Changing of The Guard
Your time has come and gone, old friend,
So stop trying to make it last,
You're tired, and you've got nothing left;
An ancient relic of the past.
Now those of us who've learned your ways,
And stand on shoulders tall and proud,
We plan to go beyond your goals,
To speak with voices strong and loud,
We plan to see the shadowed side
Of thoughts you can't imagine true,
Now rest your weary head, my friend,
And let us do what we must do.
5/30/09
5/28/09
From The Lab
Incomplete
Faded dreams and moments past,
Beyond the sinking sun,
Thoughts of future's gentle crash,
When the crest has just begun,
Envelop minds too soft to know,
Of roads too long and harsh,
Despite the timeless desperate show,
Go, weary soldier, march,
Strap up your boots to walk through hell,
Watch the sinners toss and turn,
Ignore that constant tolling bell,
Pay no mind to the burn,
Portray your truths as well as can,
I know it's a simple thing,
The world was ours to plot and plan,
As the designated king.
But petty men have petty goals,
It's in their nature to,
And no man may deny their role,
When building Xanadu,
Flow like the breeze of distant lands,
That carry 'cross the seas,
The bottled message of the man,
Whose trapped and long deceased,
For destiny's incomplete.
Faded dreams and moments past,
Beyond the sinking sun,
Thoughts of future's gentle crash,
When the crest has just begun,
Envelop minds too soft to know,
Of roads too long and harsh,
Despite the timeless desperate show,
Go, weary soldier, march,
Strap up your boots to walk through hell,
Watch the sinners toss and turn,
Ignore that constant tolling bell,
Pay no mind to the burn,
Portray your truths as well as can,
I know it's a simple thing,
The world was ours to plot and plan,
As the designated king.
But petty men have petty goals,
It's in their nature to,
And no man may deny their role,
When building Xanadu,
Flow like the breeze of distant lands,
That carry 'cross the seas,
The bottled message of the man,
Whose trapped and long deceased,
For destiny's incomplete.
5/26/09
From The Lab
City of Mists
Wicked, dark thoughts in the city of mists,
Undisguised senses lost in awe and fear,
The midday rain's after-breeze stinking high,
Tossed on wings, in variations of sky,
Above the labyrinth of twisted streets,
Amidst the pickpocket vendors and grime,
Knee deep in sewage for innermost schemes,
Blind to reality's beckoning call;
Where misogynists dip and dart in pairs,
And the magic of the moment made dull
Compels one towards the alley wars, and
At sight of the revival of peril,
Those lowbrow tactics emerge once again.
Sheets of drizzle refuse to wash away
The message of the 'hood's harsh, sad sermons,
Baked long ago in the clay of the mind,
For Athena's wisdom has no place here
In Apollo's world of courage and strength;
Deadly individuals romp and roam,
Claiming their resurgence to be their own,
Drowning in hatred and other symbols,
Clustered together like peas in the pod
On blocks built crooked from cold glass and steel.
Ghostly forms sprint along the razor's edge,
Fading under the streetlight's washed pale glow,
Wading through the spent ammo of choices
Gone wrong, with little to no slick riposte;
The shadows of this century grow long,
Creeping along the pavement like bandits
Hell-bent on using their sticky fingers.
Wicked, dark thoughts in this city of mists.
Wicked, dark thoughts in the city of mists,
Undisguised senses lost in awe and fear,
The midday rain's after-breeze stinking high,
Tossed on wings, in variations of sky,
Above the labyrinth of twisted streets,
Amidst the pickpocket vendors and grime,
Knee deep in sewage for innermost schemes,
Blind to reality's beckoning call;
Where misogynists dip and dart in pairs,
And the magic of the moment made dull
Compels one towards the alley wars, and
At sight of the revival of peril,
Those lowbrow tactics emerge once again.
Sheets of drizzle refuse to wash away
The message of the 'hood's harsh, sad sermons,
Baked long ago in the clay of the mind,
For Athena's wisdom has no place here
In Apollo's world of courage and strength;
Deadly individuals romp and roam,
Claiming their resurgence to be their own,
Drowning in hatred and other symbols,
Clustered together like peas in the pod
On blocks built crooked from cold glass and steel.
