I Rise (edited version .50)

Back to the crushing black deep,

Curtain shadow and starless black

Oil well swelled swirling black

Frost bitten dead toe black

Cruellest of cruel cursing soul black, 

Crushing bastard black, 

Rage,

Thrashing sea.

 

Pass me the blade I will end this quick,

No more sinking from this sinking ship,

Leave the noose; pay the hangman's tip,

Tie the boulders to this lead brick

I am jumping from this revolving ship,

Throw me no more lines.

 

Further into deaths cloak black I sink.

Further deep into the dead man’s drink,

Passed the unforgiving Jack Frost brink.

Heavy iron binds the chains that link,

That pulls me to floor.

 

Let me sink down further still,

To the black sacked cat sleeping drown

Seashell sounding whooshing drown

Dead patch eyed sipping sailor drown

And on milky-way grains,

Leave me to lie.

 

As I lay I look up through the black,

Tar beach sludge black

Oil glued winged bird black

Cancer lung black

Smoker’s death black, 

Smoking black sea.

 

In the dark of my pitiful demise,

I look to the heavens at broken skies,

I see a pair of marble pendulums looking down at me.

Golden rich deep brown eyes,

Stab my heart with a lightning bolt jolt.

 

Eyes that hold with cobra stare,

Break down the dark, supply the air,

They lift my heart from its coal black pit,

Gives me the strength, supplies the grit,

And so from the grain I begin,

To rise.

 

Her hair of raging black flames,

Wild burning bright illuminates blackest night,

All hell takes flight, vineyard soil of blackest sight,

Blackest black hair.

Further still,

I rise.

 

A smile that would make the ungodly pray,

Singing hallelujah, armies of trumpets play

Pearl gates open to welcome coming day

I want to reclaim my soul I say,

And so furthermore, 

I rise.

 

Passed the patch eyed sipping sailor,

Passed all the wing glued birds,

Passed Jack and his frosty brink

Passed the ships of past times sink,

And all the forgotten souls,

I rise.

 

And back to her arms I will always return

Back to her embrace her heavenly burn,

I will always find the strength through my sinking demise,

To swim up towards broken bluer skies to meet her loving arms,

And so always, 

I shall rise.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Softer Seeds – (old post)

When I was a boy of my Fathers eye,

Many strands and grey ago,

He walked the world with a softer step,

A softer step with me in tow.

This is how we did wander,

And wander we did go.

 

When I was a lad of my Fathers hands,

Many yesterdays and seasons come,

I learned his words and wisdom,

Forgetting them as I did go.

How I still wander forgetful,

Forgetting as I go.

 

When I was a man of more a lad,

With all my Fathers worry and woe,

I learnt life can be unforgiving,

Unforgiving from the seeds I did sow

And how I have been reaping,

Reaping as I go.

 

Now I am a man that has fell and fallen from my Fathers tree and apples eye,

I see the lessons he was teaching, teaching through clearest sky.

I wish I listened harder, pin pricked and ears true,

How I would be able to wander wiser, wander wiser a man I would go,

And how my seeds would be softer,

Would be softer my seeds to sow.

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Atonement – (old post)

I wandered a broken man,

Devoid of soul,

How my diamonds did roll,

And slice my barren hands.

 

On white hot sands, of changing lands

I wandered amongst ghostly dunes.

With haunted eyes and muffled cries,

I hummed a quivered tune.

 

And met was I, by an echoed cry

Of a dog I know by name,

Red eyes glared, as mine froze scared,

His eyes a ruby blaze.

 

With a matchbox fumble and a liquored tumble,

I fell to my prayer-less knees.

And there I kneeled, with no strength to yield,

No words to muster my way.

 

It was at that moment, in the search for atonement,

The injury had become my own.

And there in the rain, the beast lay slain,

Alas, my truth had run me down.

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

The Prison I Create (first poem I ever wrote)

There are no bars keeping me in, there is no door without a key in.

All the lights are on without a flicker or dim, my soul free to wander out or in.

And yet I stay frozen to one spot, unable to get past the lock that is not.

I sit and stare at my loves fading smile, trapped in the memory of when I could hold her for a while.

I curse myself and my internal latch, that I cannot get loose from this imaginary catch.

My hands are sore, my eyes are weak, my internal light ever-growing darker and bleak.

