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On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident

To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.

Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent

Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent

By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,
Yet politic; ignorant

Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content

Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,
For that rare, random descent.
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
Black Rook In Rainy Weather

On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident

To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.

Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent

Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent

By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,
Yet politic; ignorant

Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content

Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,
For that rare, random descent.

The Response*

Even while flashbulbs go out, every now and then, we all must gather our arms and legs in a heap of human kindling, to rap tap tap on the downstairs neighbors door- for a set of candles, perhaps a chance to go completely insane for one terse moment when the hyperbole of vowels *just don't matter
anymore.

And speaking of the sordid state of griseous gull-like creatures. Ravenous ravens gnawing outside the window of the kitchen table. How boring life can become, for at the moment, when we are not biting our nails, playing dress up, or playing doctor- all *******. Or maybe even burying our heads in the looks of rooks or with our noses brimming over with the tops of books.

The tea we have set in the study awaits us, as we all have to drink our tea some time.

Just don't leave the lights on baby. Who needs lamps at full lux at high noon any who? You, Mrs. Sylvia Plath Hughes? Maybe you ought to buy a book of stamps- at the nearest Hobby Lobby, pack a paper bag with an apple and a 'sammich', and list formally your complaints.

We can't all waste our time narrating other people's lives in the third person.
Alicia Moore Apr 2021
With the point of my arrow as sharp as my jaw,
my draw back and backtalk are equally as piercing.
David Ehrgott Oct 2014
a man needs a goat
every man deserves a woman
every man should have a woman
but a man needs a goat
if a man has a wife
he still needs a goat

a goat gets ya milk
a goat can getcha food
a goat can make a coat
and keep you warm
a man needs a coat
every man should have a goat
even if every man was married
every man would still need a goat
a man needs a goat

a man needs a goat
you can talk to a goat
and he will listen but
won't give you backtalk
a man needs a goat

if you're stuck on a mountain
a goat can find the way back
maybe
a man needs a goat

you don't have to feed a goat
a goat can feed itself
goats eat grass
if you own a goat
you won't have to buy a lawn mower
your goat will take care of that

goats do not climb trees
if you own a goat
you will never have to call the fire dept.
to tell them that
your goat is stuck up a tree
goats don't climb trees
so that will never happen

a goat can make milk
and with its milk
you can make
all kinds of cheeses
like goat cheese
and fresh mozzarella
there is nothing
like fresh goat cheese
and fresh goat cheeses
without a goat
you just can't make any goat cheese
nor
have any goat milk for your oats
a man needs a goat

you can't step on a goats back
you will break it
please use a ladder or
step-stool instead
do not step on a goats back

you can compare your goatee
to a goats beard
they grow'em too
a man needs a goat

goats make good company
you can talk to a goat and he will listen
but won't talk back
he's a good goat
a man needs a goat

a man needs a goat
a man needs a wife
but if a man has a wife
he's still gonna need a goat

a man needs a goat
Samir Jun 2012
because of an accident at the main intersection
because of several hazardous accidents before
my driving is impeccable
yet, I have a long history of fines and penalties

suffer...
with the decisions I made for other people
not for their happiness,
but for the life they wanted me to live
but a fool I am for listening to them

My deadbeat dad only told me one good piece of advice
and that was to never listen to anyone but yourself
too bad he was a ******* that I could never depend on

I destroyed my life... They destroyed it
but I can't blame them... for the time has passed
and I now live with the remains that haunt me daily
not them... but worse
I am to hear backtalk from them everyday
blaming me
everyone
blaming me for their manipulation
blaming me for having listened to them in the first place

mocking me with their actions, mocking me with their continual bad advice

BUT DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME TO STOP WALLOWING IN MY REGRET.
DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME TO STOP LIVING IN THE PAST
DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME TO STOP REGRETTING TODAY

because you don't know what my today is like because of your advice yesterday
you don't know... all of you... don't know.

a dream from my past
awoke to a missed call from my past
I guess I'm not alone in regretting today.

listen here, I'll make you a deal
the day I stop living in regret
is the day you stop living in denial.
Gabrielle F Oct 2010
Foolheartybeerdrinkingsunohfahgun.

“watch your mouth young man” reigning in those eyes
(as falsely blue and pristine as a pool
in the warm and syrup stain sticky sweet drudgery of the deep north end.  children wading through the spots hot like the inside of skin vanilla icecream creaming down their wrists in rivulets and popsicles the shape and color of a dream rocket dripping- tiny neon red and patriot blue clouds bloom beneath the surface of the urban pond

dripulet, dripulet, dripulet)

I can just tell your mother warned those lips with a quivering finger and a voice clipped and heavy teeth crunching around the easy threats tossed at you: your knees raw as if scrubbed with steel wool and the lingering bitterness of backtalk and your first ***** word lay soft and white like moss or foam on the back of your tongue...

I can tell you gripped handfuls of braid in your hands at the playground and confessed love your whole life using destruction as a vessel. you tore out of your mother and tore and tore through childhood gripping and clawing and pulling heart constricting small and fierce the whole time like a fist in your chest.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2022
LORD said, These have no master:
let them return every man to his house in peace.

