I almost understand, but
but I do not comprehend
nor accept...
That your frozen blood,
fused in silent time,
with pupils painted
with ink of nonsense,
touched with the illusory dust
of an evident negativity,
can rave and enjoy
while watching the noiseless suicide
of my soul that survives
in the midst of a supernatural love
for your fabled figure...
Does nothing bring you
light memories lived,
atavistic happiness, dormant...!
Why do you need so much,
to bite my light that
shines night and day for you,
that bursts for your love,
since the beginning...!
How do I eat thee? Let me count the ways:
sauced, buttered, plain,
sprinkled with Parmigiano Reggiano,
pesto, pancetta, bacon.
Rowdy rigatoni, flamboyant farfalle,
perky penne, funny fusilli, lovely linguini,
spunky spaghetti,
personality abounds.
An atavistic love affair
with semolina goodness
in all shapes, sizes
like my three Aunt Rosas.
Dear pasta,
I count on you
for your depression-lifting goodness,
accepting no impastas!
When you end up in hot water,
you come out better than before.
You’ve stuck with me
through thick and thin,
mostly thick around my hips.
Pasta al dente, the choice
of strong Italian women!
("Untitled", aka "The Crawling Eye", 2018, original encaustic)
Paranoid Eyes
We live in the old part of town
Where the walls have ears
And the dark, eyes
We have learned to watch
What we say and do
Until mere husks remain
Of former selves
But we are proud
To live in such a world
Where inside is out
And out knows what is in
Where age-old atavistic fears
Have been projected
Into technological feats
We even like
That our phones know
What we want to buy
Before we do
The iron fist of the surveillance state
Now just a velvet glove
On a limp consumer wrist
At least we have our dreams
The place where all lights shine,
And all eyes turn, on us
The land before time
Within the prison of our minds
Secure that we, while endlessly watching,
Are at least the only ones
(10/17/23)
Autumn – Constanza
The season that I like the most;
who cares for callow, shallow youth?
The young know nothing, that’s the truth.
With swallows, on their trip engrossed,
I, too, feel atavistic yearning
to celebrate the season’s turning.
And chestnuts in the fire, to roast,
with rosy apples, ripened sloe,
give off a fragrance old folks know.
That August sun, so swift to boast,
is not so mighty any more;
a wimper which was once a roar.
A feeble and decrepit ghost,
an oak leaf, shrivelled in my hand,
reminds me that I’m not so grand.
The season that I like the most;
with swallows, on their trip engrossed,
and chestnuts in the fire, to roast:
that August sun, so swift to boast,
a feeble and decrepit ghost.
flashes of atavistic plurality
saves us timelessly
and sporadically
from what we are
programmed to be
by the system... !
Wrestle with me; the small voice weighs
as does your brother when he prays.
There's much so wrong, but also right
I can council if you invite;
Shepherd your tenet when it strays.
Don't live in atavistic daze;
closed minds the playground where He preys.
Surrender not, put up a fight;
wrestle with me.
You love your pleasure, languid ways;
that sort of life, it soon decays.
As you retire to bed tonight
dreaming of your next day's delight;
think long before your lust obeys,
wrestle with me.
A kiss on the forehead
Is a gesture of betrayal
It's not a kiss of love
Filled with joy and humor.
It would be better to kiss a dog
Which is as silent as a wandering
Moron in the Latin quarters.
Oh! Poor are those who smile
To these words emanating from a place
Where everyone has atavistic rights
Despite the silly threats of the accursed.
A kiss on the forehead
Is a sign of punishment
It is an act of treason.
P.S. Translation of ‘ Un Baiser Sur Le Front’
By Hébert Logerie.
Copyright © May 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
An idea sprouts
a heterodox notion
Sweeps 'cross my radar ~
atavistic wave on the ocean...
Can there really be
in this metaverse evolved
A concept so novel, so fresh
it gets people involved...
We came from
modernity for
teach beings
underdeveloped,
we found that
totally unhappy
are these retards
aliens
race scum
human... these
that segregated in
colonies where everything
happens equal to
the ancient days...
live impure,
dirty,
accumulating garbage...
live persecuted
by bacteria,
infected by
promiscuous contacts:
touches,
hugs,
kisses and
mating...
Practices since
long time banned
in modernity...
these practices
are animal
atavistic fruit
addictions...
copulation and
dual enjoyment...
we all realize
that the enjoyment is
individual...
each one has
his share of pleasure...
these addictions
prehistorics.
are so filthy
how to eat the
in opened air,..
or how they mix
Ingredients:
carbohydrates,
starches,
fats...
poor things!
unhappy that
survive
in thoughts
Out of reality of
Modern...
poor creatures
who still dare
practice love
with body
present...!
Activate the Argument
David J Walker
A one-world lonely drop
One word then two
From a pile of past important papers
Pinned in the permanent ink of
atavistic fears and instincts
picking
three words then four
voices heard
unseen
in a perturbed
rebirth of a past
manuscript
what has she seen
and when did she see it
what did she mean
and when did she mean it
five words
then six
as thick
as an August evening
on a screened-in porch
You explain
I am the path
But not its patron
I am
The Paterfamilias
And not its Matron
Eight words then ten
And it’s over enough to
Start again
We have atavistic coincidence :
easternmost point
of the Americas
Cabo Branco, Paraíba
Brazil
atavistic ancient research
bees scrutinize flowers
service of serving the queen...
I heard a story of a land
Where tolerance was all,
As one they lived together
Whatever creed or call.
Homophobia and misogyny
Xenophobia and distrust,
Those atavistic attitudes
Were crumbled into dust.
Of course 'tis but a fairy tale
But that it could be,
This world would be a pleasant land,
Where empathy runs free.
Dog Days Endure
Sirius, rising with late summer sun,
Dog star, your timeless tour has just begun.
Sweet sultry lazy days beside the lake,
These precious waning days of swimming fun.
How I'll miss the warmth this season bestows
As romance dwells in soft full moon that glows.
I will miss the ducks that soon will fly south,
I'll miss my sandals baring naked toes.
Atavistic admiration will buy
These glorious last latent days from sky
Until autumn breezes in with her chill
And I will welcome hues and will not sigh,
For each season has beauty that's unique
With shades of glory in milieu mystique.
Each a blessing progressing to the next
Till then, let dog days gift the joys I seek.
9-29-18
~8th Place Premiere Contest~
Contest judged 12/1/18
(A Rubaiyat is a Quatrain with a rhyme
scheme of AABA, CCDC, EEFE, etc.).
Sponsor Gregory Richard Barden
'Breathing Death'
Atavistic air of love entombed
Awake aware of fossils fumed
Dragons breath a fatal fire
Sleeping death poison for hire
Eyes wide shut awaiting dark
Restless rut as demons bark
Descending stench clouds of gore
The reaper shrouds the whore
Now trapped within I sleep
Intoxicating mortal sin I weep.
note..."whore" representing death
March.13.2018
10 lines 5 words III
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
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