Sundries, Incidentals and Clap-Trap.
|Posted by terminalhip on March 7, 2016 at 5:30 AM||comments (0)|
Staring death in the eyes, I caught a glimpse of myself,
The shadow of the moon, as my witness,
That lone road, my executioner,
I cannot seek the past,
Nor attain the future,
Death in the eyes, clouded,
As judgement fell,
A veiled knell,
In the eyes, seeking desperation,
from another vendor.
|Posted by terminalhip on November 7, 2015 at 2:20 PM||comments (0)|
The time may pass, and season rust,
New minted hours, unfurl/cuss
Lives of this day unfold in shades,
can't recall this time of year.
|Posted by terminalhip on March 12, 2015 at 7:20 AM||comments (0)|
Spring fire, I almost pawned the hearts of two, as one.
|Posted by terminalhip on December 6, 2014 at 5:50 PM||comments (0)|
I am bad, yet good; a paradox in a pair of canvas shoes
I go through the maze or maybe I am the maze and yet. . .
There are those who don't believe.
|Posted by terminalhip on July 20, 2014 at 6:25 AM||comments (0)|
The hearth of my heart, there is only room for two, one for me and one for her, no more will do, we sup by the ample flame, and smile under the warmth, exchange a gift or two, me and you, now I rest at the stoop of your soul, that too, is a fine place to be, as wrapped in each others arms the celestial equation has been satisfied, and that won't be undue. (For JGP)
|Posted by terminalhip on July 9, 2014 at 3:45 AM||comments (0)|
One day. . .
One day, into the next, eyes cast forward and aside, one day, one day I'll. . .not hurry, I'll become belayed, one day, for one day can change all, or one day can mean nothing, one day at a time is all it takes, one day, one day a testatment, one day a trial, one day a week, one day a mile. . .Won day.
|Posted by terminalhip on July 6, 2014 at 7:40 AM||comments (7)|
I feel the liberty that the nettles must transpiring in the wind, The Sun's bane, as it shifts hemisphere to hemisphere, again, Freedom cast, sterling for this. . ., The laurels traded for the hops and barely malt, The eagle for a shimmering, thundered finale. . . But, remember the 13 arrows- Industry exchanged for a half cost fix, can't buy much of worth in this shadow mix, Those who and fought and red run cold, blue for the valor of heights behold, white for the pure of nations told. . .yet the tint is all we assume, as bastions and legions crusade to doom, yeild not our way- as court's abstractions stray This our Independence Day- free from mire, quit, and undo measure, free from surrender, free to live and die as we choose, free, free to pursue. Lost in folly and in gain try to lessen liberty's pain. . ..
|Posted by terminalhip on June 29, 2014 at 8:40 AM||comments (3)|
Roving, Rambling, back alleys- space, the architecture's the same a week might be an eon, Governing, regulated second hand clatters cadence of our motions too bad it's not tempered with the right emotion? Through our strives and our fail ever bright we hail, this our raft plodding mire, the spliter puncture sharp, a drop or two shed as scurried our feet, Evidence falls weightless as minutes, hours consume- it's never the same. . . Combustible soul, fuel, fire, air, that which I breath, bone flesh spirit that which can't be seen, make pyre, pavement grave- keen undertaker- stone and serpent under feet turpentine in glass, neat, fuel, fire air, that's what I breath, a room, a vacant chair, I was there between crouched sheets, leopards laid bare, mostly a glimpse but full on into that tree. . .maybe another time, it was red suicide three weeks of drifting- playing roulette with the spirit, I came up "00". . ..
|Posted by terminalhip on June 26, 2014 at 4:35 AM||comments (10)|
An Impractical machine, for a contemporary man In this, our time of confusion, A simple truck all orange and white, many decried the sticker, in lieu of heart, Muddled Clutch Many motor transplants, hillbilly voodoo, it's a man's truck from time forgotten, but I remember hard brakes and heart aches, the mild inconvience of elderly, I rue the thought of an overly sick Id and crazy mind, don't ride angry, if not at all You may hear the throes of pall, I've got a full tank of gas and a ruined mind, who cares what anyone thinks, a speck of rust a dirty glare, I live a manual lifestyle. . ..
|Posted by terminalhip on June 25, 2014 at 4:40 AM||comments (0)|
Another revolution into dawn,
Another uniform, standard song,
Crickets chirp and birds do hark,
Ambling motorcycle round,
Shuttle to work
Grey hour dissolve. . .