"festivities" poems
In Anaheim the ultimate celebration begins,
People traveling from all over with fat grins
Luke, Leia, 3PO, R2
Autographs, merchandise, cosplay too.
Tattoos, nerd dating, panels and games
Sea of Slave Leias and other costumed dames
Everything you’ve ever wanted and more
This is the place you’re looking for
Fly solo, or come with family and friends
Party like a Jedi until the festivities end
From Lost to Disney, thank you JJ
Star Wars is back in a big bad way
Fans rejoice, happiness deep as a Sarlacc pit
There’s been an awakening, can you feel it?
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 5:16 PM UTC
**Festivals of my
land are**
Filled with
The brilliance of colors..
The elegance of attire..
The resonance of lights..
The flamboyance of richness..
Of
The essence of laughter..
The sense of happiness..
The fragrance of love ..
The immence feeling of Joy..
The exuberance of festivities..
The relevance of celebration..
The Perseverance of culture..
Its all about
My Motherland....
My India..
Yes !! Its that time of the year
When 1/7 th population of the world
celebrates
The Festival of Lights..
On the dark night of No Moon ..
The whole country is filled
with lights..
From earthen lamps and LEDs
To
Celebrate the win of
Good over evil..
To celebrate
The homecoming -
after the win..
The brightness of lights..
The purity of air..
The brimming faces..
The laughter echoes..
Elders, kids, adults
all come together,
To fill the land with
Sparkles and Divinity....
Diwali it is !!
Diwali it will be !!
The festival of love..
The festival of respect..
The festival of sharing..
The festival of caring..
The festival of loving..
The festival of giving ..
!!!
**
Sharing,
Caring,
Loving,
Giving....
The young kids rhyme..
We teach them by action,
That we want them
to remember...!!
Happy Diwali..
The festival of lights..!!
**
Sparkle In Wisdom
Nov 2018
Nov 3, 2018
Nov 3, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
*
*My dear BELOVEDz
You have played festivals of colors
With me through centuries
I've been your Romeo, Rumi, Radha
Zuliet, Layla, Heer, Sohni
Majnun, Rabia, Ranjhanaa
Today,
I am standing in front of YOU
with your colors in my heart
Can YOU play colors with me?
Without YOU
Without your colors
I can't find
Lyrics in my songs
YOU are the naughty, cool
Fragrant color of my life
Why are YOU always in such a hurry
It is so difficult to calm YOU down
Color my dreamZ slowly BELOVEDz
Please play colors with me BELOVEDz
At every shore of every ocean
On every flora of every forest
On every bird of every sky
Everything is covered with your colors
I can smell your fragrance everywhere
But I can't see YOU anywhere
I want to melt in your colors
I want to be covered with your colors
Till now YOU've been so tender to me
Hiding and throwing colors on me
I keep on calling out for YOU
Oh.. my BELOVEDz
Oh... my BELOVEDz
Come and apply some more
Colors of your LOVE on me
At nights YOUR whispers color
My heart in BLUE
During days your presence colors
My SOUL in RED
Your hide and seek laughter
Resonates music around me
Let us be together and play
This festivities of colors
I can't see you in worldly crowd
Be brave and come out in front of me
And apply some COLORS of LOVE on me*
*
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 11:23 PM UTC
I’ve never understood the pull of the nightlife.
I was always content to hang in my cave and enjoy the homelife.
Every now and then I do wag my tail and purse the trail of the pack,
Always lingering right at the back of the queue.
I follow their scent when they descend into the night,
While they ascend the social status stairway.
From my perch at the bar I watch the social sheep dancing to the beat of popularity:
The girls show off their twirls and brunette curls,
Inviting you into the funhouse down under that never shuts for festivities.
The boys weigh up their options with the biceps on display and perfect quiffs held up by ten tins of hairspray.
Hunting through the flocks of feet trying to find themselves a piece of meat for an all night feast.
When he finally finds his muse he bites her lip and grabs her hair, pulling her in without a care about those who stop and stare.
