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The Moon and Sun shared Ecliptical Longitudes the night They murdered The child.

Beneath a stelliferous empyrean,
Like Sojourners among the quiescent Twilight, Mother and child, Ventured to meet the woman’s husband, the father of the child.

She, no more than five and ten years Old,
The child, a girl, of only months,
Lay swaddled across the Woman’s
*****, tucked inside a papoose.
A rustic device carefully woven
From wool and hide, in it contained a
Priceless world.

She cooed and clucked in the frigid
Night air.
The sound penetrated the
Spectral calm and was matched only
By the maternal soothing of a muted hum.
Together, they represented the
Heathen form of the wilderness,
The Tempi Madonna among the
Silver and shadow moonbeams that
Glimmered like the dust of diamonds
Across the river’s obsidian sheen.  

Ahead, where the river narrows,
The silence stirred and was broken.
Hushed voices rose from the outer
Dark.
The woman strained to listen.

(British Soldiers, she thought)

Foreign words...

        (Drunken and ravenous)

                         ...slithered from their mouths like Venom. Fear bloomed in the woman’s Chest.
Her heartbeat quickened.

        (Touched by the chill of terror)

Her eyes darted madly about the
Darkness.

         (Alone no longer)

Their  shadows manifested like
Smoke along the tree line.
Their
Features blurred in the darkness.
Their gestures muted.
Like birds of
Prey, they set motionless upon their
Perch along the stony shore.

I say, a man said. Indian children are natural born swimmers,
Capable at birth of swimming great distances.

Utter foolishness, old boy, another opined.

We will need proof of this claim, my good sir, an anonymous voice Quipped from somewhere in the dark.

She let escape from her full lips
The tiniest of shrieks.
Followed immediately
By
Sick
Regret.

(stupid girl, her mother’s voice echoed in the dark.
                             You always were too impulsive.)

Rage consumed her as
She struggled against the current.  
She tried to paddle for deeper
Water as the men broached
The black sheen of the river.

The moments passed by
In jagged surrealism.
There was no sound
When they pitched the woman
And child into the
Frigid abysm.

The splashing of water.
The gasping
For air.
The primal
Grapple and
Grunt of men.
The cold, pungent scent of
Fear and sweat mixed with the
Alcohol-stale air.
The twisting of
Hands that groped about the
Darkness.

         (Her rage now eclipsed by fear)

She inhaled.
Her body, numb.
Her appendages quaked.
Her body fading
As they fall upon her.
Their thick bodies
Blacked out the stars.
Their gaunt faces
Pinched and rucked in the
Moonlight
Reflected the fury, the
Hatred, and
The disgust for what would come next.
Their hands moved across her
Ravenous
Like demons as they
Groped at her small body
Beneath the choppy wash of the
River.

(A hand grazed her thigh and she shrieked in Terror. Another
         gnashed at her buttock. Another fell upon her back. Her mind
         reeled at the possibilities of what would need to come next.)

They tore at her clothing.
Her body jarred about the water as
She writhed against their grasps.
She clawed against the murk.                  
    
         (Escape the horror)

She released the paddle—

(Forever lost to the deep, useless to her now)

Hysterical animalistic thoughts
Trounced off their tongues as they
Laughed at her doom—

        (Like a pack of hyenas)

She kicked at them in nameless
Places.
She thrusted her hand into
The fabric where the child had been
Moments before cooing and clucking. 
Mere moments ago she had sang to the
Babe the same song her
Mother had once sung
To her.

             (she felt nothing where the child had been…)    

She struggled away from them.
Her mind frantic with pain, the cold,
And panic
For the child.
She no longer cared for
Herself, or what they would need to
Do with her body.
Her appendages
Flailed and churned in the dark water.
          
         (A single gasp of air followed by
              The burning inhale of water)

A shrill call to the child—

(a name lost to time)

Her voice cut through their maniacal
Laughter.
It echoed off the water and vanished,
Disappearing entirely
In the outer gloom of the wilderness.

        (like afterthoughts, lost)

She groped relentlessly among the
Water for the child.
The men, near
Frozen, lost interest and returned to
The adjacent shoreline.
It was more ****** that way.
They jeered at her,
Proud of themselves.
          
        (The seething lust of the mindless savage, she thinks)

Their mouths salivate
As they watched
Vicariously.
Her struggle
Became the current
For which she bore.
The impending death of the woman even
More satisfying than the feeling against their flesh of her cunning, wet crease that lies exposed between
Her brown legs.
They watch like wolves
Unable to reach their prey,
Desperate for fresh meat.
Despite the frigid cold,
Their *****, hard,
With the anticipation of death.

The woman clamored among the darkness
She searched for the child.
Heavy fingers fell upon woolen fabric
By chance—

(Hope bloomed in her constricted chest)

Her body finally beginning to seize
Exhaustion permeated
Her mind.
She freed the papoose
From the frozen depths and expelled
The last bit of energy she possessed
To swim to the far side of the shore,
Temporarily out of their reach.

The soldiers,
Quiet now,
Returned to the spectral woods.
They disappeared back down the
Black road from which they came.

She felt the blood as it began to
Return to her appendages, the pins And needles feeling erupting in them.
Her teeth clattered nearly exploding In her mouth.
Her body
Quaked Violently

         (The child, near in her mind, cried)

She reached for it.
Her chest,
Rising and
Falling,
Rapid like the river
As she inhaled the burning,
Frozen air.
The child let loose a cough and  
She clutched it
tighter to her *****.  

(Deny the river its prize)

A stream of consciousness,
Steadily slipped from her lips.

       (A great heathen prayer calling up some
                       Great Spirit
                                As she relentlessly brokered
                                            For a
                                       Life for a life)

The moments passed by like hours.
And the
Great Spirit, with
His wanton lust
For despair, did not manifest that night.

The child fell silent, then still.
The tears came now.
Blurred vision and
Angry sobs.
Darkness consumed entire.

The river flowed by her electric as if
Its lights descended from a place far
Beyond the black taciturn veil of
Night to reflect the merciless
Tragedies among the wretched souls of
The Maine Woods.
Phil Lindsey Mar 2015
‘Twas the start of March Madness,
And all through the land,
People sat by the TV
With pencils in hand.

The committee had chosen the teams with great care
And everyone hoped their Alma Mater was there.
The teams were selected and placed into regions
With top seeds rewarded for having good seasons.

Badger fans from Wisconsin were
All dressed in Red
With Final Four visions
Dancing  ‘round in their heads.

Kentucky fans claimed
(As they most always do)
The Championship would go
To their Wildcats in blue.

The Blue Devils from Durham
Were also quite hot
And the Duke fans were certain
They would win the top spot.

‘Nova fans were excited; their hopes are alive!
Remember the upset?  1985
An 8-seed back then, this year they're a One!
Villanova Wildcat fans are sure to have fun! xxxxxxx already done.

Now the ‘play-ins’ are over.
But I’m not sure who won
Doesn't matter, the winner
Will be trounced by a One.

I, with cold beer and my bracket,
Settle down in a chair
I’ve picked all the games
Now I’ll see how they fare.

Now Badgers, Now Boilers,
Now Hawkeyes and Bucks,
On Hoosiers, On Hoyas,
On Shockers, and Ducks
Go Flyers, Go Sooners, Come On Musketeers!
Go Cardinals, Go Cowboys….   Gonna need some more beers.

Then all of a sudden arose such a clatter
On the tube Sir Charles was starting to chatter.
“I’m the Round Mound of Rebound, - there’s no one like me!”
“Watch all my commercials, NCAA on TV!”

From Thursday through Sunday
On to Sweet Sixteen,
Elite Eight, Final Four and
All the games in between.
The nation is watching from East Coast to West
Which of the 60+ teams will be best.
With OTs and upsets and a blowout or two,
I am glued to the TV and
I’ll bet so are you.

I closed my eyes for a second, and then fell asleep

But was quickly awakened by my doorbell's loud beep,

And what, to my wondering eyes should appear?

But Sir Charles himself;
 And he asks for a beer!

"I'm not a role model, I just like to dunk.

