Full Steam to Hades

We’re going down, Captain.
Going down where?
Down to the bottom,
the sea will see you there.
She sinks,
with my best mates and me

 

Time to meet our maker,
to meet Davy Jones.
The Reaper of the Deep!
We have been forsaken
by Poseidon’s cruel throne.  

 

A chest and fourscore men,
Plunge to despair.
Full steam to Hades!
Our bounty will be shared.
She sinks,
with my best mates and me. 

 

In just a few leagues,
over just a few more stones,
we could have been free,
to live as Kings
to live as we please.
We have been forsaken.
Icarus foretold,
by our lust for gold.

 

A chest and fourscore men,
Plunge to despair.
Full steam to Hades!
Our bounty will be shared.
Bottoms up.
To my best mates and me.

Autumn

The earth and leaves
leave an earthy scent
that sends me home,
refreshed from the homely,
weary ways in which the winds wave.

Crisp, October air bites
and comforts in the same breath.
Damp and dry,
Beauty and demise,
when life eclipses death.

The sun prepares her goodbyes
Her sorrow spectacularly lashes out
her tears splatter the sky.
She smoulders in a violet pout.
Her silver sister gleams in a stoic stride.

Turn My Mind Off

What goes up,
must come down.

What comes around,
goes around.

Fiesty fatigue feasts
on original obligations.
Greedily glued to the game.
Anointed to an apex.

Where are my next steps?

Aren’t I always in motion?
Will day not always become night?
Can I not do anything without reactionary notions?
Can I not get out of light?
I’m going to try my best to not be on,
time to turn my mind off.

A Bright Man.

I don’t follow the newest news.
I don’t know how to say no.
I may not be a bright man,
but I do have some light, man.

How can I be well-read
without and good-reads?
How can I be a leader
and not tell another where to be led?

Is that a revelation?
The word reveals nothing, much ado.
Is that a revolution?
The world doesn’t revolve around you.
Is that evolution?
Stagnation loves having nothing to do.

Change takes time
But we take no time to change.

 

Smothered

Breathless gasps
above raging waves.
Hapless grasps
slipping on the reigns.

A race that I cannot win,
A weight that I cannot lift.
Too little forgiveness of sin,
Too much space in this rift.

Pushed down,

down,

down.

Expected to rise.

I will drown
in the quicksand.
Small grains build muffled screams and burning eyes.

Throw me a rope.
Throw me a hand.

To get here you must have been a dope.
At least pretend like you understand.

Tar on my heels,
tar in my head.

I’m sorry if that’s the way you feel.
Maybe try growing up instead?

Smothered

Like a mother who won’t let go.

Undiscovered

Like under a dusty vinyl cover, the contents hidden and stowed.

River Rock

Tell me, River Rock, what do you know?
Wisdom that cannot erode,
timeless flow.

Cradled smooth.
Ancient, nomadic,
unmoved.

The affection of Creator’s eye embraces you.
Spectacular shades of love.
The glistening, rapid streams of your heaven above
reflect spectacular of reds, violets, and blues.

The fish swallow and spit you out as bone.
The children laugh and skip you over ripple and rave.
You sink to the bottom.
You sink with your legion, an army in a lave,
yet you are completely alone.

Cradled smooth.
Ancient, nomadic,
unmoved.

OWED.

OWED.

By Ben Charles

    I am owed happiness.

Says who?

                                                                 I am owed love. 

Says who?

                                                                                    I am owed sex. 

Says who?

                                                                          I am owed L I F E.

Says who?

The rolling rock gathers moss,
mankind resentfully collects and counts her cost,
while mothers weep and mourn her loss.
Divine demiurge or celestial chance,
depending on who you ask,
gathered us all here to today.
Either impossible odds or omniscient god
They gave us everything and nothing.
Gave us the night, gave us the day.
Odds of fractions to the trillions
Gave us bare feet on the grass,
gave us love shortlived, lifelong and past.

Is this owed to the simians?

Perhaps,
Every existence per hapless sap,
Spits in the face of reason,
We’re God’s Laws’ treason
searching El Dorado without a map.

So here we are.
What’s left to do?
We demand more, we demand respect.
We need a better nose, we’re owed a newer car.
I am owed an expensive vacation if not 2 or 3 on a yearly basis
I am owed paper featuring dead men’s faces.
I am owed all this, plus a wife and a bigger house than you.

I am owed.

 

I am owned.