From <https://biblehub.com/kjvs/1_kings/22.htm>

There came a time,
when none found peace,
on any channel there is war, and old tropes
from when aldous
huxley was running suggestions past ivy lee and freud's
nephew, new-thinking, yes, resonant, isn't it
eddy bernays, yes, the sizzle sell. And,
get to the yeses, all the promises
are yeses

lovely, lovely, lovely,
how easily we seem to live on TV, if it gets too gritty,
-oh fool me, once, hahaha
it has, it has gotten too, many grinding high friction,
on backsides warmed with old time religion,
-woodshed discussions were never discussed
nor was curiosity praised,
for asking if the grown ups knew what Miss Kitty's
girls did, down at the Long Branch, in Dodge City,
when it was wet,
and streets were muddy,
and had wooden side walks…. on the radio
Gunsmoke
Spurs into the saloon,
why sure, some fool's would.
But once.
You know, wanting to make the sound
of Marshall Dillon, coming through

old cobwebbed swing doors, as accurate as any
on black & white TV, the sound
of his spurs
on the boards,
made my grandma laugh.

We came exploring under the oath
of eternal hostility

and if need be, opposing force, prepositioned
in every way, upto 150,

and upto as well, if upto is not a valid preposition,
it is a position, I can conserve.
I take it all the time,
breathing upto and no more, no matter,
I can't explode, inhalation ceases
and I can't explode in rage,
by ceasing to exhale or ****.
-so
As to the power of oath it is seeming universal,
in the era of 5G unlimited plans, and shared
subscriptions,
publishers clearing house, trained sales force,
the biggest ever, at its height,
I was in that class, bright futures,
1962 Eighth graders in rural America sold more
magazine subscriptions than you may imagine,
as preparation for a future,
when sales is the only gig in town, and
nobody
is making any thing worth the pitch to patch the leaks,
it’s the same old story,
slowing down, settling for less, and saying that's enough,

but fully expecting too much on the backswing,
as we follow through, the amatuer guile, eh, act innocent

be one of miss kitty's girls, like on tv, but at Disneyland,
did they play the role, or
never know the whole, link to now from when,

the west was wild, big white men with guns,
came to tame it,
open many long branches… before Prohibition

Fifty more years, every body forget but AI, remembers,
Black Elk danced.

Backtalk to my professorial betters, ah
behave myself,
don't act like
ol' Johnny Apache, mockin' Annie Oakley wannabe
in Purple Santa Fe fringed leather jacket,
accented by rare Wuhan Pangolin
boots, belt, and saddle bag purse,
and a Caspel Twid straw hat, like Cher wore in People.

heh, hey Annie,
getcher gun, shoot me, I ain't good, I ain't dead,
or some such he said,
and he passed me his jug of Mogen David,
I took a pull,
just as no ****, a sheriffs deputy who had not
been shot, when he shoulda been,
in that Jamaica guy's song,
- Johnny's brother Jonah,  joined us in jail
- he was pretty bad shape, that night
- pukin' blood, and retchin'
the deputy at night was also oughta be dead, kinda man,
Johnny let me know later, that night in jail in 1970,
Cottonwood Arizona, I know,
I have told this story, too many times to make sense,

I also know Fred Douglas wrote his whole story
and published it, five times, as it rolled out….
over the years…
-thing reconnect, you gotta know the knots

so if I have the time and inclination,
and I happen to find a common sense, a mean measure,
- so much and no more,
- full of all thought about that and I agree

where all the rain that ever fell on me, at that time
once fell on someone you love, too, at the same time,
same rain,
some time, one time, I thought of that and thought of you,
because you read this line. And you thought so, too,
you said to yourself, life makes no sense,

if you feel you need to row your boat, or tote your weight,
this is an hour at the end of a happy life,

where cares were cast to mull over, wondering,
how did we get from then to now,
without being
normalized?
Mentally backtalking Victor Davis Hansen, as an old first earth day hippy, one year after Vietnam.
Gabriel Herrera May 2022
I wear my heart on my scarred and tethered sleeve
I rest my heart under my favorite shirt
The one I bought for a day out

That never panned out

I dangle my heart over a juxtaposition of what was once you and me

Clearly
I'm qualified to handle my issues
Alone

Behold all the moments I cried out for help and not one soul listened

I debated suicude
Along side my mothers guidance

I buried my heart under all those back & forth arguments
Steming from voids we shall not cement in truth

Her and I are better now
I dabble in silence towards backtalk and a slick tongue

Sometimes her volume still demands too much from my teetering patience

But ****** I love her

Like I loved them

Fragrance

A gift today
A scent long forgotten

A heart beat tranquilizer
That's what love foretold

When you lose someone
You wonder
What it'll take to reel them back in

To foresee a journey

Another one entails fashionable corruption

Mind boggling desecration

I lost to who
I lost two
I lost too many times

Only when you've lost everyone, you gain yourself

A carousel fairytale ride
Each roundabout
Noticing loss of smiling faces to each child
That's my life to this point summed up entirely

Each yearly roundabout

You're becoming farther out of my reach
I preach to the masses you become farther without the first "r" for me

I'm ready to wear my heart revamped and revealed
For everyone to caress and undress

Peeling away my surrender

I rest my heart on yours

Going at it alone
It's not unnessacary
     Just unwanted
Not ideal

— The End —