I took a look at your bracket, and
Most all your picks stunk!"
I turned to ask him to fix it,
But he'd disappeared.
Yes, Sir Charles was gone,

And so was my beer!

Now my bracket is busted,
I’m all out of beer
Merry Madness to all,
I will see you next year!

"A Visit from St. Nicholas", also known as "The Night Before Christmas" and " ' Twas the Night Before Christmas" from its first line, is a poem first published anonymously in 1823, and later attributed to Clement Clarke Moore, who acknowledged authorship in 1837.   from Wikipedia.

Unfortunately, Mr. Moore never had the chance to experience March Madness.  :-)
Just for the record, my daughter graduated from University of Wisconsin, need I say more?
vircapio gale Jul 2012
exude the moment;
you are a transformative fulcrum

of intersubject's rent and awe:
anthropomythic ecolaw

the dream cascades into words,
birds fly little crisps of meaning
into morning light. last night's
snow leaves a crystalline spark
of you subdued, become a finer point
of tantric sight, gazing rose-blue pulsar
lashing through a cosmic garden,
delicious fruit of spacious letting be.
i'm grasping for that pleasure,
vermillion moan of lifestring vibrance,
but the wind carries on outside,
swirling pieces of the mind in
flux of upturned joy~
our heartbreeze summoned,
now whispersssoulsounds to come
and earthly darkness grips the future frost,
thaw, break and steam as it wills;
the churning ground sings to us
of bear-sleep and jackal-howl,
of seasons transpiring,
one lost sled of memories
leaves us empty, pressing crystal sky:
my aching ideality trounced in bliss-meanders
!stunning revelation! you! You! yOu!
bringing all to be a second time,
as it was.. in me.. now new,
sweet novelty of union,
this gathering of nervure self,
gliding insights, sudden soundsss.

like a node of forest-echo swirls
it dazzles: unseen colors for my inner eye;
ancient tones of fog ripple
off something you are,
creaking center easing of my sidling,
spirit drop and wavelet growth:
as if you were a branching greenery
of my own once lost other-self,
last gasping there as what i pictured 'you'~
swayingss.. sun-spikes speaking,
sky-gaze and soaking barky iris sssuck,
moulding into me the wisdom of our past leavings,
those raspy kites of sap-filled yearnings
shadow sunshower evening.
i would be a tree with you and
let you pierce our foundations
with roots of gaiasight slipping though
our primal urgings, concrete deference
under sun arch, spin of moon. let
ignorant insistence on fetishized divides~
slipping past my grounded darkness
still unknown, remain
my underself unleashed
my silent trunk-swilling soothed,
stable chaos-other, self regiven,
life renewed in leaf,
the touch of you imbued.

the whole vision lost
but for that glimmer~
it finds me writhing unknown spirals:
ringing wonderment in a seed,
or dormant sporocarpic lineage of life,
the vast hyphae-humming cups of death-born
nethergenesis of cycled hyle me.
a womb that never knew of pain
or being evertorn in dessicated spectre-sea.

the burning desert-storms helixify our rain,
a heaving hiss-like suncry
from that dark, sandy baobabic throat.
the earth consumes in shifts,
and blossoms toward the alterbliss of you, too,
an expanse of solar flare
its beautific reach engulfing terribly,
nepho-logos spanning all the air.

ssssunlit boughs of winds' remembrance
grow soft across this window,
then shift with forest breath,
their snowlace puffed before
an azure true expanse,
the burdened greens stirring a needlish depth
of metawinter, all-too-human
starfields constellate in hiding
far behind my starshine there a curtain blue,
whose prismatic humor lights more
than scenic treescape, frigid dust.
hair, nose, glass enframed by sapless wood
of window cut to square my void revision of the world.

the colors whirl into mindflow,
inter-material upsurge-undulate,
abyssal cauldron seething passions stilled by
comic symbols of a secular mystic;
dancing eddies convey my sense of sight
just thought, then lost into a wider dance
of tensions eased and drawn,
of geometric visions seemly here and gone,
inner, outer: conveyed by stroke of
spinal eidos, its rhythm set
before my time, its tone the vital,
draping earthverse
recited in my veins, the sinews of my
life in other lives,
the song of us expressive in my gaze~
one blink()a single point of beauty
fades into another haze,
lighted icedrift iridescing evanesce.
anthropos (religion, Gnosticism) Man. (From Ancient Greek) [cf. Anthropogenesis, (an thro po jen’ e sis) n. Study of the development and origin of man]

myth·os/'miTHos/ Noun: A myth or mythology. (in literature) A traditional or recurrent narrative theme or plot structure.

*derew(o)- Indo-European root meaning "tree" or "wood"

Tantra, "weave, loom, warp"; or "principle, system, doctrine", from the two root words tanoti "stretch, extend, expand", and trayati "liberation"

Sporocarp (in fungi, known as fruiting body or fruit body): a multicellular structure in certain algae, lichens, and fungi on which spore-producing structures are borne.

Hypha · (plural hyphae). (mycology) Any of the long, threadlike filaments that form the mycelium of a fungus. The hyphae are used for reproduction and nutrient gathering.

hyle, In philosophy, refers to matter or stuff [fr. Gk "ulh" (üleh, where the ü is as in German or "lune"]

baobab, A short tree with an enormously thick trunk and large edible fruit. Other common names include boab, boaboa, bottle tree, upside-down tree, and monkey bread tree.

ne·phol·o·gy. n. The branch of meteorology that deals with clouds. [Greek nephos, cloud; see nebh- in Indo-European roots + -logy.]

logos, multivalent term fr. the Gk verb legein (soft g - modern greek lego ) "to say, speak" and also "to gather and lay down" ;  traditionally meaning "word, thought, principle, or speech"; also ratio (latin for reason), pre-linguistic language (phil.), the principle governing the cosmos, the source of this principle, or human reasoning about the cosmos. origin of  "(o)-logy." the active, material, rational principle of the cosmos; nous.  logos is marked by two main distinctions - the first dealing with human reason (the rationality in the human mind which seeks to attain universal understanding and harmony), the second with universal intelligence (the universal ruling force governing and revealing through the cosmos to humankind)

