Returned – (old post)

Before the sun had raised his head I was up and out of my winter bed.

Shoes laced and treading fast, my frightful time a distant past.

The sun now blazes my soul alive, with burning fire this man does strive,

For today is no longer yesterday it would seem, a new chance is born, a wondrous dream,

That awakes, and guides my soul once more.

 

No more am I knelt on the floor, nor rapping at that window, nor hammering at that door,

I am in, I am back inside, back to life my worries have died.

My eyes were red and sunken ships now pierce life’s horizon with their razor arrow tips.

That bastard bolted nailed door, is now unbolted,

And nailed no more.  

 

With each sink and soul demise, there is always a tomorrow, a chance to rise.

Although my greys collect and gather pace, this life is a marathon, not a crippling race.

Whatever it is this thing, this dark, this shadow. I have faced it now and stood the gallows,

Yet to drop and hear the crack, I keep in mind the sun is always at my front, and the dark,

Always at my back.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

The Prison I Create (first poem I ever wrote)

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.

Returned

Before the sun had raised his head I was up and out of my winter bed.

Shoes laced and treading fast, my frightful time a distant past.

The sun now blazes my soul alive, with burning fire this man does strive,

For today is no longer yesterday it would seem, a new chance is born, a wondrous dream,

That awakes, and guides my soul once more.

 

No more am I knelt on the floor, nor rapping at that window, nor hammering at that door,

I am in, I am back inside, back to life my worries have died.

My eyes were red and sunken ships now pierce life’s horizon with their razor arrow tips.

That bastard bolted nailed door, is now unbolted,

And nailed no more.  

 

With each sink and soul demise, there is always a tomorrow, a chance to rise.

Although my greys collect and gather pace, this life is a marathon, not a crippling race.

Whatever it is this thing, this dark, this shadow. I have faced it now and stood the gallows,

Yet to drop and hear the crack, I keep in mind the sun is always at my front, and the dark,

Always at my back.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

No Title

 

I did not turn out the man I would hope I would be, 

Not as brave or broad chested as some would think, 

Can’t handle the basics or connect the link

Rage my fall-back position of choice, 

Trembling voice, sweated tears,

Cowering boy hiding in shadows of memory fears, broken years,

Lost, I wander from one day to new.

 

Lives and loves pulled to the depths with me, 

Head-locked down I take them deep

Down to the pits where my nightmares creep, 

Down, down, down, darkness drowns,

To a place where banshee`s wale, a repeated story, repeated tale.

Always the dancing tear eyed clown, absent the tears, absent the frown,

Further down into the drown, 

I take them all.

 

The stage is lit and burning bright

Crowds of selective vision, selective sight, 

All with their own worries, personal plight,

No more answers, 

All ears dumb to my screams,

Muffled claps, broken dreams,

Again, the curtain  falls.

 

I feel nothing, an empty hollow void,

Hell bent destruction spat life destroyed

Not a flicker of love, not a flicker of care, 

Empty heart, thousand yard stare. 

With a bull dust kicking pant,

Trembling rambling poison tongue tipped rant,

Feelings disregarded cast to dirt from spit,  pick up your feelings from between the grit

Together we sit, in this hell cursed mind raped pit,

Connected,

We all but are.

 

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.

 

 

 

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.

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.

Father

I am the apple that fell closest to my fathers tree
Reflections of the man,
The man who came before me.

I have the same hands formed and weathered by time
Same hands weathered,
Weathered through knowledge
And then passed to mine.

I am the same mountain
A mountain consumed by worry,
A worry to climb, now the worry
The worry is mine.

We are both men the same
We walk forward,
Forward through sheeting rain
Forward through wind and gales a blow
Forward through perils set out to slow
Forward through hell and its burning lightening glow,
In wildest river forward
Forward is all we know.

I am my fathers son,
My battle has started
His is nearly done,
I’ll carry the banner forward,
Forward till our battles are won
.



Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Sullen Return

It wasn’t a surprise when you came back today,

Black eyes that turn me milky grey.

Black as burnt coffee

Oiled ocean scar

Cat’s eye slit,

Back into my troubles pit

My worries jar.

 

The day had started not a care in the world

Hope was returning my burdens uncurled,

Like toes on a soft rug, a slight bend, a gentle tug,

This was my day of peace to be found

All burdens were lost

Free and unbound.

 

I was up and feeling good

Steadfast my being did stand,

No executioners hood to blind sight of wooded trees

Or burdens anchor

Pulling me to my blackened knees.

 

Then I felt a subtle spot while standing on my happy plain,

I could have sworn I felt a drop

Of burdens unhappy rain.

A drop is how it starts, a fine haze,

Then quickly the deluge

Becomes a burning choking blaze.

 

I twitch like a bird on feeders hanging seed

I curse and spit my frustration at calms exiting speed,

I wash my hands to clear the blood

To cleanse myself of this sticky mind mud.

Ill see you tomorrow my happy plain,

It was fun before that spot of rain.

 
Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.