No one really can explain
The mystery of death.
When someone’s time is up there’s just
That quiet final breath.
An X-ray, scan or bloodwork
Or the beeps from a machine
Give some stats to the physicians
But what does it really mean?
We’ll all arrive there someday
And, despite the circumstance,
We can’t refuse the Reaper
When he asks for one last dance.
So all the doctors’ test results
And autopsies combined
May not be quite enough to bring
That longed-for peace of mind.
But thinking of a life well-lived
Might comfort those who lost
A loved one whom into the
Great Beyond has sadly crossed.
When the barrel speaks,
crimson thoughts
are expressed non-verbally
Scarlet tones
perforate the air
with ballistic shrieks
Coroner syntax
are arranged in morgue sentences
of alphabetical autopsies
When the barrel speaks,
violent desires
are sated in silencer reverie
Blue steel fiery emotion
be coldly exclaimed
by stained tongues trigger happy
Solemn whispers
is the universal language
spoken with rigor mortis affinity
4-19-21
My Lord, you brought me to this rich land.
Your blessings overflow out of the hands of your people,
the brains of your people,
the hearts of your people,
the autopsies of your people.
Wait for me
to bring my best
as these brought their best.
To offer my self,
To offer sacrifice,
To make (in) awe and gratitude,
For the fat-land-oil-people you’ve laid out before me,
on repulsively seductively repulsive boards in vaults,
For the person you have made me to be,
'cause God don’t make no junk,
But all I do,
all I bring,
all I have
to offer is marred,
scarred by my Self-
Inability-
Flitting-
Distraction-
Consciousness-
Appraisal-
Failure-
Hunger-
Drought,
My Lord, isn’t there a blessing left
in Milkandhoneyland
For me?
Thousand thoughts rummage the grey fluff.
Gloomy, godawful voices thump in self-talk
"I'm an idiot, a loser,...... it's all my fault".
Autopsies of the past, tear my flesh,
Regrets of a decade, devour my heart.
Rant of betrayals suffocate my breath.
Capricious sentiments egg me to a wreck.
Loud conch shells stalk me in heavy weight.
I sink in the abyss of "What'll people think?,"
I wish I could not hear what my mind says.
Isn't that echo the shadow of my sound ?
With a mind of steel, the Ventriloquist vowed,
I'll flash away that swampy dummy puppet..
I'll end the endless sabotage of that parrot..
It's my journey, .. my thoughts, ..my dreams.
PLACED FIFTH IN THE CONTEST
13th January, 2019
Plucking the Poisonous Parrot Contest
Sponsor Maureen McGreavy
All essence is dust.
Faintly forming through sun rays, filtered by hidden vibrations.
Like vaporizing fog galloping the hills
Rolling wind whistles tunes of Pan
My ears are caught in a kaleidoscope.
Trying to melt all as one, surrendering to abundance.
And birds preform autopsies upon trees.
Peeling off bask, playing acrobat upon branch after branch.
Through an absence of sound
I am waiting for the first human echo
that wades this day awake
He is an architect of soundscapes.
Senseless with passion he stands
before a pending deluge.
Rapt is he to the resounding
din within the halls of his skull. At night,
the architect will dream of faces
they smile and laugh—they cry and sigh,
and he must reconcile with the knowledge
that he is responsible for their being,
as incomplete as they may be. They chant
his name at the brimming of the storm—he
hears their voices as whispers. There is a
grind which pulses perpetually through
as he hears the endless ringing, through rime
and reason. As chaos descends upon
him, he peels back his flesh to better feel
the salt from the ocean. Waves engulf him.
Although he is afraid, he submits to the
tempest. Underneath the water’s surface
are endless observations for his eye.
Swirling shades of chaos glimmer above
as he shouts profound profanities to
heaven. As the storm recedes, the water
will dismiss the architect from suffering.
He then must dredge the bodies—blue-faced and
bloated—to the dry banks of his stream of
consciousness—where autopsies may yield some
connotation, but never certainty.
*
Damn, this guy sounds really angry
*
The following flyer has been posted all over my neighborhood.
*
Poisoning stray cats is Against The Law.
All violators will be prosecuted by me
To The Fullest Extent Of The Law!
I know who you are and I have the proof.
Photos, video, autopsies too,
I have enough evidence to arrest and book you.
Cease And Desist This Now and I'll be through with you,
because I'm a very calm and reserved individual generally.
I live my life at a very slow and stress free pace,
but abuse any animal and I break into a crazy
that will make your worst nightmare feel like your happy place.
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
*
PS:
Just to give you an idea of who you're messing with,
I have no qualms at all getting the press involved with this.
This Is Your Final Warning, CEASE AND DESIST!
*
Damn, I wonder who is posting all these flyers in my neighborhood.
*
autopsies can bring
more tears to some or a peace
of mind to others.