Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Grahame Jun 2014
The Black Faerie beats her sable wings,
And rises into the dark and midnight sky.
Tonight she needs a ******’s soul to live,
Or else tonight a ****** she must die.

Tonight the dark moon rises in the sky,
’Twill be the time the black arts they hold sway,
And so tonight a ******’s fate is sealed,
If the Black Faerie has her way.

She rises high, unseen by mortal eye,
And casts around, a ******’s scent to find.
She starts, and checks, then starts and checks again,
She’s found a ******’s scent borne on the wind.

Carefully she follows the ætherial trail,
Flying against the wind to trace its source.
She hopes, tonight, successful she will be,
And is determined to stay on her course.

After flying for some time she finds
The scent is getting stronger on the wind,
She’s slowly drawing closer to her prey,
And trusts, soon, the ****** she will find.

When then she sees a hut down in the wood,
Invitingly, a window’s open wide,
The scent is overpoweringly now intense,
So, silently, through the opening she glides.

She spies a truckle bed next to the wall,
A young lady soundly sleeps within.
The Black Faerie hovers o’er the maid,
And senses the dormant ****** power within.

The lady on her back asleep does lie,
Clad only in a white nightgown.
The bedclothes, in night’s warmth pushed aside,
On her breast, the faerie settles down.

She waits a moment listening; all is calm.
And then, before the fay can make a move,
A bright white light enters in the room.
A sparkling fairy’s fluttering above.

“What mischief are you up to now?” she asks.
The Black Faerie’s rooted to the spot.
She’s never seen this beauteous creature before,
And knows not what powers she might have got.

“And who are you?” the black fay asks in turn,
“You cannot be a denizen of the night,
You are much too beautiful for that,
You’re so gracile, and you’re much too bright!”

“Indeed, I am a fairy of the day,
I help the flowers to bud, bloom and blow.
I’d curled up to sleep, inside a rose,
When dark and silent past me you did go.”

“And you, in turn, so vagiley you flew,
Darting through the bosky wood with ease.
My heart stood still, my breath caught in my throat,
I’d never seen such a sight to please.”

“The other fairies of the day I’ve known,
Are bright and gay, and flit from flower to flower.
They idle, and they gossip, and they’re dull,
And I cannot stand them more ower.”

“So when I saw you flying past tonight,
Looking mean and moody dressed in black,
I just knew that I must follow after,
And hoped that you might lead me to the craic.”

The Black Faerie recovers from her fright,
The night’s the time her powers are at their best.
She decides to try to play it cool,
So sits herself down on the ******’s breast.

“Tonight’s the anniversary of my birth,
Which was a year ago at the dark moon.”
The Black Faerie then continued thus,
“And to prevent my death I must act soon.”

“The reason why I am a Faerie Black,
Which I believe is rare in faerykind,
Is because the dark moon was at zenith,
Which caused a problem with my mother’s mind.”

“This caused me, when born, to be jet black,
Which wasn’t any fault of my own.
The day fairies cast us out from them,
And thus, we had to live all alone.”

“Although I tried my best to keep her whole,
Slowly, my dear mother pined away.
And then she told me, something she must tell,
As wasting on her deathbed she lay.”

“If a ******’s life I did live,
Then indeed, a ****** must die.
And before the dark moon’s anniversary,
To get this matter sorted, I should try.”

Because tonight’s the night of the dark moon,
I have traced this ****** to her bed,
Now what my mother told me I must do
I will, and soon this ****** shall be dead.”

“Oh no! Please!” the sparkling fairy said,
“Surely there must be another way!
Instead of sacrificing this lady,
Take my life, I am a ****** fay.”

“Would you freely give your life for hers?”
The Black Fay asked, jumping to her feet.
“To save this lady’s life I surely will,”
The sparkling fairy said, “’Tis only meet.”

“Since her parents died, she’s all alone,
Living in this wild forest drear.
Despite that, she still has many friends,
A lot of wild animals come here.”

“To the sick and injured she gives succour,
And tends the crops and plants round here as well.
In fact, she does more than many fairies,
And has helped the flower’s numbers swell.”

