"cantankerous" poems
Come one come all
*** inside everybody
Please do
Fill yourselves and spill yourselves
Wet your dry spots with your wet spots
Don’t sweat the petty things
But please pet the sweaty things
Dance like a warped record stacked on a broken record
So you can gyrate over a Led Zeppelin ****** of
OOOHHHHYYYEEAAAH and it makes me wonder
Soak my curiosity in your nearly naked
Let’s walk away from this mutually *****
You cantankerous carnivorous man-eating jellyfish
Stumbling to engulf me in your morphine
Lying like amazing lovers do
“No
I won’t leave you in the morning
But it doesn’t mean I will ever love you
I just want you to feel me
You feel me?”
And you left at 4 am just after I passed out
Leaving me stuck with
The wings made of chain-link handcuffs and sheets
Going from my wrists to my feet
Because you said you always wanted to make love to a butterfly
I thought I could be an angel
Or at least a stingray
So my venom might stay with you longer
But you left like I knew you would
Took the keys and I had to pretend I was wearing a white kimono
And because of the handcuff chain
I just started telling people I was the ghost
Of ***** lovers past
But you go ahead and go on back to your main attraction
I don’t mind workin’ side show
Standing like a man made *******
Pulsing at the thought of you potential
Waiting patiently like a secret
Verbal donkey show
Hollerin on the tail end of dawn
With a secret song on a broken record
When played backwards
“Don’t go”
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 12:24 AM UTC
Fought
One, Twenty-two skidoo.
Cantankerous mad filamous
She,
That of her,
Me.
Piñata, stretched balloon
Over my big fleshy
******
Tea and cakes,
Painted my nails
Painted my lips
Like candy.
Gold trinkets,
Pour like mercury out of my ear.
Ouch! I cried
My feet in hot sandy
Dreams.
Flying peacocks tickle
My *****
Oranges roll on chalk board tables
Over stale rye bread.
***** dribbles out like mucus
And a runny nose.
Toilet paper and rusty water.
********** on you.
Stocking lover.
Fetish cover.
Woman pusher.
Mellifluous ****
Look at my skin.
Pink, beige, peach, red
Porous, greasy, bacteria ridden hide.
**** me like seppuku,
Smother, suffocate me with
Red jelly jam.
Lubricate your finger with black
Cancerous ash.
Stick it in my naval,
Unravel my umbilical cord
Like so many filaments of my heart.
Tear your flesh
You auto *********
Rip your liver
And force feed it
Corn and maize
Hay and grass
Emory my nails against
Red barn walls
Until bare skin fundamentals
Kisses with salty lips
Inflame my ravishing
Pig stomach.
Kick my shin you
Everything,
Wake up you stupid
*****
Void can be blue skies,
Oceans call for suicide.
Kiss me with delight,
Raspberries tattooed
In my *****
Strawberry cream
Vanilla, milk,
Ponderous infinity,
Cotton, dough
Honey and sage.
Caustic gastric
You and not me.
Feel my legs,
Touch my thighs,
Lick my lips,
Give me anything
Not direct.
Tie me up in complexities.
**** my head up.
Put me in a dream,
Make me happy.
Blair Butterfield 2004
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:09 AM UTC
we are strong people - full and sure
our purposes are not in conflict - just out of phase
we share the need to achieve
and to find new solutions
we are intense people - busy and needed
our hours are overfull - our agendas undone
we share the delight of discovery
and endure our learnings
we are expectant people - determined and convinced,
respectful and cantankerous
we share an expectation of excellence - of success
though unprepared and unbelieving
we share the need for trust and commitment
we share the dream of excellence
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 11:15 PM UTC
By book-ends my stomach is churning,
I'm cantankerous and stand-offish
in spurts, barely there in others.
I could not dig up where my head was
if I had to. I do not have to.
There are some things in my life that
lead themselves to failure. I have dropped
instinct, instead adopting pattern,
a means of coping with the endlessness
of life in a globalized world.
This is not lament. I could part with
objectivity, happy to expire for a
scrap of extra sentience. Please, before
my words become manners and manners become
holes full of dirt, pardon me for the mess.