They kiss for seconds and he whispers in here ear,
“I think we should get outta’ here.”
She giggles grabs his hand and leaves through the exit at the rear.
His friends give him a clap and cheer, whilst his jealous rivals sulk and sneer.
After a few too many drinks I leave through the front, holding my head low to avoid a fight.
Bearing the brunt of another unsuccessful night with no young light to take home and ignite.
I fall on my floor with a case of helicopter head as the room spins in circles and squares in front of my eyes.
My lasting thoughts are of the day ahead; hanging dry and feeling as if I’d rather die.
It's just another day in my nightlife.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
✨
*The Sun, misses shining bright in the clouds
Mellow, it smiles with the balmy breeze
Rain has been dancing for long in the whole town
Stars can’t shine in the night sky
The rain does its favourite ‘Tandav dance’
They never seem to be out of harmony
The earth, wet and damp
Mother Nature teaches us to accept and walk towards happiness, nevertheless
Light up the earthen lamp and hoist the lantern in the cloudy sky
The stars underneath brim with golden smiles
Diwali is the magical time to spend with the loved ones and feel blessed
To enjoy the festivities with spirits up and bright
Happy Diwali*
✨
Oct 26, 2019
Oct 26, 2019 at 1:37 PM UTC
Road Trippin, with my click
Excited as all hell
Blaring Beats through Bama
Salty ocean I can smell
We reach the main strip
Find the Days Inn
First we eat our fill
Now where’s my gin
The beach is a constant party
Sunup to sundown
We have three rooms connected
Hailing from T Town
Many more friends are here
Joining our festivities
We spent more money on *****
Then any other amenities
Man after man begins to drop
Who will last the night
Incorporate the puke and rally
Get back in the fight
The week has reached it’s close
Ready to head home
Yet once we leave I know to well
I’ll miss the sea’s white foam
Well so long my dear Panama
Another trip I will make
For I had the time of my life
On my first spring break
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
I know I've been there,
I've given into death and altered the fabric of reality
Every day we waste away transfixed by flattened images
Of the limitlessness of death
Coupled with elusive, Luciferian harm which will befall us all
Who subsist on the manipulated reality of the hyperspace information field
But one day, enlivened by the festivities of Shakori Hills
And the fungal spirits who awoke beside us
I walked the irreversible pathway through oblivion
Facing cruel destruction and terror
For a horrifying passage across Styx into eternity
And emerged within a crowd of mollusks dancing to the waves of a musical sea
All time suspended in the impossibly drawn-out ****** of the
Archetypal wizardry of rhythm,
The swirling clumps of faces in
Unshakable ecstasy
And seemingly responding to the wild currents of my conscious thought;
A longing for human touch drew the others closer and closer around me
Till they began brushing against me
Bumping into me,
The flow of the crowd saw its axis at my psychic emanation
As once more the last song of all time began with thunderous energy and applause.
I escaped the arresting confines of the crowd
By willing them aside, wearing, as I suddenly became aware, the shoes of Moses
And seeing my muddy feet upon the sands of Egypt
But I yet had no understanding
Of the nature of the garden of earthly delights
Into which I had fallen,
And fear began to envelop me,
Producing law enforcement officials hawklike swooping in to limit my power.
I had but to let go of my acceptance of their power over me to transcend them
But fear tethered me to reality,
Even as I saw about me a Dharmic mandala
Of my past present and future,
Generating inexplicable archetypes around me in a manner profoundly defiant
Of rational logic.
Synchronicity compounded upon me
As the Christos within me
Brought rain down upon us
Forcing us together and leaving me in dumbfounded reverie
Of all that had transpired to bring this moment forth
What had seemed to be the end of history was in fact
The awakening of a new rebirth
The first moment of coming to be
The union of past, present and future
As the reassuring smiles of my trustworthy disciples gently allowed me passage back into a rational existence
I beamed in utter gratitude for the eternal life which Christ afforded us.
