape lines.
Squirrels gawp and chatter,
hit the ground running.
Another shoplifting tornado
has come to town,
pushing empty carts ahead
of its imminent funnel of fear.
A store greeter
grins like death,
as the gatecrashing wind
steals his breath.
The aftermath has yet to be counted,
though bargain priced Chinese calculators
are readily on sale everywhere.
The doctor’s practice went to waste
the moment that the medic faced
A call from his reserve platoon
to fight a battle all too soon
The CEO of Pharma-Tech
would leave behind all hands on deck
When his brigade came calling him
he knew the war was no mere whim
The principal of my kids’ school
had fought the call, but overruled
He swiftly left his chair unmanned
The army had ripped up his plans
‘Coz ev’ry year since 'forty-eight
Disruption's marred the Jewish State
The sky fell mercilessly and tornadoes fury was landed
The earth caved where seeds of new crop, a farmer had planted.
In recession, the capitalists made a fortune
and the deprived were left with debt and burden
In moments triumphs were not of those who had toiled hard
but those who were able to play the fluke card
The rain did not fall in the barren land
and the army fired at the innocent & unmanned
The aging parents lost their bread winning child
And the winter at the refugee camps was anything but mild
The father hit the mother in front of her young children very violently
The forest fire cost every house on the ground blatantly
The privileged were given more favours and opportunity
The humble were provided with disappointments and ambiguity
A family slept hungry again another night
A child was left alone in fright
The pups were treated by their caretaker unkindly
All because someone treated their loving friend badly!
During the night, husks of buildings haunt the skies.
A hook hangs high a universe away.
It appears like a body - the way light lies.
Don’t do this anymore: make it day, make it day.
A swift gust would make the body fly.
Further and further and then something is missing.
Without the hook, a crane would but sigh.
Scale it please - the wind is listening.
There’s no need to fret just don’t hang.
He did that and now he explores the clouds.
Catch the northern wind with that familiar pang.
Now you can see how dull lights are through these shrouds.
In the place where you stand,
In an ocean of metal caskets,
Every inch is unmanned
Just for now. You’ll have to wait for the rackets.
If the chain around your neck is inevitable.
Then jump off and hear what he said.
Wind blows everything that is stable.
And then he’ll tell you that you can’t be dead.
You can’t be.
He’d never let that happen to me.
A drone be, a male bee,
useless in hive of she's,
except at mating time!
Expelled when job done.
A drone is monotonous hum
of sitars and bag-pipes,
mantras meditating,
prayer wheels.
A drone is now an aerial vehicle,
an unmanned helicopter
used for surveillance
and dropping bombs.
A modern form of warfare
whose hum is feared
for the terror it brings
anonymous and remotely
with the sender
out of harm's way.
Just as the bullet be,
when it leaves the barrel
of the way off shooter's riffle.
The drone is still so masculine
but hardly humdrum,
anymore.
The lines in my eyes are red-rimmed in sweat
Burning is the sensation of this melting intellect
Focus has abandoned to an easier place to think
Unmanned in disaster melted skin turning pink
The ringing in my ears compromises my own thought
Unable to pay attention to who, when, where, or what
Overwhelming my existence, won't follow my own path
Nothing seems to add up I just can't do the math
Lines crack beside the crow's feet of my eyes
Belief is beginning to feel like the Devil in denial
The sands never fall up just down to time one's death
The water is rising under the bubbles of my last breath
bmdavey@01/16/2023
The EDM4S(Electronic Drone Mitigation System)is The anti-drone gun & electromagnetic pulse weapon that disrupt an unmanned aerial vehicles UAVs By jamming communication signals.It forces drones to either fall or return to base or make an emergency landing...
spaceship to the moon
saturday unmanned she flies
heart and soul within
Written 1st September 2022 ~ after seeing Major Tim Peake tell tales of his 6 months as an astronaut on-board the ISS - fascinating...
Contest BRIAN STRAND PREMIERRE CONTEST
Sponsor Brian Strand
N/A
From high above the mighty eagles soar
and gaze with teary eyes upon the land;
a proud and peaceful nation thrived, before
the bombs began to fall with czar’s command.
Their saddened eyes see blood upon the sand
as innocence lay scattered on the shore;
they’re witnessing the slaughter now at hand
from high above as mighty eagles soar.
Her cities lay in ruin from the war;
her leaders pleading for a helping hand;
the world in horror watches evermore,
and gaze with teary eyes upon the land.
Atrocities and pillage deftly planned
erasing all the joys from days of yore;
the villages and townships now unmanned
where proud and peaceful nation thrived before.
I cannot see the reason for this gore
nor endgame of this despot’s evil hand,
and history repeats itself once more
as bombs begin to fall with czar’s command.
And what will be the outcome of this stand
when smoke has cleared the war which we deplore;
and who will be the next at his demand
as angel’s tears begin to fall once more
from high above?
July 1, 2022
I am on pause,
an unmanned navigation light,
blinking elsewhere. Seeking a woman
I loved before love became virtual.
She is still there
on a website for all lost
and deleted affairs.
In that vast starry universe
of nothing much, against all odds,
I find her at the edge of an old longing.
No way to download her now,
she passes fleetingly through
my stalled and static mind,
takes once more a none-stop trajectory
through my heart.
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