Under the Hammer and Clock

Under the hammer and clock

Promised a diamond

Presented a rock,

Under this hammering clock.

 

Under the hammer and clock

Morning engines tick their tock

Churning their fumes,

Waiting our turns, under the hammering clock.

 

Under the hammer and clock

Weathered lines storm the flock

Masses the stirring brick, cracking the immovable rock,

Hammers continue to stone, this forever hammering clock.

 

Under the hammer and clock

We curse the hammer, we spit at the clock

White as doves our hands crumble,

Ash beneath the dust and eternal hammering clock

 

Under the hammer and clock

We lasso the hand, scramble the rock

Swaying we swing ageing, chime the greys we rock.

Till dust and shadow we sit under, under the hammering clock.

 

 

Copyright © 2019 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

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 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.

The Prison I Create – (old post)

 

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.

Book review – Words from an unlikely poet vol.2: Further thoughts by Charlie Hasler

Blue Sky Days 365

Charlie had a lot to live up to following his excellent first book of poetry Words from an unlikely poet, you may read my review which awarded it a very worthy five stars.  Volume 2 has some similarities; it is again a slender book of verse and many poems are themed on emotional angst, however I feel this book has a more compact range of expression.

Beginning with the romantically titled ‘Pink Skied City’ which, although not romantic in theme, uses almost romantic language to describe the ordinary.  My interpretation is that it’s a commentary on the banality of life.  Throughout the book Charlie uses great imagery and analogies, with ‘Mind Radio’ standing out.  I really liked the rhythm of the poems ‘Back to One’ and ‘Connected’, I felt the flow resonated well with the message.

Overall, a nicely put together book of poetry.  I will leave you with words…

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