I only had so much time after all.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
Her Father's old wool jacket,
from Johnson Mills,
in creamy white,
dark forest green,
golden amber,
in a lovely patchwork,
A soft dark winter tuke on her head,
that dark green in the background,
with rusty speckles on her cheeks,
Wet snow falls silent,
the sky is a crisp Winter blue,
the air is cold and clear,
& intoxicatingly clean,
As she breathes life in and out,
then,
looking down at her black Sorel boots
and her worn black denim jeans,
a nice old holey wool sweater,
and a maul,
A **** lumberjack?
Maybe...
Dressed to hack the wood,
the plumber thinks so,
he stops by,
a friend of hers,
sorta,
Huh?
Not invited,
but no one is around here,
we all do it,
so he helps too,
Hey I'll make lunch,
harmless flirting,
I suppose,
Because,
wood warms you 3 times they say,
Once to chop it,
two to stack it RIGHT,
three to bring it in & burn it,
But if you count the starting of the,
cantankerous chainsaw & the guy,
helping you,
And you hafta arrange & rearrange, everything,
cleaning the flue and chimney,
I'd say a few more than that,
& don't ferget to pay the man,
the cantankerous one,
Yeah he got lunch too,
and about them ashes,
could be pretty hot,
take 'em out regular,
that stove cranking too,
OUCH,
She ends up gets burned,
a few times each year,
Taday,
she's on step too,
as she picks up the heavy maul,
not to heavy for this gal,
all the way back,
watch yourself,
As a neighbor winches,
a woman chopping wood?
Yup.
That's right,
a way of life,
for her,
always has been,
poised and ready,
swing and smack,
if you hit it right,
you hear a crack,
Just like a baseball bat,
hitting a homer,
Big pieces,
are made more manageable,
when you don't try to control the force,
when you let the sharpened maul,
Do all the work,
for you.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
I romanticize humanity until what's left isn't even human.
I cook up fallacies about legal aliens and add a dash of cumin.
Your chef tosses salads in the pasta section of the grocery store.
Devil's just as confused, with a ***** and an apology at heaven's door.
You don't know, and no one cares where eggs go when they die.
Godzilla thinks of a car full of clowns like you would a sardine pie.
What happens when an elephant gets alzheimer's and loses keys?
Does the paradox consume an entire circus of trapeze-act-fleas?
I ruin birthday cakes by blowing off the frosting instead of the flames.
How I do that? Count backwards from backwards and say my names.
Bittersweet love anthems pollute the brains of conscientious dames.
Heavy metal doesn't pollute, it pacifies rage quitting from soul-sucking games.
Out of the woodwork comes a limp ***** that would work,
Long hours only to find he'd pay millions for a Miley Cyrus twerk,
Which is worth about as much as an all-female circle ****
Unless you add strap-ons, so strap in and lap up the knee-jerk-smirk.
It is unwise to handle scissors when one is being cutting-edge,
Because your accountants will dangle themselves off of a three-storey ledge,
When you cut up the ledgers and make light of, that is, burn, the evidence of pledge,
To the monkeys in your think-tank mailing feces to the upstart farmer's hedge.
Now I know you're sick of rhyming and of poems and of liver culling whisky,
But I must inform you of a pirate's missing eye, I've bought sight of something risky,
I implore that when this song and dance is done, you'll assuredly miss me,
Because I've told you everything about depravity, hence forth you must kiss me.
Beacons of hope shine much like cantankerous silver in the moonlight.
If you're a werewolf that will fill you with hope and with immeasurable fright.
One day the world will admit that I'm awesome and impoverished to boot,
Because when the song and dance is done, what's left is just an ounce of loot.
Jul 20, 2022
Jul 20, 2022 at 9:28 PM UTC
Alexander k Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
The most misused natural resource is animal emotion
Animal jelousy, animal love, animal happiness, animal libido,
Animal compassion, animal grief, animal ogle, animal ***
Animal ego, animal fear or stampede, but animal anger utmost
It is a resource of value and virtue if used in prudence
Least vicious off all lest ghoulish natural disposition
Whose exemplification follows below in juxtaposition;
Out of anger a human animal kills
Revenges in full feat of anger
Causing accidents and damages
In employment of anger to uphold ego
A snake will not bite until ignited to anger
But in its calm state it’s an agent of ecological peace
Lioness is herbivorous in their truce but irascibly carnivorous
Buffaloes only crash if catapulted by anger
But romantically crazy in the emotional bliss
Man is fountain of peaceful jealousy
Man is cradle of venerative bigotry
Man is a well of murderous love
Humanity engendered is matchless ocean
Of cantankerous infatuation crushing for doable
And non-doables, deservation of pity,
All these natural ornamentations
That echo vicious virtues of man
Are protégés of perfected anger.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
-arriving at eglington west station-
there's the fragrance drifting off
of her shoulders
as she checks her reflection
on smartphone mirror app,
floral pattern matching the
bright of her nails,
the sun shining onto sequined flats
that show no wear.
