"The Ballad of The Poet Destroyer"
Destroyer, and creator of words
Flying high on the wings of a bird
Drowning every inch, by foes and friends
Where has she gone?
When push came to shove,
She continued standing tall after every fall
Falling fearlessly like the falling star tapping the lips
Topaz, a star in the eyes of envy the enemy
A dreamlike, miracle mirage, fresh like mints
No reason in remembering yesterday's sad song
Slightly she moves in with the new barren breeze,
A maze in disguise, no way out
A feeling so good, you hate
The naming of names, that won't escape you
Your eyes of lust, imitate PD's sweetest touch,
Destruction, with pleasure
A new day, killed by the morning after pill
Everyone gone, shadows remain
Where, has she gone?
A feeling so good, you hate
Your unmatched precision, wobbles your stability
She'll give you a taste of rays, despite your low self-esteem
Happiness turns to sadness, making every jaw drop
Where has she gone?
She's not the painting of Mona Lisa,
However, it does not stop you from spending your cash-
-To see a picture painted with a frown,
Look what you've done!
Never to return, what was, what is!
You say you love her, then you run
A dry barrel, an empty gun,
Never will the enemy be number one,
Nothing but a shadow, a rug for PD,
Like a dream, her imagery is haunting
Love her or leave her, her pen name remains
Poet O' Poet where are you?
Advocate of smiles, enjoy her copy paste kiss
Trace her silhouette found in the midnight mist
Blindfolded, indulge by the wind
Breaking, the Texas Hold EM' Hand
Her freedom, her land
Gone insane, she laughs,
Untouched she remains, she lives
Inside of me
The story of Pandora.
Zeus was an angry God
Cause man accepted fire
To get revenge, and very soon
It was his one desire
With the help of the other gods
He made the first woman
He placed a veil upon her head
And this story then began.
The lady’s name it was Pandora
For Epimetheus she was a gift
Who took her as his bride to be
Which gave him such a lift
Zeus gave them as a wedding gift
A lovely wooden chest
He told them not to open it
It would cause unhappiness.
He put the chest out of his sight
He knew he would not need it
After all, he had Pandora
And this pleased him quite a bit
One day Pandora found the chest
And she asked him ‘what is this’?
Epimetheus told her not to touch it
Said ‘that’s the way it is’.
Pandora thought about that chest
She went to check it out
Then she heard these voices speak
And she had pangs of doubt
As the voices said ‘Oh, please Pandora
You have to let us go’
And in the end she opened it
Though why, she did not know.
Then bang, the lid did open wide
And an icy wind blew out
Pandora she was blown over
She was blown all about
Slimy creatures, with growling voices
Did crawl out from the chest
Pandora looked at all of this
And she was not impressed.
‘I am disease said one foul beast
I’m cruelty said another
I am pain, and she’s old age
This voice came from some other
I’m disappointment, he is hate
Said another slimy creature
As one by one these ugly beasts
They all of them did feature.
I’m jealousy, and he is war
Another creature said
And I am death said the softest voice
I fill you full of dread’
The creatures oozed on out of windows
And slithered all around
As all the plants, and flowers shriveled
What destruction could be found.
The fruit on the trees, it all went mouldy
The sky turned filthy yellow
The sound of crying filled the sky
Some would holler, some would bellow.
Pandora crashed that lid on down
Then she heard a sweet voice say
“I am hope, please let me go
You will need me some day’
Pandora lifted up the lid
A butterfly flew out
As she was battered by the wind
Life did a turn about
As a watery sun came out
And shone upon the flowers
Everything came back to life
And all regained their power.
1 February 2014 @ 1530hrs.
In the spring of 1880 young Clifford Griffin immigrated from England to Colorado.
The death of his fiancee left him bereft and he was searchin' for his El Dorado.
He settled in Silver Plume where he and his brother bought the Seven Thirty Mine.
Clifford and his brother Heneage became very rich from ore that assayed very fine!
With all his riches, Clifford chose to live in his lonely cabin above the town.
His only companion was his treasured violin which he played with some renown!
His melancholy melodies wafted down from his mountain aerie 'most every night,
To be heard by the whiskey-guzzlin' hard-scrabble miners to their delight!
Clifford always dressed in black, enjoyed fine cigars and was quite the dashin' bloke!
He seemed content with his solitary life and in business was as solid as an oak!
Alas, death cast its gloomy pall high above Silver Plume one moonlit night.
Instead of sweet violin music, a single shot was heard that left the town affright!
Next morn his mortal remains were found in a grave he'd dug for himself alone.
His heart-broken brother found the pistol with which his brains he had blown.
A grand monument was erected atop the mountain just above Silver Plume,
At the very spot where Clifford lay midst the ponderosa and Columbine bloom!
Mysterious events now occur on that lonely mountainside accordin' to local lore!
'Tis said on moonlit nights sad violin music is heard below on the valley floor!
Folks have seen a black-clad phantom smokin' a cigar and drawin' a bow,
Playin' melancholy music and a wraith in Clifford's likeness a-swayin' to and fro!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Entry for Carol Eastman's "Story Poem" Contest
I do not know?
It was the cold and dark of winter
I was outside playing alone
My fingers were chilled like cinders
I ventured far from home
I turned around and it was white
I couldn't see at all
So I closed my eyes real tight
Then I began to fall...
I fell into a slumber
Awaken by bright lights
I heard the sound of water
I felt I slept all night
I saw a beautiful girl
With a voice as enchanting as gold
Her clothes white as pearl
She wasn't that old
I took her sweet soft hand
We walked to a grave
The grave's in white sand
My soul she couldn't save
Lights of green and blue
I was suddenly in a room
Kids in white dresses too!
Could it be my doom?
Taken to water so clear
I could hear my dad calling
His voice full of fear
The sound so loud appalling
I fell into the pond
Appeared in front of the door
This is the truth my bond
My dream existed before
In the heart of the Tuscany under Italy's sun
Lies the town of Lucca, which is known to some
As Giacomo Puccini's birthplace, and the truth to be told,
He's Italian composer, one of the best in the world.
In the times of Medieval - far back in the past
Thrived the banking in Lucca and the art of silk craft ...
The legend has that at those times and in this very city
Lucia Manco lived so gorgeous, vane and pretty.
The cunning Satan though made her splendid stunning beauty last
On the condition that she must her lovers souls to Devil pass.
... For quite a while this deal worked really well
- Men souls were going from her bed straight to the Hell.
For quite long time she never fell in love, we trust
- Her drive was simply egotistic vanity and crave for lust.
But even magic comes to undeterred sudden end
- She met young man, to whom she loving heart of hers has lent.
She would not dare to corrupt his holesom soul,
And lost her beauty just at once forever and for all.
He lost his love to her at instance when she lost her femine charms .
But to the worst, the Devil told him that he held his mother in his arms!