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The passion of a
pirhoetting softball team,
in the punchlight of a stadium
stratified by people,
the soft soporific
strategy of scales,
the sideways panorama
of stars in gravity,
grasping at his grafting,
percussion of sliding gain
liquid granite moans its pain.
the slashing soliloqey of dancers.
Nightclub Gig
Lights splash all across the floor,
Rivers of music flow from instruments flayed.
Lost in the surge of the tide I can see her no more—
Will she remember my bass sound waves?
Into another song with a drum roll of thunder—
The electric lightning striking here and there in the crowd…
Lead singer wailing away about love in the summer—
Everyone yelling “Crank it up, crank it up, crank it up loud!”
Time for a solo, the thrum sounds like hoof beats—
Hold that final note for as long as I can:
Then the drummer spins the sticks and takes up the heartbeat—
The whole band is ready: 1-2-3, yeah, here we go again!
Lost out on that floor, she struck my heart like a cancer—
The slashing soliloquy of dancers…
Pendragon
© 3/9/07
http://www.usd.edu/smm/GiftShop/Post...GibsonBass.jpg
When the morning sun is a ruby drop of blood...
Young wavelets lap softly upon the weedy shore
As hand in hand and heart in heart we watch the cloud
March up the sky, eating the stars; the thunder loud
From distant storms brings close the dark impending war.
You, bravely, face the billows dashing more and more
Upon the rocks, steadfast as ever they do stand:
I tremble as the lightning flashes on the sand.
Can flesh and spirit face what nature holds in store?
Together yes, through darkness or through raging flood,
Whate'er betide the night, no hope shall be forlorn,
No peril e'er can part us, while our hearts hold true
And you cleave fast to me, as I stand firm for you.
So let the night be dark, we'll welcome in the dawn
When the morning sun is a ruby drop of blood.
** ** **
Eyeless they stare at the drooping oriflamme
Whew, you people are great. I'll try my best to keep up with the omnipresent talent here lol...
On his long list of objectives
to mow, to scrape, to harrow, to rake,
festered with rudimentary bluff,
why not forget it all
and wisp our muddled selves like quagmire dunes
and free the beast from its constraints,
give the sloth cheetah feet,
and give the lepers eagle feathers,
and reduce Everest's peak
to children's rock climbing,
and take the prospects we seek,
finish them in seconds,
curtail all the pining,
but even as we do it,
even as we have it,
let's just keep a bit of our real selves
even as ambivalence escalates...
(pretty sharp and unconclusive ending, but I tried!)
Next: When the Great meet defeat
(I'm sorry, I didn't go to the last page..)
I don't know what oriflamme means but I'll see what I can come up with:
In boxed in corners, space like a box,
emanates iridescent talk, while the hands tock,
and the longest one passed the twelve on the face,
and the longest one did it again,
four more times until the small stub was half way through,
But the case was urgent,
one couldn't stall 'till time was leant to the heavens
and hell in war,
I knock, knock knock,
iridescent talk and silence bores,
but it couldn't keep me any longer,
my chair was no longer a chain,
my muzzle unclasped,
through the door I came,
froze to the spot with a shout,
i greet painted countenances,
oiled chests, clay trousers,
glazed pupils, at four corners,
red lined, up, down,
eyeless they stare at the drooping oriflamme
Next: When the Great meet defeat
Being great only lasts so long,
You always reach the end of the song.
No matter how long you live,
Or how much to the world you give.
No matter how much knowledge you have learned.
Or how much money you have earned.
For all those who have conquered in the past,
Forever this winning streak will not last.
For those who think they will always win,
The final defeat will come from within.
The greatest defeat, inability to see, speak, or walk,
In the end we all lose to the ticking of the clock.
The result of times great deceit,
When the great meet defeat.
New: My search for knowledge will never end.
The key of the well written word,
to open unto creation,
to let me follow its garnered path,
improvise new bolts for new keys,
new ways to obsolete,
water the sage's tree,
let course grow abundantly,
to constantly seek, to accumulate,
to verge man's peak
yet never culmintate...
my search for knowledge will never end.
Next: The eternal path of wonder
Spirit Knowledge
Upward the winding paths ascends
Into the cloud-shrouded mountain peaks.
They tell me that one must find one’s answers,
Sitting all alone upon that plateau
Days and nights without food or water
Until my Spirit Guide will come and speak to me.
Alone upon my sacred blanket
While the heavens dance above me
Fighting sleep off by prayers chanted—
And meditation bringing me to trace,
The Cougar comes and speaks with me.
My people shall never truly vanish,
As long as someone remembers their lore and tales,
And seeks for knowledge of things thought impossible—
My thirst for knowledge goes unquenched.
The fount lies out there for all to find it—
Somewhere far, or some where near—
Maybe ever found because it’s hidden in plain sight along
The Eternal Path of Wonder…
Pendragon
© 3/10/07
dismally drowning in eldritch dreams from which there is no escaping...
