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.

I Rise (edited version)

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 © 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.

Wailing Man of Blinded Stick

The wailing man of blinded stick, clatters the alley, scratches the brick,

Mumbling his mumbled prayers.

With black of sight and worries plight,

Alone with beaded prayers.

 

Though he walks through shadows of evil, in this alley he fears but none.

In his valley the evil do rally and darkness has already won. 

No need for sealed or squint the eyes, he looks already to darkened skies, 

And black is their oiled tone.

 

And with wetted lips he recites the fumbling of his youth,

Before the black fading, the longing of greyest tooth.

When all the trees were split and wails did shake the Pidgeon roof,

And cooed the neighbour’s calls. 

 

When all the summers were raging lit, between the duvets where budding trees spilt,

And spilled their altered wine.

With fumbled fingers he peeled the bark, to taste the buds in flashing dark,

And rose his breaking morn.

 

Now in the dark of always night, since clouds closed to greyest the sight,

He sticks the forward slab.

Only plagued by one last sight, in oiled dark of constant night,

The sight of his fleeing love.

 

She did get wise to distance cries and flight she did but take,

Now on floor with wetted knees, her coo falls from distance trees.

How he longs to make it right, alone he wanders in always night.

Her love, a distant dream.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Burn On My Friend, Burn On!

Burn your internal light,

Use its warmth, its guiding light

 

Burn that flame, flaming bright,

Burn worries soul, her lingering plight

 

Burn the flame in you whole,

Burn into your unconquerable soul

 

Burn the moon and the stars,

Burn your worries, your memories scars

 

Burn the pain and the plight,

Keep that match burning bright

 

And in the dark of coldest night

Watch your demons cower and flight,

For you have fire in your eyes

Watch your fire burn and rise.

 

Burn on my friend, burn on.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Bluest Moon Rare

While scratching cat claws at singing bell
I write these gentle words,
I have gentle
Most gentle words to tell.

With crows feet eyes, under my patch of bluest skies,
Bird branch trees, choired in threes,
Sing against
Singing sails breeze.

In this burning olive sun
I write these perfectly imperfect words of impractical scrawl,
With no cast of doubt
No shadows crawl.

Seas of scented coloured air
Fill my mind with grateful tear eyed thanks,
While my 
feet are warmed, warmed on darkened planks.

I have a thing of bluest moon rare,
I am deeply loved
A gift of once diamond found,
Is to be held and cherished
On this most thankful ground.

And I will love her until my mortal days have faded
And my crown of greys are bound,
A love like ours is forever
Forever till dust and ground.








Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Quieter Role

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.