Turtles

Passive
Picture by: Joey Klarenbeek

Listless,

Slow stirring in a morning decoration

Dragging bodies out of feathers

To another day of fussing, another life of protest

 

Careless,

Devious patterns of logic

A brewing nasty of a coffee pot

To another slew of breath, under hot waterfalls

 

Vigilant,

Weary flashes before the battle

Like lambs on a plate without much fuss

To another show of hands, without fingers

 

Violins,

Hums to a day, of darkening clouds

A heavy head sings in a swirling crowd

To another day of smiles, a mutual addiction of the town

 

Wandering,

Thumbing your  way to another long gone dawn

Grateful, they say – in a flash of a frown

That who settles never eats the worrying worm

 

Mechanical,

By the hour to the slow circling clock

Stoking the fire, you are reliving the whims

Restless desires to connect, medicated picture perfect

 

Dopamine,

Fabricated spoils of life, kick in the decline

We come to bow to the fake, willingly tie-in

Rewiring  your way through, the connected society aligns

 

(Dis)connected,

Pretentious attention, drawn towards the blue light

Dazzled by everything glimmering, dying turtles to city lights

Attention span to zero and falling, most excellent

 

Omnipresent,

Opinions accumulate, the lone warrior defends the race

Triumphant cult, glowing in the right of the wrong

Never surrender, the dazzle to be your guiding whore

 

Deliverance,

Obedient to what is unrepairable despair

Kissing you into the depths of fixation, no realisation

Controlled to be in control, rewired and elasticated

 

Hinder,

For those who believe, don’t stray the sane

The  tipping point, with greying hair, lies desecrating smiles

Give in, to connection, to the world without expectation

Follow the calling, don’t dissolve in empty appreciation

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Hand of God

Finding God.jpgA darkening heart and a fuming fiend

defending his magnificence

with an equal decadence of methamphetamine

Fathering his insignificance

 

Clean feet and peeling pride

hung my faith on the flip of a coin

on my whims, on my downs,

burn the temple on a mad man’s frown

 

Obliteration of a dying man

marching orders on a blind junkies plan

the malice resonates in your house

the temple sacked and crumbling down

 

The death’s barging through the door

you well as just might admit what you actually stand for

Holding your gut for the moment in time

You lived through your teeth, now you’re trying to fight

 

Place the bones back, you know what you are

what tricks you are made up of

What courses you are capable of

an oath, you are incapable of

 

Here lies his eternal hand, on the head

onto the shoulder then finally on the throat

The Lord taketh what had maketh me

 

So, I’ll take it down

All of it, the temple and your fucking town

I don’t need your faith, I’ll find a way to carry on

in this life or my next chase

 

Broken is the finger that guided the palm

guided my hour, from the day I was born

Now it no longer shows me the way, no longer clenches and

does not twitch on my mistakes

 

An unknown tyrant commandeer these ropes

the payment due, slow twisting hopes

Transcending his own indecency

He’s to be jailed, let him not be free

 

The beating continues until the morale improves

till the victim goes biting and broken in two

the twisted road to Gehenna reveals

A leap beyond this world, onto a new journey, towards Elysian fields

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The Wait

Savage, it all is. Left to the right to the utmost depth of a barely breathing heart spurting hope and lies

Like a suffocating fish, dreaming with its mouth open, just one last taste…just maybe…it won’t die

On a whip of a night, the weak today thrives.With shine of a screen and on an insecurity high,

Succumbing to the madness, the final chapter of a blank page, with a dead march and a whimper inside

A poisoned pasteur, devoid of a path and heading, here hangs a shepherd, quite like a fruit of his fathering

The wait is not over, carry on, move on, burn on and crumble inwards like a leaf in the heat

It’s hard to ignore, to feed off the peers, to see the celebrations in eyes.

It’s more sickening to find no answers to the endless why’s

None get what they deserve, they recieve what others shed. Breathing it, with a sick fucking taste in their head

Half a year, the wait becomes the sickening, then worsening, leading onto a wait for the festering

Wait more, it’ll come, sew your eyes, your mouth, your tongue.

Cradling hope and giving blood, you lay painfully, wistfully, hopefully…….so numb.

Your Assume

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Witness scratches on the surface, the runt to the fucking litter

Displayed in a dirty glass casing, sold to the highest bidder

He can tell, all filth isn’t gold – chafing through, in his terror of need

No salvation in old, while setting ablaze to his withering leaf

Any takers to the judgments of a manic in rage?

Any believers to embrace a headless snake, betrayed?

Here you are! What’s the word? What’s the verdict on a twisted mind?