-glencairn, glencairn station-
there's her youth indicated by
backpack, baseball cap,
and conversation subject matter
discussing video game system merit,
there's the hand me down excitement
of muddy knees and torn jeans,
-arriving at lawrence west station-
each millimetre contributing to grimace,
beard whisker, wrinkle stationed
to the sides of each of his eyes,
weary traveller, seemingly ignoring
everyone with grocery bag
occupying chair like child,
-Yorkdale, Yorkdale station-
we used to weave through these crowds
and people watch together,
and the people would watch us,
young love, so simple,
oblivious to stage,
fingers interlocked, blocking
crowds from passing by,
there was the taste of strawberry
banana smoothie, freshly squeezed,
on your lips, we'd race up
escalators, only to circle
back down, we'd find the nook
of book store, to steal a moment,
you'd ignite, ignoring the clatter
of barrista, starbucks adjacent,
and there would walk by or sit
dolled up princess,
adolescent tomboy,
aging cantankerous senior,
these faces haven't changed
as much as ours have.
-please stand clear of the doors-
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 1:12 AM UTC
Poseidon reared his unkempt head
Above the waves today
An ocean monster dripped in dread
Chest to chest with the bay
“Today, or any day at all!”
The shore-side heard his plea
Salt shucked shoulders tall as islands small
“No being shall ever challenge me!”
One gull omitted a thoughtful word
Which sounded much like “Rak!”
One offended brow raised at what he heard
Poseidon countered with a slap
Five foul fingers touched the sky
And fell upon the sea
A wave as great as mountains high
Sighed upon the beaches knee
With a drunken beat of lazy wing
The gull escaped his perch
Finding another on which to cling
Without a moment’s search
Fists clenched around the shallows
Poseidon was enraged
With urchin riddled lips pursed he bellowed
And blew the beach away
Up went beachgoers along the coast
Into the sandy storm
Sun chapped mums beginning to roast
Castling children, One man named Norm
Gull glided softly on the wind
Providing a flap or two
And to the defeated Poseidon's chagrin
Let out a cantankerous coo
In one last fit of aqueous rage
Posiedon surfaced to land
And in a briny blind rampage
Grabbed the gull with swole hands
Gull in hand Poseidon yelled
“What dare you mean sly poultry?
My kingdom is unparalleled,
All pilgrims seek my choultry”
But the oily gull slipped through his grip
And flew quite far away
And as he watched it dive and dip
He came to see the bay
Debris was strewn across the sand
His subjects were in ruin
Disaster spread across the land
And it was all his doin’
A desperate shade turned Poseidon
As he returned to the great deep
“What use am I as a mighty king
If protection I cannot keep?”
That is how a seagull won
Against The God of Sea
Who forgot about his job, just one,
To keep the big blue world carefree
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 9:17 PM UTC
Please handle with care the man sat in the chair
he's not a millionaire, but priceless to me.
He's not a Saint, he's made mistakes,
he's as stubborn as they come, cantankerous and moody,
but while he's there in your care, please bear in mind,
though, grouchy, argumentative and he's driving you to despair,
he's mine and my siblings dad, he's a husband, a grandfather, brother,
uncle, nephew and once himself a son.
Yes, he's been bad.
Yes, we've made him sad.
Yes, he's a flirt (that's for Mam).
Yes, we're aware of his faults, that makes him human, but, he's ours, and we'd like to be selfish and keep the moody, grouchy,
cantankerous old man a little longer.
So, please just handle him with care.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
All perish whence they quest for immortality,
Such foolish dreams will result in fatality.
Critters struggle in nets of ersatz reality,
Hormonal clashes unbalance our morality.
Under the influence by budding, ravishing thyme,
Oft' that sunny beam leaves me doing pantomime.