The man I once was becoming a ghost in time, locked behind this illusion of mine.

Gone of days when life was a dream to catch, why can I not get past this imaginary latch.

There are no bars, there is no steel, why does my mind command me to kneel?

I have no words, only hate, inside this prison I do create.

I scratch a marking on the wall, to remind me I must obey or face the fall.

And fall I do, further still, into this invisible pit I created by the freedom of my own free will.

The hangman’s noose so appealing,

But today is not my time, I remain for the true love of mine.

No illusionist trick, nor jailers whip, will see me lose my iron like grip.

So I will go on inside my imaginary jail,

And yes, there will be a time that I shall prevail.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Quieter Role – (old post)

When I was a young Tom cat

And my thoughts were all of cream,

Id slash and claw at all I saw

And take by whatever mean.

 

When I was a rabid dog of a lad

And red did cross my eyes,

Id foam and bite at all that passed

And all that I despised.

 

When I was a raging bull of a man

And brew was in my soul,

Id fight and duck for rages luck

And pay no mans toll.

 

But now I am a quieter man

Who seeks a quieter role,

I have met my love, my darling dove

Who quietened my angry soul.

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Softer Seeds

When I was a boy of my Fathers eye, 

Many strands and grey ago,

He walked the world with a softer step,

A softer step with me in tow.

This is how we did wander, 

And wander we did go.

 

When I was a lad of my Fathers hands,

Many yesterdays and seasons come,

I learned his words and wisdom,

Forgetting them as I did go.

How I still wander forgetful, 

Forgetting as I go.

 

When I was a man of more a lad,

With all my Fathers worry and woe,

I learnt life can be unforgiving,

Unforgiving from the seeds I did sow

And how I have been reaping,

Reaping as I go.

 

Now I am a man that has fell and fallen from my Fathers tree and apples eye,

I see the lessons he was teaching, teaching through clearest sky.

I wish I listened harder, pin pricked and ears true,

How I would be able to wander wiser, wander wiser a man I would go,

And how my seeds would be softer, 

Would be softer my seeds to sow.

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

I Rise

Back to the crushing black deep,

Curtain shadow and starless black

Oil well swelled swirling black

Frost bitten dead toe black, cruelest of cruel cursing soul black

Crushing bastard black, rage thrashing sea.

 

Pass me the blade I will end this quick,

No more sinking from this sinking ship,

Leave the noose; pay the hangman’s tip,

Tie the boulders to this lead brick,

I am jumping from this revolving ship,

Throw me no more lines.

 

Further into deaths cloak black I sink,

Further deep into the dead man’s drink,

Passed the unforgiving Jack Frost brink,

Heavy iron binds the chains that link,

That pulls me to floor.

 

Let my lungs fill and sleep my mind away,

Away from quotes and all there meaningless bile,

Come into my mind for a day, then quote me a smile.

You keep scratching your hollow scrawl,

And I will remain dead eared upon the floor.

 

Pass me your hand; I will put it under the kettle,

Let’s test your resolve your inner metal,

And see if you can carry on,

Too much too soon?

Here is a broom, to sweep up your meaningless words.

 

Let me sink down further still,

To the black sacked cat sleeping drown

Seashell sounding whooshing drown

Dead patch eyed sipping sailor drown,

And on milky-way grains leave me to lie.

 

Where were you all years ago?

Before the acceptance, the circus show.

You have found your voice, along with your spine,

Well done for joining in at the correct and proper time,

And speaking from such a caring heart.

 

As I lay I look up through the black,

Tar beach sludge black

Oil glued winged bird black

Cancer lung black

Smoker’s death black, smoking black sea.

 

And in the dark of my pitiful demise,

I look to the heavens at broken skies,

I see a pair of marble pendulums looking down at me.

Golden rich deep brown eyes

Stab my heart with a lightning bolt jolt.

 

Eyes that hold with cobra stare,

Break down the dark, supply the air,

And lift my heart from its coal-black pit,

Gives me the strength, supplies my grit,

And from the grain I rise.

 

Her hair of raging black flames,

Wild burning bright illuminates blackest night,

All hell takes flight, vineyard soil of blackest sight,

Blackest, black hair.

I rise further still.