The sparkling fay continued, “Oh Black Faerie,
Please don’t do this vile and evil deed.
As I’ve asked, please take my life instead,
Then, in time, I’m sure you’ll get your meed.”

The sparkling fairy then fell down sobbing,
In between the sleeping lady’s breast,
While the Black Faerie stood there sternly,
Considering the sparkling fay’s request.

The sparkling fairy’s sobbing soon grew louder,
And with her hands and feet she beat the maid.
She’d forgotten whereabouts they were,
She was at once both sad and afraid.

The Black Faerie’s voice also grew louder,
The sparkling fay to cow, and make shut up,
When suddenly, to both of their surprises,
The ****** maid awoke, and then sat up.

Both the fairies froze, and tumbled downwards,
And came to rest in the lady’s lap.
She grasped the Black Faerie very firmly,
Her hand, round the Black Fay’s arms, did wrap.

Sitting straight, the lady then spake thus,
“For a Faerie Black, you’re not too bright.
Although you heard what your mother said,
I don’t believe you understood her right.”

The lady’s other hand was much more gentle,
She held the sparkling fairy to her breast,
And softly said, “Don’t worry, it’s now over,
Try to calm yourself, and have a rest.”

“I have been awake for some time now,
Woken by your voices in my ear.
However I kept my eyes tightly closed,
So your conversation I should hear.”

To the sparkling fairy then she spoke,
“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
I heard you offer yourself in my place,
I appreciate you trying to take my part.”

“As for you, you wretched little faerie,
I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry
When I heard the evil you intended,
And knew, you’d got wrong, the reason why.”

“I am a pagan, as it happens,
And know about the phases of the moon.
And so, though you were born in darkness,
You actually were also born at noon.”

“This probably is what confused your mother,
The reason that it was dark for your birth,
The moon caused a total eclipse of the sun,
And thus darkness descended over the earth.”

The lady put the Black Fay on her lap,
A tear of sympathy fell from her eye,
“And so, poor thing, you lost your friends and mother,
And now, you know the real reason why.”

“Your mother didn’t know what had happened,
At noon, expecting to give birth to you,
Which is why she slowly lost her reason,
And the day fairies did you both eschew.”

The Black Faerie then started sobbing,
And curled up in a ball upon the bed.
“I always felt that I was unfairly treated,
And knowing that, I wish that I was dead!”

At that, the sparkling fairy gave a wriggle,
And asked the maid if she would put her down.
Then, slowly, she went to the Black Faerie,
And gave a gentle tug on her black gown.

The Black Faerie raised a tear-stained face,
And looked the sparkling fairy in the eye,
Who lifted the crying Faerie to her feet,
And chokingly said, “Please try not to cry.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself,” she told the Faerie,
“You have had to put up with a lot.
Though now you know that you are normal,
I hope, perhaps, you’ll stop your murderous plot.”

The sparkling fay then smiled at the Black Faerie,
Who, through her tears, smiled also,
They then both tightly hugged each other,
And looked like they’d ne’er let each other go.

The Black Faerie turned to face the ******,
And said, “I am quite prepared to die.
I really didn’t want to have to **** you,
I don’t know why my mother said to try.”

The lady said, “You misunderstood her,
She didn’t want you to live all alone.
She wanted you to find a special person,
To be with you, after she had gone.”

“She tried to say, if you lived as a ******,
Then, as a ******, you would die.
Though she left out the personal pronoun,
So on a futile mission you did fly.”

“I don’t know if you really could have killed me,
Though to try, you’d go out of your way.
And I suspect your mother’s time-limit,
Was to make you find a friend without delay.”

“I don’t think that tonight you will die,
On the anniversary of your dark moon.
And now, perhaps, you’ve found a special friend,
So your quest here has granted you a boon.”

Seeing them looking completely right together,
The lady, down upon them both, did smile.
She hoped that they might soon get together,
And to help them, she might have to use some guile.

“You really both do make a lovely couple,
You complement each other in all ways,
Though I suspect, you courageous sparkling fairy,
You won’t be able to both live with your fays.”