eidos, a term used by Plato for the abstract forms or ideas. fr. the Indo-European root *weid-, "see" is determinative of a substance; it is the key aspect expressed in the thing's definition as the essence or whatness of the thing. also (anthropology) the distinctive expression of the cognitive or intellectual character of a culture or a social group.
Temitope Popoola Nov 2013
Dotun yawned noisily as he stretched. He walked sleepily to the bathroom, relieved himself and made some funny face to the mirror. He looked himself over, raised an eyebrow, checked the transformation in the mirror then tried the other eyebrow. He kept doing this till his phone rang and he went into the room to pick it.
"Guy, what's up? I'm fine. ...". He went mute for a while, listening to Fred talk and give him certain information on the other line. He paced the entire length of his room till the call ended. One hour later he was ready to leave the house, all fresh and clean. He drove out in his Range Rover and headed to work. He was often referred to as a chauvinistic, cocky man. The initials in his name Dotun P. Ajala had been turned from Phillip to Player. He had a history with women and was proud.  He was simply incontinent when it came to the opposite *** and the fact that they flock around him made matters worse. His upbringing had been a bit cool, born in penury, luck suddenly smiled on them when his parents won the American visa lottery and they had to leave. They didn't let go of the training and experiences life has taught them, hence he wasn't mollycoddled as a kid. Ego was another aspect of him that was tantamount to his habits with women. He simply hated being turned down. He entered into his office without paying any attention to anyone, it was habitual and they've all come to understand. However, nothing ever goes unnoticed.
While he did his work with an air of insouciance, he couldn't help but ponder on his conversation with Fred. In between, he'd stopped and laughed derisively. It was simply impossible. How could he be made to face such allegations? It was farcical.
Linda had been nothing but a one night stand who incidentally traded her virginity the first time he met her. As usual, he was ready to move on to the next one but she kept pulling some emotional strings and wouldn't let go. She had brought up different issues but he was undaunted. He stopped picking her calls and finally placed her in his past where her type belonged.
She'd gone to Fred freaked out and not willing to accept defeat. Most importantly she was pregnant and wasn't willing to do anything about it. Dotun scratched his head and wondered how he'd managed making it to the office acting cool. Fred had informed him that she said she was going to create a media noise and make sure his parents hear about it. That was way too much. He just couldn't take it, he was being blackmailed.
"****, **** ****" he cursed aloud and kicked his waste bin so hard it tumbled and made some crashing noise. A young lady rushed in on impulse to see if all was well but the look he shot her sent her in the same direction she'd emerged.
He'd never been cajoled, much less from a 21 year old girl who now became his biggest problem. She had him confused, she was naïve.
He picked up the phone and dialled some numbers, barked some orders and parked his stuffs. He was out of there before anyone could say jack. He went through lawyers and tried to see from the legal view what the case was going to look like. Linda seemed to have had everything strategized and he had a lot to lose in turn.
When the Ajalas got to know weeks later, they were so pleased they immediately agreed to let the engagement party for Dotun and Linda take place in their home and without further delay. Dotun didn't like that things were becoming formal but there was little he could do. Linda's growing baby bump was noticeable. Thus, they became couples. Linda was satisfied, her baby would grow knowing its father and she most importantly would not be a laughing stock. She cared less whether Dotun touched her or not, his baby was growing within her.
Dotun's status became the talk of town and ladies avoided him like he had a plague. The few who stayed around did at their own risk. He got tired of the person he used to be, Linda made his life hell. She had a routine for him. He had to get home before a certain time, failure to do so would result into some argument, then make her land in the hospital. It was like she did it on purpose. Each time she was at the hospital, it was for nothing serious. Then the bills come astronomically for ordinary bed rest. He gave up everything for her. She trounced him. Things remained like that for a long time till he met the woman who changed his cards.
Tokunbo had entered his life swiftly. He had stood transfixed at the supermarket where he went to get baby things. She was gorgeous and looked like a make-belief model. Everything about her was icy and she didn't try to correct that impression with first timers. She just didn't have the time, and knowing the effect she had on people it was balanced. He walked up to her with some prepared lines in his head but when she faced him nothing came out of his mouth. He couldn't take all of her beauty in.
"Do you need help with the diaper in your hands? You sure look like you could use one yourself" she said eyeing him all over.
He was taken back, no one had ever talked him down like that, let alone a woman. He  was furious but something about her struck him, her accent was funny and it thrilled him the more. By the time he could put on his player boy demeanour, she had turned her back on him. He wasn't ready to back down.
"I think you're a bit rude, I just wanted to let you know you are beautiful and this colour you have on suits you" he stated flatly.
"You walk up to some chic holding baby diaper and you still wanna psyche her? Why don't you try your luck elsewhere?"
The irritation registered on Tokunbo's face could be read easily. She dropped the shopping basket and left. Dotun was embarrassed but he made up his mind that not even the myriads of insults he got from miss-whatever-her-name-is would make him give up on her.
He narrated his ordeal to Fred who had laughed hysterically. He asked him series of questions about this chic and he couldn't even answer. As far as he was concerned, chasing her was futile.
"Look Dotun, you are married. Why not let things stay that way? Running after some hot chic with your wife in that condition is just not right."
"But for the first time in my life I met someone who feels right for me. Someone I want to live with forever." Dotun defended himself, he was brow beaten at his own game. He'd had that kind of attitude towards girls in the past and to think that finally he got his match was too much to settle for.
Fred's raucous laughter annoyed him.
"Well, if you'd been more calm and cool headed, things might not have turned out this way." He chided.
"Or what do you have in mind? You want to search for this lady, propose to her or what? And considering her double edged tongue, you would be dead soon." Fred concluded.
Dotun's phone beeped, the look on his face gave him away. He answered not pleased.
"Linda. She wants me to buy her Suya, and in five minutes." Fred had another bout of laughter.
"You are hooked man, go home to your loving wife" he said patting him on the shoulder. If there was any word that would have described Linda, it sure wasn't 'Loving'. Dotun threw him an exasperated look and left.
It's prosaic, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.
In a quiet inn
         in an aching world
there was a boy with mind
body and strength
he had the talent
the unyielding bent
to wield his power
to unrelent
he was sometimes cruel
he was often sweet
he was sometimes gentle
his word carried heat
people loved him so
his poise and candor
his mind was a joy
his work was pure splendor

he was asked
         from time to time
if you could lead us
with your mind sublime
what would you do
where would we go?
         beyond, he'd say,
to the stars and depths
to the moons and mountains
to the planets and systems
how long,
         they'd say,
would you lead us, hence?
         "A thousand years and a thousand more
         a thousand thence and evermore."

his rise was swift
his patience deep
to the destitute, favor
to the broken, weep
his gifts were vast
his counsel practical
his word was bond
and ever magical
he trounced the greedy
imprisoned the malicious
righted all the wrongs
seldom vicious
and before long
his rule was secured
a man of justice and principle
tenets of cure
how long,
         they'd say,
will you lead us, hence?
         "A thousand years and a thousand more
         a thousand thence and evermore!"
we wish it so!


trouble gradually
like bubbles passively
breaking the surface
of his grand design
officials profited
underclass maligned
body for profit
"all are mine"
there was danger in the air
ripples in the well
poison in the minds
infirmity with no care
and sickness took hold
people lost their hope
they questioned Great Lord Marra,
how long,
          they'd say,
will you lead us, hence?
          "A thousand years and a thousand more
          don't ask me again
          or there will be
          more..."

Chaos in the streets
desenters rounded
deserters uprooted
populace cowered
education
to the masses
knowledge of rights and potential
traded for respect of rule and power
hour by hour
day by day
toil was spilt
for the grand design
the work of tyranny
is cruel and violent
so was Grand Lord Marra
never certain
never quiet
         he would ask of his subjects,
         how long shall I rule?
they'd say,
         "A thousand years! A thousand years!"
"Never forget it!"
         we shant, our lord

Whispers arose
of a new power rising
someone true
someone firm
someone compassionate
someone alight
he roused the dreams in the soul
he broke the chains in the heart
he walked the roads that were barred
he climbed the mountain forbade
and slowly people turned to him
away from Grand Lord Marra
and that tyrannical father felt it
he felt the waning of his power

Like a dragon in the bowels
of our precious, sacred, love
Marra tightened around that
which the people ever adored
the grand design of toil
the great work of tyranny
the state paid for with blood
that whose edifice was a crypt for the innocent
and that someone who was hero
stepped up to that edifice
with chisel, hammer, pen, and passion,
he carved away that
which held the malice within
he let out all
of the death and destruction
that Grand Lord Marra
had caged in the people
the world played with their shadows
that had been nailed to the edifice and its steeple
and in time they shook free
of Grand Lord Marra's tyranny
for when they learned their freedom once more
the old lord looked old and feeble
not a thousand years
       nor a thousand years more
               nor a thousand years hence
                        and nevermore
just 66 years
it took to break free
of Grand Lord Marra
and his projected
infirmities

The illness left them all
         breaths of relief swept the nation
and the hero who had come
         was crowned the king of freedom
and he taught all who followed
how to wield the power he knew
how to be free as well
and every dragon of delusion slew
        peace would not reign forever
        new chaos would come
stronger than the last
        strong as the world and its evolving sun
but in this age, there was peace
        joy like never before
                 and our hero's name was remembered
evermore
evermore
        he did not live a thousand years
but his stories certainly lived longer
in the hearts of the people
in the hearts that were won

Yet a strange thing occurred
       sure as night conquers day
Grand Marra's visions of the future
       did not decay
                 they became the bedrock
of future design
        for light rests on darkness
the grand design
        two sides of the coin
yours
and mine

darkness for foundation
        light for revealing its depth
pathway into the future
        left and right steps...
Thank you for reading!!!
This was fun to write :)
I hope you enjoyed!

DEW
L B Oct 2018
I hadn't meant to spy on them; just one of my evening walks along the beach.  Moonlight gleaming on wet teenage backs.  Horseplay crackling in their young male voices-- “King of the Hill” from a rusty life guard chair.  I like these memories, the ones that just occur-- when everything is there again....