Chaos had subsided back into normalcy
But still winked at me
In telepathic coincidence.
My soul has begun to realize that it resides in all things
Soon they are to be reintegrated
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:16 PM UTC
an old familiar,
an adversary of the first degree,
when we wrestle,
me and this god
disguised as an angel disguised as man,
the door to where we tangle,
clicks shut with a perceptible oval sounding,
a trumpet announcing commencement of the festivities,
that we are
Occupado
no stray observers permitted in,
the room entrances locked,
someone's two hands upon each temple,
(cannot be mine, for)
inside we combat literally,
"mano-a-mano"
hand to hand,
word to word,
gradually, continuously,
up close and personally,
one on
One
over the course of a lifetime,
each battle named,
famously borrowed and thus recorded,
Agincourt, Waterloo, Gettysburg, Leningrad, Ðiên Biên Phú,
for the record keeping purposes of our unforgiving ******
historian
the rules of engagement somewhat flexible,
biting, choking, eye gouging,
kicking when down, not just legal,
encouraged, no holds barred,
when we wrestle,
the dirtier the
better
take turns declaring a victor,
for that matters little, truly,
just a record keeping notation,
the battle and its aftermath,
the waves of pain inflicted,
the casualty count engorged,
is the greatest glory,
dans une manière de
parler
though sent away the children,
our earthly goods,
designating them purportedly,
non-combatants observers,
yet 'no rules' meant
they could be accidentally drawn in,
non-combatant status does not prevent them
from being freely captured or
killed
the conflict ongoing,
no one ever calls for a truce,
for both unequal adversaries know,
no quarter will ere be given,
and though the tide shifts,
each individual battle produces as always,
a winner and a
loser
noisy affairs,
long after the battle,
the slain yet scream,
perhaps I am confused,
perhaps it is the day's survivors,
announcing that sadly,
they are still
alive
it must be the latter,
for here I am writing and recording,
and though alone,
I hear an ever growing louder,
gouging sine wave scream piercing,
daring my soul to leave my wracked
body
for though mortal wounded,
I am therefore
both dead and alive,
but which more so,
none can surely
say
this conflict remains
unconcluded
the pain in my hip, now
everywhere,
my Jacob, now, Israel,
marker
so visible even if itself,
unseen
3:59am
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
#*Dripping wet
December gets
It frets
The rains have overstepped
It’s not July
No not September
It’s been long August has slept
Winters just checked into December
Changing the air to mode, cold
But the rains have overstepped
Cold and wet December gets
Last it is, but never the least
Brings in joy and festivities
Within a day or maybe two
The rains will vanish in thin air
Pleasant weather and sunshine
December makes promises fair*#
Dec 2, 2021
Dec 2, 2021 at 6:35 AM UTC
*Oh.. on this festivities
My illumination of LOVE
My Noor - my Belovedz
Become my LOVER & BELOVEDz*
Among millions of stars in the sky
The one star that I saw
By the grace of your glow
In the darkest nights
YOU sparkle your colors
Soaring wings in flight
Within unknown celestial cosmos
Touching my dark oceanic shores
Oh my Noor - my BELOVEDz
This is the purest blessing
I beg from YOU
Just let one sparkle of your LOVE
Fall in my lap - inside my womb
Let me give birth to YOU
Create a replica of YOU within me
This is the prophecy of Nature
The truest word of Mother nature
Every God/dess proclaims in scriptures
A golden commandment of AGAPE LOVE
For the future of the world
To survive and sustain on LOVE
That is the reason I've been chosen for
For your light to pierce in my SOUL
My Noor - my BELOVEDz
My existence is touched by your LOVE
I seek inner LOVE with your illuminations
YOU are the first passion of my LOVE
YOU remain the last obsession of my LIFE
Humans life-time is too minuscule
Compared to LOVE's immortality YOU illuminate
YOU are present in every breath
Of my birth to death - darkness to light
YOU remain my North-Star,
I remain YOUR LOVE's navigator
YOUR SOUL is my destination,
I remain your LOVER - a LOVE seeker
My Noor - My BELOVEDz
Just show little charity
By dropping your LOVE energy
Inside my womb of creation
Please forgive...
