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When You're Done!

pick up your tools,
sweep the floors,
haul off the trash...

when you're done.
take down the signs.
lay down your guns....

leave your morals at the door!
box up your visions,
take down your cross...

sing your last song!
set the fire, fan the flames,
turn off the light....

when you're done!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Buddha Was A Long Haul Trucker...

i dreamt...
Buddha was a long haul trucker,
and i met him in a roadside diner...
i asked him:
'where you been? '
'everywhere! '
'where you going? '
'nowhere! .
'well. what you hauling? '
'well...', he smiled.
'i was hauling myself,
but i unloaded that
back down the line...
now i'm hauling nothing! '

i bought him a cup of coffee,
and walked away,
silently shaking my head!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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To You It Was Giving

One can inherit ill-will…
That is a bomb deal…
And one's real personality it kills…
You come into a business…
That has been misused and abused…
Now you stand accused…
But the remake you did not refuse…
You…God will use, to defuse…
A world confused…
The heavens has your back…
Obama stay on track…
Don't give up…
You are a peace maker…
In the long haul we shall benefit…

poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Pals

Take a hold now
On the silver handles here,
Six silver handles,
One for each of his old pals.

Take hold
And lift him down the stairs,
Put him on the rollers
Over the floor of the hearse.

Take him on the last haul,
To the cold straight house,
The level even house,
To the last house of all.

The dead say nothing
And the dead know much
And the dead hold under their tongues
A locked-up story.

poem by Carl Sandburg
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Master or slave

Lo, this land that lifts around it
Threatening peaks, while stern seas bound it,
With cold winters, summers bleak,
Curtly smiling, never meek,
'Tis the giant we must master,
Till he work our will the faster.
He shall carry, though he clamor,
He shall haul and saw and hammer,
Turn to light the tumbling torrent,-
All his din and rage abhorrent
Shall, if we but do our duty,
Win for us a realm of beauty.

poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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The Beach

Louder than gulls the little children scream
Whom fathers haul into the jovial foam;
But others fearlessly rush in, breast high,
Laughing the salty water from their mouthes--
Heroes of the nursery.

The horny boatman, who has seen whales
And flying fishes, who has sailed as far
As Demerara and the Ivory Coast,
Will warn them, when they crowd to hear his tales,
That every ocean smells of tar.

poem by Robert Graves
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The best of everything...

breath comes solemnly as it pasture
the nostril of peace, a fresh
romance of solitude capture in every
sting of love

psych each day the aroma of love
and haul where my poise reside, thou
I live you the strength of an angel
endlessly vow before me the sweet
surrender of you cherish

give me the halo of you tender
touch, beyond the passion of each
zeal, here the arm that I offer
beyond this precious life I always
adore

poem by Antonio Liao
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Storm on Hunter Hill

Pure line
slopes skyward

massive, dry,
creased clusters
cast-rock,
hard shale,

till crevasses,
small streams, fill with rain,
increase to flash-flood
greedy hands
grab pebbles, haul branches,
crashing to the road
below.

The rain wants it all down,
to sink it into the sea,
level proud mountains,
make all things

[...] Read more

poem by Steven Federle
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Silent Noise

Oh! silent of the heart
let be the wisdom of the soul
lives in grace and joy
the hope that enchanted the
glory of your success

let then the breathless judgment
leads to settle the fury of
offenses scatter into the temple
of my chamber and haul
the warm embrace of your heart

come to me and feasts the
succeeding day of dominion
upon the shoulder of your lowly
servant, as the deliverance
of passion live in peace

indulge me Dear Lord...

poem by Antonio Liao
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Toeless Journey

The hawk was always hatching
a pacer,
to spin the surveillance,

tampering the tracks of violence.
The haul was heavy. Moon and fishes
went on to spread the dragnet

striking gold from the liquid
denials. The sovereignity was
violated of a virgin god.

The rule of drinking was sidelined.
Kiss will survive after the death opens
the back door of a globe.

Dreams are exhausted. There will
be no comeback of a star player
in the game of bloody manipulations.

poem by Satish Verma
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