Meet the mad, manic, Mister Murgatroyd
An undynamic blistered humanoid
A curred curmudgeon you don't want to meet
In a bar, back alley, or dead end street
He's a filthy, flagrant, flatulent fart
Sewer rat mind and tarantula heart
Cleaves cuddly kittens, feeds them to guppies
Pet pranks the pet shop, punting the puppies
He's our white whale and our snake in the grass
A demon from hell, one pain in the ass
His black, rotten heart's beyond all belief
We need good karma to offer relief
Slurp burping some soup, soup wouldn't swallow
Burp slurping for breath, death would soon follow
A lone chicken bone was lodged in his throat
His face had changed tone and started to bloat
No one there for the Heimlich maneuver
Cuz no one cared from here to Vancouver
No smelling salts would be administered
No certificate of death was registered
They scrambled his brains to stop his last twitch
Then scraped his remains, dropped him in a ditch
A soulless soul and one sorry old sot
Heavens to Murgatroyd?... Heaven thinks not!
Amy Lee's long, dark hair was worn like velvet shadow. She wore a dress of lantern grey, blue and green as she approached the lantern and the microphone panel.
She inhaled and breathed like fire of all the refreshed repression she had been administered. Halloween? Heh. Life!
Her thoughts were of that nature that her idols of darkness would one day rape her belly naked of its jubilant features of virgin antiques. And with that, does she linger? No, she trembles a bellowing roaring cry of "My Heart is Broken" and "Wake Me Up Inside", for she was now Evanescence, something more than a god....! A goddess of light, imagining.
Can this be a whisper? Can this be a whisper in the depths of Hades, neath her befriended Afterlife?
No. It is a warning; a message. Thou shall not be caught...DEAD...without...percussions.
Thou shall NOT be my witness, my maker, my sleeper, my undeserved bringer to me to Life.
This Hades Pluto, tempting her in her life, her wake, and in her dreams.
Bring ME to Life, Your Reaper, Charon--Fate--
For WE are VIR-GUNS, too!
Why are so many Scientists—
Falling—without a Sound—
As if the Mind—once kindled—
Were Treason—when unbound—
They walked among Equations—
Like Gardeners of the Truth—
Yet Something in the Silence—
Has marked their Passage—through—
No Thunder—announces Ruin—
No Banner—bears the Blame—
But Ash collects on Notebooks—
And Dust forgets each Name—
Perhaps—’tis not their Bodies—
But what they dared to See—
A Lantern—held to Darkness—
Invites—Hostility—
Or Knowledge—like a Fever—
Unsettles those at Ease—
And so the Cure—is Quiet—
Administered—by Degrees—
Yet still—amid the Vanishing—
A stubborn Spark remains—
For Thought—cannot be buried—
It blossoms—in their Brain’s —
Cyn-filteration..propagating a world stage cynicisam
Also, sin-trifi-cation, pervading the chatterers on hills
And world summits, grandiosley
administered.' Down to the so named gentry, and
Aspiring winners.? So what is this councel
Whence springs its root? More to the point
Though, where is its fruit? Is it M A I D in
Canada, or the choice to die, in Sweden or
Britain.? Where some try' to introduce.? But that surely Gods choice.? Is it you will
Own nothing? Or farmers can't grow.' At least independantly.' Do you not Know.? So
If all your initiates match these lines ? Hit
Delete, just clear your mind,
sing out to Jesus, for you are indeed on His Mind
I overheard the Chief surgeon instructing
The Doctors as I was being wheeled to the
Surgical theatre for a surgical procedure
Paralysed by administered anesthesia
I couldn't stand up to the Chief surgeon
I watched the procedure like a spectator
from beginning to the end.
I was angry with the procedure for stitching up
that was recommended by the Chief surgeon;
knowing that it will leave me with a permanent
scare,
Because i held a health insurance policy
I was only waiting to be awake to make
my displeasure known.
(Written on the 27th of April, 2026.)
Through the darkness
Wonders through a summer rain
Thunder and Lightning having surge
Bringing the fire to ignite
It became the feeling to write
Compose with contrast
Ideas full of memories
A past life to share
It was no time to just sleep
Nightlight construct
Letter by letter
Alpha sentences made it better
Sentences like tour guides
Look to the left and right in observe
Every word being a place never been
People, Places and Things
Here and there everywhere
Words saying, “This is who we are”
Accelerating like a car
The journey far
Not knowing where, but will get there
Mind in travels
Words sounding like a novel
Making words and sentences shine
Like a rising sunrise as the new day
Accomplished through the night before
Thoughts released
Feeling free
Once again world to see
Heart full of inspiration
Summer heart can bring perspiration
Sometimes excelling education
That summer night turned everything into possible
Hope administered
Conquer of the new day
Happiness and joy can come one’s way.
I crossed the archives as one walks through a field of ruins.
Decrees were bones, dogmas were nails.
Kings signed treaties in ink darker than darkness, a pact forged in daggers.
Papal bulls oozed blood beneath God's varnish.
Codes etched the systematic animalization into stone.
They legislated hell, administered suffering, theorized the slaughterhouse.
Even science became an executioner,
draping contempt in formulas and measured skulls.
I didn’t read history,
I breathed it,
its ashes glued to my lungs,
its screams wedged in the margins.
They crucified continents for their gems,
their plantations, their ores, and their silences.
They told me: progress.
But I saw boots pressed to throats.
They told me: forget.
But the graves still speak.
They told me: democracy.
I saw tanks circling the ballot boxes.
And you, West, with your carnivorous grin,
you demand forgiveness without returning the bones.
You scream values with your pockets full of plunder.