My obsession of YOU
My passionate LOVE for YOU
My intimate talks on LOVE
My showing YOU - my joyful tears
I am mere human - seeking your LOVE
I may not be PERFECT -
My Noor - My BELOVEDz
Light my imperfections with your illuminations
Just give me a space in your inner being
Let me touch that
Source of LOVE's light within YOU
I just ask one thing from your sparkle
Annihilate me, dissolve me, absorb me
Within your darkness forever
Where I can unite with your LOVE
The ultimate LOVE source - Illumination
*Oh.. on this festivities
My illumination of LOVE
My Noor - my Belovedz
Become my LOVER & BELOVEDz*
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 1:09 AM UTC
I was a chaparone at the All Hallow's Eve dance.
Listening to the band play Halloween faves,
and watching the eyeballs floating in the punch.
The background decor, seems made for Doomsday.
Grungy, haunted house theme, hellish ghouls,
Gargoyles gone mad, witch's brew, and bats all aflutter.
Here and there between the goth and the empath,
a psychopath roams, silently stalking his prey,
amongst the frightening selection of costumed kids.
The mental resilience to survive such horrors,
depends on your grasp of reality. Realizing the lights,
the music, the garish dress, meerly decor for this night's festivities.
And yet, underlying this ghoulish fun, a sense,
a sense of doom, and ********** by something
otherly, stalking its prey, seeking that single moment.
To bring to light in the dim, ghostly haze,
a wickedness yet unknown to those attending.
That ever vile teacher, bent on making those around her suffer.
We have all seen her, stride the halls purposely,
Giant mole on her chin, Ruler in Hand.
Striking fear in the strongest of souls.
That authoritarian of witches, Ms. Nasher the Head Basher!
Run for your LIVESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 4:53 PM UTC
*The essence of festivities all around
And the ray of hope
lit in our eyes
Few more days
And it begins.
Festival will come, once again
New attires, new hopes
shining in bright light.
Mother Goddess arrives,
to heal our mind.
9th and 10th day left
With good wishes all around
When Goddess Durga arrives
Returns back our smiles
And heart fills up with happiness.
With the arrival of Goddess Durga
Take back the past
Take back our past love
Take back everything
Which no longer belongs to us
And make us anew.*
Written originally in Bengali-
*Pujo pujo gondho
Amader sobar chokhe aalo
Kichu din aaro
Tarpor pujo aarombho.
Pujo aashbe, abar aasbey
Notun kapor, notun aaloker dhaara
Maa elo abar,
Mon k saariye deoyar jonno.
Nobomi r dashmi baki
Preeti o Shubhechha
Maa-r aagomone
Firbe abar haashi
Mon bhore Khushi
Elo Maa Durga
Aager din er kotha
Aager prem
Sob firiye nao
Amader notun kore dao.*
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 2:28 PM UTC
so it begins when it begins
blasé grass serrates
past herds of carabao dreaming anxiously
of the day's toil;
the countryman stilts through
mounted in gray mountain
with dippers, casserole, mirrors
with imprints of ******** clad women
and women who are (really ******** clad) ready for bathing work,
collections of red days and even
tenderly the ***** sing attenuated songs of rooming-houses —
the crunch of basil over the afternoon.
waft of a pasture's death my eyes well
up rivers and ponds of elation. dog days, feral nights limp behind rusted
kennels and makeshift asylums
there is nothing left of the world
(this small world
that only rises when bellows
of festivities harangue the many streets
bending in them, the curve)
men moving from neck to neck
of bottles — (in the north there
is only four corners of bottle: gin,
pristine brook; in the Visayas is
the redolent Vino Kulafu of the same
potency) plucked out of the vermilion
and on benched careening on half-painted gates crooning Sinatra
gets stabbed, bloodied on the floor,
named after elegies; native chicken held
upside down and beheaded as many blacker days stifled; what do you make
out of this?
