1/
Two lives. Safe from scandal.
Oddly what does appal
Those nosiest of fiction writers
The false biographers.
2/
Shunning fame. Shy of face.
All such empty boastings
Quashed there yond, behind a door.
Yonder, in private moor.
Each mind as elusive
As the other to track.
Indoor or outdoor, wild, free
Whose dazzling ran thought-spree.
* bronte, dickinson
The Black Cat
Not too long ago (the lifespan of flies)
she had an all black coat that was now
all grey, and her effulgent green eyes
were very dull brown now.
In front of the wall
mirror named Paul,
she was filled with appal
by her centenarian looks. 'I should end it all!'
Instead, she rammed her reflection
in her great abjection.
She hurt her head and her eye.
She began to cry.
Suddenly ....
there was a beautiful black cat with no grey
and no paling beside her in
the mirror waving Hey.
Too jealous of the award-winner,
she rammed the nonsinner
She rammed so hard the mirror blew apart.
Then she felt so dizzy she passed out on a half-eaten tart.
In her all-night
dream at night
she was waving blissfully to the
cheering crowd on the
tombstone Halloween float covered in light
and shadow (quite the fright!),
a float she was booked to appear on that night.
(Sung to the tune of that great old hymn 'All Things Bright and Beautiful')
(Chorus)
All things bright and beautiful
All nations great and small
All lands bombed to smithereens
Look better with a mall.
I am a man of good looks
Talent and fine taste
If your lands have some minerals
They will not go to waste.
(Chorus)
Don’t let my makeup fool you
And my comments may appal
But when it comes to doing deals
I will Trump them all.
(Chorus)
I only want to help others
To protect and to serve
If I make lots of money
It’s just what I deserve.
(Chorus)
Glistening night began the fall,
Of dreams and joy, he would often call,
Hopes residing on his shoulders appal,
Dark inhaling the being, exhaling it all.
Where would it end?
Masking it, anonymously penned,
Giving in to the existing trend,
Stuck in a marsh knowing no friend.
Eyesight going weak, in all bleakness,
Feet moving barely, in a guess,
Millimeters from a mourning press,
Light may come, and caress.
Perhaps I ought to publish my position
(as if there's anyone disposed to care!):
I'm not convinced that open competition
is profitable. Poets, self-aware,
and full of self-esteem (as many are!)
increasingly seem disinclined to share
the fruits of midnight labour. From afar
(and I do not possess a crystal ball)
I think that I perceive a lowered bar:
requirements (this is just my judgement call)
to dress one's thoughts in rhythm or in rhyme
do not delight our writers. They appal.
We need not think of strictures as a crime.
Does discipline torpedo erudition,
or might it help us grasp at the sublime?
There was a mighty head of state
who thought he was like God.
Within the prercincts of his house
all feared his heavy plod.
We now hear many stories,
some of which appal,
of crashing crockery on the floor
and ketchup on the wall,
and how the hand that held the helm
grabbed his driver's steering wheel.
Many a good ship did capsize
for want of a steady keel.
For some a black hole
Dark night of the soul
An illusionary sense of contraction
Borne of narrow identity suggestion
The truth quite simple
Elusive to mind nimble
Ascension is nothing but resonation
With the divine sublime love vibration
Who rises and who falls
Why does descent appal
Who is the desirer of a higher power
Why do we self block the bliss shower
Energy rises to the crown
Union at heart way down
Who but lower mind seeks attainment
Embrace oh hermit bliss in contentment
09-September-2020
We sense the sacred in these peaceful walls
Yet men have died in places that appal
Women too and children then unborn
Fell into cold dark earth in lands forlorn
As our weapons grow, our hearts are hard
The people live in Gaza behind bars
The water all polluted as taps drip
Is this war or is it vengeance fit?
In Britain, it’s the poor who lose the war
As it was when Jesus Mary bore
Yet here are clerics blessing marching bands
A military show for all the land
The genocide in Europe of the Jews
The self destructive actions of the proud
The fields of France filled sick with blood and bone
Who are we to cast judgemental stones?
The War’s not over when the fighting stops
The soldiers and the tortured suffer shock
The widows and the parents all bereaved.
The unborn children hover in unease
We let the prisoners out from camps of death
But who would take them in or take their path?
The injuries will travel down the years
As still we fight and still we live in fear
It’s Europe’s grasp and greed which was the cause
Of death in Gaza, Syria, in long wars
Yet we judge we are more civilised
As we self defend with careful lies
The symphony and guitar too..had made
It pleasent and soothing story which was once said..
Do it even if, world hate...
