"bungling" poems
SORCERER 1
Fell prince, what can we say? Shall we
Wring fingers, gazing nervously
Into our black, obsidian mirror?
SORCERER 2
Or, in our water jugs, to peer,
Unbinding and retying twine,
In hope epiphanies shall shine?
SORCERER 3
Or shall we three, like puzzling mages,
Cast bright corn-kernels ‘cross the pages
Of scripture, wincing to descry
Some omen there?
SORCERER 1 Or shall we lie?
SORCERER 2
Were not your lethal gaze forbidden,
Our eyes from yours no longer hidden,
SORCERER 3
These mirrors unfilmed to windows-
SORCERER 1 Wink
We not, you might their contents drink.
They look at Motecuhzoma.
TLACAELEL
Bold, brass, and bungling open-sesames,
Whose saucy tongues shall spice my hangman’s stew,
You dare let sink your cataracted gaze
Upon the solar luminance of our king?
Who meets these eyes, beholds the face of death.
MOTECUHZOMA
Shackles shall seal their eyes. Clap them away.
My hopes were stillborn by these blind-man’s bluffs.
SORCERER 1
A grand charade shall come to pass,
As marching mysteries amass,
And urgently these lurkings gather.
SORCERER 2
If that is what your lord had rather
Hear from us, so be it, then.
SORCERER 3
We’ll break our seal and thus unpen
Two breeds of vision we may show:
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 1:02 PM UTC
He, the rumpled bumbler,
Stumbled, mumbling, bungling
Through his self-made jungle
No mote of humility, his abilities
Were not inclusive of subtlety.
He settled for a public identity
Of propriety and normality,
Obvious hospitality but falsity
Like the nose on his face, exposed.
What a verbose, but artificial
Government official he was.
His cause was never for us
It was for that he was notorious;
How laboriously he dissembled.
But he resembled his opposition
Then took a position of submission
Until his mission was complete
Then he beat his feet in retreat
To those he knew could beat
The highest price and that was nice.
Twice as nice for rental cars
And pretty movie stars
Who weren’t too humble
To stumble the red carpet
With the rumpled bumbler,
Mumbling, no longer bungling
Through his self-made jungle.
Still no humility, a perfect facility
To take from the poor, give to the rich
And not care who calls him sonofabitch.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
"Was it something I said?" He asked as she writhed around to the opposite shoulder accompanied by an exasperated sigh.
"No."
"Was it something I did?" He retorted.
"No. It was nothing. Just--nothing. Now, please, turn off the ******* light so I can sleep."
Defeated, he reached over his bedside table with weeks worth of night-time water cups bungling up his path to the switch and turned out the light.
She was gone in the morning.
He woke up without even noticing at first. She usually woke up before him to have fresh coffee brewed, accompanied with a poached egg or two, but those were better days. He knew they were growing apart, but he never imagined he would wake up to an empty house. He felt her falling out of love-- and it was all his fault.
The little things he never used to notice seem much bigger in hindsight--but, as they say, "hindsight is 20/20." The way her hand fit so perfectly in his as they would take their nightly walks. Her stories of her workday that used to deem a nuisance to his ears now seem like a beautiful aria of yesterday's loss.
He stepped out into the hallway and felt a cold breeze coming from the living room. He slowly sauntered from the doorway with his head held low, feet scuffling the carpet. He stepped in to the opening of the living room to find the windows facing the rising morning sun wide open.
"--the **** he muttered. He hated the cold, and it was this particular morning that seemed colder than it actually was. He quickly scurried to the open french-door-type windows and slammed them shut. His head came slamming against the panes followed by a lull of silence, and then a deep and heavy sigh.
****
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
WHO MADE THE WORLD?
"It was a dark and stormy night..!"
as stories often start.
But - it wasn't.
It was no story.
And there was no such thing
as night.
And there was a complete absence
of weather.
Night( or day )hadn't yet
been invented.