carabaos, equines, hens line up
the slaughterhouse behind the
TODA; you know a fine day when
it happens — breaking eggs
against the lip of the kaldero. crumbled
archaic sensurround, barrage of
simmer round the clock cycling
before the child wakes and wails to suckle
our mothers, faster than repose
of milbrightlions of stars falling asleep
to silent radios, leaving windows
open revisited by the eve of cold.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
Rabbit tracks in the snow
padded foot, here we go:
Found beside a lake,
far away for you to seek.
Festivities of the fastidious,
i was all but oblivious.
Promising frostiness,
the air, alit and aglow.
Bombarding me
quietly
with parallelism,
banging noiselessly
off the fire
of the morning sunshine.
Mollified, the world
stirs in its lack of commotion.
Meek blunders of the fortnight,
i wish to forego.
My star,
faded from the sky.
You are
what brings me high.
I will
be with you,
upon
the epoch of
tomorrow’s
morn, come nigh.
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 4:12 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Skirts and dresses,
Men in suits,
Shirts with palm trees,
I love palm trees,
Everywhere I go its filled with life,
And its the life for me,
But I don't want to just simply be another centipede,
I mean the party line,
I want something else in mind,
I come here not just for the festivities,
But a fracture of time,
Not for the pretty Brazilian girls,
Shaking their skirts around,
Something about the beat and the drums,
That get me so aroused,
Man! Is this how it goes down at 12:30.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
postulate carnivals festivities ferris wheels unicorns
tooting horns laughs squeals of carnivorous
joviality held breath heights scary games of chance
winning all today
it is our day
to populate reality
with
fairy tales or obliviate insanity send notice
from highs cry together deny no more the obvious
sobriety holding in that hit wary of getting caught
losing it all
so say with me
I believe
in fairy tales
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC
While many people all over the world
Are busily running to and fro
Engaging in cheerful holiday
Festivities, one thing we know:
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.
While Saudi Arabia nonchalantly
Covers up its heinous act
Of butchering a journalist,
We cannot ignore the fact
That children are starving and dying in Yemen.
While Congress fails to intercede
And chooses instead to bicker and quarrel
Over whether America should
Keep supporting a war that's immoral,
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.
While the oppressive Houthi rebels
Backed by Iran dig in their heels
And Saudi Arabia bombs the cities,
Intensifying a clash of ideals,
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.
When ports are blocked and money is scarce,
And fishermen's boats can't leave the shore,
And food and medical equipment
Are cut off in a three-year war,
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.
A 12-year-old girl weighs 28 pounds;
An 8-year-old boy weighs about 30.
Chances are slim that they will survive.
Who dares to say that war isn't *****
Children are starving and dying in Yemen.
The people caught in the middle are certain
What the fiendish fighting portends:
A huge, unimaginable
Catastrophe unless the war ends,
For children are starving and dying in Yemen.
-by Bob B (12-14-18)
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC
Albert Day was one of a kind,
A middle aged man,
with a much younger mind.
Some claimed he was crazy,
some said "Just ********
some said as a child
he was left brokenhearted.
Whatever the reasons
it didn't quite matter,
for Albert cared not
for the first or the latter.
Let them say what they wanted,
stupid fools with worthless lives.
Bratty kids... barking dogs...
know it all's with cheating wives.
He knew more of them,
then they knew of each other.
What they knew of him,
he had learned from his mother.
He knew he was useless,
nobody could love him.
No wonder to Albert,
that's what they thought of him.
Albert lived in a small mountain town,
a place he believed to know well.
The annual picnic was coming around,
Albert figured he'd go for a spell.
It wasn't like Albert to be in a crowd,
these people were hard on his eyes.
But this year he'd go,
this year he'd be proud,
for this year he had a surprise.
Saturday dawned with a bright blue sky.