“Round my hut I’ve planted many flowers,
Perhaps you two, near them, your home could make.
I would love for you to live here near me,
Won’t you please think on it, for my sake?”

“And now, I am afraid I’m getting tired,
We’ve been awake for most of the night,
And I would like to try and get some sleep,
Before the sun comes up and it gets light.”

“Next to my bed I’ll lay a pillow,
Which you both may use as a bed.
And now I’ll lie down and close my eyes,
I think, by me, enough has been said”

The lady placed a pillow on the floor,
And slowly re-laid down in her bed,
While the fairies, holding hands, flew aloft,
And settled on the pillow, head by head.

She heard them quietly talking to each other,
Though not the actual words that they said,
Then she drifted off to sleep, and dreamed of fairies,
Lying stilly and quiescent in her bed.

She awoke late the next morning,
And wondered what the misplaced pillow meant.
She vaguely remembered something about fairies,
Though put it down to what she had dreamt.

Then stretching and yawning she arose,
Drew back her window curtains and looked out,
When, what she then saw in the garden,
Quite caused her, her senses to doubt.

Every single flower in her garden,
Seemed to have bloomed overnight,
With larger than normal efflorescences,
And overhead, two fairies in full flight.

To her window sill they flew together,
And stood together, standing side by side.
Then told the lady they would like to live here,
While she stared at them with eyes open wide.

It hadn’t been a dream after all,
What happened in the night had been real.
After many years on her own,
She now had two friends who would be leal.

And so, together they all settled down,
The fairies living with her in her home.
She kept a careful eye upon them both
Though sometimes the fays would go and roam

They helped the wild creatures in the wood,
And kept the garden looking nice and neat.
They’d be out by day and by night,
And almost worked themselves off their feet.

Then one day they said to the maid,
That both of them were ever so sorry,
They had to go away for some time,
Though would be coming back, so do not worry.

Every day the lady looked for them,
And kept hoping that they were both all right.
Somehow, she made it through the day,
Then cried herself to sleep every night.

She very nearly gave up hope,
What kept her going was they’d said they’d be back.
She tried her best to keep things going right,
Though to her, things were looking black.

Late one night, she roused from her sleep.
The window ope’d, she thought it was the wind.
Then, irrupting through her casement came,
Her two fays, with two more close behind.

The Black and sparkling fairies lead the way,
Followed by two fairies, very small.
The lady sat, and looked at them in wonder,
From her truckle bed set by the wall.

The Black Faerie settled on her bed,
The sparkling fairy followed close behind.
“We’re sorry to have stayed away so long,
We’ve brought our children with us, please don’t mind.”

At that, the lady looked quite astounded,
“Have you been off with fairy men to dally?”
The two fairies laughed with amusement,
“There are no male fairies, you big wally!”

“We thought, as a pagan, you’d have known
How we maintain our fairy nation.
Female with female fairies manage,
By a process of adosculation.”

The Black Faerie lifted one small fay.
“This lovely dark child is mine.
We’ve decided that we’ll call her Midnight,
To remind us of what’s passed this syne.”

The sparkling fairy lifted up the other.
“And for this blonde beauty I’m to blame.
We could not decide what to call her,
And hoped that you might choose for her a name.”

The lady just sat there in stunned silence,
Quite unable to make any sound.
Oh so happy they had come back to her,
With evidence of the love they’d found.

Once more overcome with emotion,
She let her happy tears flow,
And said, “Please let me think about it,
As soon as I’ve got a name, you’ll know.”

“I’m so very glad you’ve returned,
It was lonely being on my own,
Now you’re back here with your children,
I won’t ever have to feel alone.”

The lady dried her tears, and then smiled,
“I should never have felt so forlorn,
This is a new start for us all,
So I think your child should be named....Dawn.”