Neither had the world
for that matter.
Creation was still
about two hours away.
Dear God hadn't even given it
a second thought as yet.
And yes He had thought about it
and Him thinking...usually made it so.
He had still to get His Mighty
Finger out.
He the Great
Procrastinator.
He had become as one
with those University students
who would crawl about the earth
messing about doing nothing until
the final moment
the final dash to get
the assignment in.
Alas He had made them
in His Image.
There were things he would have
liked to fix if...
WW1 for one
oh and 11.
The atom bomb.
Climate change.
He saw all things
as time was
all the one
to Him.
And now these unknowns
how could He
have even
thought of them.
How to fix that ****
bungling bothersome Brexit.
And what was it
exactly?
Or that annoying orange blip
that God **** liar Trump?
And Gove(ugggh!)
and Boris( aggghh)
come what May they
would all
have their say.
What had He
been thinking.
Maybe it will
untangle itself or
He would have to cut
through the Gordian lot
with His
mighty sword.
Bit Biblical that.
Or a flood perhaps?
He could blame it
on that climate change.
He knew that Brexit bit
wouldn't do but
it would have to
do.
Worlds will be worlds.
Then He yawned.
"Whatever...whatever!"
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 6:43 AM UTC
I try to not make any
life altering decisions
when I don't feel in
my right mind, that is
mad, or simply
less than human
which isn't a bad
thing, I mean
in the absence of morals
even a chimp will end up
doing the right thing
but there I go
already bungling
one thought for
another
or, as I am wont to say
I DIGRESS,
What a quandary, then
when the very thing I want
to change is what is making
me crazy (and I say change
because being a moral
animal ****** is not
an option unless I hire
a chimp and
BUT I DIGRESS
I cannot even rely on
that whole ******** about
fight or flight- I am apt
to do neither while
being betrayed by
motor memory, no
I just sit and take it
dear and fight is not
the opposite of flight
nope nope nope
not around here
I've spent almost a decade
getting bashed around
the whole time remaining
as mute as a goldfish
(boy o boy- if goldfish
could ***** once again
I digress)
(Skip ahead ten stanzas)
I will not wait for her
to run out of weapons
there is no glory in
a war of attrition
although I do like
the idea of revenge
as long as it's done
thoughtfully and
with moral intent
or else with a chimp
let loose to eat her face
or not, I'll leave that
to Fate
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 3:46 PM UTC
Rhythmed hearts change with time
Molded souls no longer twine
Everything ends
Paid for our crimes
Let me go
let me be
Let hearts grow again kind
It is time to let go
Let space allow me to find
Cruelty grows
although it is fine
Mosaic of dreams
You're no longer mine
Let me go
let me be
Let me grow without bind
It is time to let go
Stop bungling my mind
Lifted shoulders reveal
Worlds filled with shine
Break free from this burden
Let the stars aline
Let me go
let me be
Let emotions unwind
It is time to let go
Tears leave you blind
Let you go, to let you be
Gave words that were kind
It was time to let go
Buried memories behind
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
Heart shaped Kisses rise from my lips
like a thousand butterflies
twinkling across the baby blue skies
I love You Divine Mother and Father
Thank you for this sacred day
I kiss the gawky trees
zip-lining down the streets
and avenues
I kiss the young birds
squawking intermittent rounds
from their nests
I kiss the ginger brown
good luck rabbit
nibbling palm nuts on
our front lawn
I kiss the teens
their heads bent adoringly
over their phones
bungling reluctantly onto
the yellow school bus
I kiss my darling hubby
strolling with me
down Perry Street
taking in the beauty
of this sacred day
I kiss Lord Surya peeking
from behind gray rain clouds
His hand raised in blessing
I kiss you reading this poem,
my dear Brothers and Sisters
Peace Be With You Always
Aug 14, 2019
Aug 14, 2019 at 10:00 PM UTC