Father the thought on these corpulent finds. Sick and sacred, buying flawed designs

Somewhere between the taunts and talks, lies a dormant side suffering from disguise

He gives you, your assume and you consume, then you resume, irrelevant of his self-abuse

His higher reach, in despair. He cradles a heart with care and illusion

Reveal nothing, bear everything, a self-made prostitute with no constitution  

Cognitive future lapses, a man so true, he shall be the god, that never does damage to you

Fable tied and bound to one lasting light, where he shall come back for everyone again

Witness a dying breed of an iron reel, once again, the man plays the shame

A recluse lays among the privileged, his howl in the wind and all their crimes

Hate shall be hate, a human leech sinking, on a borrowed life line


Cheshire Hung

In the harshness, he softens

In cold nights, he flares

In talk, he lay implicit

In silence, he tears

Blood to the tongue, a foul mouth reigns

The haunting sacrifice, a dying wonder blames

The wildfire light, the mad mirror talk

The scream to his beckoning, the needles puncturing on

His head down now, the Cheshire cat hung

His simper gagged. Look, who’s smiling now?

Swallowed the sun, the sweat too sweet

Ablaze are the days, a rootless tree, finally kneels

Rest comes to the easy, sleep comes to the rest

Anchor the ungodly hour, the venomous heart at unrest

The last light to the dying day, the change consuming true

The last stretch of hand at sea and he clawed the night away

Domino

Fallen is the word, fallen is his halo, cursed is the might of the man

Twisted with the cord of solemn, like a singed dog on a leash,  he now finally began

A sour wind blows this way, the edge of the paper ashes away

Madness is as mad does, then comes the sickening and finally the blade.

Bow down to the needle and bow down to the string, let’s play the serpent once again

Welcome home to reality, unremitting thoughts lay wasted in vain

Taciturn to the sheer filth of things, the fragments lurking around the bend

Watch while he walks his walk,  delirious and entwined in his own volatility

The end of the horizon to nowhere, undertow of his battle, he then smells blood

Two lives weaved in a grieving mist, calmed by the wings of vultures above

All of that is end now, for I have arisen from their despair

On stable grounds I find my boot, the mirth of domino takes his place

Another act on the heaven’s door, mystery to the souls of despair

Break down to the minimum, let them not see where you buried the mare

Mania

Related imageSlow son, slow. On a tasty rail, cold as heart, seal the fold. 

Rusty blinds, chaos twirls, hiding face in a meaningless rage.

A haze of high and screams from a potter’s pot, furnace flames, and paper trails.

Sniff the saint while you powder the bone, wax the vein, cripple the saint.

Sink and float, sink and float.

Gather the angels and sing their tongue, script the horror while we flay the gulls.

 

Pummel the wall while you mend a little, shatter the illusion, bite the rope.

Snort, choke, flem.. dismal.

Bolster the glass and you slug the liquid, feel mania… At last!  

Needle the priest, burn the man. Hunt the faith, beckon the warmth, then the nameless pride and finally..the sickening.

Clothed and naked, my fear is traded, play the part, handshakes of knives. Light the room and sway in comic, attention seeking whore……..let’s give them a show.

Embrace the pill, the peril, the salvation, morphined like a rabid dog or a dying soldier.

Dethroned king with a broken scepter, licking wounds, paranoid nectar.

Cage the sage, the swing of the pendulum. Tracing history, of scathed emblems.  

I put down this quill, the thought and the canter, another night of chaos, destruction, and blind lanterns.

Hermit

The air’s heavy, a certain flame to the mind. The body caves in, ears picking on the strays outside.

Torn by might, the sound, the weight and by the emperor,

The devil’s hour whispers on, folding feebly at the center.

What the hermit feels, lays beyond words and wisdom,

The poet dangles from a tree, forbidden fruit of a maleficent kingdom.

Hold the quill, lose the voice! Sever the tongue and speak of it never,

Sold in mould, spiralling out! With traces of warmth, babbling in fever.

The strength to feel and the courage of need,

A typhoon takes birth in a child’s eyes.

Tarmac

The short breaths along the causeway, the wheels treading on skin.

Breaking heart on the asphalt, spiralling out in hypnotism,

A reformed man comes knocking at the door, staring right back from the schism prism.

Hold back your words, tie down your tongue.

Make way for the better and the beast, for the tarmac may never lead you home.

Change Change Change!

Hush you demon!  clear out this whisper. Cradle with love, to suffocate.

Lay still in dread, watch the tarmac give way. Sedate the heart, dangle the needle.

And now assumptions seek a dangerous path, wild child..will ye be careful now?

You do see the oncoming onslaught? Close them lids and decay to god.

Thoughts Under Treehouse

It’s an unfamiliar feeling amongst the hills, torn between two states of mind. If there is worry, then there is a need to belong, a calling for this free spirit raving.

Often decaying in cities, suffocating in a chaos that swirls beneath the hollow. The relief slowly washes over and you die in an aching skyline. The view then seeps in the lungs and lights up, ablaze.

The rush of this calm, this mocking silence breaks chains and further reaches out to my euphoria. What comes around will never come full circle here, it escapes with the plunge.

Father the skies, live the moment and forget the divine. There’s a miss in the breath and the fog settles in, we live in such little moments. Who knew?

This is where it gets startling, we are not in the valleys and I already feel the trim at my source, the broken strings along the beasts of my rhythm. Clear the cleanest path and it crawls in with a cloud, hovering and enveloping in a slow rhythmic sigh.

This is for the soundless music from the moon, the feel within reach and the wisp from the elder spirits.

The last dregs decay and we turn in, closing the door behind us.