You dress up your hunger as mission.
You baptize your rape as liberation.
You persist, you insist, you gorge yourself.
But our memories are neither dead nor tame.
They sharpen.
Terrorism had shown its ugly face again.
On joyous tourists poured the fire of pain.
Though with the latest guns, they looked innocent.
Amidst human cries, their smiles seemed imminent.
Who belonged to what faith, they wanted to know.
Could one separate the whiteness from the snow?
Do Hindus and Muslims have different blood?
Does any pot know who formed them from what mud?
Near the corpses of their dear husbands, wives wept.
On laps of peacelessness, sleepy children slept.
Honeymoons of the newlyweds became hells.
Bells of temples and churches turned into knells.
(Militants near Pahalgam in the Indian-administered Jammu and Kashmir, killed 26 tourists on 22 April 2025.)
Scorned and ridiculed,
She carried her affliction for years.
There came a time when she bled.
Until one day her body buckled
And there laid she in her scarlet pool.
That filthy maiden was as good as dead
But Jesus reshaped her from earth’s dust
And delivered her from the hands of the cruel.
There came a time when
the unborn in her womb laid still; showed no sign of life
Curled in its fetal tomb,
And concerned expressions
On the faces of doctors
Alas, were ready when they considered the deciding factors.
But she in all the noise,
Lie unperturbed.
No doubt,
it was God who administered that herb.
And in an instant rebirth
The babe leapt, bounded and gallivanted.
There came a time
When all around her beloved child
A fiery furnace closed in,
But the loving arms of Jesus
Enfolded the child with oxygen.
Methinks that maiden would not have
made it to the other side
After the many years of
Stained tears she cried.
But she is Mother-Earth
And God has granted her rebirth.
I WAS ABUSED BY MY MOTHER AND HER BOYFRIEND AT THE AGE OF THIRTEEN, THIS POEM REFLECTS THOSE HARDEST MOMENTS FOR ME. THEY RAN OFF TO ALASKA WITH FIVE OF MY SIBLINGS WHEN I TOLD MY GRANDMOTHER WHAT THEY HAD DONE.
She never had a tender ear,
she let me know she didn't care.
Always mean she pulled my hair,
no other mother could compare.
I once remember, but only once,
she held my hand with tender love.
I must have been all of nine,
the only good memory in my mind.
The man who crept into her life,
whom she protected with all her might.
A young doe was what he wanted,
like a deer I was hunted.
When he bagged what he'd sought,
out west is where he took the lot.
The coward ran from prosecution,
Alaska administered his absolution.
My mother never penalized,
the man who caused my spirit to die.
I forgave her for their horrific sins,
I wasn't going to let them win.
Today I finally realized,
I'm the one who won first prize.
Inner Child”
My inner child seems to appear when Im stunned by fear and my circumstances turn cold
Even though Im an adult shes still an infant incubated hidden deep inside my soul
When the weight of life pressure gets to heavy to bare
And my vigiliant eyes transform into blinded vision and Im no longer aware
When Im blindsided and hurt
When my love ones avert
The innocent child awakens with unrecognizable worth
Feeble, searching for any consoling outlet to divert
Her speech had froze when uncomfortability arose
When desecration debilitated our character
The spiritual nourishment of GOD was administered
Then exhilaration stimulated a fresh narrator
Shes just an ordinary ageless undeveloped child
And its been quite a while since Ive seen her smile
Camouflaged beneath my surface
Shes vicariously living through my skin for a purpose
From bottled feed soon after birth
To liquor in a lifetime’s mirth,
To blest bottled water
When at death breaths falter,
Oh bottles rife till one with earth!
_______________________________
Reflections | 01.12.2017, recast Jan 2023 | on life
Poet’s note: I had the misfortune to see an old acquaint dying some time back. He had lost mother soon after birth. Milk bottles in lieu of mother nourished his early life. A single father, who could not quite be the mother, raised him as a child. Wasted childhood saw him to grow as a careless youth, liquor his constant companion. When I saw a few drops of bottled Ganges water administered to him as the last rite, it made me reflect on life. Don’t go by the rather flippant tongue of a limerick, see the irony of life.
"The Auditing of Far Away"
Back in those days,
before the real
war landed
they thought it
prudent to
intervene.
the lashing was
administered
in a comfortable chair
the cone of silence
waited in the other
with notepad and pen
the auditing began.
it fell on deaf ears
what spoke, was not inside.
what was inside
was far away ;
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Take heed, poet friends, you too, may be taken from your house.
Your money, your children, your lives maybe by our current
government be sought.
Oh, those chilling words, “Your children are ours”
You must fight….your lives nor theirs, cannot be bought”
This is time to awake, fight back now, you are not the
Federal government’s mouse!
Control and fear, these are their narratives, carried by fake
news.
A new viral disease is always en route!
Vaccines administered by sources.
Commanded by elected, killer ,jackboots!
The American flag, unbelievably, gets little or
no respect.
We are being neutered, too and killing the unborn
is out right?
Of course, since so many lost their souls, they chant,
murder for those who cannot fight!
This poetess prays for us all, that none of our lives
be taken.
And that God sees that no country, under His care,
be ever forsaken.
8/20/2022
~2~
The colour of life
Nature's healing remedy
Administered through the eyes
Flows through the nerves
To heal the mind,
To bring forth gratitude,
And joy and thanksgiving.
Yes, green is good.
See, how the Great Designer
The skilful Creator God
Purposely knitted it,
On leaves tiny and huge,
Carpeted and canopied the forests.
Painted the valleys
Crafted the hills
With colour of life.
Love it green.
Keep it green.
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