Chaste clues and envy droughts left me mellowing,
Such pain ipso facto I can't kiss this porcelain.
My seat of notions drives me to calculate,
While undead, fatigued, I falsely formulate.
Floundering in viscous fluids, I am drowning...
My verdant sail is half-mast: lonely, frowning.
Within moon-lit meadows, shadows flow cursively,
Beyond the kaleidoscope lay a rustic key.
Beg you pardon the rust and blackened fissures,
Pardon those slights to open eternal treasures.
To crave two heart beats align in synchrony,
To sluice my fingers through the strands of memory.
Embracing silvery asps soaring on the breeze,
My sight spies thy adieu and I shatter apiece.
Un-writing errors, distantly, unstumbling,
The abyss: now a star, wings unfurling.
'Tween the heavens fell meteoric golds,
Sinusoidal cascades of such sublime codes.
Traversed steadily upon the gilded firmaments,
Was so small, blind to the unseen monuments.
To be offered aristocratic absolution,
From my humble plebeian resolution.
I am sublime. 'Hold my dichotomous, nay,
Such cantankerous introversion within, eh?
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 3:40 PM UTC
Barricades and Floundering
drift alongside the edge
and what is specifically excluded?
cantankerous vetch,
its bitter wiles.
Life rough-hewn
on a cusps of Moon,
whose dust return as
Libertines and Rakes
Born from the same lumière
with moral relativism to confound
and saddle such consequences.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
Pleat, pleat, pleat,
Fix that drape,
Cantankerous petticoat,
Is all bent out of shape,
The mirror jeers,
That's a singularly inelegant drape,
What are you gawping at,
It's time to undrape,
Watch those ankles,
Stop dancing like an ape,
How hard could it be,
To simply undrape,
In walked Mum,
Her mouth agape,
Laughing uproariously,
Got me shipshape
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 5:48 AM UTC
Acclimate away you accustom to rabble streets, calculate thy cantankerous beef with another diabolic past!!
Destine connoisseur,
Old things get older while thy love stays newer!!!
What a hope to hope for something!!!!
Bare faced sophomore,
Soporific enducing trips to styles of maxed out galore....
Domineers on every corner,
Where youngest of mourners art ourn own children,
Gravitational to all pull ins,
Guided by ourn own sins we set our own adversities!!!!
When wilt we climb out of ourn own hutch?
Our brittled bunch doesn't think of two but one!!
Jilt all thou will falsifiers,
Killers and liars,
Were all wrapped tight to the same metropolis line!!!
Okaying thyself?
Canst we OK what's wrong and not fine?
Schzoid scribble ******* in,
Undeniable on planet green earth!!!
Underhanded,
Diploma drop ins,
Morphine moratorium so Grey thy sounds are!!!!
Yet thy smiles so beautifully wide!!!!!
Seek as thou finds,
Find all though you mayeth hide!!!
The scorch is over to be bear!!
Where is the opulent Queen who I seek?
Yet hasn't found me yet...
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
Accidence ambience acoustics find
Tractive tactile taciturn went
Cantankerous cantilever capacity bind
Wanton wayward warranty pent
In extremis extremity exigence grind
Apriori aorist actuator glint
Futurity fatidic's fornication wind
Lecherous libido larcenies bent
Lurid livid laconic mind
Exergonic ephemeral extant spent
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 9:30 PM UTC
Prerogative presumptive judicature, cantankerous cantilever capacity. Paradoxical dichotomy greaves, gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts, asymmetrical symmetry. Objectified manifest's dimensional delineation, intrinsic endemic innate opaque opulence. Protractive analyses accidence ambience acoustics. Spatiotemporal telemetry tactician's trajectory extant.
Prophylaxis protocol annex annul. Kinesiology kleptomaniac extraversion embezzlement euthanasia extortion, embark embargo extradition. Aura roan's rainbow mare's nimbus nimiety exorcism. Corporeally preternatural's existential exigence exodus. Cerebral cortex's ****** matrix's carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma, apex axis crux, exponentially extemporaneous manumission. Categorical imperative hubris, hectic duty deontological probity.
Astral projection's clairaudience clairvoyance. Tenets and principles, maxims and axioms, and doctrinal mandates. Exserted protuberance's edifice ******** Exotically ****** ethereally sublime xylem Xanadu sails. Erotica erectile errantry.
