This wee poem is about two friends of mine…Eejits, they are! I will not tell you what it is about. Perhaps you can figure it out. Just know that it is not relevant to me. I guess you could call it an angst poem.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how the hands of time seem to speed up as we get older. It seems as though the more we try to accomplish in life, the faster they spin against us all. The snares and beats of time thrum on, while most of us aimlessly bumble about, reeking havoc, where our footsteps lie. It’s not all bad though, some of us have the power and inclination to press the pause button every once and a while and see the beauty in life.
Life and time are like raindrops. A moment encapsulated in a gem that will inevitably burst. The next time it is pissing down, observe a large drop, as it approaches the earth. Watch, as it touches down, forever leaving a parthian ripple in time. The seconds, moments, and opportunities are drumming by. Seek out every opportunity, chance, moment, and tabula rasa. Quit screwing around, now!
It is your choice as to what happens to you. Indeed, life has also been described as a queue. If you’re in a queue or the poor bastard helping the people in queue, and you’re not happy with your current situation, then by all means necessary, leave! As I’ve said before, life is too short to not be happy.
I am currently making my plans to leave. However, I won’t be leaving until early Spring of next year, but the important point is that I’m leaving.
I can handle the roaring thump thump that bounces over my head like ball peen hammers at traffic stops, the long queues at Wolly World so that I may ring up my own merchandise, and even the money gits that slither across the land like the snakes they are. But, I can’t take anymore of the materialism, and the literal slaying of America’s good name.
A few days ago, I was sitting in a local diner that I’ve wrote about in the past, and a local bloke that I’d argued with before about Bush, said he was starting to see the light. Fear blinds us all. He’s a husky fellow that I could spot in a crowd, because he always wears overalls with a, “Support the Troops” pin on his lapel. I support the troops. After all, it’s not their fault that they are there. Those guys and gals are just doing their jobs.
I’m about to hop on my soapbox, so instead of reading my rants about American politics, here’s some phoctober pictures that I pulled out of my archives with the tag, “Time”, and a video or two. Thanks all….
Rain is flowing,
Like liquid retentions,
Of alcohol fuelled fury,
And allies turned foes.
On this frigid desolate night,
I surrender to slumber,
To protect my cerebrations,
From the pangs that went unchecked.
In my dreams I see a futurity,
Of happiness and lovingness,
And of a luv that will spare me,
From the darkness that stalks.
And then I awake,
And I know this is not true,
Because my life is just an incubus,
That I envisage my way through.
This poem was originally posted in February, but I felt it deserved another look. It is becoming increasingly harder for me to write a poem and walk away from it. I’m constantly going back to older poems and refining them. I’ll hopefully hone my skills enough to have them published. (One day) I can only hope.
What say you?
The blue of sea these turquoise jewels shine,
And they effulgence to more for they aren’t mine.
And when observed from afar,
They glisten like the northern star.
Among the grot, these gems are found,
Mingled with the dust and earth.
But illuminate the dingiest search,
For man’s faith and rebirth.
So chaste and bright like the smallest elf,
And so abyssal that you could lose yourself,
In enigmas of the parallel,
Or in the antechambers of blackest hell.
Without them life would surely die,
And with them to forever cry,
The words of auld prophesies:
Fortune!, Glory!, and the bluest turquoise seas.
Originally, I wrote this poem after a terrible storm. But, not your traditional storm of rain, lightning, and thunder, but one of emotions. This is against my usual style of writing, but it’s good to think outside the box, isn’t it? Oh, what am I blabbering about, I am on the outside, the fringes of society. Anyhew, what say you?
Such a bellow was seldom heard
To arouse the dead sailors from the gallows,
Gazing from their necropolis at the ancient masts,
