Your anonymous blog
To my face you are kindness itself:
cheerful, always upbeat,
but in your anonymous blog
you rip me apart.
You press your thumb and forefinger on each side,
hold, pull and rend,
and rupture my very innards.
You focus on me,
my life, my words, my actions and my body
like you are a Celestron Telescope
searching for every single crater and irregularity.
With an Ultima Barlow lens
and your Leica M9 18MP
You grab each natural image
and then rearrange reality with
your precious, perversely persuasive, periscopic Photoshop technique.
poetic liberty has leased you a license to assassinate,
humiliate,
decimate,
invalidate,
severely lambaste,
and mockingly castrate
everything that I identify as me.
literary freedom allows you to liberally fabricate,
mutilate,
denigrate,
incriminate,
scathingly castigate,
and maliciously urinate
on what others think of me.
To my face you are kind beyond selflessness,
but on your online beat,
your anonymous malevolence
sets you apart
from all the others
that have ever wanted
to write me up,
put me down,
and publish me out.
— Zumwalt (2011) (used by permission from zumpoems.com)
Captured by your pageantry
Mask shielded identity
Bewitched my gallantry
Stole my heart anonymously
Such mysterious glamour
Eerie yet intriguing
Speaking to my emptiness
Replacing all my loneliness
Extravagant mystery
Shadowy history
Surreal and dramatic
Ornately enigmatic
Your life a deceptive dance
Role played romance
Cloaked intentions
And social masks
Lavishly concealed
Make your backroom deals
Trading hearts like tokens
With words softly spoken
The masquerade illusion
The ultimate confusion
Love but allusion
Self-serving inclusion
Bitter truth unveiled
Torn landscape surveilled
Love’s victim impaled
Your manifesto nailed
To my soul
the faceless strikes keyboard hard
shooting opinion barbs
inside the church he prays to
this anonymous stalker hunts
his unseen victim-cries
he-the faceless remains faceless
# for Bite Size Contest No118 Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Another chapter in my life
over much too soon
when there's so much more to live
it's just not opportune
but is Anonymous the author
or would it be myself possibly
writing this tale so true
could it be an autobiography
and yet I won't be put on hold
my one and only guarantee
tho' late won't be overdue
when it's check out time for me
for on turning a page today
I came to realise and to clarify
I'm living a story in a book on loan
from the Great Library in the Sky
Immortal lines of loss, immortal lines of tears,
lives lived already, swallowed up by the sad years;
Childhood and adulthood anointed by heaven,
and baptized by hell's fallen, demonic children.
In the world of the privileged and few, alone
have I worshiped and prayed in Church, embraced by none:
and recognized in solitude that (for me) life
means isolation, anguish, and depressing strife.
Lord! As thou art now, I'd sooner be God in making;
and free myself from this unfathomable heartbreaking,
this searing of my soul (this burning of my mind)
beyond the pain till there's almost nothing left behind!
On the cold highway of this life I cruise, alone
with no end of the line in sight but the unknown;
for life starts with a dream, and ends in a nightmare:
blessed are these few (they live, then die, ne'er being aware).
Drop a rock into a still pond,
and the ripples echo.
A large enough rock,
and a pond sized tsunami,
waves echoing beyond the edges.
Every step I take creates ripples.
Sometimes, a tsunami.
After all, I'm not screaming in outer space.
And the trillions of steps before mine
that gave me the ground I walk on,
need to be acknowledged by the care I take with every step.
Edna gave advice to the love lost and lovelorn on the radio.
Her show was popular, but it would be the last place I would go.
Her breakups were many, her sour dour ways were no better.
I was thinking of sending this silly station an anonymous letter.
Dearest kitty, you drank my wine last night.
No wonder, you avoid the bright sunlight !
I shall make a small ice bag, for your head,
Your petite, waif-like body, feeling half-dead.
To Felines Anonymous you will now go.
For you see, my Kitty,…….I do love you so!
7/28/2023
they don't want dramatic parents anymore
sentimental
they got bored of them
they are sick of exaltation
they don't want the vehemence of which
the parents hung on
convinced that it would be freedom
we
those with a muzzle swollen by history
we look at them with trembling eyes
in hidden tears
we
do we wake up? or die?
we died
we woke up
but they discreetly wrap
around around contre jour
on an old heart
another world
vehemence
our only final reward
they scratch their fine ears
and they offer us
an image about which
we do not know
they do not know
they don't tell us anything
easy
to be as easy as possible
existential flake on an anonymous wall
easy
easy
and no windowsill to look at
no return airport
no word on current status
nothing past or bandaged
just to be easy
you pay this time trust me
at least once
drinking beer together
I just follow the trajectory of a flake
I keep my eyes closed
like a child and I imagine
that you overcome life's difficulties
in that lifetime of a snowflake
and then i let you go
A secret isn't meant to be revealed
But it's hard to keep
It makes one feel restless
Though it may be told
In a form of myth, fable or fiction
But it mustn't be too candid
But it must be anonymous
Though telling a secret
Is forbidden, hurting and causing trouble
But a secret is attractive and invaluable
And the pressure of keeping a secret
Has to be let go one day
Oh, oh
How about telling it to god
God is forever lending you a ear
He'll keep the secret for you
He'll help you through the secret
And so your life too
Though one may begin to scoff
They may remain-- to pray
To get into reading, it's enough
For the A.A. book --this way
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Reply to "The Doctor's Opinion"
"I earnestly advise every alcoholic to read this book through, and though perhaps he came to scoff, he may remain to pray."
~William D. Silkworth, M.D.
The sky of the universe is our
The universe's ground is our sheer
Everything in the universe is for us
But now we are walking as impious!
Who are we? –Human
But forget this every man!
After the pandemic situation
Now we are in earthquakes loan!
We lost many of us to Covid-nineteen
And now we are losing in the tremors bin!
Skyscraper building to the little cottage
Aged public to newborn child phase
Gigantic mountains to velvet grounds
Seraphic nature to seasonal sounds
Wandering to the path of havoc slowly
But, who is liable for the destructive policy?
-No answer; silent mystery
-Anonymous authority!
©Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
12/02/2023
The puppet is telling a story in silence
But not its own story
It's only a story of others
Or of the man behind the scene who narrates
Or of the writer who collects
Or of the anonymous who declares
The puppet is only an obedient actor
A silent storyteller of freedom and dignity
Man sometimes lives like a puppet too
Especially in a country where hegemony exists
Grateful for the gift,
That my heart does lift,
Someone thought of me,
And my poetry;
Thank you for your thought,
To me joy, you've brought,
May our Lord bless you
With favours anew!
Obliged am I now
To scribble and wow;
Generous and kind,
You had me in mind;
Anonymous friend,
This note I have penned
As my thanks to you,
In gratitude true.
1st February 2023
autumn floor carpet
appears among fallen leaves
an anonymous charming flower
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