Then they all started to laugh and cry together,
Each fairy contented with her child,
And they all lived happily ever after,
In the middle of the forest wild.
*
Grahame Upham
February 2014.
Ember L Wade Jun 2012
I am a writer.
I do not write just to have words on paper;
I write to have these words spoken aloud, with passion, with power to move people to tears and conviction in a single sentence fashion,
Both in the same breath.
Laugh laugh haha see a face? That one face, once full of comfort and love.
Turn it over, see it now full of maggots and dripping its rotting flesh upon rotting life.
A flower- Nightshade, beautiful and deadly.
Deadly fun weaving crowns of poison, wearing thorns and courting danger;
Flirting with disaster, a bride-to-be of pain.
Suffering; screams rip out of raw throats, animalistic and guttural.
Splattering, cracking as bodies hit the floor,
Smeared on the earth is blood and gore.
Why? I can't take much more - but there is nothing wrong with me-
Something's wrong with me.
These are your nightmares, my daydreams, fantasies you hope never visit reality.
Fantasies I may bring to life.
Hellish song arises from darkness, deep and haunting...
Alone in the darkness insomnia takes over;
And over and over.
Fear closes in chokingly close,
Surrounds-
Then it drowns.
Scarring images, scarred for life, broken upon the stones of my words-
Impaled upon the sticks of my anger.
A name, one name called to your mind, whispering from the deep.
"Names will never hurt me," -ha, lies.
This name hurts.
It burns into your being, a red hot brand on the soul.
It's my name, harming my soul with the memory of you.
I'm pretending not to feel it, I'm pretending not to care,
I'm trying not to live my life pretending you are there.
I know there is no going back but I dream of it,
You're gone now and I hate you for it.
I want to fall and with pain sate my thirst for it.
Tell me you love me, break it all down;
Tear up my heart with your uncaring sound.
I'm hurting- in pain -and you won't set me free;
Lie so sweetly and then smile at me.
Your hellish song arises now from the dawn, light and piercing,
Staking me upon your sticks and breaking me on your stones.
A beautiful flower- nightshade, rests beside my hand;
I the thorn-crowned, screaming for you, calling in tears for you, forgotten.
So in this hell I await your return, swamped in anger;
I can’t wait to get you back,
I’m going to get you back.
Just remember, I love you.
I hate you.
My second ever slam poem.
BOOM
Kendra B Aug 2015
My silence lives in the middle of my chest.
Engulfing my lungs into the poeticness of Black.
It inches up my throat,
Clinging onto my esophagus,
Chokingly.
My silence suffocates me,
But my voice still wants to Scream.










© 2015 Kendra Bowman
CM Rice Dec 2013
As I smoke on more,
As the moon rose, a thought arose in me,
Of what one wants an’ how to get it.

This life pondered through a yellowing ****,
Of a familial failure – this nervous trait,
Left to consider a stinging punch line,
Misuse of sincerity for the ease of hate,
Stuttered confidence in displaced harmony,
In time, smoking this from that an’ those,
Essentially to have an essence of an answer,
Rising from rambling, vacant empty prose.

As I decide,
As decisions go, I must resolve for me,
An’ find out where and when to get it.

These ‘internalisations’ of thought,
Torrentially pouring mind an’ heart,
Where to start - for pain; how to end,
Over-exposed, drifting in the known,
So I drag on another – four minutes lost,
Beguiled by the chokingly humid question,
Fooled I am, laid bare an’ decidedly unaware,
To lucid memory an’ casual resurrection.

As I stand,
As the truth riddles, the fear it strikes in me,
I know not what to get or how to get it.

I know,
Now.
Jack Singer Nov 2011
You feel it
quivering like thick wet bass strings
Far beneath you,
rumbling deep within you,
In a secret place.

Push it down.
Try to swallow.
It’s not working.
It pushes to the surface
chokingly,
stronger now,
that bile taste
In the back of your throat
more real suddenly.

It scampers up the inside
Of your ridged esophagus,
Its padded feet
Clinging and skiddering
quickly up the dark sides.
The damp passageway
Convulses
As if to throw it down
But still it climbs
Squirrelishly
Wriggling.

It is faster now and closer
Even closer.
It is closer now and faster
Even faster.
You realize suddenly
you are trapped.
here amongst the crowd,
Surrounded on all sides
by thousands of pulsing bodies,
Only they don’t seem to see
The impending doom.
You will have to submit
To it.