Ghostly forms sprint along the razor's edge,
Fading under the streetlight's washed pale glow,
Wading through the spent ammo of choices
Gone wrong, with little to no slick riposte;
The shadows of this century grow long,
Creeping along the pavement like bandits
Hell-bent on using their sticky fingers.
Wicked, dark thoughts in this city of mists.
5/24/09
From The Lab
Plant A Life
Dig deep into the soil and grain to find
The roots of the soul, twisted, and tangled,
Entwined with lessons of time, unraveled,
And scattered throughout. Lost in the moment,
When problems are larger than life or death,
Where guides are few, (whom allow one to solve
Difficult issues by strength of advice,
Without revealing the buried answers.)
Pick up a shovel, sweat, and inspire
Others to break ground in harsh, new places;
There are treasures to find under layers,
Not to be reached with the strength of one man,
All while seconds tick by, shadows grow long,
The reaper hovers nearer. What seems short,
Is even quicker; will your mark be left
In the earth as blueprints for peace or hate?
Generations always pass, and few learn
The reasoning of age-old rocks and stones,
Overturned by those with foresight to see
Visions hidden in their muddled surface.
All is cyclical. The ebb and the flow,
Tomorrow's hero is history's fiend,
When motivation lies in blood and bone;
Would you plant the seeds of greatness today?
Dig deep into the soil and grain to find
The roots of the soul, twisted, and tangled,
Entwined with lessons of time, unraveled,
And scattered throughout. Lost in the moment,
When problems are larger than life or death,
Where guides are few, (whom allow one to solve
Difficult issues by strength of advice,
Without revealing the buried answers.)
Pick up a shovel, sweat, and inspire
Others to break ground in harsh, new places;
There are treasures to find under layers,
Not to be reached with the strength of one man,
All while seconds tick by, shadows grow long,
The reaper hovers nearer. What seems short,
Is even quicker; will your mark be left
In the earth as blueprints for peace or hate?
Generations always pass, and few learn
The reasoning of age-old rocks and stones,
Overturned by those with foresight to see
Visions hidden in their muddled surface.
All is cyclical. The ebb and the flow,
Tomorrow's hero is history's fiend,
When motivation lies in blood and bone;
Would you plant the seeds of greatness today?
5/23/09
From The Lab
Just Beneath The Flesh
Tensions mounted and cleared to ride,
Weapons drawn for the wars,
Sentenced for doom on either side,
Conquer fear and grab swords,
Ready to join the horrid mass,
En route to divide all,
Fall in line. Watch the front lines clash,
Hear the loud bull horn call!
See anguish felt in every breath,
In every step and moan,
Nearer to thee, Sir coward Death,
The smash of bones to bones.
Veins expanding, hope in earnest,
There's room left in the cells,
Captives of the bloody skirmish
Could always kill themselves,
So muscles tense in self-defense
When Evil's free to walk,
To pierce the heart and smile unkempt,
And watch the tiger stalk,
Feasting on liver, eyes, and lung,
Slow and painfully robbed,
While tipping their hat to the hung,
Blind to the breath of God,
Things beneath the flesh have demands,
Always best to meet them,
Now's not the time to take a stand,
One rarely defeats them.
Tensions mounted and cleared to ride,
Weapons drawn for the wars,
Sentenced for doom on either side,
Conquer fear and grab swords,
Ready to join the horrid mass,
En route to divide all,
Fall in line. Watch the front lines clash,
Hear the loud bull horn call!
See anguish felt in every breath,
In every step and moan,
Nearer to thee, Sir coward Death,
The smash of bones to bones.
Veins expanding, hope in earnest,
There's room left in the cells,
Captives of the bloody skirmish
Could always kill themselves,
So muscles tense in self-defense
When Evil's free to walk,
To pierce the heart and smile unkempt,
And watch the tiger stalk,
Feasting on liver, eyes, and lung,
Slow and painfully robbed,
While tipping their hat to the hung,
Blind to the breath of God,
Things beneath the flesh have demands,
Always best to meet them,
Now's not the time to take a stand,
One rarely defeats them.
5/21/09
From The Lab
Thunderclouds
The rumble is growing, building in strength,
And a darkening presence draws nearer,
The covered sun gives all shadows their length,
Distorting the objects in the mirror.
