An Empty Ballad

The people of Israel ate wormwood of disappointment 
and drank spoiled vinegar for 
an ancient hour and twenty abysses, 
but out of the depths of cruddled chaos
rose their king;
he drove out the pagans
with no more than a shrug,
he stood alone as their glorious warrior,
he ate gravel and defecated marble,
he prophesied about one god and
spoke of olive-green pastures and
golden fields of plenty,
he hurled thunder with one fingertip 
and cleaved iron with one fist, 
he left salt and scalded ruin, 
he was the lasting vendor of hope,
he alone rectified one kingdom,
but, out of meager sin and greed
arose the mighty devil, 
who also spoke with eloquence
and elucidation and played the harp
so well he led and marched the people
out of Israel into the bewilderment 
of despotic centuries, 
all the way to hell.

- John Hardesty 

Ubermensch

The grandeur of overcoming self-doubt,
where slave morality of timid obedient sheep
jump from one fence to another then blindly
over the cliff of nothingness; 
impervious to the profound question mark 
where the lonely fool keeps his fruitful imagination 
drifting from the control hands of rationality 
from the absurdity of no return, for man's obsession 
to occupy an eternal residence keeps the bliss of 
ignorance from living his mendacious life to its
fullest for no regard or reward for redeeming
salvation, he's constantly tortured with Christian
guilt and indoctrinated with poisoned unholy water;
Why can't mankind live together without
prejudice, malice, or hatred for one another?
Mankind loves the conquest of killing another being
in the name of religion because of that impetuous
drive that gives him a symbol, an empty status of power
to become immortal while living. 

- John Hardesty 

Winged Glory(Haiku)

From rank to flanked-tail
and sharp golden pedigree
flies proud Pegasus. 

- John Hardesty 

Drift

The reflection of lost thoughts-
retrieved moments
progressively foments,
for what I sought,
was a glimpse I caught 
through a passing window, I bought
and the faded memory I fought
now lost in a pint of malt. 

- John Hardesty 

The Necrologist Read(From Trice Told Tales)

The newspaper read he died alone in a bed,
not a person or soul came to his dying console,
away they carried him to his grave now, only God can save,
his family came to bid him farewell and off to Hell,
for he was not a loving man nor did he make any demands,
for loving affections were deemed deflections,
he gave nothing to his loving wife or anyone that mattered in his life,
corruption and contempt nor his lies would ever be exempt
from his mottled past, only a blacken miscast,
aloof and disheveled, he loved money more than himself,
yes, the newspaper read, this old bastard's finally dead. 

- John Hardesty 

Seasons

Spring's far too short
Summer's quickly abort
Autumn's scattered assort 
Winter's deathly escort.

- John Hardesty 

Time Unraveled

An hour besieges the moment
for a sparing second becomes a day
lost within the decadence of yesteryear's way
compiles an enigmatic quotient.

One relative theory after another
compensates the dullard
with some prayer, he'll recover
alas, all supine hope shuddered.

Time began with universe's divine hand
bequeath the mortal clock
that holds every man with a tick-tock
held together by the frailest of strands.

- John Hardesty 

Ending Dream

Darken alleys, hidden doorways
shut out the truth, while
eternal lies cast upon the wind of
every man, I found refuge
in negligence, riddles I could not
decipher and dreams that would 
not leave me,
muddled paradoxes,
haunting conspiracies, 
bereaved indictments,
and hollow disappointments
where hope became despair,
faith a dying compromise
made in the womb of innocence 
whilst the sinner lives within
an arbitrary will of unforgiveness. 

- John Hardesty 

The Quiet Cemetery(Haiku)

The moss stained gravestone
silent exhumed reverence- 
un-monolithic. 

- John Hardesty 

Pneumatology(Haiku)

The soliloquy
between man and a mute ghost-
prayers often unheard. 

- John Hardesty  

All Shall Fall Away

When the trilogy of man's life falls away, so
does his legacy, his words, and his memories. 
He will no longer be what there is to be, no
longer to see what there is to be seen. He will
become an epic trilobite fossilized in stone for 
eternity unless he's pock-marked by academia
or scarred with shameful fame he will cease to  
exist in the modern era; infamy lies carelessly
within the history of words and books, epilogues
of decadence careen through the centuries like
silent prophets, within the heap of forgotten
lore of war, plague, and famine. Man is
immortalized through ink and pen, detested
through time's dagger as tragedy and pendulous
triumph master life only to become its victim
as his blessed children beget the same affliction.

- John Hardesty 

Bluest Despair

Idiolects, intellects, and derelicts
huddle behind the loneliness
in the grayest area between joy
and an epithet; one's pique
becomes an anchor chained in
solitude with an incurable 
melancholy;
disfiguring reason blots out
the yuletide and adding snow and
rain only compounds the 
vapid emptiness; the misanthropic
cheerless greetings symbolize 
the cruelty of Christmas whereas
many see cordial kneadings and 
intermingle revelations, for thee
old and forgotten are soon rotten
in memory, though the ones who
brought unforgiving grievance 
stay affixed to recollection like
thousands of dangling icicles. 

