"boomed" poems
You bring me good news from the clinic,
Whipping off your silk scarf, exhibiting the tight white
Mummy-cloths, smiling: I'm all right.
When I was nine, a lime-green anesthetist
Fed me banana-gas through a frog mask. The nauseous vault
Boomed with bad dreams and the Jovian voices of surgeons.
Then mother swam up, holding a tin basin.
O I was sick.
They've changed all that. Traveling
**** as Cleopatra in my well-boiled hospital shift,
Fizzy with sedatives and unusually humorous,
I roll to an anteroom where a kind man
Fists my fingers for me. He makes me feel something precious
Is leaking from the finger-vents. At the count of two,
Darkness wipes me out like chalk on a blackboard. . .
I don't know a thing.
For five days I lie in secret,
Tapped like a cask, the years draining into my pillow.
Even my best friend thinks I'm in the country.
Skin doesn't have roots, it peels away easy as paper.
When I grin, the stitches tauten. I grow backward. I'm twenty,
Broody and in long skirts on my first husband's sofa, my fingers
Buried in the lambswool of the dead poodle;
I hadn't a cat yet.
Now she's done for, the dewlapped lady
I watched settle, line by line, in my mirror—
Old sock-face, sagged on a darning egg.
They've trapped her in some laboratory jar.
Let her die there, or wither incessantly for the next fifty years,
Nodding and rocking and ********* her thin hair.
Mother to myself, I wake swaddled in gauze,
Pink and smooth as a baby.
5.2k
Terrifying,
And standing upon the precipice.
Young hopefuls,
Staring into the faces of—
The things that boomed long ago.
The gunshots ring,
Like a terrifying drum beat.
Boom.
Life passes in flashes,
Yesterday long gone.
And tomorrow-
Already has its mind made up.
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 2:36 PM UTC
He watched as she fell
He watched as he did what he had to
He watched as she hit the ground
He listened
There was no sound
He watched as their world split
He cringed at the spectacle
Unfolding before his eyes
He listened
There were no cries
He felt the shockwave
As her reality exploded
He marveled at the colors the wound
He listened
And then it boomed
Violent
Force
Wreckage
Shrapnel
Fallout
Screams
Weeping
Unrestrained
Anguish
Betrayal
Hatred
But hold on child
This is not the end
This is just a pothole
On the Warpath of Love
So look to the Bittersweet Bystander
His hand extended now
Take the help he offers
You need it to continue
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
While sitting here one sunny day
my favourite music started to play
It started soft and grew in sound
when the ***** boomed around
Emotions running high and low
while the sound of music ran its show
The sound of brass echoes through
with string quartet making things anew
The concert hall is filled with tone
chilling you right to the bone
the audience goes wild at the end of the show
and maestro conductor takes his bow
for the encore there's the sound of Bach
the audience leaves for now it is dark!
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
Twas the last day of school
before a long winter break
Not a student was learning,
they were all munching on cake
The children had tidied,
supplies all snug in their places
With candy cane smiles
lighting up their sweet faces
The artwork was stowed
in their backpacks with care
In the hope that they'd bring
holiday cheer home to share
When outside the portable
there arose such a clatter
Ms. G sprang from the party
to see what was the matter
The class followed her out,
filling up the whole porch
And right out in front of them,
near as a bright as a torch
Rudolph, nose blazing red
through the dark Vancouver rain,
Behind him the reindeer
pulling Santa’s sleigh like a train
Santa jumped out spritely,
red hat bouncing with glee
He waved at the group and
boomed out, "Hello there Ms. G,"
“And Division 14,
all of you good girls and boys.
We’re rehearsing our run
to practice delivering toys”
The reindeer pranced all round,
putting on a fine show
Santa offered his hand and said,
“Come on Ms. G, let’s go,”
“We’ll drop you in Mexico
before we head back,”
Ms. G happily agreed, asking
“do you have time for a snack?”
The class joyfully welcomed
the jolly crew to the party
They delighted in the games
and the food, eating hearty
Too soon it was time
for the guests of honour to go
Santa sprang to his sleigh and
exclaimed, ** ** **
"Now, Rudoph and Dasher!