 

A smile that would make the ungodly pray,

Singing hallelujah, armies of trumpets play,

Pearl gates open to welcome coming day,

I want to reclaim my soul I say,

And so furthermore, I rise.

 

Passed the patch eyed sipping sailor,

Passed all the wing glued birds,

Passed Jack and his frosty brink,

Passed the ships of past times sink,

And all the forgotten souls. I rise.

 

And back to her arms I will always return

Back to her embrace, her heavenly burn,

I will always find the strength through my sinking demise,

To swim up towards broken bluer skies and meet her loving arms,

And so always, I shall rise.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Bastard Page

I do not seek your acceptance; I do not ask for your forgiveness nor offer my repentance, to ones I do not love.
For all the wrongs of my blinded rage,
They were mine to write across my life, its tortured page,
Albeit turned and fresh anew,
On whitest white and written with ink,
Of forgiveness blue.

I held the chickens wishbone stick and could break it with a quick turn, an idle flick, no wish to make, no prayer to drip,
From my godless black spit tongue.
I held the bird aloft, skin of pale, light and down as feathers were soft,
And fading were its dying eyes.

I was the beast in the dark, with darkest stare and silent bark,
And black was my ink-stained page.
Written in hate, bled in rage,
On carved lines I wrote my bastard page.
Words of hate filled by malice did empty and spill from my coward’s chalice,
And how the poison did flow, and course my quivering veins.

Now I write upon my tear-stained page,
Repentant I orbit my bastard page,
Through tears, I call, I cry, to clearest moon, to darkest sky.
I’ve paid my debt; I have served my time, locked in this guilt prison,
Bound by its sentence, created by mine,
My hands of blackest blue.

I am no longer the bastard on the page,
I have no more hate, no more rage,
Flick back a few to see this bastard’s page,
His imprint try to look past,
His clay be broke, his mould be cast,
And left a broken man.

With now my kind eyes are hazed in their sadness dew,
I kneel with head bowed, forgiveness be cast down,
Remove my periled shroud, my burning crown.
Of what was reaped let now be sowed,
And haunt my thoughts no more.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

 

Atonement

I wandered a broken man,

Devoid of soul,

How my diamonds did roll,

And slice my barren hands.

 

On white hot sands, of changing lands

I wandered amongst ghostly dunes.

With haunted eyes and muffled cries,

I hummed a quivered tune.

 

And met was I, by an echoed cry

Of a dog I know by name,

Red eyes glared, as mine froze scared,

His eyes a ruby blaze.

 

With a matchbox fumble and a liquored tumble,

I fell to my prayer-less knees.

And there I kneeled, with no strength to yield,

No words to muster my way.

 

It was at that moment, in the search for atonement,

The injury had become my own.

And there in the rain, the beast lay slain,

Alas, my truth had run me down.

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

I Care Not

I care not for your daily tales,

The sound passes through my worn ears

Like wind through tattered sails,

Like holes in a fishing net

The words pass through,

Escaping the sounds

The dull hums of you.

 

Drown me over board,

Cast me no line,

I’ll forget your words in the sands,

Of my sinking time.

I empty my lungs and sink into the black crush,

Don’t pull me back to your vomit of words

Your tedious gush.

 

I care not for your inverted commas acceptable version of events,

No smile will break my cheeks

My dead pan face

Frozen in place,

Lost in sand grain stars 

And all their endless space.

 

Suck me into a black hole,

Void of interest I feel only darkness towards your insipid matters,

You puncture my mind with your worm hole drawl,

As you grind out your mouth soil

At slowest grinding crawl.

 

I care not for your watered down yarns,

The slow turns of your materialistic wheel

Spun by your constant uninspiring spiel,

Turn the wheel to release the noose drop,

Let the trap door open

Let the teeth clattering stop.

 

Clattering with rusty tracks screech,

The constant need you have to give unwanted speech,

Your tongue flapping like a runaway train

Whistles in my tunnel ears 

My tinnitus brain.

 

 I care not for your holy sermon preached from on high

By the grace of God go forward say I,

Preach your gospel

Your enlightened views

To ones that would, and do so choose.

 

So as my dead eyes stare back at you,

Lost black ships abandoned in their milky pools,

I remain anchored by your conversation rock

Longing for time to speed its tick,

And hasten,

Its tock.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.