I wandered lonely as the crowd
Of harlots, beggars, thieves and shills,
slow followed helpless as it plowed
Through the valleys, over the hills.
Although the leaders of this herd
Spoke loudly no one heard a word.
Continuous, amoeba like
It searched to find its changing way
A predator, slow poised to strike.
Its followers its chosen prey.
And yet the mindless throngs embrace
This demon with a hidden face.
The strange amoebic being purred
As its harsh needs it plainly shared
Its hum now in violence roared
Against all those who never cared.
A fire lit now boldly blazed
I knew somehow the mob was crazed.
And then they came with boots and clubs
Burned the stores and blamed the owners.
They weren’t the police but hooded thugs
Messengers of unknown donors.
I wandered lonely thru this crowd
And wondered, WHY, is this allowed.
John G. Lawless
©9/20/2022
Categories:
amoebic, america, anger, violence,
Form: Rhyme
In the Confines of a Dream
By Sy Roth
Their skin touches mine
Hair on end in the cold, tickling,
Vibrating with amoebic fear on an endless loop.
I could not look.
They braved separation from each other,
Buttock to buttock, fearful of the trap
Where shame brays an insulting reality
Nascent scents buried in their catacomb.
Then a quiet and God’s name echoes in their canyon
Hear me. Hear me!
And the eye above peers, a blue orb.
If it could smile, it did.
The dream is long, an arduous journey,
Skins now cling to other skins
And long grooves are etched in it
Hieroglyphs of people predisposed to perish.
In the darkness, they find Jacob’s ladder
And the angel offers no consolation, wrestling with words
Hear me! Hear me! He hears not
And the screams are a balm to the others.
The azure eye above seals fate in their catafalque--
In brief remembrance of the host and their parsec of loss,
The conclusion, an electric denouement, a splash of exhalation,
A remote offering to the gods of fire.
I saw them, the cleansing men.
I parked above the heap
In sordid indifference to their bestiality
Clinging to the apex of our nightmare.
Categories:
amoebic, allegory,
Form: Free verse
A man with no fingers
waves his fingers at me.
My third day of amoebic dysentery
and though my yellow eye
can see, they see what they choose to.
The guy is not a feverish delusion,
he comes to my house
every morning to sweep my veranda.
I hear my young wife
scolding our Siamese cat,
its brought another snake home,
Chiang Mai abounds with them,
but today my skin is crawling enough.
The guy with no fingers – just stubs,
goes under the house
to hunt for larger snakes;
the house is on stilts
and I imagine his head
under my cot.
his skull is slowly blooming.
leprosy flowers are sprouting
from the hole at the top of his head.
The word ‘puce’ will always
make me think of puss from now on.
From now on
I buy only red flowers for my wife.
There is hardly any blood-letting
at the leprosy institute
just a slow wearing a way of dry flesh,
and me with a fever
that will return forty years later.
Tropical Ohio lasts for some days.
I imagine the cot, the mosquito nets,
a slow moving fan too high above
to save me from a febrile drowning;
then the serpent in my brain
passes away from lack of sleep
and an excess of chicken broth.
Categories:
amoebic, poetry,
Form: Free verse
The game started a long time ago
In the dark recess of unsure times
On the board of wasteland unknown
With quicksand pierced by cactus.
The sky filled with storm clouds dismal
Looked for the silver lining unformed
Cast amoebic shadows drab and dubious
On the dissolved light of horizon obscure.
Veiled destiny had set the game for me
I had to play with me perforce alone
With the dices invisible I was born with
In the clasped hands of fate ambiguous.
The venture in the course of play
Pushed me down the quicksand
Showed me the sheen of dew on cactus
For me each footstep was a crap shoot.
May 5, 2019
Categories:
amoebic, destiny, games, life,
Form: Free verse
If you stroll a wild colored garden
Down thin and dappled paths;
Where bluebonnets bloom on Spring’s black floor,
And mockingbirds above are happily singing, see
New limber-legged colts and calves dancing in the sun,
And chartreuse baby leaves pasted to gnarly live oak trees,
While spirals of gnats like tiny dusters move across the land.
Blue brooks rippling and giggling from rain’s both storm and tease.
And then
An infant black cloud blows a shadow across the sand;
Prickly pears burst and bloom one on one like an amoebic flower;
A trail of smoke and smells from a miles away evening kitchen;
Tired working horses and fence mending riders wending home.
It’s Springtime in the State of Texas
Categories:
amoebic, imagery, spring,
Form: Narrative
Long hours, no frills
Sunken eyes
Seen a few come and go
Tall and strong-keep em’ comin’
Downing glasses of what makes sense
Frayed edges everywhere else
Kids gone-wife to
Empty nest, what to do
Eviction notice painted red
Place of no return
Amoebic in-between
Smoke curls slowly
Closin’ time near
Time the leveler of all things
Categories:
amoebic, destiny, drink, imagery,
Form: Free verse
Anarchy's rife concerns of strife
amoebic controversy's wife
is glory, cast to gain's contrive
while birthright sanctions stow imply!
The rigger, intercedes as ploy
inheritance resolves as toy,
passed from conservative's employ
the rich or poor, slavery's restore!
Decisions reached authentically
no stay of bonds so utilized
contempt of vision, men destroy
provisions archetype chain's story!
A lost regret prison's entail
freedom forgotten with assail
to engineered induction's quail
forgiveness bargained by time's pale!
The vital nuance of restoring
now monologues to senseless cheering,
the quiet ethic time of clearing
now senseless epilogue's revering!
Thoughts parallel not objection's sever
to aftermath's resolve adhering!
Categories:
amoebic, conflict, prison, war,
Form: Monorhyme
37 % of adult Americans eat to live; the remaining 63% live to eat. This latter group is
classified as overweight/obese. The protagonist in this literary work is one of them.
She sits alone on a stuffed chair
That once had rigid, durable
Springs; but that was a hundred pounds ago.
Today this amoebic, shapeless
Behemoth is eating a pie-
a large pizza with anchovies.
She is separating her fifth
Piece but momentary pauses…
Burps, and with her greasy fingers
Gropes for the channel selector
And rapidly surfs the channels
until she reached the food network.
She resumes eating the fifth piece
Eyeing the remaining pieces.
Categories:
amoebic, food, health
Form: Verse