historichawkeye
Hawkeye’s Poems
Hi I post my poems here, maybe some longer writings in the future
24 posts
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Waking up, I drive to my local coffee shop.
I ordered a coffee with a shot of espresso.
The shot was quick
And it struck a merchant in the chest.
The firing soldier ran past him.
After that, I drove to my workplace.
I bottle water at a factory.
The water is taken
By men in tan suits and with guns.
The merchant’s daughter dies of thirst.
Driving back, I head to the gas station.
I pumped my car full of gas.
The engine hums
As the plane emits a sharp cloud.
The daughter’s brother suffocates.
At home, I research the news of the day.
I search online for the truth.
The search is fruitful,
And they found their target.
Their scans found a mother, a wife, a hostile.
I lay in bed, soaked in blood that isn’t there.
Blood soaked in a shirt,
Blood ran dry,
Blood no longer pumping,
Blood flown sky high.
Am I at fault?
Yes. No.
Is there anything I can do?
No. Yes.
I have not been gifted with blindness.
I have the entire world at my fingers.
I have to know everything.
It’s no wonder blood lingers.
“I Killed a Family of Four Today” -Written January 27th, 2024
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There was an attack today,
But I sent no orders.
Their rhetoric I did use to parlay,
But I sent no soldiers.
Myself and allies berated his eyes,
But my, he was bolder.
Point at me till end of skies,
But I sent no soldier.
You see, this conflict is multilayered,
But I’ll keep my calm composure.
I’ll send all my thoughts and prayers,
But I sent no soldier.
Am I liable if I poison the lake?
And the populace no longer sober?
Of course, my advice they did take,
But I sent no soldier.
However, if you asked if they deserved
The gunman’s life foreclosure.
My rhetoric suddenly swerves
To there was bound to be a soldier.
“Thoughts and Slayers” -Written January 28th, 2024
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I develop myself.
Staring in the mirror eternity
I see wonderful marketing opportunities.
I see a visionary.
I challenge preconceived notions
Of what’s possible and what’s not.
I ignore all of the motions
Of those whose heads would rot.
I see an idol.
A golden ratio encompasses all
Of the inches of my body.
Everyone else’s visage is small,
Compared to me they’re shoddy.
I see an icon.
Someone whose success meets no end
But the swift snip at the string of life.
Someone who’ll be your digital friend
Through all your lowly strife.
I see a brand.
Nothing can be imperfect.
All must be correct.
I will fill all the boxes.
Check check check.
Summarize myself in a paragraph
And film my interests.
Invest invest invest.
My face splattered across the web isn’t mine.
It is an other.
One perfectly crafted for your pleasure.
A brand named you
Is simple and neat
And every you is perfectly complete
And they have problems oh yes it’s so
But their willingness to change is virtuously slow.
Put yourself on the market.
Let it wring you with its hand.
Take solace in knowing
You’re more and less perfect than man.
“A Brand Named You” -Written December 18th, 2023
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The night is never silent.
The ambient sounds fill my room,
giving me ample comfort
under the softly glowing moon.
But when the night is silent,
That’s when I start to fear.
Because if they’ve taken everything else,
They’re already here.
“The Night is Never Silent” -Written November 20th, 2023
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I turn adult tonight
The moment’s air is stale
All the same and right
My expectations pale
Shouldn’t this be exciting?
My leap into adulthood
Shouldn’t this be enticing?
To finally do what others could
Because adulthood is freedom
Adulthood is grand
Because childhood is then done
I am free to roam the land
Yet have my doubts, my questions, my qualms
I lay here in waiting in my bed
I feel no oncoming change, not even sweaty palms
Not even a moderate sense of dread
It is a day like any other
And like other days big and small
The problems pile and smother
Yet to not drown, I’m not all tall
Adulthood is lonely, adulthood is open
My stomach reluctantly forms a knot
I don’t want to plunge, I don’t want to go in
And prove me less mature than I thought
“I Turn Adult Tonight” -Written August 24th, 2023
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Through my machine eyes
The world isn’t clearer
It doesn’t hyper analyze what it spies
Nor does it bring my goals any nearer
A Mega Block amid Legos
A sour element within a pie
A mangled sense of logos
Nearly no common sense of why
“Through my Machine Eyes” -Written August 1st, 2023
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I sit on my porch and see a bright flower
It erupts in the sky before me
It’s petals brilliant and teeming
It’s stem a glowing tower
As the flower blooms and my eyes strain
I wonder if weeds welcome the sour rain
Or if rats enjoy their odd-tasting treat
Do the moths enjoy the light they long desired to meet?