Albert awoke with a smile.
He didn't know how
he didn't know why
but he did know today was worthwhile.
Townspeople gathered at Finnigans Park
with umbrellas, and sunscreen, and chairs.
Albert arrived with his mind in the dark,
stupid fools, how they're left unawares.
Alone on his blanket he sat and he watched,
as festivities got underway.
Wondering when to contribute,
his festivities to this fine day.
He studied the husbands,
he stared at the wives.
Watched the kids as they played in the sun.
His patience wore thin,
yet he still wore his grin,
reaching into his sock for his gun.
It only took seconds to squeeze the trigger.
Just seconds to see them all fall.
He thought to himself as he watched them...
stupid fools.... you don't know me at all.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 3:20 PM UTC
Serenade me tonight upon the dance floor
Let the stars radiate
And moonlight descend through the skylight
Speak of nothing
Gazing into those eyes
That have haunted my dreams
Tonight is the last night
When magic sparks
And glitter will explode from nothing
Showering the night's festivities
With a glowing look
A serenade tonight
Will complete the dreams of hundreds
Bathing in the moonlight as footsteps march in rhythm
Stars shining brightly above
Giving blessings to those below
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 1:33 PM UTC
It was the night of Christmas Eve when I was on my own
You came round with Chantelle lowering the festive tone
It was okay until you left and I found that big baguette
Such a time of desperation one time I will not forget
A toilet tragedy I suffered when I discovered your Yule log
Why did you leave that monstrosity inside my ******* bog
I had a drink to calm my nerves but I didn't want to tackle
In the U bend that ******* **** was caught up in the shackle
Trying hard to get rid of that thing with hot water in a bucket
It didn't move with my attempts so I thought "well **** it"
Taking the plunge with pipe unscrewed it wasn't very nice
A gloveless hand you wouldn't want to handle that thing twice
With heavy heart I manhandled that large brown log myself
The size of it I'm petty sure was detrimental to my health
I know that Chocolate logs traditional to celebrate the Yule
Did you have to leave me one made from a combined stool
You blamed Chantelle but I'm not sure if it was her or you
But whichever way you look at it, its a nasty thing to do
So come on just admit it who dealt me that crap card
Getting rid of such a thing well its really rather hard
It really isn't all that much of a Christmas appetizer
Having to disguise it for bin using the local advertiser
Yule be so disgusted if you had crap Christmas news
A real low time of my life with Yule tide log abuse
Next time you decide to call round in the festive mood
Have a **** before you come not meaning to be rude
Don't pass solids in my bog to avoid a repeat performance
I have already reached my peak concerning **** endurance
Use my bog with courtesy without Christmas block activities
I don't want your crap on my hands ruining my festivities
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 5:39 AM UTC
Your shirt was checked.
I hate checked shirts
I thought as I noticed you alone
In the corner with a coffee.
You must have left whilst I was engrossed
In Bryson's Europe.
Sorry I didn't notice;
Belgium is beautiful at this time of year.
I was dancing through the starlight streets
In a dress
I never wear dresses.
A coffee later
I am in Germany
Bored. Not my scene.
A boy rallies round on his scooter
Indoors!
You walk in. Again?!
Two coffees in one day
You must be tired
A briefcase - are you a worker
Like me
Kept away from December's festivities
I catch your eye
Awkward in these situations
You are sat opposite me
Purpose?
Bryson is touring Cologne. For once it sounds awful
But the 60 minute mark draws near
Though it rains outside
I must leave you here in the warmth
Back to a lonely work in the lonely rain.
Perhaps I could smile at you
As I close the door.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
Decorations are up
hung from fishing wire,
fishing for good luck.
There’s Christmas on her neck
and as she stretches out in front of me
a wake of cinnamon decks the halls.
It remains and lingers,
falls away past nostrils and
turns to festive well-wishes.
The market is in full swing
wrapped up tight in large scarves,
like a low cut sling cradling the cold.