Broiling Pretentious Potatoes
"..........broth bubbles churn kettle steam,
blowing up potatoes on pots,
dividing skin flake,
presenting, dry, crushed ice,
where yellow sprinkles and mozarella pinch,
inspidness to succulence,
my subtle buds, react and prick
with a red worm whose rapacious toss,
results in well deserved ecstasy
..................."
then stomach's growling cuts the musing
dismally drowning in food-want dreams from which there is no escaping..
©Adolescent09 3/10/07
I'm so unoriginal :)
(Sorry I changed eldritch to Food-want but it seemed more appropriate with the current mood of my poem :P)
Next: To discover there's more there than I thought
Personal Archeology
I chip away at life—
I sift through each layer carefully,
Scientific methods only—
Nothing else need apply.
Somewhere there lies buried
The secrets of my existence—
Am I trying to exhume them,
Or just keeping others from finding out?
The walls are crumbling in,
And maybe I don’t want to face up to the truth—
Maybe nobody does—
What would I unearth if I dug a little deeper?
Probably discover there’s more there than I thought…
Pendragon
© 3/11/07
A blasted heath with three witches stirring a pot...
War's Aftermath
the ball in iron catapult,
to lunch at dawn's impending break,
to shatter listless skies and follow,
the stench of defeat's stirring wake,
while the last one stretches in sandy bed,
brushing scarlet knees and gashy ridden head,
He crawls up the bank to discover the left,
remains, of husbands, of wives,
mass bedlam, demise, million lives
down the drain.
On the rocky breast he stands,
glinting forget me not pupils in aerial view across the lands,
where three hunches chew muscle,
seemlessly uninviting chunks,
and shove iota remains in moley ears,
bucket-less well on cut string,
just a blasted heath with three witches stirring a pot.
Adolescent09
© 3/11/07
Next:...as the extinguished shadow smokes the sky...
9/11
The day began like all others gone before
They were off to work in twin towers of steel and glass.
Far from their minds was the shadow of war,
The twisted steel and smoking rubble of its aftermath.
When the first plane appeared outside of the windows—
And zeroed in on its target, what went though their heads?
Explosions and fires, lost children, instant new widows—
The crumbling monoliths became graves for the dead.
There is no point in questioning why did this happen?
Nothing on Earth will ever blot out the images of that day.
Heroes were born and heroes gave all that they had gladly—
Maybe we learned everyone is someone else to someone anyway…
Watching it again is too much and it always makes me cry:
As the extinguished shadow smokes the sky...
Pendragon
© 3/12/07
pale horse rider out for blood...
The Rider
The battle was fought, and all where gone,
The city lay barren, serene and quiet.
In the grounds were they all
Upon the bloody sodden earth.
Blood lay thick upon each one
Some were hurt and others gone;
Never to return and live the life
Which they had fought hard to triumph.
Some came back, but not to live
Just to haunt the place so still;
And to make the foe nomore.
They were eerie and faint to see
Some laughed and others cried,
And some looked on with fury and rage.
But one stood out so light and clearly cut,
Upon a horse, pale and thin,
This pale horse rider out for blood.
vin1391
© 12th March 2007
...upon the sea it floated on.
12/3/07? Wow vin, you wrote that in the future..?
Dreams are nonexistent edges,
flecking the horizons of our minds,
changing momentary attitude,
preserving wrath provoked lines,
which guide us through on DNA strands,
force our limbs like messengers,
promote crudeness and something drastic
when I meant no harm done
no blatant violence, no killing spree,
I can tell the officers that's not like me.
My mind was constrained,
my conscience set free,
loosening the axioms of rationality...
But these people aren't neuorologists.
they don't know how mind treats me,
like a marionette, I'm its puppet,
like a normal being, I'm now a killer,
Like when I wrote this I was standing,
and now body is rotting
...upon the sea its floating on..
Adolescent09/Mark Zikiye
© 3/13/07
It was too large to circumvent...
Cougar For Justice
I depend upon speed;
I depend upon knowledge.
A student by choice;
A warrior by blood.
I’d rather not have to fight
If words can settle differences—
For releasing the Dragon within
Makes him hard to chain back down.
I walk with my Spirit Guide,
As did all of my people;
Finding strength in God’s nature
For the battles of the day.
The silent Cougar is wise,
Always treads softly—
Arouse not its anger
For its fury and power are great.
I wasn’t out here
Looking for any trouble,
I could have turned away in a second
And vanished into the crowd.
But the cry of the child
Was something the Cougar could not ignore—
Protect the innocent whatever it takes—
Injustice, with no one doing anything at all:
It was just too large to circumvent…
Pendragon
© 3/13/07
it all depends on the taste of eels boiled in a pot...