The roots of the flower spread across the land
Enriching all it sees
Like a cheerful, welcoming, farewell band
The dangers of this wonder, I am deftly keen
I opened my arms for the flower
For now it’s all that mattered
And to me the roots irradiate and devour
My flesh and bones then scattered
“The Bright Flower” -Written July 22nd, 2023
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Seen as a poor dog
Scolded for being human
Hated for the cope
“Dehumanized” -Written July 12th, 2023
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Let’s write positive, something good, something strong
Something that’s empowering, a poem to write the wrongs!
But what’s there to write about?
Oh! I got it, a quick one, it won’t be an awful spout
An old dog lie sleeping basking in the desert sun
The faint sound of music he could hear, the cool breeze he could feel on his face
Oh how I envy the dog, he gets to have fun
Lie about, or go for a run
But the dog doesn’t do that anymore
He’s tired, he’s old, his joints have gone sore
And the dog reflects in his quiet rest
How was his life? Was it the best?
But looking back the dog didn’t do that
As far as his canine brain could recall, he didn’t do jack
He slept on the floor
Slept next to the door
He ate, he drank, he slept, but what was it all for?
The dog was in internal panic now, was it all for nought?
If he went and croaked the next day, would he be forgot?
He took solace when he recalled his owner, the old farmer that he knew
But when he kept remembering, his fear only grew
How did he treat the farmer? With arrogance and malice!
How could he have been so cruel, how he had been so callous?
Did he not appreciate the bowl of food he received every night?
The welcoming sheltering he got from the storms that filled him full of fright?
The old dog was not grateful, he was mean, stiff, unkind
Undeserving to be remembered, undeserving to unwind
But allow us to step out of the dog’s paws, if only for a moment or two
Let’s explore the farmer; what he knew
An old Farmer lie in his rocking chair at dusk
His clean unkempt appearance, to match his workmen’s musk
Oh how I envy the farmer, he worked for all his fame
For all his success and notability, he had only himself to blame
But times grew hard for the farmer, his joints have grown stiff
And the prospects of his farm, have veneered off a cliff
So the farmer reflects upon his hard earned life
He recalls his disloyal sons, his uncaring wife
What’s the point? The farmer’s mind went in a spin
I built this all up? Didn’t I win?
I bit the bullet and carried on
I raised my flag! I carried the baton!
The farmer was scrambling now, for anything that mattered
His life was a ruddy mess, nothing more than worthless tatters
He ran the race and got first place, but did it all backfire into his face?
He spent so much time improving his life that he didn’t get to live it until he and it fell into strife?
In his quest to win at life, what did he ignore?
When his child was born, he still worked like a boar!
And during those winters, when crops weren’t grown?
He stayed drinking, writing, all sad and alone
How did he treat the life he brought?
Isn’t this all what he sought?
Didn’t he appreciate the success of his sons?
Didn’t he appreciate what all he and his loved ones had done?
The farmer was not appreciative, he was blind, cold, and a buffoon
His life didn’t amount to anything, no more than a regular loon
But allow us to step away from the farmer
Not back to the dog, but something much warmer
And so we look at these two
Both never appreciating the life they knew or grew
The old weary dog rested at the foot of the chair
And the old diligent farmer laid back, with his wiley gray hairs
Both of them died that night, and most appropriate too
They both died next to someone they hardly got to knew.
Now wasn't that fun! No sad meanings implied!
No anger or resentment, and nobody died!
Well that last part’s a lie, but the rest is true
And with that last note, I must bid you, adieu.
“Something Positive” -Written April 8th, 2023
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Trapped in my own head,
I’ve been trapped, myself I have resigned
In my own torture, that I myself have designed
Oh look what I have lead
Eternally bored, eternally wanting something
I search for avenues of fun
Each and every one of them have been shut off, done
I’m sick of it! I’m sick of what this break brings
The confused and blind anger, the mind stings
An esoteric depression seeps into my mind
I lay on the floor paralyzed by dread
This accursed existence makes me feel worse off than dead
And the far-off marks of play just tightens the wind
And I hear the same fucking canned responses, I know you care
But why can’t anything be done, to wring me out of despair
You can’t do shit and I can’t fault you for that
And me berating you for such makes me an entitled twat
Maybe I should do something, do something rash
I need something to fuck up, a thing to bash
My anger and rage are indescribable to you and unfeelable to I
And I can’t blame you for jack shit, so why? WHY
I grimace at the thought of another day
Another day of worthless play
Another day, slaving away
I’m doing something fucking pointless, it’ll end anyway
How is someone like me supposed to care a whole awful lot
When anything I could do won’t help, it will not
So I sit here chained to my own crafted rock
I’m shackled with responsibility, shackled with locks
Thinking and writing this all fills me with dread
It makes me feel like I’m worse off than dead
And it makes me realize I’m
Trapped in my own head.
“Trapped in My Own Head” -Written April 8th, 2023
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Do it for the kids!
They cry from the house
Do it for the kids!
Save them from the louse!
They go out marching two by two, pearls clutched in hand
They sing out their rallying cry, that glorious, world saving band.
Do it for the kids!
They say, sentencing innocent criminals to death
Do it for the kids!
They spew forth from their mighty self-righteous breath
We call out to the tired to the hopeless, the insane
We must stop this together , this is inane!
Do it for the kids!
As the crazies join the crew
Do it for the kids!
As their ambitions grew and grew
Think of the children they say
Think of the children, they pray
God will help those who have lost their way
God will guide us through our endeavors today
Because when something gives you a whole awful fright
Don’t critically think nor stare at the blight
Just say think of the children.
And it’ll be alright.
“Do it for the Kids” Written April 20th, 2023
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I think about this poem every day. My heart goes out to the victims of the Mass Shootings of the past, present, (and unfortunately) future. These are victims not only of the end of a gun, but also victims of a system that allows horrid events like this to occur. Victims of politicians who won’t listen to the facts, and will gladly turn a blind eye and present in open hand for cash from the NRA. This is Not Normal.
People want to revoke women’s rights.
This is not normal.
The CEO of four companies posts outdated memes on Twitter.
This is not normal.
No matter how much they do it, no matter how much they obscure it.
This is not normal.
Politicians openly call for political violence.
This is not normal.
Corporations demand union silence.
This is not normal.
They try to bring us back to the “good old days”
This is not normal.
They try to silence, dehumanize, and criminalize the gays.
This is not normal.
Try as I may, try as I might, I will cry and fight for what’s right
That this is not normal.
The former president tried to overthrow the nation
This is not normal.
Whether or not this was bad, called for deliberation.
This is not normal.
A member of the government called for a war on workers
This is not normal
They say immigrants “steal” our jobs that corporations move across borders.
This is not normal.
Not an observation, nor a lie
But as people radicalize and children die
Remind yourself that this is not normal
A statement of intent it would be
To make sure that people see
No matter what you do
No matter whatever you put us through
Evil will never be normal.
“This is Not Normal” -Written June 15th, 2022
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I stare back through time
I look through opalescent glass
I see my happy life
Happy in the past
Unfettered by responsibility
Untouched by pain or time
It might not have drawn much attention then
But now it has mine
If only you knew what would happen next
If only you knew how short it lasted
You didn’t live it the moment
Didn’t enjoy it while you passed it
But staring back through time
It isn’t all sorrow and pining
Between the longing and the pain
Lies a silver lining
Laugh at it, Find joy in what was
Don’t mind yourself with time itself
It never will be that way again
But don’t leave it neglected on a shelf
You can weep and sorrow for a spector long gone
You can sob, feel weak, and feel like it’s gone wrong
But for yourself, young and now, for those still here and for those no longer
You won’t dwell for very long.
And you will keep getting stronger.
“Staring Back Through Time” Written March 29, 2023
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“Your Life is Over”
She said to me
Words that paved over me like a bulldozer
That’s overdramatic
Sent me into pain in a static
Shock. Dropped my heart into a pit
You didn’t mean it, I know
You didn’t think much of it, it shows
But when an ax chops down a tree, does the tool remember their blow?
Or is it the tree, fallen and dying
That lost their lively glow?
It was a mistake I say
It was the burden, washed away
From my mind, led astray
Words cannot describe it
The deep pit
I’ve lost my wit
So why don’t you just spit in my eye
I’m done for, I’ll die
It’s what is best to do
I can’t see things through
Oh boo-hoo
The little man crying by himself
No one to connect to
All alone on the top shelf
Pathetic worthless self hating asshole
Crock of shit he spews just as full
As brain in his head
The ego he spreads
The trail of destruction he’ll lead till dead
And there he lies, rambling in vain
His writings leave to history, an incomprehensible stain
Will he jump out the door?
What will he reach for?
Maybe he yearns to rest, with all the clovers
Just kidding, me, “Your Life is Over”
“Your Life is Over” -Written March 21, 2023
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A statue of ice, clasped in my hands
It’s cool smooth surface feels like a freezing burn on my palm
What it once depicted, unimportant, but it now is indeterminate
The ice melts in my hands
I hold it tight, but it whittles away faster
I place it in the freezer, it stands still in melt
But if I take it out once more, the wasting away is still felt
I’d like to think I haven’t held an ice statue in my hands
What a terrible predicament to possess
But I’ve likely held one nonetheless
Well some statues waste away and I don’t care at all, and some shrink irregardless of what I wish or call
Is Preserving an Ice Statue fickle?
Since in any open use it fades away?
Or is the wonder and depiction when it was pristine all that mattered in the end?
“An Ice Statue” -Written January 5th, 2023
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