Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Davina E Solomon Sep 2021
Yesterday, a cloud burst in mythologies
and the rain fidgeted over the retreat

of a tidal pantheon; deities swept away
by a current, and we stood awhile, watching

the moon elbow out the dusk. Breathing
is burdensome when cars float on water

and corpses leak out of cavernous
basements. Every tablet, etched, in the cold

heart of building code was read again
and then again. It wasn't enough to blame

Aeolian whim or the raging riposte of Apollo,
now that we had marvelled away Gaia's

ozone skirt. Her amnion always leaked
in folkloric floods each time she birthed

a parable. She once asked Noah to build
an ark so he could ride her waves

and we scrape the sky to impale her
in shards where her womb is soft and yielding,

as we sour the air and burn the water and strip
her of her emerald sigh and melt her hills

and silt her wetlands. Mostly it was the asphalt
plastering her yearning that calcified her veins

and arteries, as she died slowly under our feet.
We could hardly fathom her sorrow for the tears

rolled off her torso like an oil slick
and rode far into the subway for sewers.
Hurricane Ida’s remnants created deadly havoc in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and New York days after the system hit the Gulf Coast — some 1,000 miles away (npr.org) I composed this poem in the aftermath. Read further at my blog. Originally published at http://davinasolomon.org on September 4, 2021.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2013
Relationships are not easy-peasy,,
Some take work, some, self-sacrifice.

Some must overcome defects congenital,
Obstacles so great that the Roman Gods
Are asked to intervene,
Send down those hotties, the fiery Furies,
who punished crimes at the instigation
of the soon to be frozen victims

So to the chase,
let's cut,
My woman's has true blood,
H2O
In solid state.

Her body is icy, permanent frosty,
And requires regular de-icing
Before Take Off.
This condition being true of her
Every part except, her prima facie.

Even the bed complains,
Whining creeks and groans,
Sometimes it even screams,
When she get in sans pajamas.

I,
A bastion of extra human warmth,
As my poems bear witness,
Normal temp is 102,
I am the joy of her life,
For love, I make the
Ultimate sacrifice.

Her feet, medieval torture instruments,
Her bare hands, have
Killed lesser men and folkloric-ly,
Reputedly, she has flash froze and keeps
Some vampires in the basement fridge,
Suitable for reheating in the microwave.

You may think this charming,
This poem, an amuse-bouche,
But it ain't funny when I go to the
Emergency room for first degree burns.

Remember when Ralph's friend
Got his tongue stuck to the metal pole,
In "A Christmas Story"?
That was me, that was her!

But our together,
Approaching near five years,
Is a Survivor.
Two hurricanes, ******* named
Irene and Sandy,
A divorce from a mean spirited wbitch
That took so long
The Matrimonial Lawyers ***-ociation
Had my portrait painted over their fireplace.

Even the icicles otherwise know correctly as
Her Extremities,
Have not come between us

When my lips kiss her neck,
Surgically remove heart with poetic scalpels,
Hold it, fluttering and with both hands, warm.

Her eyes close, and neuronic messages
Commence firing, telegraphed, messengered,
To the far corners of every Purim Persian province,
Let the wicked witch melting begin,
Commence the holiday of
Her Festivities.

If you think any man,
Could perform said feat of endurance,
You better checkout again the name of the
Man who authored this story,
For his name, with special powers, endowed.
They always told me of my pneuma,
This creative spirit,
Capable of conquering nations or liberating the unjustly incarcerated
Unearthing fabled, folkloric myths,
With all the pummels I’d expect a brain cyst—
Still, he trudges on,
Like a scapegoat in its farcical, ineffable glee—
Why are you telling me
To manufacture and market my life
Like an indulgent, indulged on swine
Conforming to the convention,
Supporting units of straight edges

What in this straight-edged maelstrom
Can help the creative pneuma
To thrive in a place so confining and restricting
And detrimental to discoveries, breakthroughs,
Spiritual sustenance?
mûre Jul 2012
Chapter 1:
Today I read our electronic history
a dusty living-room tome
wistful for reminiscence
and a late afternoon happy-end.
In Chapter Two I meet the villain
in wanted posters on every page
and read a folkloric anguish
revealed between every line
in heartache and metaphor.
(I was illiterate to your language)

Chapter 2:
And now she is accountable for
the permanent etchings of
betrayal and cruelty.
History be not fickle as I.
History be not proud.

Chapter 3:
Atonement? Stay tuned.
The co author may have just broken the contract.
Writer dynamics are begging forgiveness.

To be continued.
The classic story of "My Best Friend Was In Love With Me" followed by "How To Break a Heart". Every time I think I've become a 'good person' I am humbled by past mistakes.
SøułSurvivør Dec 2015
:')
-

The icon above is now
officially a WORD.

It actually made "Word of the Year".
IN OXFORD.

I'm glad.
It exactly expresses my feelings right now.

I was laden with burdens.
I mentally pictured them placed,
like the cross, upon Jesus' shoulders.

THEY ARE GONE!

I prayed with my former pastor
the other day. He prayed i would have a
New song in my heart.
IT'S THERE.
I can feel it!

I must go off site and get it down.
I will be back soon.

I just want you to know there IS JOY
IN THIS LIFE! It belongs to God.

Joy unspeakable and full of GLORY!

Please go to the site search engine.
Type in "Salvation Story by SoulSurvivor".
Click on "poems". There are only a few.
This is the reason for the
hope within me.

There ARE other paths.
I have tried them ALL.
I AM NOT TELLING UNTRUTH.

Atheism
Agnosticism
Transcendental Meditation
Self Realization Fellowship
Buddhism
A smattering of Hinduism
Tao
Scientology
New Age Christianity
Native "American" folkloric Shamanism
(I bought fetishes and one
is still kept by my father)
Alcoholics Anonymous God Faith

NOTHING WORKED
OVER THE LONG HAUL.

Only faith in Jesus Christ saved me.

LITERALLY.


I seldom get up on my soapbox about this.
But, folks, what I found is REAL...

If you wish to ask me more
You may reach me
via the site message system.

I'm only writing this because
I truly love you ALL.
I SEE SO MANY STRUGGLING!
Maybe, just maybe, this is
the answer.

For YOU.



P E A C E (out).

♡ Cathy
Butch Decatoria Apr 2016
As children we seem to skim across surfaces
Of our days’ tranquil lakes

Like the basilisk running on hind legs
Out-pacing our (lesser than Jesus) predators

Impossibly drowning them in the wake
Of that chase, as we are learning to shield ourselves

By striking first, so as not to feel
that blow of life’s cruel anger and exhaust...

We know how to wade the weeping
Wreckages of our mistakes & missed opportunities;

Mistook with misunderstanding’s book:
"An Idiot’s Guide to the Malady of Mishaps / Moroseness."

As adults we grow the necessary gills
To breathe our own tears' folkloric oceans seeming

Vast as Mithra’s museums of mummified cries,
Drowned moments we silenced inner deep blues' / sky.

We are Merfolk,
Watching here our ebbing tides

How once we had legs like ballerinas, swift & light
Like our worries to aging blight

Stymied timely introduction to Triton nights….
Deftly anticipating the arrival of hindsight’s

Deepest fight to catch the rye and nimble child
Above us now, while we watch them -- Kites

Of memories as in our far away / freedoms
On the surface of our wars' tear filled lakes

Losing our inner / liquid flight…
From youthful wings to fins, and wordless sting

Learning to sink, swim, and breathe
Again-- Life :
                       our unheard Ariel under the sea…

We are Merfolk of dreams oceanic kisses
Voiceless we will lack magic to raise our wishes

We learn to sing in seaweed with
Music of happenstance and waves of need

We are similar to those lost depths
Inequalities and struggles all abyssal deep.

So together as Merfolk must quiet that  loud sea
Loss & histories of mountains / memory

Nautiluses drowning in love’s diminishing poetry,
We are merfolk, submariners toward mystery...
The Repairman Cometh
It was the sweetest of morning all I had to do was to pick up
a car from the garage nothing is simple in the Africa’s stranglehold
on Portugal, its relaxed attitude have seeped into the very corner of
what is called the Portuguese endearing soul
The car stopped I called the garage, alas it was lunch time which
is sacred,
oh yes they promised to come,
the man I spoke to was
chewing on a bone, I waited for three hours which is the time
a lunch break takes.
I was left sitting on a road far from a nearby café, but that is
beside the point, many call this attitude charming folkloric even
I think it demonstrate a lack of regard for Fellow man especially
if he is the foreigner and it is a well-known fact the Portuguese are
fine people,  they tell us so in every booklet you care to read
But there is another picture of Portugal on my mind
The atrocity their army committed and the following cowardice
By the leadership is forgotten in a common amnesia and the young
will ask a question; Father: what did you do in Angola besides poring
cement down hotel drains out of pure spite.
Andrew Duggan Nov 2017
Once the black armies marched in Catalonia.

A time when nobody could think. Folkloric and religious celebrations smashed, a fumbling of tasteless glass.

Bayonets gleamed in the half lit shadows of the internment camps.

We challenged the greed of those who made this affair
To teach our children what was true.

A momentary adjustment to the order of things.
And those who take your dreams to shape them to their own.

Now the past is remembered in Barcelona, Girona, Lleida, and Tarragona.

Fire songs in every town remind us that autumn is near,
and distant shots of rainfall wake the ghosts of those that bled for this soil.

We sing and march to warn the watching world that is entranced by Europe’s spell.

To walk free in the medieval winding lanes of Besalu, and drink with friends in the bars of Peratallada.
The stream has a dream it never stops
It flows and follows the *****
Whichever the path
Slows down to fill the uneven holes
Moving down the sun parched hills
Quenching the thirst of every tree
To unknown territories and places
Folkloric melodies it sings
Since birth and every
     subsequent growing up year
until earth around sun orbitz equalled
     lix plus some months gradual aging

     upon this body electric didst wear
major organs as personal choices made to veer
toward folkloric, generic holistic livingsocial
     societal, theoretical fabric
     minimally didst tear

which family of origin
     constituent part (nurture)
     nsync verses with nature (genetics)
     steeped with ethos to share
with parents, row mans, siblings,

     (now offspring), et cetera
     superfluity sans abundance,
     or paucity per cornucopia rear
neither former plentifulness,
     nor latter scarcity respectively
     predictable asper
    being dynamic

     versus static such yield
based, linkedin, and predicated
     on a gamut how fate didst wield
one record breaking
     catch of the century, and sealed

     fickle non butterfinger
     Swedish Fish Ma PHEAA filleted
famed schooled
     Redmond Efficiency Academy
top of the class for each grade,
     whence analogous

     viz zit hid had dock
     pier fickle lee hoorayed
randomly cast piscine line reeled inlaid
hallowed sea man tricked treat

     once the providence,
     which belief informed lifelike
     sculpted, Idolized carved likeness
     revealed from precious metal or jade
unseen creator mortals prayed

some examples being handily
     accorded mechanistic multi-deistic
such as Manichaeism, Mithraism, Muslim,
     et cetera belief, credo,

     divine entity man made
attempting cosmic explanations
     grandly incorporating
     limitless mysteries splashed
     throughout universe visually displayed

decrees ordained requiring unbridled zeal
only the dead privy
     to espy secret seventh seal
hence n'er did plentiful spirits reveal

themselves as flesh and blood,
     nonetheless, despite lack of sects ap peal
fervent humility, integrity, magnanimity...
     prayers preceded before each meal
or any exploitative endeavor,

     especially those which did heal
instilling positive influences to hopefully
     sway sought after immortal deal,
     and ethos, figuratively drilled into arboreal

predecessors minds of highest
     saint seeking achievers
and/ or ******* faithful devout believers
who oft morphed into zombie

     thrashing maniacs seized cleavers
a yen to revile against heretics,
not moost ideal to breed largesse,
     whence possessed by fevers

toward simple axe of pious,
     who indulgently pulled levers
no matter feigned actions hash tagged
reciprocating masquerade
     i.e. facade, charade afraid
     but, nevertheless a Good Samaritan.
Bede Sep 2019
Folkloric tales of fables and songs
Of rabid bands of wond'ring throngs
Of merchant men, of robbers sweet,
The hearts of all are sold as meat
Today May 12th, 2021
at Royersford (Pennsylvania) LIDL,
when spouse stepped into checkout line
(minus her horse drawn grocery cart -
pushed courtesy yours truly).

While passively standing stock still
I (think Stonewall Jackson)
let scenario unfold before
mine myopic eyes,
whereby acquiescing
nonverbally attempting to scooch
closer to conveyor belt
subsequently attempting
to maneuver shopping cart
in front of another patron (an older man)
with small number of items in his cart,
who became irate at me.

He appeared angered
at his thwarted (senior) priority,
especially when mine wife
gave him few choice words.

All that learning regarding
learning conflict resolution
(years gone by)
taught by the late therapist Jean Dole
ineluctably escaped me.

I smart with disappointment
not offering aforementioned
aggravated fellow shopper
right of way
proceeding ahead of us
(initiating at least one daily
random act of kindness).