This was the cause of being her soulmate
The life long exams meant nothing
Cause she the reason and everything
I was ready for the apostasy
The reason was her charm and intimacy
The results may appal...
But still she will continue to be my best pal.
We sense the sacred in these peaceful walls
Yet men have died in places that appal
Women too and children then unborn
Fell into cold dark earth in lands forlorn
As our weapons grow, our hearts are hard
The people live in Gaza behind bars
The water all polluted as taps drip
Is this war or is it vengeance fit?
In Britain, it’s the poor who lose the war
As it was when Jesus Mary bore
Yet here are clerics blessing marching bands
A military show for all the land
The genocide in Europe of the Jews
The self destructive actions of the proud
The fields of France filled sick with blood and bone
Who are we to cast judgemental stones?
The War’s not over when the fighting stops
The soldiers and the tortured suffer shock
The widows and the parents all bereaved.
The unborn children hover in unease
We let the prisoners out from camps of death
But who would take them in or take their path?
The injuries will travel down the years
As still we fight and still we live in fear
It’s Europe’s grasp and greed which was the cause
Of death in Gaza, Syria, in long wars
Yet we judge we are more civilised
When we self defend with bitter lies
Young Peter is far from perfect
Teen anger he fails to deflect
His trail of destruction
Has caused such a ruction
You should see the items he’s wrecked
His parents do little to stop him
They’re addicts, and too busy popp’in
Heroin and pills
Which don’t cure their ills
The outlook for Peter is grim
He ‘borrowed’ a car with his mates
and drove very fast round estates
they didn’t get far
cos they crashed the car
they’ve not even got their L plates!
He shoplifts from the local shops
Been caught many times by the cops
The stupid young fool
He breaks ev’ry rule
T’will be a good job when he stops.
He damaged his neighbours new wall
With spray paint he began to scrawl
Words that were so rude
With pictures so crude
His actions they did so appal
These issues are across our nation
Good morals are a strong foundation
We must guide our youth
With respect and truth
Perhaps it will be their salvation!
Unsuitable for contest as its not free verse but i thought it was still worth posting:-)
4/8/18
Impurrturbably Above it All
Hail, Ginger Majesty on high,
where on your royal ledge you lie.
Occasionally a glance you throw
On us unfortunates below,
A restless crew who daily pace
Compulsively from place to place.
Appearances may easily fool.
When masters serve, those kept shall rule.
When Ginger slinks through furling silk
It is to claim his cool fresh milk.
Human cares may humans stir.
Cats generally prefer to purr.
Them no falling stocks appal
Who today have got it all.
Cats, of course, aren’t always nice,
Especially to birds and mice.
The rocks. The sea. The mountains
The sky stretching close and beyond
The cliffs, the valley, the fountains
The places of memories fond
The eyes. The ears. The voices
The innermost sanctified place
The touch, the smells, the tastes of
Victories, wins or disgrace
The heartache. The pain. The sweet love
The life that envelopes us all
The highs and lows, the light and dark
The joy and sense of appal
I’ve been there. I’ve written. I’ve breathed it
But no matter what I have seen
Before me a better one wrote it
Still, my aim is to pen and to dream
THEATRE
is this some sort of operation
an apparition
taking place above my head where
bluemouthed
masks stare shadowed by
overhead lights
is that the man in white or not
yet… not quite…
with red bright
stained latex fingers
threatening sharp intent
like skinny strips of
tin foil to dig into
deepened coils
of diseased
Infirmities
blood clots clamped
near veined
tendrils of pain that
would scream but
now deadened
with Morphine
fashionable white saws
crack ribs like frail straws
revealing a heart
shattered in off beats…
a smash and grab
how can I reveal and
let them steal this
dysfunctional
shrunken
life
replacing the empty
spaces that appal
me the most
© Kim van Breda—9 October 2015
They could be heard across valleys with their screeching echo
Flailing above tree height they’d flock in their thousands - the Black Cockatoo
Like nature’s eclipse, they would descend in clouds; all great gangling wings
Flapping madly at each other, swaying this way and the other
A perch full of hysterics - oh ravishingly black
Black raucous baffling broils of beak n feathers and
Snapped off sticks and nuts that crack and pop from
Ancient giants tall
All crowded in crowns hanging and swinging and larking about
A jest from the nest, others cuddling n kissing
Fanning tail feathers – pretty
But now they fall, their numbers appal
Thrown out of their homes, death by starvation, another species lost
But who gives a toss…
A red tail feather once so common on the forest track
As we yearn for their call, the lone screeching echo
That haunts the valley floor
We no longer hear the vanquished
It’s only when they’ve vanished
Will we truly pray for these ebony eccentrics?
Of the Australian bush
28 August 2014
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