Fulham nuance ***** Formidable foundry of a foyer fracas. Harpy harsh hast, atrium attrition seditious. Oak tree ****** nails swarthy ******** swath swizzles and unicorn railway sails. Anchor pin tachometer troll wood harlotry's root clod rudiments, lightning bow hat pick. Transcendent nimbus nimiety exorcist. Transpicuous translucence alluvium aloof impunity.
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 10:07 PM UTC
The problem with phantoms, rings so clear
Like fear, they don't just go away
The more is learnt of the world, the smaller it becomes
The less of open space is felt.
The mnemonist lives in a pretty tale
And heads the way off rocky shores
For, oft a fool will come along
And wilful, bash his mind on reef.
Spill then thee, cantankerous spirit
Thy guts of ill-placed rancour
For in puny efforts to uproot
Fresh soil turned is...fresh soil turned.
The more we feed on empty words
The larger grows that aching void
Engulfing all but esurience
Engorged thus, thee will choke.
A mere gesture of goodwill
And extending act of kindness
Will conquer every wicked sentiment
And leave thee broken ... in thy own mess.
So, thy tiresome pictures on the wall, we see
Paint on, dear artist, paint on
These very merry parties, ye assemble
Will ken thy sharp and twisted ire.
Push on, weary soul, try to find thy heart
Thee seest not thy efforts fall in vain,
Fail to latch, for thy error sits too tall
In the absence of saving grace.
So caught up in thyself, art thee
Thine eye too bright upon the prize
That thou did not see thy plot at play
Thy goest yet on; breaching full redemption.
Weave thus thy tale and clothe thy mind
For, in this act, thy mind doth shut
So ill-fitting thy own garish attire
Seams must needs split eventual.
Seeketh truth and truest, thy find's a trove
But sadder yet's the day, indeed
All vouch that in thy heavy plunder
Its value now plain conferred.
Treasure trinkets, happy hoops
Whatever be thy favour's currency
When day is done and swift sea smoothes
Revered will always be...saving grace.
Star Toucher, 17 February 2013
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
I think it’s actually real this time,
That I'm waking to sweet bird songs,
not the cancerous “Cuck-coo” from some clock at the end of her hall.
When I wake,
I want to see sunlight burning holes in window ledges,
feel the chill flowing down my cheeks
fighting the warmth falling up from my feet.
I want to smell that sick stench that says I stayed out one shot too late,
taste the combination of this and those that feel like trash behind my teeth.
Forget for that brief instant between this and what comes next,
That last night wasn't really love.
That the girl-on-my-right used to be the girl-who-could-ride
that too many drinks plus too many winks leads to "My place?"
No hers.
that too many drinks plus too little cash leads to "Taxi?"
Let’s walk.
That too many drinks plus two a.m. leads to, well,
You know.
Before falling asleep I feel ashamed at forgetting her name
turn on my side, close my eyes, and wait for the Sunrise.
Only to be roused by the of the **** cuckoo at the end hall.
I want to punch Daffy Duck in the face,
break the road-runner’s neck,
introduce Donald to rotisserie,
and tie Tweety to the tail of a cat.
All I think of is rage
I could burn the clock, burn the house, burn... burn out, and pass out.
This morning is real, it feels real, at least the hangover does.
Last night's emotions are technicolor fantasies, only as real as the beak on an animated bird.
The sun slips through the blinds and finds a rainbow trail of clothing,
starting at the door and ending with our own little *** of gold.
I roll out of her arms and slide down that road
turning it into a line of lacy wears.
Sneaking down the hallway I feel the sun’s warmth
and hear the birds chirping, calling me to the door.
Behind me, I hear the cantankerous pretender
crying from his wooden nest on the wall.
His sound almost as sorry as his message,
lamenting he can never break his cycle.
never can wake up and feel
what's actually real.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 4:51 AM UTC
Inject that myriad dose in my brain
don't tell me what it is
Shrapnel surprise is all i need
Does it hurt, white elephant wars stomping on my mind
As you mouth pours crystal letters that form wet words
That flow into my minds puddle, and finds it's way to our oceans heart
Will this feeling stop, when will it part
My arms are breaking
My legs just broke
Is the clock farther away or is it just moving slower
My feet are walking on plush ground my equilibrium is confused
Did you run or crawl to help me from tripping on air?
