didn't want to clutter up the front page so here comes my recent production in one go
the sky is an eggshell
in pale azure revolving
these voices
flicker and die at will
with sun and birds
testifying to the living
these voices
in the sky shaped skull
I like in a basket
make into my own words
these voices
brick and mortar are we
sludge dreaming in storm drains
this day is nothing more than
these voices
in I and their words
I see on fire with elements
and the I in hearing
these voices
***
visualized at the beginning
merely as a grand piano
with keys running for cover
I see small men fleeing
man made evil cringing cowed
saluting even lesser men
drinking from toilets of tomorrow
residing in ballots and arms
driving insanity like noisy trams
before the Dam square drug squad
intimidated by tourists
and children doves commuters
stretched like a rubber arm
around the epicenter of collision
I find you like I and no more
tap dancing on windowsills falling
certain of a final failure
where goalkeepers feed their runs
and winds never roll
where there is no consolation
no bastard redemption
no awards for the meek or the poor
where night is no alternative
to darkness in any man's foreplay
***
it's in the dead of nothingness
empty words wander incessantly
daring good men to do battle
where vicious void bleed
for the sake of a name or a field
I will not see to the summoned
cared for by specters of a dark shine
no sermon intends delivery of wit
in time for seasonal changes to heave
with eyes crossed by religion and sneers
strapped by the holier than I
night wrapped its content
'round imagine an old birch
pleased with its roots to branch
riveted by the silenced moon
***
the moon is a serum
injected by the foaming sea
where I you see hooked
finds the light you know
served skinless and so dead
the one still mumbles
in hallways and tumbles
to the sound of keys
versified mothers and more
dance to the one singing
above the silenced battlefields
where I is of no consequence
told by the shanty many
there is a hum growing in the sky
a kind of breathing indoors
solitary men revere
steadied by darkness folding
I see small men marching
rattling and whining
looking for a dark leader
night is an open window
I surprised often find
to my high liking
every time I am the one
***
sold by the infamous marching
drenched wrist watches
cauldrons boiling greed's ire
one must always bind
seldom into something more
before all folds into thin air
time as yet unforeseen
by the powers of petty coin collectors
reign with inherit insolence
rude to the very core of us all
staring into the broken shadows
I see the why falling
like a lost cause into invisibility
dark trials of no avail Sunday
are no more than a yesterday
in a curious mind matter
monetary banks never considerd
not ceremoniously
nor for the sake of a decency
glorious madmen bleed dark
sluggish tissue staining
wet sand wave waiting in awe
grained by the doomed drums of war
the semi precious with a sharp cut
undermining the untamed intentions
of the mono psychopath
deeming importance to be him
in dead speakers
***
time is a staple gun
ticking like atoms in advance
serenity is a call girl
doing time for dark men
sap is a vernal thing
running with messages
from the thaw to the twig
in days of serendipity
salamander worm and frog
the mud is a wondrous bed
when the seasonal change
thaws and ripens
die for me
bury all I am not
amongst forest trees
nodding in the sunshine
salmon and trout jumping
sex is a known contingency
calling for emergency
and sweetened coffee
I am old pipe passed
smoke behind tinted glass
hot rolls at the turn of darkness
simplicity in a base view
***
seaward sailor seaward
rocky shores bend
like lovers in the rain
the beckoning rides the tide
like a dream in a stream
turned backward
fencing for its right to wander
illusive realms of sleep
there are distilleries among the stars
starship engines roaring
with the power of a thousand suns
there are women calling to the sea
roaring like modern Africa
in an Arabic radio station
lost in the tales of an old man
the taste of serendipity
is single malt and dark brew
running for office
there were other words
that prolonged the reach of day
vernal equinox
hackney hearse
swing you ceremonious sing
it is a short span
that invites the needy ones
I saw a mallard today
and her mate
why must day turn
into night
Poetry by Bob
Read 684 times
Written on 2016-03-20 at 20:39
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seven new poems
