Threatening Mushrooms

We all sit under the threatening mushrooms,

Fat ignorant fingers, 

Attached to fat ignorant hands,

Hold all our fates with a buttery grip.

This world is a sinking slippery ship,

Held afloat, afloat by a careless oiled grip.

 

Better minds hold their heads in dismayed hands,

Our past has been forgotten, we walk on repeating sands.

Backs all facing reason, 

Cheeks all turned about.

Madness threatens to send us back to stone.

Suggested violence now seems,

The daily current tone.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

Screaming Into The Void

We scream into the ever growing void of our own advancing life.

Our own advancing life, the trouble and strife.

Met by echoes of nothingness we stand pin drop eared,

Waiting for answers to come from the darkness.

Answers to present a mothers apron string.

Pin prick eared we wait to be guided through the uncertain times.

We are all children looking for the apron string,

With wet thumbs we shuffle along,

Reaching hands grabbing at empty air,

Too much we care, too much strife,

In this ever advancing,

Troubled life.

 

 

Haunted by decisions we feel are of such grave importance.

Importance is determined by circumstance. 

The man who crosses the ocean on a weighed down boat,

Only just afloat, afloat only just he treads the gasping air.

The man who wakes up worried with weather. 

Whether to umbrella against the black sky.

Hardly the same, hardly do or die.

And yet we wander with an out of step heart and stuttered tongue,

Daily rung is our tongue.

Rung out decisions that have been lined and weathered every morning.

Every morning since our first mornings memory dawned and broke the curtains with waking split,

To prize our sleeping eyes.

 

 

Uncertainty, the concept of uncertain excitement is an alien concept that we rarely venture down. 

A route as fraught with danger as an un-cleared mine field. 

Detector ready, we listen.

Fear poised we wait for the ping back life crack of life`s whipping sting to guide us down the safer route.

The normal route. Certainty is all but guaranteed.

Normal, as beige is to bland, as grain is to sand and all the neatly lawns.

Reformatory white washed reforming walls of a newly refurbished, reformed and re-tuned mind. 

Dull lines, clean lines upon picture less walls.

Shops on Saturday, family on Sunday, work on Monday and the groundhog recurrence of it all. 

With a whales gulp we yawn the empty sea.

 

 

Success is judged on mortgage size,

A collection of loans and borrowed wealth,

Line our borrowed mantel shelf. 

Education is based upon industry focused qualifications of a system that forever demands more from you and your learned mind. 

First is now last, master is now student, Doctor is now as expected as it is taken for granted. 

Alas, we have all become nuts and bolts,

And heavy is the draw.

Never enough, must better ourselves, become great.

The greatest great most beautiful pure perfectly perfect whiter than white diamond encrusted iconic genius since the water was turned to wine and all men followed the deserted man.

 

 

Deserted, faith is as deserted as the marooned man.

Marooned we all wander the island.

In this ungodly time of the none believers the minority consider themselves the enlightened in a darkened time. 

Believer or none believer we are all ants, a shoe forever hovers over us.

Must pick a side, never astride.

Believer or none believer. No in between. 

Like opinions, you must choose.

I am none believer and yet I remain crucified by circumstance. 

My gods are the ones who pay me and keep my table supplied with food. 

Take away the food,

And watch me pray. 

 

 

Opinions, if you are astride the fence you are pulled down. 

This is a black and white time,

In a grey age, upon a sad page,

How the tears do run and bleed the years away. 

Mockery the chosen response to pushing back against the raging tides of opposition views. 

Democracy is as much a reality as fairies are to teeth and yet we still leave our silver coins. 

Hate always the undercurrent of the harsher view and lack of facts the pulling current. 

If we do not swim against this current we will all be left adrift. 

And find ourselves 

The treading man.

 

 

 

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.

Discount Town

Introduction: Through a bland town, across a beige chewing gum minefield pavement, through the indoor market filled with the noise of sales and desperate pitch, second-hand sounds and the bloody sweet smell of the butchers stall, I wander into a town called Discount.

 

Husbands hen-pecked

holding shopping lists miles long

plod and dare not

put a single foot wrong.

 

Texting people

miss sight of homeless

forget their pound

socially acceptable pocket fumble

stare at ground.

 

Middle ranged woman

low of moral stock

sips her coffee

under the broken

town clock.

 

God preacher in middle of square

deaf crowd, do not hear, do not care.

Carries on preaching

voice disappearing

into hire purchased

thin air.

 

In the betting shop of magician’s riches

shadows and mirrors

curses and twitches

sits an old man, rolled cigarette in one hand

necessity in the other and desperation eyes

a look of his mother.

 

Politicians promise

advertising for derelict lies

on the side of a future promised

affordable

refurbished

high-rise.

 

This was the story of Discount Town

cigarette haze

this unemployment phase

let’s all remember the better days

a complex of shopping

we are all lost

all lost

in this credit maze.

 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Evil Cause

Martyrs with an evil cause.

Cowards who slam only innocent doors

their moral compass set off course.

All this evil

for a so called

cause.

 

They think fear will make us bend.

Wrong.

Back to hell with you all

and the twisted

message you send.

 

The days of black flags are numbered.

Our stick is long and reaches far

you offend all

including Allah.

 

Enjoy your time, of little you have.

Misguided fools

evil at heart.

Your time will end

when good will start.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Evil Acts

Evil acts becoming so common

love, all to trodden

under boot of evil mind

pains the sorrow of all mankind.

 

Terror thrashes at good and light

but only strengthens peoples might.

We do not bow to acts so cruel

they will not command

nor shall they rule.

 

In the darkest moments

the kindest hearts beam.

Beacons of hope for all to see

no evil could know such bravery.

 

I hope for a better world

for children anew.

A time when evil stops

and love

pulls through. 

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Ripples Repeating

Trump at helm

who would of thought

the days are back

of when hate was taught.

 

Religion hijacked

the irony is there

the source of all knowledge

now the route of all despair.

 

Wars being waged

in some hopeless engage

and all to be accomplished

another blood socked page.

 

The history warnings

were there  all along

we just chose to hit repeat

and replay the same sad song.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.