Fastidious eyes are tip toeing on my spine
as my arm are keeping my lungs from the ground
don't stop to inhale, forgetting how to breath
Panic attack, shark attack will bite you on the leg and pull you down
Trying to make a way to the glass bathroom
You turn on the water, within seconds a waterfall
That is drenching deafening rapids into my ear
Get this cantankerous feeling away
I'v never wanted to snap so bad in my life
the water stops, the hurricane in my stomach starts
Green light mean blow
After 5 minutes I don't even know what was coming out
I thought my lungs would explode from an over excessive
Amount of my body's fluids
Stumble to stand, mind thinks it's clockwork
The body says it's not
Early morning burns into early night
And there goes the sight
My ears burn of ice around my brain
Give me the Shrapnel surprise one more time
Thin rope around my arm, and needle with appeasement inside
One more dose as I lay back, the red rises up as I sink down
The night, and my home become silent
As i fade away
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 12:13 PM UTC
********** before the mirror of your soul
the tired throne of confusion
burns the illusion that we are all alone
what can compare to the hairs of the earth
is it a purse made from old shirts and words
as birds and feathers fled the forest's shelter
the burning embers head west
into the zone of the setting sun's dismemberment
are you perplexed or just scared sacred
death wasted on the fences
you shy away from sentences
that we both know
are just a little too close to home for comfort
i am a lonely poem portrayed
by an infinite number of frames of reference
so i claim my place in the heart of infinite wonder
as the thunder states your name
and screams your secrets into the stars
our hearts were always made from art
and we are being charged with negative ions
like the lions and dinosaurs that have come before us
our women lie freezing in the warmest of holes
so we comb the sand for diamonds
and try to make the land grow again
I am reprimanded for standing on one leg for too long
and begging you to come back home
if you glance towards me i’ll look away
as shade from a tree covers your face
was it a waste of speech
to try and crawl too deeply
into those feelings that you sought to deny
and what if we see each other again someday
will we wait for the other to acknowledge
that i was too much of a coward
to dance in the face of all that abstraction
at the edge of my comfort-zone
love falls into oblivion
a wastrel and a sparrow
as the cantankerous showers
start flowering in our folds
as growth is esteemed
so do we eventually redeem our own soul
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
soft soft softly
he creeps about
the edges of the room
finding his way....
with the precision
of a Noh dancer...
as the blucat watches
with gestapo stare...
the new kitten...
black and white
tuxedo...not quite right
all wrinkles and fuzz
and fffft, ffft fights
the blue cat...
old cantankerous king
looks at this scrap
of a thing...
growls, deep
from his belly rotound
turns his back...
in overstated disgust....
that wrinkly thing,
is not one of us!!!.....
later in the day...
i pass by the same way
to find blucat and tuxedo boy, wrapped up asleep
in sombulant joy...
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
The Last Doughboy
went marching home
mustered up to heaven
to rest in perfect peace
never went over the top
when he was over there
drove an ambulance to save
the last dying bits of humanity
excavated from the craters
reeking with mud and blood
the turgid stench
of blessed death
wafts through the
muddled labyrinth
a ghastly kingdom
of rats and men
intractable mazes
of hate, hope and waste
led by inept generals
vainglorious politicians
promising triumphant victory
while begging disastrous defeat
bold shouts of advance
lead to routed retreats
global trench warfare
the sweet earthen coffins
empathy's last gasp
compassion's last stand
gurgling lungs
gagging on gas
imploding on
clotting blood
liquid ammonia
sears sensitive retinas
wafting flash of fire
burns eyes forever shut
concussive bursts
bludgeon eardrums
ripped bodies of friends
splayed onto comrades
the macabre rouge
a terrible war paint
liberally applied
with stunning result
by the industrial rattle
of cantankerous Gatlings
better minds thought it
the war to end all wars
the horrific scenes of waste
the pleading lips of starved children
the last Doughboy saw it all
a lucky Johnny who marched home
he thought the horror of WWI
would be enough to end all wars
yet all is not quiet
on the western front
Johnny's still got lots
of gruesome guns
distressed humanity
remains very busy
carting away human rubble
from our apocalyptic trenches
go to your reward
valiant Doughboy
*"leave us citizens
of death's gray land,
drawing no dividend
from time's tomorrows."