A downpour's coming, and not one of rain,
Taking certain steps to remain unknown,
In order to hide misery and bane
Before the caged bird realizes it's flown;
The grey doom divides and morphs once again,
Foretelling the ever-changing bad news,
Shifting with the breeze, with ease drifting in,
Silent as Fate, with her vague, somber clues.
The rumble is growing, building in strength,
And a darkening presence draws nearer,
The covered sun gives all shadows their length,
Distorting the objects in the mirror.
A downpour's coming, and not one of rain,
Taking certain steps to remain unknown,
In order to hide misery and bane
Before the caged bird realizes it's flown;
The grey doom divides and morphs once again,
Foretelling the ever-changing bad news,
Shifting with the breeze, with ease drifting in,
Silent as Fate, with her vague, somber clues.
Top 5: Detroit Red Wings (All-Time)
In celebration of my favorite hockey team making it to the Western conference finals (yet again), with a chance to win (yet another) Stanley Cup, I present my indisputable top 5 Red Wings (not necessarily my favorites).
5. Datsyuk #13/Zetterberg #40 - To me the euro-twins go together like PB&J so I find it hard to
separate the two. Their skill in the opponents zone has won them rings already and the sky is the limit with their potential.
4. Nicklas Lidstrom #5 - Cool and calm Lidstrom has been consistent for 17 years, earning his
name on the cup 4 times, and winning the Norris trophy 6 times. In any discussion about the top defenseman in the sport, his name's at the top.
3. Alex Delvecchio #10 - Often outshone by number 2 on this list, Delvecchio was consistently great. A member of the infamous Production line this 13 time All-star had a pinpoint accuracy that won him 3 cups of his own.
2. Gordie Howe #9 - With over 25 yrs. under his belt, Howe earned the nickname Mr. Hockey. Nuff said.
1. Steve Yzerman #19 - He wasn't the biggest guy, or the strongest, but for 23 yrs. Stevey Y.
was the face of the franchise and it's heart and soul. Simply put, he was and is, The Captain.
5. Datsyuk #13/Zetterberg #40 - To me the euro-twins go together like PB&J so I find it hard to
separate the two. Their skill in the opponents zone has won them rings already and the sky is the limit with their potential.
4. Nicklas Lidstrom #5 - Cool and calm Lidstrom has been consistent for 17 years, earning his
name on the cup 4 times, and winning the Norris trophy 6 times. In any discussion about the top defenseman in the sport, his name's at the top.
3. Alex Delvecchio #10 - Often outshone by number 2 on this list, Delvecchio was consistently great. A member of the infamous Production line this 13 time All-star had a pinpoint accuracy that won him 3 cups of his own.
2. Gordie Howe #9 - With over 25 yrs. under his belt, Howe earned the nickname Mr. Hockey. Nuff said.
1. Steve Yzerman #19 - He wasn't the biggest guy, or the strongest, but for 23 yrs. Stevey Y.
was the face of the franchise and it's heart and soul. Simply put, he was and is, The Captain.
From The Lab
Creative Chaos
The unsatisfied artist,
The trails of thought,
Leading to hidden paths,
Seemingly for naught,
The muse remains buried,
Lost in the mind's folds,
It cannot be forced,
Out of the creator's soul,
Comes whimsy and wonders,
Of all shapes and sizes,
In forms of frustrations,
And other such disguises,
Where nothing is what it seems,
When first it unfurls,
And the most realistic art,
Comes from an abstract world.
The unsatisfied artist,
The trails of thought,
Leading to hidden paths,
Seemingly for naught,
The muse remains buried,
Lost in the mind's folds,
It cannot be forced,
Out of the creator's soul,
Comes whimsy and wonders,
Of all shapes and sizes,
In forms of frustrations,
And other such disguises,
Where nothing is what it seems,
When first it unfurls,
And the most realistic art,
Comes from an abstract world.
5/20/09
From The Lab
Dying Dog Days
Today I did glorious nothings.
Lovely, forgettable nothings, from dusk
To dusk. And then something sparked.
Some flickering synapse, buried deep within
Memory's soil, became unearthed,
Flirting to me of moments past,
Not unlike the past few moments;
And made me smirk a tragic sort of smile,
Soft stone-hearted at the fading days,
Times, memories.
Moments.
Nothings.