Wildly
Frantically, you claw at your surroundings,
at the very earth itself you have to escape
there is no other way.
There is a guttural desperation to your cries
shooting forth from your throat
and you do not recognize it.
It is closer now and it is faster and Holy
****
This is the end.

You pull at your hair,
Claw scarlet marks down your face
It is too much to bear
It will consume you.
You feel the very pieces of your mind
Torn apart, shearing past each other
Like tectonic plates and the world
is no more and the world
doesn’t know you anymore
it is closer now this thing this terrible thing
yes you see it now.

It is all so clear now that you can see it.
Of course this is doom.
It is complete now and the world
as you knew it is ripped and torn asunder
as easily as houses are obliterated in tornadoes
and you grab the sides of your head in complete
panic  as it climaxes
and takes over
Entirely.
Aisha Ella Feb 2017
It was Boys Like You,
That used to push me around on the playground,
That chased me down dark school corridors.
That became the catalyst for the scoldings I received from my mother;
Over browned shirts, torn skirts and ties, pulled chokingly tight.

It was Boys Like You
That when I grew older,
Gave me sweet, chocolate covered compliments laced with poison.
That hooked me on the addictive drug of 'fitting in' and 'being slim'
And trying to get 'lighter skin'...so I could be pretty like all the other girls.

It was Boys Like You,
That at first glance seemed to be kind
Then threw cruel words into my open mind,
Which tore down what little confidence I had,
And made me wonder what I did that was so bad.

It was Boys Like You
That made me believe that I was hideous,
That told me my reflection was a crime against humanity
And that if beauty was skin deep and no further,
There was no way anyone could ever, love, me.

It was Boys Like You,
That pushed me into the darkest corners of my mind
Turned off all the lights so I'd be blind.
Locked the cell and threw away the key,
And left me there to slowly lose myself to insanity.

It was Boys Like You that made me feel
As though there was something innately wrong with me,
That I had an endless list of faults that even I couldn't completely see.
It was Boys Like You that nearly killed Me...

Well not really.

I mean technically I didn't die.
Maybe only on the inside, as those rotting thoughts infected my crumbling mind
And I begged for someone, anyone to
Please. Help. Me.

It was Boys Like You
That pushed me to the place of contemplating suicide.
As I sat, wide eyed tears in my wide eyes,
Wondering if maybe I stopped breathing
Then I would stop feeling all these feelings,
Being this human being that was drowning in her own self loathing.

I blame Boys Like You.
For the tears of young women and girls all over the world.
For slit wrists, and bruised fists, and beauty addicts
That nit pick and victimise everybody else,
Just so they can criticise what they don't like in themselves.

So I vow to raise my daughters to never listen
To your hollow, deadly words, that ring untrue.
And I vow to raise my sons, to be better men.
To be nothing like Boys Like You.
Disclaimer: This isn't a 'all men are ****' rant at all. Thats why the word 'You' is in the title - its only meant for the boys that did do, or still do these kinds of things. It is not a poem meant to be generalised; and if you feel just a tad attacked - maybe take a closer look at yourself first. In all honesty though I'm not here trying to say men/boys are the bad guys.
“Is this what you do?”
Sitting on a dock in Sausalito looking out over
One of the grandest scenes that I had ever seen, I replied,
“What do you mean?”
Moving her feet further away from mine she replied,
“Travel around the country to see women that you barely know?”
Leaning back I answer her half laughing,
“Nope, haven’t had a date in twenty five years.”
“Is that how long you were married?”
“Twenty- three,” I answered changing the subject I continued,
“Sorry, but this view, it is beautiful, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
Ignoring my intended change she says,
“Well, I hope you know that just
Because you flew from Atlanta to San Francisco - that doesn’t
Mean that you are getting lucky tonight.”
Turning toward her, I responded, “Come on, just relax, can’t we
Just try and enjoy the evening?”

