Crow Scared

Scared as a crow I fear the always open field,

Armour ready, steady shield,

Advancing,

My march is glacier slow.

 

As hard is the rock and open the place,

Iron shoes, lactic lace,

Sweating,

My back is arched like a clock stuck at two.

 

Head cracked with ball and fist,

Frustration racing, mind blitzed,

Raging,

My teeth grind the board with gritted chalk.

 

I rest my forehead against the clawed door,

Eyes shut, fingers sore,

Heavy,

I am weighed with anchored breath.

 

Tomorrow, always tomorrow,

Words hollow, tears follow,

Wailing,

My thoughts banshee the muted wall.

 

With all that is sudden the door closes, 

That man I know leaves, gliding shut on a gentle breeze,

Waiting,

Who knows when he will return.

 

Now all quiet as silence is still,

Slowed heart, hushed shrill,

Calm,

I reclaim what pieces I can.

 

 

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.

 

 

 

Rage

Rage

it used to make me strong

but over time

made me weaker

there was irony

all along.

Hands sweaty

back arched

ready to battle

moments charged.

The shake of the rush

courses through

strength of ten men

unleashes on you.

Guns blazing

no glory

the sad tale

of a once true story.

Punching walls

knuckles bleed

with a wide arm stance

stood a man in need.

But that time has past

Its no longer me

a mournful regret

of the man

you see.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.