At the bottom of the pit
there burns no fire, only cold.

And there is silence,
deep, deep silence
filled with vile imaginings.

At the bottom of the pit
there is no turn of night to day.
There is no sun, there is no moon
and all the stars have gone astray.

In the deep, foreboding pit
there lies a silent infant girl;
beside her stands her innocence -
an unlit candle in the gloom
of the bottom of that pit
where nothing else may bare to live.

Autumn is full of fruit and bright sunlight.
It brings tasty morsels ready to eat.
The beasts of earth banquet before winter
gorging, in haste, until feeling replete.

Au..tumn / is full / of fruit / and bright / sun light
it brings / ta..sty / mor..sels / rea..dy / to eat.
The beasts / of earth / ban..quet / be..fore / win..ter
gor..ging / in haste / un..til / fee..ling / re..plete.

Third attempt - iambic

Final Thought

They don’t cry in their sleep,
no not a peep anymore, the
nappies will be dry, very dry
that’s for sure. The toys lie
silent, action man never acted
he was afraid. What flower do
we place at that place, how will
it feel for a fool full of grace?

And I heard this Jesus guy was
meant to love the little child,
could that murdering drawn out
sermon have been more wild.

Final thought,
did those children have a final thought.
Perhaps…… Mummy?

THE DRAGS

D’you remember?
d’you remember the drags?
It was great
d’you remember E.J. Potter?
The Michigan Madman that bike oh man that bike
you think yours is big ha!
That bike, that bike had a 312 cubic inch
fuel injected v8 corvette donk ha!
When that mother did the quarter
oh man did he do the quarter mile!
That wheel never stopped spinning,
man they had to hold up the races for ten minutes
for the fuckin smoke to clear,

slushy sway
the meds
distilling rampart
and nocturnal
dissolutions

cotton batten
to run through
the barrel
on a string

the oil of
humility
the shiny
cartridge of ideals

the weight and wear
and comfort
of it on my hip

from all the
places where
i owned up to
the tables and took
a risk

found love in rooms
for a price

and tasted the dirt
and flesh of weather
when safety and
shelter were
forgone to be
in the adventure

Let me sing a song of love
and of the things that bring me joy.
Let me sing of heroes slain,
of noble men and grand ideals.

Let me sing a song of woe
to raise up torrents
stir the winds
and cause the storms to cry.

Let me sing a song of life
and of creation,
let us dance with words and wind
and let us sing, o let us sing!

Let me pipe a melody
that reeks
with sweet romantic glee,
let me pipe and let the birds
be put to shame
and learn from me.

God’s Gospel Treason

It takes a helluva lot of conviction
to see a god on the other side, even
more I’d say, to promise to be his
bride. If god turns out to be a giant
prick that leaves their womb’s all torn,
do we the unbelievers, treat those who
worship him with scorn.

We all love our youth … splashed across the windscreen of time …none can wipe it out … nor it contain …only moms memory of love does retain… closeted into the heart’s inner core

and

that alone makes us remember moms more….

as we walk the last leg alone…
kids about now unknown …
sans all as Shakespeare did say …
sans a breath for a new life today…
hope the walk will be one worth a while ….
which will upon our face bring a smile …

http://chirb.it/9vAGfA

Heavy weights are crushing me.

Painful chains of history
locked my heavy fears inside and
flung the saving key away.

Filthy hands have built the Col'nies;
walls to part, and lawless policies.

Tanks to bomb extensive fire
burning innocents' homes and legacies.

Dozers deep in earth are digging
leaving grains of sand down squeaking .
Rooting vine and olives out
blazons farmers senescing .

tumult
the turn

gliding in the spin

alive with outstretched
wings
a chasm between
the worlds

of white
of black

not there
nor here

but in the ghost bridges
thundering
with wind
perplexed in rains
shivering
in the buffet
of passage
in a blink

like a mirror walk
to forgo
the future talk