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.

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.

 

Mind Radio (a poem from my new book)

Turn down the volume,

It makes me want to scream out loud, while standing amongst this bustling silent crowd.

 

No volume button at my discretion,

To sooth my thoughts or allow for a calmer expression.

 

A tortured look butterfly sliced across my face,

Here stands a man who once had a happier mind space.

 

Is this just me or can you hear it too? that painful laugh,

That devils shrill, that teases me like a twilight winter daffodil.

 

Let me hear your music for a while, so I may lie quiet and bare a smile,

Quiet and peace is all I long for, not this pounding in my brain nor that hammering on my minds door.

 

How I wish I could tune in like you, and whistle to the silence of my own free will.

I scramble for that invisible switch, to silence the cackle of this cackling mind Witch.

 

But you wouldn’t know, you have silence, try listening to these hell like sirens.

All clutter now, all clutter, help me stop the banging of this relentless mind shutter.

 

I look at your face but hear no words, I can’t hear you, I wish I could, then perhaps

We could talk and solve this riddle, of why my mind only plays this devils fiddle.

Dead As A Nail – (old post)

I feel I am dead, as dead as a nail,

All hammered and coffin

All bent and rust.

Buried back down deep beneath the cold

And frozen black dust.

 

And yet I still breathe, a tired man’s breath,

Albeit a sigh, a solemn draw,

While I hammer at the window

While I wrap at the door,

My mind has locked me out.

 

Or maybe I am locked in, I am not sure,

Either way I am standing here once more,

Standing on the wrong side of this bastard bolted door.

I am searching for the right key

But the bunch is far too big.

 

So as it is, back to the shadow I have returned,

Where no warm does glow, no hope does burn.

Back to the bottom of hells staircase,

Locked behind the door and staring at my once stood place,

All dead and nail inside.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Ocean Glass – (old post)

Cast across ocean glass, how the winged fishes wept.

Dew be a diamond crystal, of silky hair regret,

How the winged fishes dangle,

They be caught upon the net.

 

I have a simple deck of wood, no grass or house of grand,

No need for beach or oceans, no need for golden sand.

I am not a holy man, no bible held in hand,

But if heaven were a place, 

It be on this plot of land.

 

With ember bud glowing, at my rebuilt side,

I have the means to reclaim, what was lost in once raging tide.

No current will pull my flame, back to the Davey Jones,

I have rebuilt my sail, and with steel rebuilt my bones.

 

So through this window I ponder, with my new brighter outlook,

My time is now mine, I returned that broken book.

My demons lay dying, withered upon the floor,

I won that ghastly battle, 

Now watch me win the war.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

 

Mind Radio (edited version)

Turn down the volume,

It makes me want to scream out loud, while standing among-st this silent crowd.

 

No volume button at my discretion,

To sooth my thoughts or allow for a calmer expression.

 

My tortured look sliced across my face,

Like a man who once had a happier mind space.

 

Is this just me or can you hear it too? that painful laugh,

That devils shrill, that teases me like a twilight winter daffodil.

 

Let me hear your music for a while, so I may lie quiet and bare a smile,

Quiet and peace is all I long for, not this pounding in my brain nor that hammering on my minds door.

 

How I wish I could tune in like you, and whistle to the silence of my own free will.

I scramble for that invisible switch, to silence the cackle of this cackling mind Witch.

 

But you wouldn’t know, you have silence, try listening to these hell like sirens.

All clutter now, all clutter, help me stop the banging of this relentless mind shutter.

 

I look at your face but hear no words, I can’t hear you, I wish I could, then perhaps

We could talk and solve this riddle, of why my mind only plays this devils fiddle.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Screaming into the Void – (old post)

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 © 2018 Charlie Hasler.

Troubled Mind – (old post)

How I fear my troubled mind, you never do treat me kind.

How I fear my troubled mind.

 

Moonlight creeping, through pane of glass, how I pray my fear won’t last.

How I fear my troubled mind.

 

Silent taunting, mocking laughter, my troubles lasting ever after.

How I fear my troubled mind.

 

Black cloud, as black as oceans deep, rocks of sharp and serpents sleep.

How I fear my troubled mind.

 

Shadow across brow of hill, dampening light of darken sight.

How I fear my troubled mind.

 

Claps of thunder, roll of dice, remove remove my winter ice.

How I fear my troubled mind.

 

How it feels all so unkind

Be still, be calm my troubled mind

learn to love and treat me kind

my worried

worried

fragile

mind.

 

 

Copyright © 2018 Charlie Hasler.