Glorious, forgettable nothings.
Today I did glorious nothings.
Lovely, forgettable nothings, from dusk
To dusk. And then something sparked.
Some flickering synapse, buried deep within
Memory's soil, became unearthed,
Flirting to me of moments past,
Not unlike the past few moments;
And made me smirk a tragic sort of smile,
Soft stone-hearted at the fading days,
Times, memories.
Moments.
Nothings.
Glorious, forgettable nothings.
From The Lab
Elevating The Artform
To men of colors, word, and song,
Who stir the sense of life,
Drop those critiques, pick up your tools,
Create into the night.
The plight is hard to weed the weak,
With currents strong and deep,
For they who stand the undertow
Are built with concrete feet,
The times have changed, the themes have not,
But tell that to the Fates,
When things unique are all but dead,
Why bother to create?
Beware the many jealous fiends,
That work and sweat all day,
One can't expect to understand
The pains of driven ways;
One can't expect to see too clear
If their mind's eye is shut,
Where no amount of convincing
Can pry the thin lid up,
So, save your breath all wild cards,
Focus upon your craft,
Set sail for those uncharted lands
Not yet known to the map,
Ask yourself if it's worth the strain
To see the sights unseen,
Are coffin ties and six foot lies
For men who dared to dream?
To men of colors, word, and song,
Who stir the sense of life,
Drop those critiques, pick up your tools,
Create into the night.
The plight is hard to weed the weak,
With currents strong and deep,
For they who stand the undertow
Are built with concrete feet,
The times have changed, the themes have not,
But tell that to the Fates,
When things unique are all but dead,
Why bother to create?
Beware the many jealous fiends,
That work and sweat all day,
One can't expect to understand
The pains of driven ways;
One can't expect to see too clear
If their mind's eye is shut,
Where no amount of convincing
Can pry the thin lid up,
So, save your breath all wild cards,
Focus upon your craft,
Set sail for those uncharted lands
Not yet known to the map,
Ask yourself if it's worth the strain
To see the sights unseen,
Are coffin ties and six foot lies
For men who dared to dream?
5/19/09
From The Lab
"Curse The Images Of Dreams"
Curse the images of dreams,
Damn the vivid pseudo-show,
Flowing past the eyelids, streams
Locked ideas the brain has stowed.
Agony in little games,
Happiness in horrid gifts,
Madness lacking proper names,
Sends the soul through torrid fits.
Beast of burden fade away,
In the dying of the night,
Colors dull into the greys,
Vivid tones of black and white.
Let the contrast of life start,
Opposites that dance in tune,
Thus let sleep gap far apart,
Constant, as midnight to noon.
Curse the images of dreams,
Damn the vivid pseudo-show,
Flowing past the eyelids, streams
Locked ideas the brain has stowed.
Agony in little games,
Happiness in horrid gifts,
Madness lacking proper names,
Sends the soul through torrid fits.
Beast of burden fade away,
In the dying of the night,
Colors dull into the greys,
Vivid tones of black and white.
Let the contrast of life start,
Opposites that dance in tune,
Thus let sleep gap far apart,
Constant, as midnight to noon.
From The Lab
The Lovely Dusk
My lady, how do you entrance me so,
In your darkened dress of lavender-blue?
As if built for dreamers, thieves, and poets,
Whom inhabit the beauty of your gifts;
My demure queen, the honor which is mine,
Please accept a lowly writer's small tithe,
And understand it's the best I can do,
For being as intimate for this long,
Beneath the silvery moonlight and glow
Of the twinkling stars that you choose to shine,
Perfumed in the scent of midnight and romance,
With a natural calm that gently sings out,
In a nocturne of crickets, birds, and breeze,
My lady, this longing is true to heart.
My lady, how do you entrance me so,
In your darkened dress of lavender-blue?
As if built for dreamers, thieves, and poets,
Whom inhabit the beauty of your gifts;
My demure queen, the honor which is mine,
Please accept a lowly writer's small tithe,
And understand it's the best I can do,
For being as intimate for this long,
Beneath the silvery moonlight and glow
Of the twinkling stars that you choose to shine,
Perfumed in the scent of midnight and romance,
With a natural calm that gently sings out,
In a nocturne of crickets, birds, and breeze,
My lady, this longing is true to heart.