so many different voicesthe sky is an eggshell
in pale azure revolving
these voices
flicker and die at will
with sun and birds
testifying to the living
these voices
in the sky shaped skull
I like in a basket
make into my own words
these voices
brick and mortar are we
sludge dreaming in storm drains
this day is nothing more than
these voices
in I and their words
I see on fire with elements
and the I in hearing
these voices
***
visualized at the beginning
merely as a grand piano
with keys running for cover
I see small men fleeing
man made evil cringing cowed
saluting even lesser men
drinking from toilets of tomorrow
residing in ballots and arms
driving insanity like noisy trams
before the Dam square drug squad
intimidated by tourists
and children doves commuters
stretched like a rubber arm
around the epicenter of collision
I find you like I and no more
tap dancing on windowsills falling
certain of a final failure
where goalkeepers feed their runs
and winds never roll
where there is no consolation
no bastard redemption
no awards for the meek or the poor
where night is no alternative
to darkness in any man's foreplay
***
it's in the dead of nothingness
empty words wander incessantly
daring good men to do battle
where vicious void bleed
for the sake of a name or a field
I will not see to the summoned
cared for by specters of a dark shine
no sermon intends delivery of wit
in time for seasonal changes to heave
with eyes crossed by religion and sneers
strapped by the holier than I
night wrapped its content
'round imagine an old birch
pleased with its roots to branch
riveted by the silenced moon
***
the moon is a serum
injected by the foaming sea
where I you see hooked
finds the light you know
served skinless and so dead
the one still mumbles
in hallways and tumbles
to the sound of keys
versified mothers and more
dance to the one singing
above the silenced battlefields
where I is of no consequence
told by the shanty many
there is a hum growing in the sky
a kind of breathing indoors
solitary men revere
steadied by darkness folding
I see small men marching
rattling and whining
looking for a dark leader
night is an open window
I surprised often find
to my high liking
every time I am the one
***
sold by the infamous marching
drenched wrist watches
cauldrons boiling greed's ire
one must always bind
seldom into something more
before all folds into thin air
time as yet unforeseen
by the powers of petty coin collectors
reign with inherit insolence
rude to the very core of us all
staring into the broken shadows
I see the why falling
like a lost cause into invisibility
dark trials of no avail Sunday
are no more than a yesterday
in a curious mind matter
monetary banks never considerd
not ceremoniously
nor for the sake of a decency
glorious madmen bleed dark
sluggish tissue staining
wet sand wave waiting in awe
grained by the doomed drums of war
the semi precious with a sharp cut
undermining the untamed intentions
of the mono psychopath
deeming importance to be him
in dead speakers
***
time is a staple gun
ticking like atoms in advance
serenity is a call girl
doing time for dark men
sap is a vernal thing
running with messages
from the thaw to the twig
in days of serendipity
salamander worm and frog
the mud is a wondrous bed
when the seasonal change
thaws and ripens
die for me
bury all I am not
amongst forest trees
nodding in the sunshine
salmon and trout jumping
sex is a known contingency
calling for emergency
and sweetened coffee
I am old pipe passed
smoke behind tinted glass
hot rolls at the turn of darkness
simplicity in a base view
***
seaward sailor seaward
rocky shores bend
like lovers in the rain
the beckoning rides the tide
like a dream in a stream
turned backward
fencing for its right to wander
illusive realms of sleep
there are distilleries among the stars
starship engines roaring
with the power of a thousand suns
there are women calling to the sea
roaring like modern Africa
in an Arabic radio station
lost in the tales of an old man
the taste of serendipity
is single malt and dark brew
running for office
there were other words
that prolonged the reach of day
vernal equinox
hackney hearse
swing you ceremonious sing
it is a short span
that invites the needy ones
I saw a mallard today
and her mate
why must day turn
into night
Poetry by Bob
Read 684 times
Written on 2016-03-20 at 20:39
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
 by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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