It was about an hour after sunset when we decided to walk back
Up the street to a two story restaurant to get something to eat.
We stopped at the door to look at the menu,
I could hear music from inside and that’s when I noticed the sign
That read:
“Open Mic Competition Tonight – $10 to Enter, $250 & CD to the Winner.”

We went in and were seated and soon we ordered our meals.
The ice was so chokingly thick between us that I was
Beginning to wonder why it was that I had come so far.

We talked little during the meal, mostly about her work and
About my son, who was ten and the fact that I had custody.
“I figure it’s hard for a man in Georgia to get custody of children?”
She said, clearly making a question within a statement.
“Oh, I suppose we are not as backward in the South as we are made out to be,”
I answered her listening to the entertainment coming from the upstairs bar.
I was watching through the windows of the restaurant as a
Huge barge moved across the glittering waters of San Francisco bay.
Off to one side I could make out the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge.
Amazingly beautiful.
“It must be nice to be able to have views like this everyday,” I commented.
She hardly noticed that I’d said anything.

When we had finished eating, I paid and we got up to leave.
As we passed by the stairway leading up to the bar I said,
“Let’s go listen to some of the local talent.”
She nodded her approval and said that she needed to go to the ladies room.
With her gone I gave the man behind the booth $10 and filled out the papers.
When she returned we climbed the stairs and were seated
At a table just in front of the stage.
A woman was singing her rendition of
“The Tambourine Man.”
It was truly an eclectic crowd that somehow was still enthralled in the
Middle to late 1960’s, you know the type.
The Haight Ashbury district was sure alive and well here in Sausalito.

I watched my date, she wasn’t impressed, not in the least.
The bar had a house band that would play whatever music the
New entertainer wanted to be played.
We listened to several other hopeful stars.
Then they called my name.

I looked to my date and saw the surprise in her eyes as I said,
“Would you excuse me for a minute?”
I took to the stage asking the keyboard player to move over.
I turned around and winked at my date.
And then I began to sing and play…

'Sittin on the Dock of The Bay.'

Having sung my song, I returned to our table.
Did I break the ice?
The $250 prize was a nice little footnote,
As was the rest of the evening.
No more wasted time………*

(Click or cut and paste the link below to hear me on the CD)
https://youtu.be/D-EKmIirqYE

The above link will take you to YouTube.com where I have uploaded the song. You will need to copy and paste the URL into your browser and once it loads click on the arrow in the bottom left of The YouTube player to start up the music. The above story is almost useless without hearing the music.
Nationwide Insurance twas on my side yay
cuz, earlier this July forth
     two thousand eighteen ja way
windows closed, doors locked, and

     car keys visibly splayed
     on driver seat oye vay
feel free to call me a horse's *** today
utter anxiety compounded,

     plus unable to locate master key,
     thence fodder for poem and more to say
rifling thru boxes without success,
     an impulse arose to call road

     upon learning policy
     doth include locksmith service,
     ah felt less doggone snappish,
     and uttered hoo ray

though modest aye,
     congratulated awesome,
     fulsome, and handsome
     self on quick thinking,

and automatically became less tiresome
     pondering for no particular rhyme nor reason
     (as a getaway) Panama or Paraguay
then immediate decided,

     sans ditto explanation,
     but no how and nay
yet honest to dog suddenly felt
     like a young lovestruck lad

     during month of May
and without further delay
a compulsion arose
to putter along, though

     momentarily gazing heavenward
     and counting (just beak caws)
     glistening black crows
plus painfully aware

     a spike in recurrent
     "senior" moment of forgetfulness grows,
thus starkly aware significant rustiness
     increasingly, frightfully,

     and chokingly coats
     lix spit tillage harrows
resuming schlepping dishabille
     crotchety bedeviled aching

     body electric irksome
with fringe benefit (such as
     momentary lapse of reason)
     quite aware mettlesome

ness of youth nonrefundable,
     non-reliable, and non-retrievable,
     and guaranteed continued
     pricking, viz nettlesome

degenerating aging telomeres,
     sensate perspicuity, and oxysomes
leaving a once robust person some
what discombobulated
     and easily toilsome.
MissNeona Jan 2016
It's chokingly apparent.
My breath was stolen
And my chest will neither rise nor fall

Easily done with a gaze
My head was sent for a daze
I feel both everything and nothing at all

I didn't know which were steps or missteps
If we were going forwards or back where we came
the only direction I know now
was that I was spun around
Far as the (ease)
severely myopic eyes can see,
nothing but polluted atmosphere
where skull and crossbones
memento mori betokens beware,

especially with increasing chronology
mortality becomes crystal clear
existential crisis yours truly didst despair
not so much death itself, but failure
(inadequacy) at livingsocial

mine life to the hilt
plain as day everywhere
casual attitude apropos
(pertinent personal paradigm
regarding aspiring poet)
equals laissez faire,
hence the following
his apt nom de guerre
emotionally castrated docile heir.

Minimal milestones attained he
blithely professes, grants, attests,
et cetera as general rule
barely squeaked by
(think graduating high school)
weatherbeaten and rust covered cerebral tool

smartly linkedin cogs and wheels
buzzfeeding delicate threads didst unspool
above mentioned metaphor near
perfectly, quintessentially, and realistically virtual
extempore description hoopfully edifies
thee dear reader figuratively yours truly
got swallowed into vortex whirlpool.

Maelstrom pitched me to and fro
hither and yon into damndest chaos
drowned me under dead end zone
fiercest storm ever
raging across Lake Woebegone
stronger than bajillion healthy
male primates oozing testosterone
empowered with indomitable strength
downing ordinarily toxic

(even infinitesimal quantity) quinone
think beefy hulking Hercules types
built powerlifters second to none
pulsating pecks, quaking quads,
and ripped reputations
far and wide known
with versatility now
smattering of lines
constituting this poem I hone.

Invisible omnipresent nemesis,
(perhaps the Schwenksville Strangler)
appears intent on asphyxiating,
and simultaneously forcing yours truly
to experience unbearable

oppression, humiliation, and agitation,
whereby joie de vivre extinguished
provoking sadness linkedin
with remembrance of things past
agonizing, kickstarting torturing

absolute zero ability to relish the present
essentially forced to recollect
nasty, short and brutish mailer daemons
characterizing diabolical ghosts
representing nauseating, and haunting

hurtful ***** deeds done dirt cheap
courtesy my selfishness
verboten fruit tasted within recent past
now the bitter aftertaste
analogous to Scrooge
suddenly horrified about his stingy self.
saarahe Feb 2021
yes it is fire-
and yes, it does burn,
chokingly, smothering,
draggingly, churns

smoldering, always shivering aspite
yearning to burn to live through the night.
I hold my hands, attempt to encircle
my biting friend's desperate plight
squeeze like a heartbeat
and I pray and pray, I need this home tonight
Hillary's *** *** will bustily break a breakingly-broke, broken chair
while her 2 scabby *** scabs chokingly choke a choked, chokin' bear
Hillary's muffy ****'ll muscle/muffle the muffler of a croakin' mare
while her medical insurance scam affords us eugenically-token care
Livingsocial at 324 Level Road
circa post high school graduation
found yours truly voluntarily holed up
for an inordinate amount of time
within familiar four walls of his bedroom.

He preferred solitude versus
interacting with either his father or mother,
practicing perfect aggressive passive posture
whereby one or the other parent hurled curses.

Non-social trademark characteristic
thwarted him joining in any reindeer games,
being withdrawn and undersized
overlaid with figurative veneer of anxiety
and a submucosal cleft palate to boot
condemned him to lapse into
comfortably numb state of isolation and loneliness.

Escapism courtesy binge reading
attempting to relish every tome
contributed to purposefulness
helping to answer why I did exist
plus acquisition of knowledge
kindled gray matter approximately
size of left and right fist
allowed, enabled, and provided grist

buzzfeeding overactive imagination
engendering fantasies, you get the jist
at expense of never getting son kissed
during pre/post adolescence
essentially a wallflower
major/minor milestones missed
(such as going to the prom)
in retrospect, I feel grievously ******.

Solitary non trivial pursuits,
across checkered past monopolized
inborn instinct never to witness
salubrious socialization to flourish,
(please don't feel sorry)
though cultivating modest knack
with English language
a commendable trait,
whether engrossed solving word games,
reading reputable news source

or turning pages of spellbinding book
galvanized mine attention
ferrying thoughts away being
figuratively hermetically sealed
secluded, sedated, (albeit narcotic
viz printed material), separated,
segregated, sequestered, settled...
away from madding crowd
including kith and kin.

Even as a darling little boy
(naive and oblivious to sax and violins)
ways and means sought
to secure absolute zero
interaction with others, I did employ
getting ably linkedin
with storied sixteenth president,
(vis a vis time traveling thru enterprising
seat of the pants experience
whizzing to and fro, hither and yon
at lightspeed helter skelter
back and forth across
space/time continuum

punctuated qua grammatical equilibrium)
spiritually invisibly convening
with alluring American historical figure
namely he who resided when elected
commander in chief
made popular the state of Illinois
analogous to Star Trek
becoming most favorite television show
in equal parts courtesy
William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy
giving legendary Helen of Troy
a run (with Paris) for her money.

Poetry writing a medium
to create embellishment
concerning mine humdrum existence
healthy development chokingly boxed
maturation of body, mind and spirit stunted
impossible mission to ameliorate indelible legacy
vibrant potential abilities sabotaged
webbed wide wakefulness smothered
psychological travails wracked mein kampf
schizoid personality disorder
stymied inherited physical, mental
and spiritual strengths,
whereby bulk of living years
populated by submissiveness.

If born during an earlier era
antedating first Industrial Revolution
hypothetical fictitious me,
would experience rural modus operandi
as fitting, perhaps apprenticed
(rustic accommodations accepted
such as still found in Lake Wobegon)
with respectable tradesman adept as printer,
a clever literate playfully mischievous lad
stealthily including personal editorials
or opinions about difficult challenges
regarding how very shy young man
feels ill at ease when attempting
to befriend a bonnie lass.
Hillary's *** *** will bustily break a breakingly-broke, broken chair
while her 2 scabby *** scabs chokingly choke a choked, chokin' bear
Hillary's muffy ****'ll muscle/muffle the muffler of a croakin' mare
while her medical insurance scam affords us eugenically-token care
that excludes dwarves chasin' pint-sized girls for more thrills 'cause
old pioneering men measured terrestrially their liquid pint as 4 gills
Burdenin' the haunches of flea-treated-flea-bit dogs are seas of fleas
that pitch & roll, slide & skid, pig waltz & stomp & tease with ease
in the bunks of *** sailors where tall queer John Cleese eats cheese
as banded gentry bemoan root-dead trees washed by acidical breeze
that whips twilight into an oily, heartbeat-skippin' sneeze & wheeze
durin' trying trials of exactors doublin' transponder fees in the Keys
Hillary's *** *** will bustily break a breakingly-broke, broken chair
while her 2 scabby *** scabs chokingly choke a choked, chokin' bear
Hillary's muffy ****'ll muscle/muffle the muffler of a croakin' mare
while her medical insurance scam affords us eugenically-token care
Hillary's *** *** will bustily break a breakingly-broke, broken chair
while her 2 scabby *** scabs chokingly choke a choked, chokin' bear
Hillary's muffy ****'ll muscle/muffle the muffler of a croakin' mare
while her medical insurance scam affords us eugenically-token care
that excludes dwarves chasin' pint-sized girls for more thrills 'cause
old pioneering men measured terrestrially their liquid pint as 4 gills
Burdenin' the haunches of flea-treated-flea-bit dogs are seas of fleas
that pitch & roll, slide & skid, pig waltz & stomp & tease with ease
in the bunks of *** sailors where tall queer John Cleese eats cheese
as banded gentry bemoan root-dead trees washed by acidical breeze
that whips twilight into an oily, heartbeat-skippin' sneeze & wheeze
durin' trying trials of exactors doublin' transponder fees in the Keys

— The End —