While the red bear mauls its neighbor.
The dragon slides steadily toward Taiwan.
Ten asps are slowly surrounding the children of God.
Thousands of buzzards in plutonium nests
scanning the plains of Armageddon
for a couple of beakers of flesh.
But it'll be God who has the last laugh.
When he slings a giant blue stone.
Turns every snake into shattered glass.
The paring knife of winter
undams the dense brown
blood. Asps awaken and seethe—.
Twining stems sweat,
Irregular coralla dance
around your feet, pray at your altar.
Children of the soil, meek
and mirthless—no currency
save the smooth skin of spring.
Flexous philosophies, grown
splendidly in the shade
do not flower well in sunlight.
Black axillaries, soft feather!
Cower in the green heat,
pull away in kindness.
The slate gray scrape of whetstone
Sunlight sharpens her blade—
a smile carved through the clouds.
Grasp My Gaps with Many Asps
Oh, shed no tear for friendships last gasp.
When the fangs, finally show, a poisonous asp!
Run for your life, head for the highest hill.
The innocent acting asp, on your tail for a tasty kill.
Friends can be asps, don’t you know?
As deadly as frostbite on a frozen toe!
They despised gullible you, having such fun.
You thought them sincere, you are a dumb one!
Worse, you wrote sweet, loving tributes to them?
The asp, chortling with laughter like an old hen.
And now left with few friends, you trusting,old fool.
While the asps, eyes shine, laughing at gullible….. you!
9/20/2022
~1~
only things grown in the ground remain
but mismatched without the hand of man
see that they dodge beautiful
their languishing longitudinal vegetable bodies
never suffer fracture the stems with fruits
and their armor and weapons, bark and branches
trees
no, I didn't think our past was decent
humans
if you ask me about those days of debauchery
we were building ourselves up like the men we now are
with wars and ironworks asps vertices vortices cusps
and it was discovered that it is easy to be reborn another
improvement is advisable
there is only one exit after a wall called brain
then the field we learned to cultivate
now this is what we are having mastered cultivation
homunculi like scattered tares sprouting without end
the power of some being the downfall of others
history built with annihilations
and then the progress
the home appliances
microwave TV freezer wire and electricity
then bytes and bits
now nanoeverything
tomorrow AI and nothing more.
Truth eludes a man.
Searching eyes.
He finds deceit.
Sunglasses cover.
Rouge camouflages.
Daylight illuminates.
Poison asps.
Drip blood.
A CHRISTMAS PRAYER POEM FOR 2020
Exiled to our homes,
We sit, so many of us alone.
Outside, in a world a whirl,
In which darkness and fear swirl,
We peer for your light,
A respite from our soul’s blight.
In his mountain cave, a grieved,
You appeared to Elijah in a breeze.
Young Mary in the midst of her chores
Surprised by the Angel’s word.
Shepherds startled from a drowsy watch
By the Angels exultant shout.
We seek for that which so many long,
A “Glory Hallelujah!” song.
As this year ends,
O loving God, send
Us the reprieve which we seek,
In the One born so humble and meek.
Whose word set straight the crooked road,
And valleys and mountains laid low
In which the lion and lamb peacefully lay,
And children and asps safely play.
Our world awaits your loving embrace,
May your peace fill our dwelling place.
© 2020. By Robert Charles Wagner.
Wasps and bees and grasshopper knees waiting to sting and scratch,
Give them an inch and they respond with stings and holes to patch.
Wren and finch and grosbeak syrinx waiting to burst with song,
Give them a glance and they reply with lusty sings-a-along.
Frogs and toads and mud puppy legs waiting to pump water,
Give them a push and they react as diving sea otters.
Snakes and asps and burrowing bugs waiting to slither back,
Give them wide berth and they will leave without a bold attack.
Deer and ‘possums and red foxes waiting to eat our ware,
Give them a snack and they return for the evening's fare.
Stings or scratches, beauty or song, part of Nature’s lessons.
One must learn to live with all and how to make concessions.
Including their own righteousness,
politicians can convince us and
themselves of almost anything –
that the world is truly flat –
they walk us to the edge…
demand that
we stare down into the abyss…
full of asps, coiled to strike –
incurable viruses and lethal
colors of racial division, these
are the bread-and-butter of
evil – insatiable individuals
with lust for power and control
over the destinies of subordinate
others,
the lemonade and
ice tea of fiery journeys driven
by ruthless ambition –
and the Devil,
having his favorites will reward
them well, their name-plates
over gold plated furnaces
in hell….
I am a light-bearer;
opening doors
so that together
we may seek--
Of course, there
are no answers,
just questions...
leading to questions;
for we are a species
of seekers, divinely
clothed in the solver's
garments...
solutions not found
on the path, but in
the maker of paths;
not found in the
mind, but in a
maze of minds,
in the tender
of walls, the
pruner of our foot-
steps, keeping asps
from our heals
and scorpions from
our toes. The only
real, is the sense
of being, but in
the spirit-illusion:
the wise knowing
there is no life,
no consciousness
that excludes the
intangible of faith;
looking from the
outside in, I can
be certain only
that I think
I think—no more.
WHERE IS ROMEO, WHERE IS JULIET
WAS THEIR LOVE, THEIR DEATH; A FORSHADOWING OF ARTS END
THE POSIONOUS ASPS WE NOW FLAUNT, IN LOVES DISSEMINATION
AN ARTISTIC CREATION?
IT'S SONNET TITLE{:}
THE ROAD PAVED, OUR CHILDREN'S HEART'S; PIERCED IN THE OBJECTIFICATION OF SORROW{S}. THEIR EYES, THEIR EARS, THEIR BODIES, THEIR HEART'S. DEVOID OF THE FRALITY; OF LOVE IN LIFE OR ART .............x
baby blue bk
aka: the gentleman pirate
Most pain comes from something we've lost
,, like a life or a love- or a favorite dog.
How better to deal with the harshness of ghosts,
We plow on; we must plow on.
Will you crawl to a cave and wither away?
Or sit in the sun - repair the wings of your faith,
Will you search for things to fill in the spaces?
But you can't bring what's dead back into life
Death by far owns the deepest of pits.
So, we tap salt and asphalt into the abyss
and plow on; we must plow on.
Each loss forms a string of asps in the mind.
Snapping wildly at sanity and hobbling stride-
Will you proudly wear pain like a soldier of medal and scar,
or cover it up in a 90-proof Mason Jar.
But we plow on; we must plow on.
We're draft horses working the rocky fields of life.
Whips forever cracking in the foyer of the mind.
Wooden backs bowing to the fierce furnace of time.
But we must plow on; we must forever plow on.
There could be rats and snakes hiding in here.
Yes, I am talking about asps and cobras, big ones.
Hiding under the bed, no, not in my head, under my bed.
Okay, what about way back there, in the darkest corner?
Did you check out THAT corner? My voice is rising. I hear it crack.
Better take my flashlight and look hard this time. No, not in my head.
Under my bed.
Well, no the rat would not be. He is hiding in the closet.
A big gray monster with that hideously ugly pink rat tail.
He is probably under that pile of clothes. Not that pile, the other pile.
It might take you awhile to find him. He’s really sneaky.
Probably eating my new jacket.
Can you read me another story while you are here and can I have
two more cookies? What about a drink of water? I am thirsty.
And I have to go to the bathroom again. No, don’t leave, yet.
If you do, I am a goner. Please leave the flashlight, PLEASE!
It's too late in the day to tell you of asps;
it's time for an afternoon nap.
The taxes are all filed, and on their way
by certified post from the c.p.a.
The afternoon is lazy;
the sun is just beginning to feel its dottage
as it leans on the wind for a crutch
weary as it hobbles through sky,
much the same way some say Ra
wandered through Egyptian dunes,
senile and babbling words of power
his spittle potent with secret sounds
and dropping on the sand.
How careful, clever Isis crept,
swadled in her lotus linen,
memorizing all his magic,
and taking up the dampened sand
rolled them into asps.
May 4th, '18
Do not be an asp!
I say to my husband.
Putting him immediately into argument-ive mode.
Asp, I said Asp I shriek with glee
As he heads toward me
With a super angry face, to dismount and unload.
He stops at the couch.
Asp like a venomous snake? He asks me.
Yes, like a wonderful, Cleopatra-like, wonderful cobra, see?
And just how is that better? He asks me, in a dangerous way.
“Asps are handsome, determined, eager-to-please,” I happily say.
We both know I’m making this up on the fly.
We almost laugh when we catch each other’s eye.
He smiles. You’re an asp, he says.
Yes, I am, but not as much as Inez.
Submitted on 4-30-2018
Contest: ASP by Anthony Slausen
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