Winter has the streets in its hold,
the wind is sour, bitter to taste,
and punters, commuters, Asian lost-tourists walk in haste.
Shop floors are warmed by radiators
hung above their wide open doors:
let the heat out, let the customers in.
And when the mid-November light dims
and the council gets past the
everlasting electrical admin,
streetlamp sticks will light and spark,
sending effulgent embers down onto
the Cambridge cobbles.
Children will peer wide eyed into windows
remembering names for their lists,
hoping to unwrap them as gifts later on down the line.
Adults, some probable parents and others newly-wed together,
enjoy the festivities, the weather, the bespoke crafts
bought from Argos sold as Handmade Swedish Chairs
And do they care? No.
It’s Christmas in Cambridge and
winter is settling in.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 7:38 AM UTC
Walking up the rickety stairs,
Patchouli and cigarette smoke
combat for supremacy
Before I even reach the door,
and I step through to see
The everyday undead scattered on the thick carpet like so many corpses blown out of Wednesday Addams' haunted dollhouse.
Maybe it wasn't wise to come.
A cd player informs me that, indeed,
Bela Lugosi's dead,
And I cautiously move into the living room.
Ruby lips and ivory faces emerge from the gloom,
Incurious glances marking my progress
As an acolyte guides me to the Queen of the festivities
Holding court in a corner of the living room.
Her waist-length silver-gilt hair and damp skin like fresh camellias gleam in the candlelight,
A studded black goblet brimming with Jack Daniels
Is handed to her,
A token of homage she eagerly welcomes
while nodding me forward.
Whispers behind me tell her story,
Of how she's seen a thing or two in her time,
And why her flat stare and Theda Bara smile give glimpses of her bottomless occult wisdom.
As her slim fingers play with a knotted black necklace,
She considers me long before finally declaring,
--"My God, you're an old soul"--
And she pats the cushion next to her,
An invitation to drink deep and close of her dark knowledge.
A cup of something unknown is pressed into my hand
and I sip, hanging onto every arcane word she utters.
Night slowly fades into dawn
and I wake cold and stiff from a kitchen floor sleep
only to see the Queen buttoning the cuffs on her white poplin shirt.
Smoothing her tweed skirt, she steps into her pumps,
Grips her cup of coffee,
And with a cheery wave, leaves for work.
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 3:42 AM UTC
How To Dress For My Funeral
black or white, hot n'pink,
lavender always a fav,
at a fun funeral rave,
lacy or plain, your choice,
tho clean would be nice,
won't matter to me very much,
the color of your underwear.
but do not fail to recall, the dead,
their vision keen, can see all!
funeral gravity rules to be strictly observed,
snickering and giggling to commence in the
back row, when holy pomposity gets uttered,
let it wend its way forward from the aft,
until y'all better be
laughing your ***** off
anyone who chooses to speak,
must commence with words,
"Did ya hear the one about"
or be haunted by my spectral shadow
tickling both feet at midnight, or,
worse yet, reciting this awful poem
in their head, like Henry the Eighth,
I am, I am
perhaps a hora dance might be nice,
a mamba line, butts, holy rolling n'shaking,
past rows of rock n' rolling tombstones, guitar-playing
some Metallica,
while the rabbi intones somberly,
Let's get this party started, gad ******
if my untimely hour should arrive in July,
I humbly request that flip flops be the ped-modality,
if January should be my season
of absence treasoned, use some reason,
please stay home, and let the paid professionals
suffer in fine phony, professional, seasonal frigidity
at the post partum party, should that occur,
I humbly repast request, barbecue be the cuisine,
in the hopes you all recall to place
a generous helping, repeat, generous helping,
inside my sauce- proof pine wood casket,
with extra napkins for the long trip ahead
now these are all post hypnotic, post breathing,
helpful suggestions, not requirements,
but honor or disparage, cry or vent,
curse or bless my perma-absence,
don't matter to me, as long as somebody
reads this manifesto at the festivities, first and last.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC