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Judy Ponceby Feb 2011
During my second trimester I felt like getting some fresh air.
I went out cycling through town in the warm sunny day.
Observing the comings and goings of people all around.
The flower cart on the corner, lent a lovely lilac scent to the air.
The street preacher was shouting out his testimonials,
trying to recruit believers to his cause.
Further on as my pedaling took me, I saw a group of boys.
They were pantomiming their favorite rockstars.
Strumming the air for all they were worth and
Jamming to the silent music in their heads.
Down the block past the Bakery, smelling of cinnamon buns,
was the museum.  My favorite place to stroll on a quiet day.
The gregarious doorman always wished me "A fine  day, Madam!",
as he ushered me into the foyer. He always wore that silly hat that makes me smile.  
And, of course, he kept an eye on my red bicycle by the door.
Making my way through the corridors, observing the sculptures, paintings and artifacts.
Wondering at the archaeologists dinosaur finds, mounted above and behind the glass.
Finally, on to see Pandora and her ill-fated decision to open the box.  
Letting forth into the world all manner of toxicity.  And then, again, opening the box
she set Hope free so we could cope in this danger-laden world.  
Ending my museum tour, I contemplated my coming child
and what he would find to make him cry or hope or love
in this world, as I slowly pedaled through the spring infused day.
Charming Fun and Fanciful.
Pantomime. Bicycle. Museum. Trimester.
Pandora. Gregarious. Toxicity.
Debra A Baugh Jun 2012
I, stand before him
poised in bareness;
his bristles, he dips
upon his palette to
color me, in passion
upon canvas

in artistic eyes;
his smile beckons
and unravels my
composure, eliciting
his brush to paint
hidden sensuality
in demureness

his brush tantalizes;
a flick of his wrist
dabs upon canvas
stroking curve after
curve, as if, caressing
my frame, the look in
his eyes reveals;
charcoal etchings
of his cupidity,
coveting lust

pantomiming
intentions upon his
canvas; his thoughts
flow from fingers to
brush, brush to palette,
palette to canvas; in
his mind's eye hunger
unfolds, as I, in turn
invite him to partake
of his artistic craving
to taste his own art
with each brush stroke
savoring my essence
Green Eyed Blues Apr 2017
Postmortem, precoitus
Precarious promiscuity
Pantomiming presumptions

Enriched Enouement
Envying earthquakes
Empathetically evolving

Natural naivety
Needing negligence
Nymphomanic nodding

Instrumentally insane
Insinuating innocence
Immobilizing imagery

Sarcastically singular
Sacred succulent
Swallowing Satan
Lost on a sailboat going nowhere but towards a dream
I glide deeper in blue waters looking for the endless seam
night has fallen softly all around me, I can only gleam
here in my sailboat, standing spar to spar a pulpit realm

Finding only calm I mesh as one with the dolphins in the sea
the wind blows softly in my ear whistling past the bow now free
the calendar of time fades as dull as grandad's silver cutlery
I breathe deep, deeper then mermaids, there are three *

Entering forbidden lands, my fantasy is real  and real is not , I could  
for I'm warrior of old navigating, counting knots on a  piece of wood
ancient trees wave from a distance standing where they always stood
while my unflappable sails align to the sky, 15 knots no more all good

Finding solace in a cup of Joe  sitting on a berth at the edge of night
the stars are pantomiming with the flicker of their equestrian light
she sits beside me  reading my tea cup in her flimsy gown of white
the ghost of my Fedora, together we are lost it a nautical twilight.


May 25, 2021
Here you will find oncoming lights
roll against waves of red traffic.
The crimson tide is like a landslide
along side a river of white,
bereft of blue
on this morning commute.
Not a single star to dot the predawn gloom that blooms
into today's paper.
Children pantomiming parents
for the rest of their lives
while the adults bicker over the right blend of color.
Kids being new to the illusion have no experience
to reel in the meaning behind ideals
that have been rewritten and only go on to
learn the bloodlust.
A wet rag
wrung
with bodies
that soak through a toy balloon
full of hot air.
You put me to sleep
Every night
But i write
My own history
It sounds like water
Falling from the rooftop
Through cracks in the ceiling
I drink your lightning
It pours through your toes
As I place my nose in your silence
I am absorbed in your river
Longing for your fingers
To put an end to my pain
Let's stand naked for several days
Pantomiming our stories
In the pouring rain
If you ****** my library
I’ll make love to you in a poem
You harvest all my feelings
As imprecise millionaires waver
Over your laughter
Indecisive waiters and maitre d’s
Dance upon your dinner tables
We are all crazy lovers
Hovering in the sunset
Tuning into your brilliance
We become the music of the butterflies
Merging with the sun in my insides
I rise with the moonlight
And birth a new tune every hour
For love is my shower
And it is an honor to serve her
Life is a goddess
With plumes of breath and feathers
We take her into our hearts
And leave our accounts unsettled
JJ Hutton Apr 2017
Full moon, raw denim, and I'm back all. Google "Men's Hairstyle 2017" and oblige myself. Low faded. Enough on top. Something to grab onto. Pantomiming a stripper's routine on every other streetlight. This is me now. I've acquired an English accent. And I've become quite knowledgable in the ways of brandy. Three drinks in. Settle down. Slow burn. Whisper. I could carve up the fog, I could make this moment holy, I recognize her and could acknowledge it. Look into my eyes and wait for it. She says. She says my eyes are gray. I gently tell her gray isn't an eye color and we're off, shitkicking through this door chime city on a Wednesday, we're on and off the level. She goes white when I fall. I fall on Griffin Street. I scrape. I scrape my knee and the blood runs in rivulets and falls, spaced and reticent to the ground. There's this bar, I say, this bar goes empty around midnight. I want to take you there. She says, What are you looking for? I might be able to help you find it.

I'm looking for rain on a Saturday morning window. I'm looking for someone to paint wearing nothing but tall socks in my living room. Someone who insists on hyphenating her last name. Oils. She should be using oils. I'm looking to be hexed, to be chained. I've dulled, you know? I've become fat with routine. I've become fat with casual ***. I need to hand over—I don't know the best word for it—control, maybe?

We've tried that all before, she says.

I'm nostalgic for it. I get that way. Now and again.

Nostalgia, she says. You can't double back on time, can't control its ebb.

I don't need a takeaway. You asked what I was looking for. I answered.

It's out of your reach.

Say it again. Let me prove you wrong.

I'm not in the mood for this.

So much hangs on the word of a woman. I feel like I've been waiting my whole life for the right words to fall from your lips. Every interaction charged and then diffused when the actual words arrive. I would say anything to you, anything for you.

That's why so little hangs on the word of a man.
Jonathan Surname Aug 2018
I live a breath's away from the oldest river in the world.
While I don't take much of nature in it is awe inspiring,
to be sure.
I live within the crook of the oldest mountains in our history.
Not the tallest,
nor the proudest,
but for now these ranges are growing senile within their misery.

The riverrun through it and exposes rock perhaps a billion years old.
Our oral histories, passed on legends,
scary stories and mountaineer folklore accounts for
such a small passage of time.
We built a bridge once.
It was at one time the longest single-span arch in the world.
Now it's the fourth.
Top five, and that's something for which I am proud.
The oldest river, in the world.
The oldest mountains, in the world.
The highest fatal overdose rate, in the States.

There is a beauty to be had here. Somewhat backwards, but
growing up our water was clear.
It's now choked from coal slurry.
The brain drain of young adults leaving, in much hurry,
hurts us as the ones that remain become grey and blurry.
We are living in a permanent winter and we have high roads,
that wind and curve. Dangerous when icy. veins filled with
heavy loads and nodding verve.
I live a breath's away from the oldest river in the entire world.
I can't touch Roman ruins with my hands, or
sift through the Dead Sea and float on salt above sand.
I can't touch the hill where Jesus may have died,
I don't know what it feels like to hold history as pride.
But our trees even when green have a dusty coal darkened sheen.
Summer is overgrowth from the Springtime rains.
The highest fatal overdose rate in the entire United States.

Where once we built bridges to close in the gap of travel.
We unzip black bags with rigs and object with obvious cavil.
Our industry is old, the world is moving on from coal.
For better, to be sure, but in the meantime we grow cold.
Not from lack of heat, we can boil our spoons just fine.
But we need a replacement from shaft or the mountaintop mine.
Let us worry about beauty again,
let us treat addiction with correction instead of levying it as sin.
Remove the pantomiming politician speak
of addicts or the sick as being weak.

Let's find ourselves again, West Virginia. You're the only home I've known.
Childhood summertimes sat beneath canopies of caterpillar home,
the happy baby butterflies eating leaves so more sun could shone.
Walking sticks used to play with me in my yard,
and at nighttime I'd still be outside mouth agape at the stars.
Evening meant lightning bugs and I'd capture a few in the cup of my hands.
There was a whimsy to how nature responded to us,
how bees would bumble and land,
on the dandelions whose seeds I'd spread as I blew on their white
polyp heads.
Maybe it's nostalgia and my memories are tinted rosy.
The smell of wood stoves burning in winter,
the crispness of autumn breezes felt cozy.
There was a trust held in communities, or maybe I was naïve.
Some of my friends made a choice and moved.
Others among us took a more permanent leave.
My brother, too. He himself got in a lot of trouble.
Over the cotton swab boiled to a bubble.
He died when I was young so maybe everybody is right.
It's all sentimentality and a lot of lonely nights.
But does the past being ****** up make the worsening now fine?

I live a breath's away from the oldest river and mountain range.
I live with the highest fatal overdose rate in the United States.
there's much debate as to whether the New River or the Appalachian/Blue Ridge/Allegheny mountains are, in fact, the oldest.
there is, however, no debate as to whether or not West Virginia (WV) holds the highest fatal overdose rate in the US

In 2010 WV held one of the highest fatal overdose rates,
By 2017 much of the country's overdose rates increased
WV's 2010 numbers are higher than 60% of the country's 2017 numbers,
and WV's 2017 are higher than everybody else's.

This is not to meant to take away the pain that's transcended broadly throughout the country. This is not meant to be diminishing, not even remotely, but it is meant to shine a solemn light.

I'm sorry for those of you that may know somebody who has passed on from drugs, or that may be currently struggling with their addictions. Whether it's opiates, alcohol, or prescriptions.
But let's try to remove some of the stigma surrounding addiction.

Forgive some stolen money.
Avoid gossip and rumor.
Reach out to somebody who may have fallen away from the crowd.
I'd much rather live with an addict than haunted by a ghost.

thank you for reading
Swanswart Aug 2016
Emperor patriarch enemy family
encyclopedia room flamboyance
and the minions of civilization bow
creviced foreheads etched
with hieroglyphic concentration
pantomiming the harmony of
banana splits dripping
on fireplace slippers
woven into the stories
your neighbors greeted you with
from the other side of the hedge

on the night the great comet arced
into our living rooms
and we kissed oh so
TV-like with the laugh track
clapping in time with the sprinklers
cha cha change the diaper ditty
after supper over done
under the influence
and in a fix
me another martini
extra olives
the smell of negligence
on her creamy pampered thighs
and the aromatic evidence
of lawn mower trim
on her teddy
bareness slipping away into comfort

the children wagering battle
plans with a mouse clicking
crayons left in box
cars matched tickets scratched
windows latched
onto
hobo toxic shock n awe
to see abandominiums
littering lots in crackopolis
virtual and simulated
between the in laws
and the outlaws
the grand apparentless routine
on display

could I borrow a toaster
or waffle with your wife
over the last stick of butter
backdoor banter about
Soldier of fortune
your last subscription
to the mercenary position of
the cul de sac coup d’état
taking place in spinning
class conscious of the fourth
estate third world second
generation first born zero
down home subdivisions
of the disenchanted
evening news is on excuse

that the whole thing is fixed
mortgages futures the lottery
tuition and everybody wins
army navy air force marines
corpses floating cross culture
reference guides to prescription
medication of futile society
Jonesing with the keeping
ups and out of product till
prime time reminds us
why we’re all here

waiting for the aliens
to excavate us.
Butch Decatoria May 2016
I can hear the heat in the vegas traffic / I can smell the pool water /
sitting here on the lumps of my mattress / I even can taste the lively
daylight, a confection of life's commotions, sweet gobbstoppers, and sour gummies /
I can feel the tug of the outside / sirens beckoning from earth and sky / inside
I can hear the trees pantomiming existence : the scent of church : gardenias : what sights
waking wide --eyes that love to awe in worship / Life /

and I am sitting Indian style, in my bedroom / coffin  /
peering through a digital window, at the world I want to feel /  
Natgeo in high def...

I am the blue pill consuming a matrix steak of ignorance called bliss /
and the emotion that is strongest, is a bad word known as /
Need... /

please free the caged bird /
see what new songs / what more can be heard / ... / please?!
Pretty Please?

/

Coocoo bird at noon o'clock
knows why it sings
after every tock and hour knocking
so why not
pretty please ?  / feel free
to notice

if briefly --    how we breathe...
even captive, the caged lung sings
I want such wings
that the air in my breast
is song of nightingales!

be the art form heaven
graciously experiments...

Freedom !  cry the river Nile
Freedom without denial
Freedom!
*(screamed the coffin's dead, ghost the lifeless poet's
restlessness)
Michael Mar 2018
=
I am more than the imperfections of my flesh.
More than an unorganized stack of papers riddled with typos.
More than a DVR for tragedy.
More than a play button for anxiety.

I am more the sum of all my parts.
More than the equations of my mind.
More than clicks on a keyboard.
More than words on a screen.

I am less than you.
Less than the seconds that you waste.
Less than the words that you are pantomiming.
Less than the poems that you've read.

But we are equals behind our eyes.
(cira December 22nd, 1996)

Abby tested positive, (sans colonized)
with clusters of Group B streptococcus
(GBS, a type of bacterial infection found
within ****** and/or ******) undergoing
routine prenatal examinations during third
trimester of pregnancy with (Eden),

which intent toward natural childbirth delivery
preparations came to screeching halt, cuz said
harmful naturally existing toxic secretions
(detected within about 25% of all healthy,
adult women), thus midwives at Bryn Mawr

Birthing Center could no longer countenance
(against good interdenominational faithful con
science and any impending lawsuits) assist with
timely delivery starkly aware of serious adverse
risks via incumbent natural birth.
*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
Hence sea change
     immediately adopted
     pitting mum blame
ming discombobulation
     as she scuttled
     linkedin with intravenous tubes game
lee crossing Township Line Road
     (all the while,

     her body shored up lame
basted with necessary intravenous sustaining
     nutriment fluids none
     of which I could name
awaiting to be wheeled into sterile
     antiseptic hospital prenatal
     ward, where shame
     enveloped descended,

     where questions addressed
     to fly by night doctor
brushed away unlike
     storybook television medics,
     where real life hectic frenzy all hustle
     and abustle becalm temporarily tame
when cameo appearance
     of Doctor Do Little rushed into fray
(hastening onset of cervical dilation to grow

     so he could, return as an ordinary Joe
     to his interrupted round golf
     with Trump at Mar-a-Lago)
when labor pains
     did not start less or mo
(at the convenience
     of obstetrician), a no

name generic brand hailed
     from "doc" side of the moon oh
most without consensus,
     hestarted "mother"
     on an IV infusion poe
shun of oxytocin
     (brand name Pitocin),
     which agitation provoked

     roil (royal) row
her disposition to
     high blood pressure
     quieted by attendant
     mid wives beaming
     at "starry eyed student,"
     who uttered whoa
Already daughter wasted

     no time lambasting us
     newly minted parents for intervening,
     sans natural status quo
     versus surrendering "scheduled birth"
before launching into
     the peroration slow

wing enunciation (something
     about Dorothy and
     the wizard of Id) in toto
of a lengthy excoriating speech, she rehearsed
     while she bobbed around in utero
     like ma's yoyo.

The departure from maternity ward
back to Pennfield Manor Apartments
     of Hatfield, Pennsylvania
appeared (hyperbole understated)
     as a double edged sword,
an ill fitting car seat
     generating highest decibels
screaming (do nut under estimate
     the lungs of a newborn)
whom this papa being hard
of hearing now, thereafter
     hitherto known as
     the pantomiming bard.
Brother Jimmy Aug 2021
Staring at the campfire, tryin’ to think of reasons
Why you were so savage that you went on ahead
Cruelly pantomiming role of “loving wife” for seasons
Messing with my heart and torturing my head

The undetected longings your anxious heart must’ve had
Were hidden so well …even when we did embrace
And there might have been a tiny tell - a sign that things were going bad
But I am blind like justice; and you were gone without a trace


The signs were there in retrospect, many signs that I had missed
I should’ve felt it when we argued, when you tried to make me leave
I should’ve sensed the wandering, detected in each kiss
That you were chained and looking for reprieve

But hindsight gives illumination, and highlights all your lies
Your personality is mimic, assimilate each one
Knowing just the thing to do or say to win your prize
And you’re not satisfied…not ever… ‘til you’ve won
He/him (ratty, scrawny,
and tetchy ugly villain)  
scurried into dark recesses of hermitage
averse to cavort, frolic, inure himself
into the duplicitous schemes
capitalized, glorified, popularized

courtesy vanity of **** sapiens
lest imp of the pervert
already sacrificed as renegade
hashtagged heretic condemned
without merciful intervention
after being duped into capture
subsequently broadcast viz TikTok,
when turncoat quasi nincompoop

kook Harmet Harms
kickstarted, *******, and blurted
out hideaway of sought after perpetrator
to burn (no small potatoes) at stake,
but fortunately falsely accused
unbound against immolation
and reprieve jumpstarted, issued, and hissed
eleventh hour granted clemency

commuted death penalty
criminal sentenced solitary isolation
rat infested dungeon
housing convicted prisoner
ultimate crime and punishment
(decreed as non establishmentarian)
doled out after protracted proceedings
courtesy amazing graceful puffed dragon
unwittingly delivered merciful respite.

After being shackled hand and foot
then dragged into vermin infested cell
cowled ascetic (an exceptional escape artist)
busied himself disentangling restraints
and suppressed giddiness
when successfully free.

Off behind fake facade
walled in imponderable bedrock
dark passageways tunneled off
into unsuspecting chamber of secrets,
whereby amateur (he) brewed
exotic gaseous/ liquified potions
tumbled, gurgled, bubbled...
lethal skull and crossbones
labeled mixtures especially intriguing
adept alchemist expert
possessed sixth sense

intuitively discerning deadly
scorpion stinging poisons
abracadabra wizardry
magic spell cast
rendered, kindled, eased
tormentors severity relaxed
spellbound granted salvation.

Hence busily engrossed at makeshift laboratory,
our mutual (of Omaha) friend
did potchke with vials; every now and again
referencing ancient looking tome  
vaporous emissions served as smoke screen.

Hands of father time
painstakingly elapsed amidst
flickr ring torchlight
grotesquely accentuating
exaggerating ferociously
pantomiming silhouettes courtesy
hungry skittering varmints
hurriedly scurrying to and fro.

Artfully dodging explosive solutions
pretending shackles restrained prisoner
lobbed pseudo Molotov cocktails
kindly, loosely, and mutinously linkedin
liberal short (make believe) chain
leashed faux abysmal isolated confinement
former courtly poet,
who consumed prison fare
equalling bread and thin gruel
poetical, quizzical, and rational thinking
wrought eventual gladness!

Meanwhile elsewhere within
another complex edifice
Stormy (Daniels) reign
came and went
accompanying barren
cruel don, trumpeting
issuing expansion fiat
wielding, gesticulating, brandishing...
ironclad golf club spouting art of the deal,
whereby might versus right
simultaneously Putin on the ritz

song and dance routine
crooning Ivana mock up Earth,
especially figurative roasting statesman christened
Elijah Cummings, an American politician
and civil rights advocate who served
in United States House of Representatives
for Maryland's 7th congressional district
from 1996 until his death in 2019.

That oversized ego freezer
with pouffed hair,
who shall not be named
made abominable destiny manifest
regarding eminent domain
dominion, he forcibly
relocated natives to Cajun shelters
charging them admission fees
manumission granted serving
white supremacist conveniently optioning

kids as scapegoats
re: Deferred Action for
Childhood Arrivals (DACA)
labor away migrants
grunts passive pluperfect targets
no matter forbears indigenous
to America unfortunately

been man-date to bite bullet
within badlands of El Paso
meanwhile oblivious hermit aging
barnacle encrusted manacles
absorbing cumulative dampness
no longer granting resistance
to life nor limb
timely manumission lovely bones restored
swallowed potion frothing colorful brew
contrived exquisite firearms.

Ah redeemed character
(any resemblance between
initially mentioned unfortunate soul
and living persons purely coincidental)
mentioned at outset of poem
broached out Alcatraz replica
free and clear fresh air revived
fifty shades of gray

immediately sieged moment
weakly hollered carpe diem
elixir imbued immunity
against taken hostage at gunpoint
freedmen impressed into service
while waved magic wand
whereby enslaved women
retaliated hashtagged misogynistic
took appropriate revenge
as apprenticed warrioresses!
Desecration, desertion, designation,
yours truly doth poetically dislodge
destabilization, destination, description
I auto deftly, but did not dodge

regarding destitution, hodgepodge
comprising 2009 Hyundai Sonata
wheely tired to noodge, yet cannot
drive out accursed tread
full fate, nor outdodge.

Critical breakdowns spanned decks
cumulative deleterious effects,
thus versatile reasonable rhyme I flex
cuz, methinks paragon of evil spirit did hex

issued hardened, gnarled, index
finger pantomiming strangling necks
accountable incorporating potential
yet steered clear dire wrecks.

Approximately August 2018
to present i.e. January 2, 2020):
one malfunction after
another did not abate
voluntarily listed quasi alphabetically

in order demonstrate
pennilessness incurred courtesy
every red cent, I did hate
to squeeze out checking account, irate

mood a one worded understatement,
nonetheless I venerate
to express absolute zero
tolerance to communicate
quick succession prohibitive
mechanical malfunctions,
I painfully delineate.

R&R PARKING BRAKE SHOES
PARK BRAKE SHOES
PARK BRAKE HARDWARE KIT BATTERY
PRE CER BRAKE PAD
BRAKE ROTOR
BRAKE CALIPER
BRAKE HOSE GENERATOR
SHOCK ABSORBER (driver side front),
TIRES (and sensor).

Hence prayerful notion woke
ah, think blinding and
ear splitting thunderstroke,
perhaps tardily to one slow poke
after eyes bugged out of head espying
invoice(s), I lamely mumbled okey doke,
what more could be said,
dang, me experienced ministroke,

thus doggone divine intervention
futility aye feebly did invoke,
the aforementioned summarized
list bloke not surprisingly
depressing state affects
garden variety bloke,
understandable a worse than
(think) one who gasps and doth choke
topacio Nov 2022
And for her next act she
decided to become a pencil,
but only to use for the eraser,

her sharpened lead
made her look strong
and important,

and she enjoyed sitting
in her own pool
of possibility,

rather than contend with
the upkeep of her
success.

so she never really wrote anything,
she just paraded around town
as a pointed pencil and overused eraser

pantomiming her emotions,
hoping for someone to
drop a few quarters
into her ***** sidewalk hat.
Proud anonymous troglodytes
forerunners of mine
confronted threats less horrific
than forty fifth commander in chief
of United States of America.

He/him (matted hair, ratty, scrawny,
and tetchy ugly villain)  
scurried into dark recesses of hermitage
averse to cavort, frolic, inure himself
into the duplicitous schemes
capitalized, glorified, popularized
courtesy vanity of **** sapiens
lest imp of the pervert
already sacrificed as renegade
hashtagged heretic condemned
without merciful intervention

after being duped into capture
subsequently broadcast viz TikTok,
when turncoat quasi nincompoop
kook Harmet Harms
kickstarted, *******, and blurted
out hideaway of sought after perpetrator
to burn (no small potatoes –
holy smokes tuberculosis) at stake,
but fortunately falsely accused
unbound against immolation
and reprieve jumpstarted, issued, and hissed

eleventh hour granted clemency
commuted death penalty
criminal sentenced solitary isolation
rat infested dungeon
housing convicted prisoner
ultimate crime and punishment
(decreed as non establishmentarian)
doled out after protracted proceedings
courtesy amazing graceful
puffed magic dragon
unwittingly delivered merciful respite.

After being shackled hand and foot
then dragged into vermin infested cell
cowled ascetic (an exceptional escape artist)
busied himself disentangling restraints
and suppressed giddiness
when successfully free.

Off behind fake facade
walled in imponderable bedrock
dark passageways tunneled off
into unsuspecting chamber of secrets,
housing the Sorcerer's stone
whereby amateur (he) brewed
exotic gaseous/ liquified potions
tumbled, gurgled, bubbled...
lethal skull and crossbones
labeled mixtures especially intriguing

adept alchemist expert
possessed sixth sense
intuitively discerning deadly
scorpion stinging poisons
abracadabra wizardry
magic spell cast
rendered, kindled, eased
tormentors severity relaxed
spellbound granted salvation
regarding Sinners in the Hands
of an Angry God.

Hence busily engrossed at makeshift laboratory,
our mutual (of Omaha) friend
did potschke with vials; every now and again
referencing ancient looking tome  
vaporous emissions served as smoke screen.

Hands of father time
painstakingly elapsed amidst
flickr ring shutter flying torchlight
grotesquely accentuating
exaggerating ferociously
pantomiming silhouettes courtesy
hungry skittering varmints
hurriedly scurrying to and fro.

Artfully dodging explosive solutions
pretending shackles restrained prisoner
lobbed pseudo Molotov cocktails
kindly, loosely, and mutinously linkedin
liberal short (make believe) chain
leashed faux abysmal isolated confinement
former courtly poet,
who consumed prison fare
equalling bread and thin gruel
poetical, quizzical, and rational thinking
wrought eventual gladness!

Meanwhile elsewhere within
another complex edifice
trumpeting self anointed king
donning egocentric façade
dolled guise heralded
Stormy (Daniels) reign
came and went
accompanying barren
cruel don, trumpeting
issuing expansion fiat
wielding, gesticulating, brandishing...

ironclad golf club spouting art of the deal,
whereby might versus right
simultaneously Putin on the ritz
song and dance routine
crooning Ivana mock up Earth,
especially figuratively jump/kickstarting
roasting statesman christened
Elijah Cummings, an American politician
and civil rights advocate who served
in United States House of Representatives
for Maryland's 7th congressional district
from 1996 until his death in 2019.

That oversized ego freezer
with trademark windblown pouffed hair,
and orange tinted skin
punctuated courtesy countenanced
ear to ear grin,
who (though fair game to caricature)
shall not be named
made abominable destiny manifest
regarding eminent domain
dominion, he forcibly

relocated natives to Cajun shelters
charging them admission fees
manumission granted serving
white supremacist conveniently optioning
kids as scapegoats
re: Deferred Action for
Childhood Arrivals (DACA)
labor away migrants
grunts passive pluperfect targets
no matter forbears indigenous

to America unfortunately
been mandate to bite bullet
within badlands of El Paso
meanwhile oblivious hermit aging
barnacle encrusted manacles
absorbing cumulative dampness
no longer granting resistance
to life nor limb
timely manumission lovely bones restored
swallowed potion frothing colorful brew
contrived exquisite firearms.

Ah redeemed character
(any resemblance between
initially mentioned unfortunate soul
and living persons purely coincidental)
mentioned at outset of poem
broached out Alcatraz replica
free and clear fresh air revived
fifty shades of gray

immediately sieged moment
weakly hollered carpe diem
elixir imbued immunity
against taken hostage at gunpoint
freedmen impressed into service
while waved magic wand
whereby enslaved women
retaliated hashtagged misogynistic
took appropriate revenge
as apprenticed warrioresses!

— The End —