Coming to find myself again in October.  Long trudge to the “Shanty Village” gets me thinking about the wrinkled hand that first took me close to the ageless roar and seething.  Skirted bathing suit, indelible tremble of voice-- the woman bringing me beyond the fear that had watched all day from those cautious castles, after being so rudely trounced!   She helped me make my peace with what I could neither own nor tame— the sea and me.  We walked along the channel then, watching slender fishes in their school-- that even fish would go to school!  We had to laugh.  Scorching the soles of my feet in the parking lot!  Oo-ah-oo-ah! Forgot my flip-flops!
_

October now, piling sand along the roadside....  First kiss at Cooks Brook Beach.  Surf breaking over this jetty, could have been my heart.  I think his name was Stan....

How can people leave their flowers still blooming in window boxes?  In the cottage quiet, I can almost picture... bicycles leaning by dripping shower stalls.  Beach umbrellas, the smell of suntan lotion,  kids roving in barefoot bands....  Fall packs them all away.

While cold advances on the struggling song of crickets, a man, wearing a painter's hat and whistling, does the unthinkable-- hammers plywood over his shanty's windows.  I think that summer people can close their eyes.  We, of October, have vivid memories-- savoring sources that linger in their endings.  Coming late—staying long beyond the leaving-- sleeping warm in winter sands.
prose poem  Heading back in a couple of weeks.
Scot Powers Apr 2013
Soundly trounced
the beaten man
warily offered
his shaking hand
to the victor of the bout
from the start
there was no doubt

That he would fall
this day it seemed
a shame for all
who'd come to see
the champ reclaim
his title belt
one more time
we all felt

The Champ had won
so many times
you had to know
there'd be a time
when along would come
a newer face
knock him down
take his place

His fans belief, unwavering
his character,  unsavory
but that's what it takes
if your to be
the champion of
your childhood dreams

He taught the kids
and played the roll
took their papers
and signed them all
a champ and a star
he felt like a king
he reigned supreme
in the squared ring

But when he was
alone at home
all he sought
was to drown
all the sorrows
he'd been through
kicked and teased
like a fool

If the kids
could see him now
curled and lonely
in his shell
would they then
ask him why?
could he answer
and not cry?

Then came the day
of the title match
he knew within
it was his last
he'd make a show
for his fans
he'd even do their
favorite stance
the time had come
to pass on
the title of champ
his time was done

After the show
sitting all alone
thinking of all
that he had done
in walked a kid
and before him he stood
and  said
you are still The Champ
in my book
Sean Keane Aug 2010
The fear of the serpent was and is a mighty man
Always in thought, Doing all that he can
His life forever, His spirit shall not be trounced
His name preceeds him, No need to be announced
His enemies consider him the bane of existence
But for his crew and his love he will always go the distance
In battle he only knows persistence
When attacked in dire straights,he shows full resistance
His ship his steed, a symbol of death to evil
strikes fear into his foes, they know he will go medieval
From slaying the mighty kraken in the ocean blue
Its beak a good luck charm and its eyes a stew
With spear in hand he ran its heart through
His aim is unmatched, his throw always true
To the trodden a hero, to the masses a god
His methods unorthodox and to some maybe odd
But to catch his oppoenents of gaurd is his tactic
Always surprising, his will is galactic
This was an attempt at an epic poem, but I could not get past introducing the epic ship captain
Tasman Suitor Nov 2016
Here it is.
My downward flight,
Printed clearly in black and white.
Numbers falling
Clear to see

But behind it is the death of me.


Yet there is also
A hopeful bounce,
Signs of a demon trounced.
Numbers climbing
Clear to see

The story that is making me.
Joel Hayward Apr 2016
In a desert midnight no darker than dawn
With cloudless heavens evident and stretching
To the edges of Bedouins’ minds and ours
Where owls govern with Your permission

You plunged a mighty fist deep
Into the heart and gripped a molten rag
And pulled it into a peak of crags
In which the **** You wanted grew

With a rush of wind you shaped that
Tear into a world-sized hollow to shelter
A man and a starfilled future for any who
Might accept what tugged at him that night

You once said Be! and time commenced
But earlier you had chosen from first
Until final a stream of Rusul and You placed
In that cleft the last Rasul alone but never

And in the radiance of a challenging word
Your spirit whose wings dripped pearls
Asked the silent one who sailed in prayer
To revolve the world on a different axis

Running feet across the earth carried him
To the comfort of arms that felt a beating
Chest bursting with ten million truths and her
Assurances trounced the whisperer’s last ditch

Words of mercy flow around us through a gentle
Heart in a stone cavity in the shade of a night
Without shadows beneath a cloudless cover
Which owls rule ... for a shrinking time
Mikel Apr 2015
I found my soul in solitude
Hidden between the spaces
Now my love has broken the altitude
But has she trounced the laces?
The consummate knot can come undone
And take with it my soul
Was I better off before, when my half was whole?
Sam Temple May 2015
fat-backed rat finks
roller rink
kitchen sink
thinking back to Corporal Klinger
and Klingons in small thongs
smoking star ship bongs
in a smelly pond
broken wand only sparks slightly
mightily I try to be
free from discriminatory flees
I sit on the floor and be
quiet as a church mouse
in the glass house built by my
light-skinned spouse,
the louse trounced
pouncing on the bouncing ball
falling into the dousing mall
desert grouse espousing rabble-rousers  
in denim trousers
holding perennial flowers
while the gourd towers
bow their heads to the sunset
vetted Reds in beds of lead
break bread with the dead
instead of raking fall leaves
betting on getting let out
cloutless louts just about shout to be heard
and the herd moves forward
every methodically –
William Robinson Mar 2016
I pondered
if there is more to pain?
the installs jabbered to me
the counselor of pain trounced my love
I reasoned
if there is more to pain?
would the pain ever end?
Jenny Gordon Sep 2017
What was that about ironic?


(sonnet #MMMMDCXLII)


They swore I should be published when my frail
Attempts proved that my alphabet was thence
Down pat, a couple verbs and nouns from whence
I made a twisted bit of nonsense, pale
And certain notes that I owned more than bail
For their now wasted cries of sheer pretense,
Nor would they quiet down 'til their defense
Was trounced when I could speak and **** the tale.
Yes.  Now that I trip off much less obscure
Lines, even sentences which march straight to
The point, I've lost my following as twere.
Come, did they like the early babble?  Few
Can make it past the toddling stage, whence fer
The grand achievement, I'm alone.  Boohoo.


(sonnet #MMMMDCXLIII)


Please don't say either that I was from hence
Givn this quite fair, though transient gift's detail
To hone its more exquisite sense in pale
Excuse for being alone, nor that twas thence
Deemed fit cuz twould be yet destroyed (whose sense
Of worth was fragile in sheer truth's betrayl),
But grant me something more, as if for bail,
And say that love will pay for my intents.
Walk through the library amassed as twere;
Yea, listen as my spirit filters through
The tapestry of lines, until in poor
Reply its voice half alters subtly too.
Did I leave innocence behind?  Twas your
Fault who taught me what life is:  loving you.

06Mar15e,f
I never did post all my work anywhere.  In the early hours I did, but time made apparent a need for pickiness and this stuff from the archives is not even new except the initial sonnet in this set never did make to the web for that particular server's specs, so at least it is sorta newish.  Smile!
I walked or sauntered or dashed or stumbled, no...
staggered! or swaggered, or was it stepped, no...
I jogged or, bolted, no stomped or slid no...
hopped! or was it skipped no hop skipped and jumped...
or sauntered! no i said that one, it was swaggered! no....
I stampeded or dogged or shlepped no bounced or was it...
I stamped or ed or rolled? no strolled! haha yes Strolled! no...
I stalked that was it or was it followed no no it was sojourned
sojourned! sojourn? no it was galumphed or marched, no charged...
aha sauntered! no! ******! it was ambled or slogged, trounced? or tromped, no rambled, yes I rambled on! no no thats not right, I plodded, trod no tread! no strided, thats not even a word, sloped, no...
govereetted, or persnicketied, or skreed, or preened, no no no none of that is right....
I sauntered! no no, swaggered! no was it promenade? prowl. no patrolled, parolled, no no thats way off...
I trekked, trudged, no fudged, no dogged! like george! he dogged it all the time, no I said that one, slogged or sashayed no trooped, no perambulated, or moseyed? or hoofed it? no it was definitely sauntered, no no it wasn't sauntered it was a dawdle, no lurched, or hawked, no stopped,
no no it was definitely movement, thats it! it was a movement! no no no that can't be right I paced, yes i paced back and forth and thought about life for a awhile....

no no that wasn't it either it was really more of a strut, or a saunter, yes saunter! no swaggered! no no
**** you words....