Dancer, Prancer and *****
Now, Comet! on, Cupid!
On, Donner on Blitzen!
“To the top of the portable
then over the school
To Mexico we go,
to Ms. G’s holiday by the pool.”
And off the sleigh flew
with Ms. G safely strapped in,
Her pink toque a-bobbing,
her face all a-grin
They heard him exclaim,
ere he drove out of sight—
"Happy Holidays to all,
and to all a good night!"
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 2:37 PM UTC
The road was all mud
she slipped with the drizzle
and you couldn't tell
the color she wore
but her big awed eyes
colored the land in all colors
making her lose breath
gazing at every little thing
till over the noise of lightning
boomed her father's voice
be fast girl before the rain is harder
when she would run for his hand
and slip again and again
counting fun at every fall
her eyes a glowing island
from the mud scarred face.
Once in the market
the man gave her a good wash
little knowing she was drenched
with all the dreams
eyes could ever see.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
This is the Fisherman's tale
With a rod in hand and live bait in a pale,
Of a day spent out on the beach
And fish just a cast out of reach.
The day started as any fisherman would
Before the sun was up, when the fishing was good.
He hopped on his bike and road the old trail
Till he could smell the tides from the ocean gale.
Today was the day, he could feel it in his bones
He would bring food to his loved ones at home
This was his day, he was so sure,
With a brand new rod and a homemade lure.
Cast after cast, hour by hour
Time moved by until he started to sour
All that time and not a single bite;
Now clouds rolled in, black as night.
The wind started whipping the sand all around
Still the old fisherman stood his ground
The storm was coming, in just a matter of time
"I can't leave" he thought, "until that fish is mine."
As the thunder boomed and lightning crashed,
He decided to give just one more cast
As the rain came down, soaking him through
This was the one, he swore it was true.
Waiting there patiently, slowly he'd reel
Even if his legs he could no longer feel.
When all of a sudden with a great flash
he was able to tell that this was the cast.
The line went tight as he threw back the rod
He was hooking this fish, he thought with a nod.
The battle that followed was one terrible fight
Fish verses man all through the night.
And as the sunlight rose, marking the dawn,
The fisherman still fought as the battle raged on.
He wouldn't give up, he wouldn't let it go
The fish was his, and he would soon let it know.
The fish neared the shore jumping clear through the sky
Only to get robbed off the hook by a seal passing by.
The fisherman stood there, staring in awe
"The seal stole my fish!" He thought dropping his jaw.
"The fish it was huge, six feet at least," he would say
"I fought it all day and night till that beast took it away"
Yet no one believed him, they just called him a goof
And scoffed, "how convenient it is, that you don't have any proof."
Still this is The Fisherman's story
After fishing all day and night on the beach
One filled with unseen glories
How he was one cast away from the catch of the week.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
We were just laying there
her in front of me
my arms wrapped around, holding her tight.
It was one of those modern cushy porch swings
as comfortable as a couch.
Kissing behind her ear
that one special spot
it got her worked up real fast
she grabbed my hand and slipped it down
beyond the elastic waistband of her pajama pants.
It was so cold outside
felt like she was steamin' on the inside.
She reached around and unzipped my pants
taking it out and rubbing it against her ***
the moon giant sized, yellow, and rare
above us
as I slipped it in from behind
still laying down, her in front of me.
It was such a relief
after months of no lovin'
on account of her Christian pre-marital *** guilt.
With each ******
the swing moved more and more
just swingin'
rockin & rollin with the *** beat
we had goin.
That's when we both heard the front door of her house
slam shut.
It was her mother.
From the backyard we could see the entire house
through the numerous windows.
Her mom was a real miserable *****
from China.
She hated my guts
hated everyone
especially herself, it seemed.
She was headed straight to the backdoor
we were frozen stiff
too terrified to move
my **** just sitting inside of her
our pants around our ankles
hidden beneath the blanket draped over us.
Her mom set down her bag and was coming right for us
we were caught.
And my pecker was about to get cut off
with a Chinese sword.