5/17/09
From The Lab
Inattentive
Oblivious, she plays her games
With the freedom of a child
At sea. Unashamed, staring
Directly at her watchmen,
Who stare from the corners of eyes,
As if daring them,
Tempting them to engage.
The breeze tosses her sandstone hair,
And the lilies tucked behind her ears
Flirt with escape, all the sweeter
For where they rest. Coveted;
Worshiped on bended knee.
And she knows it. Arms extended,
She dances on feet that never
Quite touch the ground; grasped
In the passionate embrace of invisible satyrs.
Loving the moment, enjoying the attention, and
Denying her suitors,
If only they gave her the chance to.
Oblivious, she plays her games
With the freedom of a child
At sea. Unashamed, staring
Directly at her watchmen,
Who stare from the corners of eyes,
As if daring them,
Tempting them to engage.
The breeze tosses her sandstone hair,
And the lilies tucked behind her ears
Flirt with escape, all the sweeter
For where they rest. Coveted;
Worshiped on bended knee.
And she knows it. Arms extended,
She dances on feet that never
Quite touch the ground; grasped
In the passionate embrace of invisible satyrs.
Loving the moment, enjoying the attention, and
Denying her suitors,
If only they gave her the chance to.
From The Lab
With These Rhymes
It seems to me that with these rhymes,
A fascination of the times,
A false reflection, slightly true,
Piercingly pure, a piece of you,
Hung there frozen within the tide,
Cresting again, in even strides,
All but alone, drifting away,
Endless floating towards today;
If rhyme could be, always, of this,
To comfort, entice, and exist,
To strike a quest, cause great unease,
(Trifles that bring some to their knees),
Then please allow poetic needs,
An ear, some bread, for our small deeds,
Then we shall push our job again,
Freeze thy blood and towards the end,
Once more direct the course of men
Through Destiny's last twist and bend.
It seems to me that with these rhymes,
A fascination of the times,
A false reflection, slightly true,
Piercingly pure, a piece of you,
Hung there frozen within the tide,
Cresting again, in even strides,
All but alone, drifting away,
Endless floating towards today;
If rhyme could be, always, of this,
To comfort, entice, and exist,
To strike a quest, cause great unease,
(Trifles that bring some to their knees),
Then please allow poetic needs,
An ear, some bread, for our small deeds,
Then we shall push our job again,
Freeze thy blood and towards the end,
Once more direct the course of men
Through Destiny's last twist and bend.
From The Lab
Man of Many Disciplines
Embedded deep behind the eyes,
In stagnant pools of talent, lies
A beaten drive to make the mark,
To reach a soul and touch the heart,
To tread the water to keep wise,
Creating an art pour l'art.
Through pencil marks upon the page,
Intrusions of the sketcher's raid,
Kidnaps the spirit of the thing,
With fragile lines which meekly sing
Of praises from a studied mage,
That magic that a drawing brings;
Infect the world with color bright,
In tones made duller from the light,
For what is real in canvas scenes
Could never fade the true world's dreams;
While paint can capture half the sight,
The other half's beyond it's means.
With letters carefully arranged
In words that shelter from the rains,
Protects the mind and projects thoughts,
And binding sentences that caught
Moments in time, when all's deranged;
Here lies the proof that he once fought.
Embedded deep behind the eyes,
In stagnant pools of talent, lies
A beaten drive to make the mark,
To reach a soul and touch the heart,
To tread the water to keep wise,
Creating an art pour l'art.
Through pencil marks upon the page,
Intrusions of the sketcher's raid,
Kidnaps the spirit of the thing,
With fragile lines which meekly sing
Of praises from a studied mage,
That magic that a drawing brings;
Infect the world with color bright,
In tones made duller from the light,
For what is real in canvas scenes
Could never fade the true world's dreams;
While paint can capture half the sight,
The other half's beyond it's means.
With letters carefully arranged
In words that shelter from the rains,
Protects the mind and projects thoughts,
And binding sentences that caught
Moments in time, when all's deranged;
Here lies the proof that he once fought.
Greetings, Weary Internet Traveller
Welcome to Afro Shamrock and its random thoughts for a random world. Expect this site to be a showcase for my various writings and other such nonsense. There's not much to say here so stay tuned and come back often.
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