I wandered or was it roamed, no limped, gimped! no...

minced.... or no yes! minced... wait.... no it was a hike, yes I hiked up a mountain with  friend of mine, or was it climbed, no no thats not right...
I slandered, no.... pandered! no... I meandered, haha actually no i think  it was a peruse, or no a beat! no.... I cut a rug! or actually i think it was more of a stumble no....

ah yes it was walked, I walked about sixty blocks today
Ceryn Feb 2013
Oh my little star of hope in the sky
How I love to see your wonderful glimmer,
Watching across the firmament as clouds roll by
A spark of joy on a silent dreamer.

Haply I get to stare at you in awe
But chances make my wishes raw,
If I’d be settling myself on the bottomland
Would you glide down and take my hand?

Oh my little star of hope amidst the dark
If there’s a chance, I’d probably fly,
By the lovely wings of a golden lark
We’d toast for love with a cup of rye.

Tonight’s the better time to for me to sit still
And feel the cold wind, a sudden sweet chill,
It’s as if the clouds had reached down on me
Taking me the breeze that embraces me gently.

Oh my little star of hope from a distance
You seem to me an elusive dream, oh hear my cries!
I hope you notice me as I preserve my stance
Try to decipher what is cryptic in my eyes.

It started to drizzle, I wonder why
Would this hopeful dream dramatically die?
Every droplet signifies a melancholic rain
I hope I am not foolishly waiting in vain.

Oh my little star of hope above
Now covered by the rage of the infuriated nimbus,
How will I be able to find true love?
The clouds loathe reigned, intimidatingly tremendous.

The patter of the rain reminded me so bad
Of things, like you, that I bitterly never had,
In a jiffy, you’re gone and I’m about to cry
It just makes no sense. Anybody, tell me why!

Oh my little star of hope, where art thou?
Why won’t you show up and cast another glow?
If ‘tis bound to end, where then shall I go?
If you’d still come back, how will I come to know?

The moment of silence trounced the downpour
Of the storm that wrapped the gloomy night whole,
Those mystical drops seem to touch my soul’s contour
But it has to be dealt with by a lovelorn fool.

Oh my little star of hope, can’t you see?
The torment that was caused by your pure obscurity,
If this is to end in such a way that I’d die
Please just let me know, then take me to your sky.
Das dunkoff deliberately drafted dis **** daffy drivel
dont denigrate doodling, deftly demonstrated,
diligently doled, dribs drabs, dosay doing dandy dancer
displaying dopen derived dimwitted drek.

Exercising effort encompassing expressing *******
eliminating every eminent excellently evolved equalizing
element er excruciating exertion earnestly elbowing explictly
each endowed equipoised eppaulted
essential earmaked e-z editorialized expose.

I reckon there must be a gamut of grammarians
waiting in the wings (shutterflying
at the speed of Soundgarden),
cuz soon after pumping iron heck,

kinetic, narcotic, pathetic, quixotic, rhapsodic,
poem within a flash fans descend and feast
upon thy warbling, twittering rocketing
my ego to the moon!

King Kong Kennedyesque Kappelmeister
cuckolded, cinched, canoodled, keepsake
capitalone Dixie Chicks, Indigo Girls,
Lady GaGa Godiva cagily,

knowingly, Kafkaesquely, kinesthetically  
kissed kepi's kewpie dolls causing capitulation
crushing Candy– clean cleft clear clobbering kaput -
clinched culture club moss commotion
calling Casper Weinstein the overly friendly ghost

granting clemency clearly convinced
crowning Charlie Chaplin chief corporal
kickstarting clandestine covenent
kept Locked Horns -

cleaved cloistered community cohesion
creating civil unrest
tandemly totally tubularly trounced
thru trumpetting Don debacle

detonating divisiveness driving Miss Daisy
(a hybrid flowering biracially
Black Eyed Susan) daringly declared debutante,
she sprouted sense and sensibility

without prejudice, but plenti pilgrims pride
paternally passed from Mayflower coterie Compact
Massachusetts Plymouth Rock venerated vocifersously,

near Salem witch trials bewitched secular citizens,
where Razzle Bathbone (held heretical liberalism)
freed Wicca Witches of Witchita
wayward wretches willingly casting their Lot
with fortunetelling forcefield manifestation
forecast, an Oracle of Delphi,  

where hurled discobulus trajectory traced arc
resembling Moisbus strip without nose hound
but distant barking brought bedlam
by half baked, battered, berserk
Betty Crocker brand Fitbit binnacle

encompassing blazed blitzkrieg
stymied mutiny on the bounty hunters
synchronized yelping at birth, sans this *******,
stirring cry of echoes,

which cosmic Flickr ring soundcloud reverberated
whimpering infant (Fingerhut size) detected
via uber reincarnated voodoo warlocks
twitching triggering happy full figured slug
hook gushed upon pressed release mechanism
screaming (Banshee like) bullet tin heard worldwide,

where webbed warped woeful Widowersdating wretch
woof whistled while witnessing
wondrous once in a lifetime phenomena

meanwhile kitsch hen squawked
with pan dim mown deem
signifying sell **** re:us son
settling Harris heir apparent,
wherein gyser spewing gremlins awoke gargoyles
grimacing grotesquely ouiji board blamed.

Well done rabbit reading ridiculous rodomontade
reaching runneled stream strewn with vibrant vistas
offering Avast Outlook Linkedin to a Yahoo mailer daemon
the Buzzfeed ding bugaboo badly crashing gateway
necessitating fix Uber Lyft via spell checking incantation
at the door, whence Earthlink from Godaddy helped Indeed.
JDK Mar 2015
My muse can be annoying but I find it quite amusing.
She takes the cake when it comes to making the commonplace confusing.
Does she like it when I'm climbing,
or would she rather see me fall?
She's either dumb as a wall or just doesn't care at all.
Schadenfreude. Paramountcy. Trounced then disenthralled.
I'm forced to use these great big words because she makes me feel so small.
Alternate Ending:

Rarified. Fractalized. Sonder cataclysmal.
I'm forced to use these fancy words because she makes me feel so dismal.
the bittersweet silent story of my life age
fifty and nine automatically rebroadcast
     in indelible (yet never washed out) beige
indistinguishably linkedin, when counting
     the last three of seventy somber orbitz,
     signify torturous custom made cage

whose darkening shades of gray
housed a weakened Harriet Harris,
     an ashen corpse lay
no doubt a grown changeling dust play

a cruel trick, and soul of me mum didst slay,
so...tis with great difficulty aye write this poem today
cathartic to brush off self denunciation,
     an albatross that dust way

heavily incriminating, ostracizing this mind of mine,
recurring every year comb May fourth a line
codifying, delineating, earmarking,  
     and doth likened
     to elementary school Boyer

     as in  Henry Kline
no less painful reflection plus unavoidable,
     hence this middle aged man lets feelings incline
toward self expression this anniversary
     revisiting re: deign

upon memorializing general up beat
defiance at death of thine late mother,
     where disease rabidly did eat
ting her til she expired,
     this singular married heir
     set himself a writing fete

wordlessly mouths never expressed greet
unbeknownst reeders gleaning my sentiments heat
ting recollected adieu bid prior,
     whence she angrily wanted to meet
that accursed nemesis
     against healthiness and repeat
  
cherished apothegm,
     that existence offers no second act
as she relinquished slipping tenuous weak bract
leave ving ever fainter grip upon cracked
pommel of mortality, an immutable fact
thence black knight denounced, pounced, hijacked
trounced unannounced, vanquished, lacked

motive to rival nixed, extinguished sputtering pact
fast fading joie de vivre unspoken,
     where death rattle racked
personal def tone accentuation tracked
subsequent self castigation,
     excoriation nearly whacked

me to Timbuktu rebuking extolling bless
sing experienced from
     this sole son for thirteen years, aye confess
when the inimitable Harriet Harris

     devastatingly, grievously, inconsolably,
     got hexed, issued jilted livingsocial, a less
son learned to late, how maddeningly mess
say yon nick lee infuriated, not accepting press

sing ill fate, nor countenancing fatal injustice,
refusing to curtsy fiendish inxs did ****
her off (poisoned scorpion sting) remiss
cheekily peppering psyche as if Swiss

cheese, a once spunky Arthur Murray shored
dance instructor, who scored
door prize in the guise of thee less torte sured
near nonagenarian papa, where meanness poured

from grim mortal outlook parlayed moored
deadly reaper, quashed, ruined as lord
stole, sacred maternal tribal nurse, unfairly did hoard
final precious seconds unexpectedly meant un explored
positive rapport forever undergirded "door"

closed to resolve ambivalence with venerable bead
did association between
     kith and kin, unfairly
     dead poet society lettered deed
wrested a vibrant life despite zest that freed
a vibrant gal to coast along dialed up esprit

     de corps spirit to live, yet greed
of metastatic cancer upended lead,
where mind over matter, sans power
     in positive thinking rubric and plead
ding didst **** last ditch homeopathic screed

ambitions *******, thus giving up the ghost
wracking sadness, sinking sorrow spilling most
lee tears of loss, among family, fellow Unitarians
of the Thomas Paine Fellowship
     included with your obituary post.
...Yuletide pageants vis a vis merry go round revisited

healthy progeny regaled being alive
analogous to children ecstatic twenty-five
on December exhaling joie de vivre at dive
in into neat stack of wrapped gifts, when...
what! out of thin air more arrive.

Panoply of mystical elements of holly day house style
breathe prez sense frostily exhaled aired
per millennia athwart
(this terrestrial spaceship planet Earth)

two plus seventeen carousel rides resonated
the veritable pantheon of pagan rituals
and quirky superstitions lit
(akin to a lit Christmas tree)
starry-eyed imagination

as catalyst viz **** Sapiens
furrowed the stern brow of forehead
aft stemmed whilst Santa oft puzzling
(allocating suitable gifts)

inducing him to tug thought generating beard
pondering, whence agents provocateurs
receive just desserts
fueled hodgepodge, mish-mashed, helter skelter

eclectic December twenty-fifth
encompassing tens of thousands previous generations
bred despacito fixtures via paganism,
Manichaeism, Jainism, et cetera
ancient brutish credos, ethos, faiths

a brewed nebulous concoction
within a mindset of early mankind
loose confection, confederation, conglomeration
indiscriminately torquing, vetting, wetting
disparate constituent beliefs

contagion wrought spirit paradigm
inculcating oral tradition Madonna and child
occupying a high chair
whereat superstitions birthed patchwork
comprising divergent ensemble heralding

tender PetSmart impact,
where world wide web populated
with sacrificial pacification sans deity
via oblation, immolation,
flagellation appeasing *******
borrow wing, vis a vis amalgamated
viz Roman Sol Invictus

wrought fiery brimstone tempting those who dared
assert contrary fledgling jambalaya outlook
provoking regally supreme sacerdotal Wiseman

punishing opposing incorporating
novel modus operandi explaining sacrilegious worship
such heretics pitched headlong
into a fiendish frothing furnace

forcing obeisance toward primitive popular
identified, honored, glorified father figure
expressing devotion re:
decking the halls of the mountain king,

whence boughs of Juniper sprigs contriving wreaths
sanctifying twisted brambles via sprinkling angel dust
(actually cremated remains of malefactors
stripped of habiliments) during bleak winter

unwittingly interweaving nascent (futuristic)
formally codified bona fied religions
unknowingly, tacitly, silently rendering
quintessential premises obliging
layperson to foreswear locally rooted secular treatises

trounced, trumpeted unction voided
wishy-washy antithetical blind faith coalescing edicts
over course of time became established
Greco-Roman imposed groupthink
disallowing cynics,

diametrically emerging fanatics, skeptics
who (if he/she did not recant
recalcitrant recommended recourse
faced torture amidst a throng of the madding crowd

as entertainment and forewarning gall
asper those who held steadfast dissimilar views
taught since birth, when citizenry reared
as just a little drummer boy/ girl pipsqueak

taught to stay the course (sans straight and true)
bound without freedom to express contrary aspects
of ways and wherefores, which controlled each green day
and silent night, wherefore unimaginable ogres

lined straying hip cats
eventually ensnared within warpath,
whence law of the land lend scimitar to smite
any mortal man, woman
or child with flaming torches

licking the heretical body electric,
while defiant individuals
left to burn into decimated
charcoal blackened, ashen corpse.
wheel ding utmost pro lix:
scrum compulsions won
despite feeling dog tired, (like a ton
of bricks weighed me down)

while seduced by the sun
solar radiation from the sky didst lightly run
sans, i experienced
a weird wired wider sensation pun
knee sensation otherwise, this sun dry

older puppy nun
the wiser (feeling akin
to an overly sated book worm
to boot) on a Mon
Day, nonetheless, forced
by male incarnation from Lon
don, (via NON FAKE voices

inside my noggin) a potential ***
these tired eyes, could NOT stop reading
even with figurative gun
at my head, until only sluggish progress made,
which daunting task not fun
bore witness thru novel

(in this instance plotting thru - dun
know if fie could finish
One Hundred Years Of Solitude -
by Gabriel Garcia Marquez)

pea pulling his story with bun
dulls of Hiss panic
Alpha Numeric characters, -
per printed page punctuated

concluded with a period,
(premature mental dejected ******* exclaimed
how ah yee got trounced
by harsh obsessive compulsive task master.

"Nay unto you Matthew Scott"!
Uttered by exactly same grievous rot
while er...mailer daemon (as above, ***
tent shill slave driver subsequently not

quite ditto for identical bon mot
mind wielding **** mask kid ding lot
intonation, now setting me hot
to worry about my thinning hair,
the little atop nixed noggin aye got

as expressed vis a vis A previous poem
of mine titled 'Argh! I suffer the plight of Bad
Hair Year In One Day!'
Panoply of mystical elements of holly day style
breathe prez sense frostily exaled aired
per millennia athwart
(this terrestrial spaceship planet Earth)

two plus seventeen carousel rides resonated
veritable pantheon of pagan rituals
and quirky superstitions lit
(akin to a lit Christmass tree)
starry eyed imagination

as catalyst viz **** Sapiens
furrowed stern brow of forehead
aft stemmed whilst Santa oft puzzling
(allocating suitable gifts)

inducing him to tug thought generating beard
pondering, whence agents provocateurs
receive just desserts
fueled hodge podge, mished mashed, helter skelter

eclectic December twenty fifth
encompassing tens of thousands previous generations
bred despacito fixtures via paganism,
Manicheaism, Jainism, et cetera
ancient brutish credos, ethos, faiths

brewed nebulous concoction
within mindset of early mankind
loose confection, confederation, conglomeration
indiscriminately torquing, vetting, whetting
disparate constituent beliefs

contagion wrought spirit paradigm
inculcating oral tradition Madonna and child
occupying high chair
whereat superstitions birthed patchwork
comprising divergent ensemble heralding

tender petsmart impact, where world wide web populated
with sacrificial pacification sans deity
via oblation, immolation, flagellation appeasing *******
borrow wing, vis a vis amalgamated viz Roman sol invictus
wrought fiery brimstone tempting those who dared
assert contrary fledgling jambalaya outlook
provoking regally supreme sacerdotal wiseman

punishing opposing incorporating
novel modus operandi explaining sacrilegious worship
such heretics pitched headlong
into fiendish frothing furnace
forcing obeisance toward primitive popular
identified, honored, glorified father figure
expressing devotion re:
decking the halls of the moutain king,

whence boughs of Juniper sprigs contriving wreaths
sanctifying twisted brambles via springling angel dust
(actually cremated remains of malefactors
stripped of habiliments) during bleak winter

unwittingly interweaving nascent (futuristic)
formally codified bona fied religions
unknowingly, tacitly, silently rendering
quintessential premises obliging
layperson to foreswear locally rooted secular treatises

trounced, trumpeted unction voided
wishy washy antithetical blind faith coalescing edicts
over course of time became established
Greco-Roman imposed group think
disallowing cynics,

diametrically emerging fanatics, skeptics
who (if he/she did not recant
recalcitrant reccommended recourse
faced torture amidst throng of madding crowd

as entertainment and forewarning gall
asper those who held steadfast dissimilar views
taught since birth, when citizenry reared
as just a little drummer boy/ girl pipsqueak

taught to stay the course (sans straight and true)
bound without freedom to express contrary aspects
of ways and whyfores, which controlled each green day
and silent night, wherefore unimaginable ogres

lined straying hip cats
eventually ensnared within warpath,
whence law of the land lend scimitar to smite
any mortal man, woman or child with flaming torches
licking the heretical body electric,
while defiant individuals
left to burn into decimated
charcoal blackened, ashen corpse.
THE FOIL

He hurt me

The pain was bad

So bad it was excruciating and left me wanting  to return him the favor

Even if it was at least a figment of all the pain he had caused this frail heart

So I started to scheme

I began to plot and I gave it a theme

A theme of revenge

I would reverse time, I planned

I would take him back to 1983

Where I happened at the Russian Vostok Station

I called subterfuge

Asking her to be my refuge

On this chivalry quest

I welcomed him back into my home

And did all that I had done when I had loved him

Only this time I did even more

With a burning desire his heart to freeze

This surely my pain would ease

I thought to myself

After all, that’s what he had done to mine

So I acted like all was fine

Better than it had ever been

I cooked him dinner

A three course every time

I never asked him for flowers or for a dime

I wasn't fazed when he stayed out too late

I just went about pretending to love him

And with such pretense came my fate

A fate once I came to understand I would love to hate

Days turned into weeks

And the weeks became months

It was just a game of revenge

Nothing was going to change my mind

I was a vulture, out to scavenge

Or so I presumed.

As time passed,

I didn’t have to make a conscious effort to pretend

I was slowly becoming all I was pretending to be

I gasped and fear gripped me at the realization

I was a creature of habit

Usain Bolt when it came to running in circles

Here I was back to where it all began

Back to doing that which had gotten this senseless heart broken

With every intent to please

The person whose carcass I had hoped on to feed

I was “She-lock”

I yearned for a pound of his flesh or maybe just a little more

But I had failed like I did the time before

I had become everything I was pretending to be

I had repeatedly caught myself sabotaging this mission

I waltz gleefully as I make his dinner

I find myself deserted by sleep on those nights he came home late from work

I had butterflies whenever I heard him call my name

I had lost once again

I, in desperate hope had fought another losing game

I had fallen, fallen not just so hard but this time I had fallen in too deep

How could I betray myself?

How could I let him defeat me once again?

I had fallen in love with him again

And sadly this time around, he was also stupidly in love with me.

All my plans have been trounced

I never planned to surrender but I have been shackled by the chains of love,

The only soft spot my heart has for his…




#roadtorecovery
#everythingipretendtobe
#realrawandaimpl­e
#welearnasweteach
#writingright
#firesofr3d
Vladimir Putin itching
to loose nuclear bomb
end of the world scenario ofttimes
iterated throughout history
though an atheist (actually Unitarian),
no doubt this, that or another psalm
countless times the Bible
references Armageddon and doomsday
impossible mission to remain
cool, collected and calm.

Whether affiliated with donkey or elephant
Democrat or Republican viz
blue war red respectively
political hot issues don't amount
to a (Sam) hill of beans
when Sword of Damocles count
approaches zero hour
as global tensions mount

signaling increased chance
trigger finger will free
avast nuclear winter
(across world wide web) re:
leasing plethora, pyrocumulus
mushroom clouds tree

mend us planetary explosions
annihilating webbed wide
world, an irrevocable
indeed earthlinked debacle
spelling widespread species
multitudinous extinction
ex post de facto after super
bowling powers (wannabe) vied

to wrest empowerment spanning
entire realm sans third rock
from the father, sun and holy ghost,
who turned substantial pock
kits of flora and fauna
once populating oblate spheroid ad hoc

significant swaths of life forms
pulverized and/or turned to ash
transformed into radioactive wasteland
after war mongers brash
lee usurped hegemony
(ruling inhabitants
of Gaia with an iron fist
with a smidgen of flavoring
courtesy of Missus Dash

superfluous taste enhancer,
when sibling burnt offering views
between Venus and Mars incendiary
tolled mourning news
smithereens sole remnant
poisoned every square inch
from weapon of mass destruction

that did cruise
engendering thick noxious fog
disabling fox but not cockroach
while smoldering seas and continents
skull and crossbones didst poach
amidst the gasified, liquified, pureed
where holographic ghoulish super bowl coach

rendering lifelessness home for menagerie
where virtue trounced vice as organisms
(particularly one primate) didst try
(predominant 21st century simians)
tool heave with amity, comity, and empathy
animals and plants an experiment
that went awry

presaging a nuclear winter with nary a winner
implicating mankind as the absolute sinner
instantaneously after Doomsday Clock
signaled point of no return
where grim reaper the sole grinner.
John Jack Jun 2018
Sugar lump
frozen quenchy cup -
****
to the sizzling music
participate in love

Like a dove
pass some of my poems by
and leave the saddest nights
bookmarked
a sudden thirst after dark

Stark in contrast
basking in a shade of blue
pail of ice and floating
*****
trounced by a forgotten you
Lifeblood of democracy hemorrhaging
ousting the "FAKE" president only recourse
to staunch impending grim demise,
since forefathers drafted
United States Constitution
ratified more'n two centuries ago

hoi polloi must take to the streets
denouncing severe curtailment
impinging sacred freedom of speech
linkedin with paramount bedrock provision
accessing unvarnished flint ****** "truth,"
nonetheless commander in chief

he quakingly, staunchly, vociferously...
excoriates, lacerates, repudiates...
one damning hermetically sealed,
iniquitous airtight, vacuum packed
flagrant misuse of power,
(not to mention nepotism)

invidious, insidious, injurious... infractions
incontestable, incontrovertible, contemptible...
significant melange in führer
re: hating deplorably
crooked basely barren
factual exposé after another,

deft correspondents all not quiet
along western front
(I heard Maria - mull remark)
bring "to light" execrable,
lamentable reprehensible...
gross transgressions

commander in chief
significantly overstepped
Pulitzer prize winning
prestigious storied publications
scathingly trounced, pillaried,
lambasted, insulted, denounced,

butchered, critiqued, demonized,
fricassed, gored, humiliated,...
pummeled, quartered, reviled
courageously expounding fiend
ensconced within his Taj Mahal

impregnable donjon, whereat he trumpets
laurels asper, nonpareil administration
laying groundless accusations
baring his white fangs,
twittering, naysaying, mocking.. supreme
renown gifted by "honest Abe"

recalcitrant commander in chief,
who refutes objectionable
dogged investigative journalism
every step of the way,
where dedicated news gatherers
risk life and limb

firing line reportage troopers
ferreting (foxlike) he/she
doth gopher precious nuggets
uncover alarming undisputable details
impossible to refute raw bits
agent provocateur freely colluding

immediately hashtashed poppycock
smarmy, snooty, snappy
beastly capital one ogre
blatantly castigating diligent endeavors
oblivious pie in sky
delusional egotistic haughtiness
bobblehead vilified by silent majority.
blue war red hot political issues dont amount
to a hill of beans
   when Sword of Damocles  count
approaches zero hour
   as global tensions mount

signaling increased chance
   trigger finger will free
avast nuclear winter
   (across world wide web) re:
leasing plethora pyrocumulus
   mushroom clouds tree

mend us planetary explosions
   annihilating webbed wide
world, an irrevocable earthlinked debacle
   spelling widespread species
   multitudinous extinction
   ex post de facto after super
   bowling powers (wannabe) vied

to wrest empowerment spanning
   entire realm sans third rock
from the father, sun and holy ghost,
   who turned substantial pock
kits of flora and fauna
   once populating oblate spheroid ad hoc

significant swaths of life forms
   pulverized and/or turned to ash
transformed into radioactive wasteland
   after war mongers brash
lee usurped hegemony
   (ruling inhabitants
   of Gaia with an iron fist
   with a smidgen of flavoring
   courtesy of Missus Dash

superfluous taste enhancer,
   when sibling burnt offering views
between Venus and Mars incendiary
   tolled mourning news
smithereens sole remnant
   poisoned every square inch
   from weapon of mass destruction
   that did cruise

engendering thick noxious fog
   (disabling fox and roach)
while smoldering seas and continents
   skull and crossbones didst poach
amidst the gasified, liquified, pureed
   where holographic ghoulish super bowl coach

rendering lifelessness home for menagerie
   where virtue trounced vice as organisms
   (particularly one primate) didst try
(predominant 21st century simians)
   tool heave with amity, comity, and empathy
   animals and plants an experiment
   that went a wry

presaging a nuclear winter with nary a winner
implicating mankind as the absolute sinner
instantaneously after Doomsday Clock
   signaled point of no return
   where grim reaper the sole grinner.
poetryaccident Mar 2020
Falling in love became routine
another day spent in want betrayed
by the nature of the response
to adoration so cruelly trounced

defeated by something close
to addiction if truth be told
that need to feel so much more
than affection of the slow burn

instead the flames consume the source
while hardly scorching the other ones
those targets of passion’s siren call
unable to hear the desire’s resolve

the apt response is to deny the urge
falling in love at last purged
habits die hard when they’re set
this one discarded with sad regret.

© 2020. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20200209.
The poem “Habits Die Hard” was inspired by the quote, “I’ve decided to never fall in love again.  It’s a disgusting habit.”, from the 1965 movie Pierrot le Fou.
Grisly horror jawbones Kristallnacht
totalitarian brandishes, flaunts, launches
global threat half cocked.

Vladimir Putin itching
to loose nuclear bomb
end of the world scenario ofttimes
iterated throughout history
though an atheist (actually Unitarian),
no doubt this, that or another psalm
countless times the Bible
references Armageddon and doomsday
impossible mission to remain
cool, collected and calm.

Whether affiliated with donkey or elephant
Democrat or Republican viz
blue war red respectively
political hot issues don't amount
to a (Sam) hill of beans
when Sword of Damocles count
approaches zero hour
as global tensions mount

signaling increased chance
trigger finger will free
avast nuclear winter
(across world wide web) re:
leasing plethora, pyrocumulus
mushroom clouds tree

mend us planetary explosions
annihilating webbed wide
world, an irrevocable
indeed earthlinked debacle
spelling widespread species
multitudinous extinction
ex post de facto after super
bowling powers (wannabe) vied

to wrest empowerment spanning
entire realm sans third rock
from the father, sun and holy ghost,
who turned substantial pockets
of flora and fauna
once populating oblate spheroid ad hoc
significant swaths of life forms
pulverized and/or turned to ash
transformed into radioactive wasteland
giving T.S. Eliot a run for his money
after war mongers brash
lee usurped hegemony
(ruling inhabitants
of Gaia with an iron fist
with a smidgen of flavoring
courtesy of Missus Dash

superfluous taste enhancer,
when sibling burnt offering views
between Venus and Mars incendiary
tolled mourning news
smithereens sole remnant
poisoned every square inch
from weapon of mass destruction

that did cruise
engendering thick noxious fog
disabling fox but not cockroach
while smoldering seas and continents

skull and crossbones didst poach
amidst the gasified, liquified, pureed
where holographic ghoulish super bowl coach

rendering lifelessness home for menagerie
where virtue trounced vice as organisms
(particularly one primate) didst try
(predominant 21st century simians)
tool heave with amity, comity, and empathy
animals and plants an experiment
that went awry

presaging a nuclear winter with nary a winner
implicating mankind as the absolute sinner
instantaneously after Doomsday Clock
signaled point of no return
where grim reaper the sole grinner
feasting on human flesh for dinner.
(scoured from dregs of me muss held head)

I shore up a vignette to free
my ("FAKE") grandfather Hymie,
whose scrunched countenanced
evinced beetle that of browed monkey
he spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands

and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes smoothed
nick holed money
to countless years (spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittle nee
where watery terrain spumed
raw elements piscine

art finest artisanal blended, crafted, nein
mean feet resources dredged reluctantly
relinguished by mother nature mean
craftily pared within each trough and crest
found thee old man with privateer mein

whose skin fiercely weatherbeaten
leathery and lean,
epidermis tanned tough
as rawhide, reptilian, prithee
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since

this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included

NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee

fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, 'ee
got taut learn'n survival skills asper
pre ponder hunt via eddy fied tests frequently dee
siding a life or death outcome,

yet our Dickensian
mutually bonding friendship
via shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though

a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man
appeared quite becoming.

An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,

esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere

as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
Smartly, squarely, summarily into
pall bearing sized hands Helena Handbasket
adorned with Aconite (Monkshood) atop casket
signaling demise, née sealing freedom
(of life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness) fate
with eternal ******* super glued gasket.

I attribute more'n syzygy nsync
with blind faith disproportionate
Republican-controlled Senate
Trump hen proletariat acquitted
id est scott free acquittal
zealously, wickedly, and verily
upending Constitutional tenet.

Suddenly mine blood runs ice cold
regarding bonafide pith and marrow
after historical turnout,
when voters option polled
heart of presidential election Tuesday,
November 3, 2020 struck serious setback
how current commander in chief
punishingly did scold

two impeachment witnesses
Alexander Vindman and Gordon Sondland
in a malicious attempt to excise then fold
brave souls, who (though sadly trounced)
dared to tell truth as they soffit
supporting overarching sacred complex edifice
representing (Greta Thunberg need than ever)
to bolster salient Democracy bulwark extolled
with once upon a time rolled

out Declaration of Indepence
fledgling set of pants
governmental experiment nefarious cajoled
against self anointed emperor, whose bold
machiavellian prince sip pulls
diabolically, fiendishly, giddily...
will shingle handedly raze the roof
that doth (did) vibrantly uphold

land of the free (dumb to repress others)
within home of the brave
eager, ready, and willing who hold
humane truths (toward
all creatures) as self evident
subsequently said worth their weight in gold
regarding those, whose noble quality stance
unfortunately in retrospect foretold
fate worse than death.

Access apropos website
megalomania rants and raves
against with vindictive malice and spite
whereby person in power yields most might!

Https://www.google.com/search?client=
safari&hl=en&authuser=0&channel=
macbm&ei=yCAXtGJAtuuytMPluOX2Ag&q=
who+originated+the+sayingPower+tends+to+
corrupt%2C+and+absolu­te+power+corrupts+
absolutely.+Great+men+are+almost+always+

bad+­men%2C+even+when+they+exercise+
influence+and+not+authority%2C+st­ill+more+
when+you+superadd+the+tendency+or+the+
certainty+of+cor­ruption+by+authority.&oq=
who+originated+the+sayingPower+tends+to+

corrupt%2C+and+abso­lute+power+corrupts+
absolutely.+Great+men+are+almost+always+
bad­+men%2C+even+when+they+exercise+
influence+and+not+authority%2C+s­till+more+
when+you+superadd+the+tendency+or+the+

certainty+of+c­orruption+by+authority.&gs_l=
psy-ab.12..0i22i30.20137.34897..41363...0.4..
0.82.1406.29.­.....1....1j2..gws-wiz.......
0i71j0i273j0i131j0j0i67j0i22i10i30j­0i13.
H4mJplq98uw&ved=0ahUKEwjRjdGP7M
LnAhVbl3IEHZbxBYsQ4dUDCAs.

— The End —