Figurative astringent aftertaste
left in mouth cuz laudable
good samaritan deed chased
away, thus one generic bloke
felt he disgraced
his credo and ethos that laced
behaviorist paradigm
shouldering virtuous lofty aspirations
as upholding saintiless gone to waste.

Nevertheless foo fighting beastie boy
attains exhibiting motto
viz - doing right by doing good.

Since birth and every
subsequent growing up year
until earth around sun orbitz equalled
lxii plus some months gradual aging

upon this body electric didst wear
major organs as personal choices made to veer
toward folkloric, generic holistic living social
societal, theoretical fabric
minimally didst tear

which family of origin
constituent part (nurture)
nsync verses with nature (genetics)
steeped with ethos to share
with parents, row mans, siblings,
(now offspring), et cetera
superfluity sans abundance,
or paucity per cornucopia rear
neither former plentifulness,
nor latter scarcity respectively
predictable asper
being dynamic

versus static such yield
based, linkedin, and predicated
on a gamut how fate didst wield
one record breaking
catch of the century, and sealed

fickle non butterfinger
Swedish Fish Ma PHEAA filleted
famed schooled
Redmond Efficiency Academy
top of the class for each grade,
whence analogous
viz zit hid had dock
pier fickle lee hooray
randomly cast piscine line reeled inlaid
hallowed sea man tricked treat
once the providence,
which belief informed lifelike
sculpted, Idolized carved likeness

revealed from precious metal or jade
unseen creator mortals prayed
some examples being handily
accorded mechanistic multi-deistic
such as Manichaeism, Mithraism, Muslim,
et cetera belief, credo,
divine entity man made
attempting cosmic explanations
grandly incorporating
limitless mysteries splashed
throughout universe visually displayed

decrees ordained requiring unbridled zeal
only the dead privy
to espy secret seventh seal
hence ne'er did plentiful spirits reveal
themselves as flesh and blood,
nonetheless, despite lack of sects ap peal
fervent humility, integrity, magnanimity...
prayers preceded before each meal
or any exploitative endeavor,

especially those which did heal
instilling positive influences to hopefully
sway sought after immortal deal,
and ethos, figuratively drilled into arboreal

predecessors minds of highest
saint seeking achievers
and/ or ******* faithful devout believers
who oft morphed into zombie
thrashing maniacs seized cleavers
a yen to revile against heretics,
not moost ideal to breed largesse,
whence possessed by fevers

toward simple axe of pious,
who indulgently pulled levers
no matter feigned actions hash tagged
reciprocating masquerade
i.e. facade, charade afraid
but, nevertheless a Good Samaritan renegade.
artist, dragon and gangster extraordinaire

Written September ninth,
two thousand and twenty one.
Reposted exactly three years later.

Here at 2 Highland Manor Drive
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.

Actually all three people
linkedin to each other courtesy
Dissociative Identity Disorder
(Multiple Personality Disorder).

Wiccan up to mystical alien way
I raptly listened as she didst soothsay
scanned -- din heavy yen reference
about paganistic folkloric history
regarding Sweden and Oslo (also) Norway.

The missus dubbed
aforementioned young gal "curvy girl,"
a zaftig smart young woman
super talented self taught herself
to draw, sketch, and paint.

Only unmarried millennial men need apply,
perhaps someone who hails from buckeye
state - ideally above average
humorous gallivanting fellow
plus somewhat meshuggeneh *******
Louie garden variety
wealthy eccentric recluse
who doth blatantly defy
establishmentarian paradigm

you rarely espy,
cause he stays sequestered
about dozen doors down
from (femme fatale) ha
said alluded to chick named
three faces of
eve vent jewel one named Jen Fry
easy on the eyes
courtesy me, a generic guy,
who experienced amicable chat

referencing aforementioned lass
the first encounter with her
found yours truly saying "hi"
devoid of ulterior motives
only casual acquaintanceship did I imply
cuz even if this former bachelor
(got married twenty fifth of July
nineteen hundred and ninety six)
hypothetically decoupled,

cuz the age difference between us
quite substantial qua aging baby boomer
born two years after Bridge
over the River Kwai
filmed - then rocked to sleep
courtesy Brahms lullaby
if fain to sire offspring with lass
(young enough to be my daughter)
kiddos would witness their papa to mummify.

Our friendly communication
peppered with structures of silence
coasted along with zest
and dialed up quite lathered dialogue
betwixt us I do attest
mutual comfort level quickly established
between yours truly
and said attractive beefy babe,
who possessed killer thunder thighs
shaking the entire firmament.

— The End —