Then
not two feet from the backdoor
she was about to bust us
when my girlfriend's little sister
grabbed her mother's hand
and pulled her
led her back to the other side of the house.
We scrambled to pull our pants up
pulled the blanket back over ourselves
and sat upright.
I pulled her close to me
and gave her a soft kiss,
whispering
"Holy **** That was close, huh?"
"Yeah too ******* close. Oh my God. She would've killed you Danny..."
And she kissed me again
both of us cracking up and laughing in mid-kiss.
I put my arm around her and breathed a sigh of relief.
Her mother's voice boomed into the backyard
as the door swung open, hitting the wall
"HEY! GET YOUR ARM OFF OF HER!"
Whatever you say lady.
Whatever you say.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 12:11 PM UTC
They stood across the battlefield
Facing against each other these days
When the guns silenced they'd meet
One wore blue and one wore gray
The two men shared coffee and smokes
Talked about family and life as soldiers
Laughing at some crude little jokes
And what they'd do when the war was over
Every conversation ended the same way
They'd look at each other and say
'I'll see you in hell Johnny Reb'
'I'll see you in hell Billy Yank'
They both knew that someday soon
Their paths may cross through the haze
And see each other across the way
Through that ****** and deadly space
So far luck has been their lady
Seemed like the war will last an eternity
Both longed for home and their family
Born brothers but now they're enemies
They both remembered it the same way
They'd look at each other and say
'I'll see you in hell Johnny Reb'
'I'll see you in hell Billy Yank'
Every battle could be a very tough time
Back home for their dear mother
She always just asked herself why?
What if her only children killed each other?
She was all alone in bluegrass Kentucky
Shielded herself from the news of war
Always praying for them to be lucky
Her poor heart just couldn't take it anymore
Her final words were written in ink
As she mumbled the words to say
'I'll see you in heaven Johnny Reb'
'I'll see you in heaven Billy Yank'
Cannons boomed from a nearby hill
Bullets whistled like hornets overhead
The ground was red from blood that spilled
One can't walk without stepping on the dead
The smoke cleared as the sun fell away
Two wounded men lay beside each other
One wore blue and one wore gray
Morality wounded they held one another
The brothers struggled for a final breath
They looked at each other to say
'I'll see you at home Johnny Reb'
'I'll see you at home Billy Yank'
© 2020 Michael Messinger(All rights reserved)
Jan 15, 2020
Jan 15, 2020 at 9:22 PM UTC
Upon a mountain in some older days
there lived an aging dragon
He lived in a cave so near yet so far
that if could not be reached by wagon.
Now, the dragon guarded something so special
it was not yet known to you or me
So many before tried to find it
and none had succeeded, but that didn't
stop ol' Mack McGhee.
Ol' Mack was no thing of beauty
but he was strong in his middle age
He had a personality so greedy and cocky
that he really had no personal gauge.
He wanted what the dragon hid
though what it was, he did not know
So one fine day he set out on a journey
no preparations--he just wanted to go.
Well the first day was fine and so was the next
but on the third, he began to tire
So ol' Mack sat down in the dust and heat
and he made himself a fire.
He soon fell asleep under a sea of stars
seeing as the following day, he had to walk more
He'd get to the dragon, he knew he would
even though the walk was becoming a bore.
The next day he awoke to the blazing sun
burning his ugly face
So he arose and began to walk,
looking for a shaded place.
Ol' Mack pressed through the desert
and soon he came to the mountain
There was shade, it was an oasis
there was even water bubbling in a natural fountain.
He wondered if this was it,
"Is this what the dragon is hiding?
If this is it, it was far too easy.
My time I was certainly biding."
He decided it wasn't enough,
he'd have to climb to the top to find
the treasure that the dragon was hoarding
the very thing he couldn't keep from his mind.
So he climbed and he climbed for hours
and finally he reached the cave
"Oh, good," he thought, "I can finally rest.
I feel like I've been climbing for days."
"WHO GOES THERE?" boomed the dragon
"It is I," answered Mack, "I've come to get your treasure!"
"The thing that I guard is behind that rock," said the dragon,
"I'm not sure it's treasure by your measure."
"I'm sure it is," said Mack
and he ran behind the rock
What there he saw was so simple and plain
that it came as quite a shock.
Behind the rock on the wall of the cave
was the phrase "Be impeccable with your word."
"That's it?!" exclaimed Mack, "there has to be more.
I came all the way just for that? This is absurd."
"That it may be," said the dragon, old and wise
*"but it's a phrase to be held true by sinners.
And now, because you are one of them,
I must eat you for dinner."*
And he did.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
the great hedonist
i tore rabbit fur for my coat
from the fleeing children
of widowed hare
i drained the grapes of every vinyard
juniper berry kiss
i found nothing but bliss
i cackled in excess
bleeding from glass addled feet
with strange women
like ghosts
who shared my bed
i smoked the stars and ate the sun
until Zeus
the beast himself
shot lightning into my heart
his voice boomed judgment
and as i rose
the petals fell from my shoulders
my teeth stained with wine
i stared him straight in the eyes
he boomed again
"why do you mock me?"
i could only smile
i fell from my clothes
and pulled a spear from mother earth herself
i charged him
the great Zeus
was nothing
against the endless pit
of my desire.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
You and I have always shared a love of thunderstorms
but there was one that put all other storms to shame.
A group of us were walking back toward campus.
We hadn’t even seen the first drops of rain.
Then you threw your hands in the air
challenged god to strike you down.
suddenly thunder boomed
and lightening flashed all around.
Everyone else was scared
but you and I could feel
the energy in the air
and we knew that it was real.
We stood atop that hill
as the sky grew dark overhead
and watched as a violet bolt
ignited flames of red.
And that ring of coal black clouds
looked like the apocalypse.
Our friends all ran off
but we just stood transfixed
by the blinding contrast of
those brilliant flashing lights
as they threw waves of gold
across that ruthless sky.
At last we managed to break the hold
that storm had over our minds
still as we ran we watched behind us
wanting to see all it’s destruction unwind.
We joined our friends in what seemed like safety
the car we thought would take us home
but then it stopped and sat there frozen.
We felt exposed and all alone.
We waited for what seemed like eternity
as the storm raged on outside.
When help finally came to get us
we all thought they’d saved our lives.
It felt like a near death experience.
Looking back now I know it was not.
Still when I think of that night I remember
how excited we were by the thought.
We were trapped in a tiny metal car
on a flimsy metal rail
in the middle of a lightening storm
and we lived to tell the tale.
Feb 3, 2010
Feb 3, 2010 at 5:43 AM UTC
He awoke at four that morning with the sunrise.
"Time to go, babe, get ready," he said with a smile,
Thinking I had been asleep, unaware
I lied awake all night, waiting anxiously.
I wondered if he thought it rather strange,
His little girl wanted to deep-sea fish.
He hand-made ham sandwiches with cheddar cheese--
(Because he knows that cheddar is my favorite)--
And then forced me to take some dramamine.
"It keeps you from puking your lunch," he teased.
I didn't fuss at him for giving me the **** pills.
I was ready to catch my first Atlantic shark.
Florida's early mornings aren't that warm,
So he gave me his old jean jacket as we drove south.
The dock was full of average sailor types--
Our captain's name was Anderson, I think.
Anderson looked just like his boat too,
Weathered by the wicked waves of the ocean.
The boat would swerve and I would sway so awkwardly,
Unbalanced like a newborn giraffe.
Dad gripped my shaking shoulders and whooped,
"This one's gonna be a beauty, you can mark my words!"
I snatched, tugged, and reeled violently--!
The beast finally surfaced with the tiniest plash.
She wiggled on the hook, to my mild astonishment,
Slippery, slime-covered, and small in size.
"It's a white snapper!" Anderson boomed.
She was sixteen inches and diamond white,
Glistening in the sun like the greatest treasure.
Dad patted me on the back, chest swollen with pride.
Catching Atlantic sharks didn't matter now.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 9:15 AM UTC
by Roger Turner on Thursday, 5 July 2012 at 19:43 ·
In the year of our lord
Sixteen Hundred Fifty Four
There were no papers
delivered to our door
No radio, no TV
Media was rather slim
If you couldn't read or write
then your world was rather dim
One person brought the info
To the masses as he could
For he read out proclomations
Told the people, as he should
"Hear Ye, Hear Ye" he would yell
"Come gather, hear me speak"
"I have the words you need to hear"
"It's been a busy week"
The Crier came and took his stance
The crowd had come to hear
Their attention captured by his voice
And his bell rung oh so clear
"Oyez, Oyez praise the Lord
Today in the Town Square
An exhibition of archers skills
Take heed, now all be there"
"The King proclaims this Saturday"
"To be a day of feast for all"
"Prepare for this year's carnival"
"I am sure you'll have a ball"
The Crier held the crowd at hand
Dressed in the finest coat of silk
Green he was, from head to toe
With a belt as white as milk
For forty years he'd held this post
His father did before
He'd relay all the news there was
And all that had come before
His voice boomed out the words
That the people had to know
He was half a wealth of info
The other half was show
Until the mass production
Of papers and of books
This man was instrumental
In conveying what folks took
To be the truth not fiction
To stop rumours as they spread
To share important messages
From the peoples Royal head
Without the mighty Crier
People would not know just how
Their world around was changing
I think we all owe him a bow
500 years have passed since
The Town Crier is still here
And to most he's as important
As he was back in that year
They still make their proclomations
Still come forth and hold the crowd
Still yell out "Hear Ye, Hear Ye"
Still yell it mighty loud
Behold the Mighty Crier
Give him the praise that he has earned
For without those before him
Many people would not have learned
I dedicate this small verse
To a Crier for us all
He's the Town Crier For London
"I present to you Bill Paul"
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 7:51 PM UTC
Burly bleak plumes roll out aloft corn
Where the dragon fell post spin and ditch
A wretched hulk of ruin splintered and worn
Amongst endless blanch green fields which
Arc with a gust and apart where he treads,
Dragging his silk cape afar from flame
Clueless and concussed to a near house he heads
With a tattered scarf that constricts yet ***** about his mane
Black fists of cloud had boomed around him as they soared
His beast spat metal fire whilst the pale sky turned dull
The zipping ballet of warfare smiled throughout as motors roared
Gnashing its teeth and making forgotten martyrs of them all
Shuddering not from demise rather conflict as a whole
He is as content with death as he is to survive
Just not burn the world and condemn his soul
A horror; men of rule seem keen to keep alive
An agrarian self-dines rancorous and crocked
Half sat, improperly perched from where he was shot
Monsters had come for him once before this day
They took his spouse and his daughter and then took them away
He can hear but does not hark to the battle aloft
It is now like the rain and the trees in a gust
But to the boom and the shake he stands with a cough
And as he cites the invader he sees he must do what he must
The grower limps out with a Chassepot in his arms
As the airman’s hands reach up and he falls to his knees
With beads on his brow the man pleads with met palms
The crofter sees naught but a Prussian blue monster disease
The pilot knows his death, ‘Ich bin nicht sicher, wo ich will gehen?”
The old Frenchman just sniggers as he thinks never again
With the rifle’s slug now spent and the horror sent back to his hell
The farmer mumbles to himself, ‘je dois me chercher une pelle,”
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
"But, sir," I said, "they tell me the man is like to die!" The Canon shook his head indulgently. "Young blood, Cousin," he boomed. "Young blood! Youth will be served!"
-- D'Hermonville's Fabliaux.
He woke up with a sick taste in his mouth
And lay there heavily, while dancing motes
Whirled through his brain in endless, rippling streams,
And a grey mist weighed down upon his eyes
So that they could not open fully. Yet
After some time his blurred mind stumbled back
To its last ragged memory -- a room;
Air foul with wine; a shouting, reeling crowd
Of friends who dragged him, dazed and blind with drink
Out to the street; a crazy rout of cabs;
The steady mutter of his neighbor's voice,
Mumbling out dull obscenity by rote;
And then . . . well, they had brought him home it seemed,
Since he awoke in bed -- oh, **** the business!
He had not wanted it -- the silly jokes,
"One last, great night of freedom ere you're married!"
"You'll get no fun then!" "H-ssh, don't tell that story!
He'll have a wife soon!" -- God! the sitting down
To drink till you were sodden! . . .
Like great light
She came into his thoughts. That was the worst.
To wallow in the mud like this because
His friends were fools. . . . He was not fit to touch,
To see, oh far, far off, that silver place
Where God stood manifest to man in her. . . .
Fouling himself. . . . One thing he brought to her,
At least. He had been clean; had taken it
A kind of point of honor from the first . . .
Others might do it . . . but he didn't care
For those things. . . .
Suddenly his vision cleared.
And something seemed to grow within his mind. . . .
Something was wrong -- the color of the wall --
The queer shape of the bedposts -- everything
Was changed, somehow . . . his room. Was this his room?
. . . He turned his head -- and saw beside him there
The sagging body's slope, the paint-smeared face,
And the loose, open mouth, lax and awry,
The ******* the bleached and brittle hair . . . these things.
. . . As if all Hell were crushed to one bright line
Of lightning for a moment. Then he sank,
Prone beneath an intolerable weight.
And bitter loathing crept up all his limbs.
1.7k
Nestled
in a gyroscope
of allotment, haybail and heath
is the scenery of
my solemn country.
The skyrise, hollows. the
dripping
fat of the land.
The cities have boomed
and they're beautiful.
Like open roses they're
garlands of wire,
pylons and street-lights.
A thorny crown
on a girl in a nightclub. They're
blistering
they drink, kiss and drink.
And all the while
we live with whispers
splashed like
blood in a gutter.
As murmurs
pumped
through the strip-lit veins
of an office block.
Its a life where
prayers
are mist on train windows.
When we walk
we check our
reflection in car windows
and we're beautiful
we run
our hands
through our hair
knowing
we were babies born with
horns for this.
When we ride
its over
railroad boneyards,
the sleepers are
metal teeth locked in
asymmetrical laughter
at everything
at everyone
at nothing.
The skies are a
psychosis of sunlight, clouds,
vapour trails,
it's heaven
and
we're bent at the alter,
our shadow on
the crypt
has horns.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC
She hardly was an early riser.
Life at home for her was hell.
Violent voices
and mean threats.
She wrote this on a sunny start of the week, monday.
The sun seemed to have been greatly amused at her wrinkled face.
Recently, she discovered she would release a ****
whenever anxiety or nervousness hit her like a dart.
Her daily life began by 4:30am.
There she was in comfort on her irregular bed,
till a sharp light hit her face
and a thunderous voice boomed her ear drums,
His foot steps made so much sound than his voice.
It was her father.
It wasnt his voice that struck her,
or was it the sight of a whip that he wielded so callously.
It was the angry look he always beared on his face.
It was almost as if he was angry with God for waking him up everyday.
Mixed feelings of fright and fuzziness gripped her
she hastily greeted
He didnt respond.
Her sister stood behind her bed
whimpering in fear.
Only then did she discover who the whip was meant to trash at that moment.
The night before
was a nightmare she have seen before.
Her ingredients failed her,
her attention
and her organization
towards the food preparation.
Her Mom hated excuses
Her Dad hated losses and bad soups.
Her promises flew away
Phone accessories became her get-away.
It wasnt the intensity of the funny smell,
or the intense awareness of the pepper and salt,
but it was the searing look her mum had.
Her mom must have mentally shredded her like cabbage, she thought.
Her mom wondered why arguements stuck in her tongue like a tatoo.
Most times she resented her awkward behaviour,
She saw life has an eazy game.
She thought mistakes were a part of our imperfection as human beings and hence should be constantly made.
She didnt understand why God placed her in that family.
Her mom would constantly remind her of the future
She could hear her voice in her sleep
Her mom would speak with her eyes
when her anger has reached a certain height.
Hereditry
played a role
in her usual condescesion.
The environment
played a role
in her usual sadistic talk and thinking.
Yin and Yang,
Cold and Hot,
the order of seasons
Either you can change
or you can not.
Such is the nature of Monica.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
An elk ran through the open field of snow,
She tired of lending time to shade
And yearned for the heat of a seductive glistening clearing,
To glide above the sparkling diamond sheets,
To cut through the crisp winter air.
Her cautions lingered in shade,
Too quiet for deserving notice,
As no mountain lion or wolf could take down this great best
Regardless, all the forested animals, large and small, watched this elk
Defy whatever instincts or rules nature upheld against the open.
As the elk reached full pace,
Her strides were so long but one thing stopped her
From taking flight was the powdered ground below,
She defied the familiar surface mid-step and began to climb,
But the sky and valley boomed with revolt,
Echoing thunder without lightning,
And the great elk collapsed to the cold snow below
With a ****** hole in her tender side,
Coated in specks of stinging white crystals.
In the elk’s last moments,
She noticed 3 men appear from the trees
Behind her foggy breath,
Boomsticks slung over their shoulders,
But without hate or anger or malice for the hunting men of sport,
The elk died, comfortable that air,
Floating above all she knew, embraced her.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
It was 5:30 pm yesterday when i was in the busy station it was so crowded , as soon the train stopped people flowed like a water spouting out from a shuttered dam doors...
When all people were getting down with multiple reactions in there faces...there came a voice a loud. calling "Mom where are you"..
with a hope that his mom will be beside him ...he was calling her...within a minute mom came and holded his hands..
one of his leg and hand was paralysed....had a squint ...smiling at every one he saw....not Knowing about his future....walked away happily waving his hand.
I was sitting in an end of wooden chair at station, observing all scenes......tears flowed in my eyes..and my heart boomed...there is no difference between him and U.....
As i was handicapped too....
Had heart but was broken...
Had legs couldnt walk beside him....
Had hands couldnt hold his hands...
Had eyes couldnt see him and his sparkling eyes..
Had smile...but lost ...
Was with a hope ..
thinkin my guy will be beside me..
It took a minute from him to move away from me
Not knowing about my future.....he walked away happily waving his hands...
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 9:06 AM UTC
I trembled in darkness, ashamed and alone
My cold, loveless heart was as hard as a stone.
Too frightened to venture outside in the light
Yet hating each moment of this endless night
The demons were whispering lies in my ears
Confounding my doubts and confirming my fears.
I wanted to die and to end all the pain
But ‘twas then that I heard a voice calling my name
“Fear not” the voice said, and I looked all around
Trying vainly to discern the source of this sound
No one could I see, and I thought in despair
“I only imagined that someone was there.”
But again the voice boomed, and it lit a small spark
In my heart where so long there’d been nothing but dark
“Where are you?” I cried, still suspecting some trick
And I peered through the blackness that pressed in so thick
From deep in the shadows a figure came toward me
With kind eyes that knew me and saw who I could be
With a robe white as snow and a face pure and loving
He held out His hand to me, though I was nothing
Then the door opened wide and the light shone in brightly
But this wasn’t a choice that I could take lightly
“I’m too scared” I whispered, my face wet with tears
“Then trust me” He said “and be free of your fears.”
I took one step forward, my heart beating fast
Hope sprung up anew. Would I be free at last?
Bathed in sweet sunlight and breathing fresh air,
Knowing my Savior would always be there,
This was perfection, such sweet paradise
Freedom at last from fear’s cold, clinging vice
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
The afternoon was excessively humid
The earth seemed a seething hot furnace
Dark clouds were gathering overhead
Lightning drew florescent patterns in the sky
Thunder boomed and rumbled
A few sparse drops of water hit the window pane
The air grew dark, leaves shivered
Soon the rain pelted down in torrents
Drumming on the corrugated tin roofs
Spreading a dark curtain between the eye and the sky
It poured down in full fury for about an hour
In no time it flooded the ditches and hollows
But its might slackened and it vanished as quickly
As it had come, like a messenger on an urgent errand
The day was dying and I witnessed another rain
The rain of insects into the sequestered freedom of the night
Termites and white ants, sleeping in the hollows
Suddenly emerged from their lairs in thousands
Out of every crack and cranny, every fissure and hole
From under every boulder and brick
Winged termites emerged, fluttering about dreamily
Never knowing they were on their first and last flight
They all flew towards the bright light in the porch
But striking against the concrete ceiling
They fell down one by one, some losing their wings
And creeping on the floor, like wounded warriors
A quivering swarm of insects, a clumsily moving mass
This was the harvesting time for the geckos
In one and two, the lizards emerged from their hide
Flicking their tail, they stood ready for the catch
With their darting sticky tongue, they began
Devouring the insects, hastily cramming their stomachs
Until they could hold no more
When the insects began invading the inner space
I switched off all the lights and went to bed
The cool air and the sonorous but rhythmic chants of the frogs
Put my sleepy eyes into sound slumber
Early morning as I woke up
I saw the porch strewn with filmy wings of the termites
They lay like scattered chaff after the corn has been stored
Also some weak survivors, staggering to their end
I thought, to what bleak fate, the exodus of insects
Had taken off on their wings for their maiden flight!
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 7:51 AM UTC
My body rippled as I swam into the river that ran through the town,deep and muddy brown with water washed down from the hills.
And rippling, I got my wish and turned into a silvered fish with golden fins to help me swim, down, down, down and deep within and under water.
Glad I brought a snorkel tube.
With ruby eyes and skies that faded into black,I watched a rack of pilchards passing,no sooner followed by a schooner of gadding tuna who watched two angel fishes trying to copy flying fish and failing.
A sail appeared,quite weirdly in the deep which keeps its secrets free from damp,
and then a lantern shone on me, a voice boomed out,
'what make are ye,
starfish,garfish,cod or roc?
A shock to me under the sea to be accosted by a skipper with a lip of larceny and what would I answer,could it be that I should not swim in the sea?
A fish
a wish,
one unfulfilled and killing off the thought I'd ever be
a citizen
of planet sea.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:06 PM UTC
He was my sun, my one and only son,
attired as a cowboy for the day.
And so I handed him a little gun
of fastened random sticks, for him to shoot and play.
Attired as a cowboy for the day
he searched for foes (with bows and arrows made
of fastened random sticks for them) to shoot, and play
the part of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade.
He searched for foes (with bows and arrows made)
well written in his story books before he left for school.
The parts of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
Well writ in history books before he left from school,
the tales (retold of victories that we’d won)
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
The flow of paint was not to staunch when once begun.
From tales retold of victories that we’d won,
he learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the flow of pain, ’twas not to staunch when once begun
and bane to both sides (as he’d later come to know).
He learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the wounds of war were kept unseen (while nigh)
and bane to both sides (as we’d later come to know);
but still he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye.
The wounds of war were kept unseen. While nigh,
the hours boomed, the clock struck 12 at last, his time to leave.
But, still, he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye
to those who’d stay and even those who wouldn’t grieve.
The hours boomed, the clock struck 12 - alas, his time to leave.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died
to those who’d stayed. And even those who wouldn’t grieve
with tears were stiff and masked like wooden boxes meant to hide.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died;
his boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud.
With tears, the stiff were masked in wooden boxes meant to hide
our children from the spilling of their blood.
His boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud;
they said they’d needed him to help defend
our children from the spilling of their blood.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
They said they’d needed him to help defend,
and so they handed him a little gun.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
He was my sun, my one and only son.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 2:36 PM UTC
"Storm cloud, the beauty in passionate swirls
my eyes never forget to capture, even when far"
the moisture filled wind of desire said with a hiss,
"Ï have an urge elemental don't you get me wrong,
madly in love with your spirited self,
I wish to make you pregnant, our union is destined by nature"
"Ÿour swiftness fascinates me but" she said
the mighty ocean current has set his eyes on me for long
I can't ignore that, he wants me as his consort
see him spray steam and fumes
wants to keep me close and make his own always
what a wild temper he has, tsunami is another name for him
I belong to him, though sea is too far below"
Wind could see how might is revered though too far down
"But storm cloud, my beloved, remember
I have fallen in love with you for what you are
an angry wind is mighty storm in no time, may I remind you?
I will come, won't find any need to ask permission
taking your hand I'll run away with you
then the ocean current will only would fret and fume
but of what use?" the wind boomed above the sound of thunder
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 7:46 AM UTC