- John Hardesty 

Battles Fought

Carry on my soldier,
toward the mighty thunder, 
the antidoron of gunfire 
line the formations 
with nebulated smoke
and imminent fear, 
no time for impertinent protest,
for rigid bravery knots the stomach
of every soldier, for laden worry
taunts every hidden face,
the only comforter lies within a lucid dream
of returning home beyond the befall of a body bag 
and stark cross at Arlington's hills, 
quick and violent the exchanging fray,
bullets soon cut their marks, blood spills
like gutted sheep baaing for their last gasp, 
woe to thy claimant of sorrow that hangs upon the death wreath
and hail thy consternation that dwells upon the living families
who succumb to the casualties helplessly;
Lo ye war-hounds who daunt in cowardice 
your lives will burn eternal with pity and scorn,
for lifeless as a stagnant pool of blood may rest
your empty heads for all eternity;
God, please humbly accept these soldiers,
who are marked by the curse of Cain. 

- John Hardesty 

The Long Road Back

The morning started with an old Christmas song,
as I stared back into the looking glass of time, 
the wear of memories covered now with frost and fog,
though a song beckoned me back to this recollection,
the long glorious road to my childhood,
now, vacant as travelers to a cemetery,
though a reprise and a simple song captures
a momentary reminiscence of that very day,
yet, softening the dire pain becomes inconsolable;
why upon the Holidays? 
I ask again, why did you commit suicide on New Year's Eve? 
On December of that day, I walked away forever,
swore to me- myself the privilege to jettison all memories,
yet, the jetsam of ruth always returns to the shorelines of December,
and with it the pandora box of everlasting grief, 
I can't deflect the crushing blow of remembrance,
futility abides no laws, 
we only relinquish tears when the song, 
Auld Lang Syne ends another chapter of your absence. 

- John Hardesty 

Blossoms Of A Year

Heavenly lilacs spread their hearts 
In the gild of Spring,
Waiting for the sun
To warm their souls
From winter's provincial hold,
Biding their time to be bitten
By some honey bee;
Thy beauty prowls 
From each passing fence row,
Peerless in awe, matchless in splendor,
Thy revival radiance 
Ever fulfilling this sententious aesthete, 
And thine eyes of entrenchment 
That pluck and plunder 
Thy visage of exclusive pulchritude;
May your perennial glory
Warm each season 
With perpetual unguarded repose.

- John Hardesty 

Trader Joe

Joe was a barter or Jack-of-all-trades, 
though, ole Joe couldn't barter his mule
for a tall drink of water on a Saturday night;
So he thought, pondered, and schemed,
he loved that mule, so he pawned his 20 
year-old wife instead. 


- John Hardesty 

The Bible

Lexicon of words
chiseled in protolanguage 
narrates an epic. 

- John Hardesty 

The Lodgers

Loathing trespassers 
maliciously build their homes,
ode to all beavers. 


- John Hardesty 

Immortal Atoms

Atoms never sleep
darting in constant discord
like lost souls in Hell.


- John Hardesty 

Her Leering Fleer(Brevity)

When she's mad, that look could melt coal to blistering diamonds. 

- John Hardesty 

Murder of Crows

That one black ominous crow
paid an uninvited visit today
with his alphorn blaring along
with his treacherous cawing mob;
they've come for their reward,
to peck out my soul from this rancid life,
their leveled council, lined with corruption,
and defiled with mocking perjury,
brimming with malfeasance, I plea
my case, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM;
for I plead, the reason of insanity, 
as I watch the black plume of feathers
cloud the sky.

- John Hardesty 

Quirks

A teacher mopes alone with her students
as the classic marm invoking the limitations
of her basic knowledge.

The junkie or drug addict sits marooned with
a spoon, never accepting the imminent death of 
all who enter this doorway of sickness and suicide.

The policeman who appears as a godly saint comes
home only to batter and abuse his beautiful wife to
unconsciousness then accepts the Medal of Honor
in shame.

The minister who praises God by day and lauds Satan 
by night raping and sexually molesting innocent children,
all in the guise of monstrosity.

The Politician in humble pie expressionism comforts
the hurting and hopeless mass, promising change yet,
the only change is your money into his hands.

The artist paints his canvas in lavish colors and you see
the magnificent depth of a genius, but the artist's suffering
is shadowed and besmeared in blood.

- John Hardesty 

Der Tag An Dem Die Musik Starb

The Royal Saxon Library of Dresden held her manuscripts in contempt,
hollow halls of art hung in solemn silence, over thousands upon thousands
of endless volumes of law, music, and literature gathered dust over the 
gilded ages of Germany, procurators of knowledge hid away her spangled
vast and priceless atheneum away from prying arms and demagogues;
vacant undisturbed chairs, voiceless queries, and uncharted treasure maps
dappled the reference chambers with regalia, well-bred kings, well-paid
guardians and well-fed armies protected this impenetrable sanctuary, Alas,
came Fredrick the Great with his enlightened army who burnt to the ground
part of the library's wing, pages still reek of ember, yet, the eternal soul of 
this institution lives on, though the lecherous World War II ushered in with 
wrath, motions of emotional minds integrate an exodus of every manuscript,
codex and art to be strewn and divided among eighteen castles away from 
military bombardment; and over 250,000 books were stolen by the Russians
who conveniently lifted them without a checkout; Dresden survived, everything
but 200,000 endless volumes of music survived, and you can hear the bombing 
raids cascading down in Tomaso Giovanni Albinoni's Adiago in G Minor, the 
day the music died.

- John Hardesty 

Random Thoughts From Afar

You ever wonder if a squirrel is fearful of vertigo or heights? 
This stuff keeps me up at night! Oh, I’m asking for Rocky too!

Minutes To Memories - John Mellencamp

John Mellencamp What If I Came Knocking