Siegfried Sassoon*
Dedicated to
Frank Buckles
(February 1, 1901 – February 27, 2011)
Godspeed Beloved
Oakland
3/1/11
jbm
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 9:11 AM UTC
God gave them over to degrading passions; for their women
exchanged for the natural function for that which is unnatural, and
in the same way also the men abandoned the natural function
of the woman and burned in their desire toward one another
men with men committing indecent acts and receiving in their own
persons the due penalty of their error. (Roman 1:26
Our summer evening settle down
many of us logged on to the internet
Critiquers or terrifying ticking time bombs
They surf and browses around.
Clicking sounds; fingers moving slowly
Anything is possible in today's world
Overly educated fools smudges the earth
Men with men; women with women
it's sad world for most of us
so we chat with total strangers
Controlled by gentle touch
Alone in the comfort of our homes
So many old and lonely cantankerous poets
Or mental deranged strangers connects
such old souls stretches across the globe
to be disrespectful toward each other
is this the new circle of social creatures?
could it be they emotion, compassion
or simply a humanity deal?
They are living secret lifes, with make believe wives
The miraculous things we say to each other
Gutless lonely souls, nervous in plain view
can never function in the real world
A Fish Tank without water
Do we really know them?
I know them but only on the internet(:)
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
between poems,
an old curmudgeon,
am me-he,
thorny gray stubbled face
available for
knife sharpening and
tongue lashing
cranky and cantankerous,
bad tempered,
ill mannered, me-he,
until they slip me a
paper aspirin
place before me a clean sheet
Presto Chango,
the ole man displaced,
(the boy who remembers to forget,)
in his heart~place, installed,
though the
briar and the thorn
never from his visage depart,
just briefly, Red Sea parted
kiss me surprised,
stumbling about in the
wee of the rambunctious hours,
stubbing me eyes upon
a poetess, a kindred soul
who claims my pointy moniker that
earned I,
only after years
of indentured servitude,
Briar Thornly,
so unnaturally misnamed,
yet she of but,
few and the tenderest years
rights me up
with young words
her poems sweet treats, sweet eats,
departing me delightfully unfairly from
my grumpy good graces,
look below if you dare risking,
a hazardous glancing upon her works,
if you like to, grrrrr, smile
*Déjà vu
Oh to write or not to write.
My mind says I don't have a choice.
Love has made a home in my heart.
I suffer not being able to
open the door to my inspiration.
I toss a paper ball into the trash.
Chapters of my life turn into dust.
I bury those words in my mind.
Words that I used to think
were wrapped up in true meaning.
A break could **** my block but
my pencil spins out of control.
I'll conquer all of those lost attempts.
Piano's and violins phase in and out.
Wheels of creativity turning in caution.
The clock sounds gong,gong,gone.
Inspiration died at the start of a vacation.
On the page there was the suicide of passion.
The ghost of my muse will soon reappear.
My emotions need to break free from
the shelter of my imagination.
I"ll write till the dawn of poetry.^*
read her poetry till dawn
or face my thorny faced
muse,
and perhaps now you understand,
at last comprehend,
**a rose by any other name
would smell as sweet as a
thorn**
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
It must be a sign of growing up
When you no longer have to respond
With formulated laugh-out-louds
Oh, the awkward feeling
The simulation of being real
They don't know how to take it
When you used to be a clown
And now your world surrounds
Neither you nor them
You're spinning on a different axis
And it's so peaceful
And they feel threatened
But it's ok
Somebody somewhere was on to something
When they wrote words of a pro
But echoed thoughts of digression
It's not ok to be weak
Within the frame of a square
But being down's never felt so
So, revelatory
And their worries surround
A schedule of hurries
A cell for a box
A box for a cell
You choose a space filled with nothing
And that's ok
Stayed so long in the blue
Your world turns red
But it's ok
Your slang is from no dictionary
And that's ok
Flummox your way
To a cantankerous position
It's ok
The world has always been a little bit off
And you're the world
And they're too on
On like an insect trapped in glass of honey
Stay sweet
No matter what
Stay sweet
They're a dime a dozen
And you're less endangered
Than you think
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC