Gran and Gramps are BUM BUMS!
Standing beneath bouncy castle with hope and glee
Begging my Gran and Gramps to lift me up to see
The fun and exuberance of children taking a jump
Rolling into the middle like one big kiddie lump
Screams and giggles radiate through the air
Flying shoes, squished candy and knots of long hair
Children in chaos while adults swirl round
Bellowing “Be Careful or you might hit the ground”
I plead with Gran and Gramps in my best squeaky voice
To keep their big promise and give me the choice
To join in the fun and experience all the sites
They renege on their promise and gosh that bites
I crawl into the car with a big scowl on my face
Those two party-poopers are a child’s disgrace!
Riding home in silence and feeling so glum
I give them a nickname “Gran and Gramps Bum Bums”
Waving goodbye and as they drop me to the door
Dumb “Bum Bums” will be lucky to see me anymore!
Amy Lee's long, dark hair was worn like velvet shadow. She wore a dress of lantern grey, blue and green as she approached the lantern and the microphone panel.
She inhaled and breathed like fire of all the refreshed repression she had been administered. Halloween? Heh. Life!
Her thoughts were of that nature that her idols of darkness would one day rape her belly naked of its jubilant features of virgin antiques. And with that, does she linger? No, she trembles a bellowing roaring cry of "My Heart is Broken" and "Wake Me Up Inside", for she was now Evanescence, something more than a god....! A goddess of light, imagining.
Can this be a whisper? Can this be a whisper in the depths of Hades, neath her befriended Afterlife?
No. It is a warning; a message. Thou shall not be caught...DEAD...without...percussions.
Thou shall NOT be my witness, my maker, my sleeper, my undeserved bringer to me to Life.
This Hades Pluto, tempting her in her life, her wake, and in her dreams.
Bring ME to Life, Your Reaper, Charon--Fate--
For WE are VIR-GUNS, too!
When you put on your coat
and light a smoke
on the front stoop, December
gusts tear into you. But
that drag rides all the way
down as you shut your lids.
A hat like your dad
wore when he thrummed
his bass at the clubs, skitters
down the street, no one
to chase and bring it back.
For the first time you notice
a distant train bellowing
like a bull past consolation.
A man in his 20’s wanders
under a streetlamp, snuffling
now unmistakable. You offer
your handkerchief
but the wind is fierce
and deafening. The night enfolds
him like an endless black
curtain. You barely make
out the whimper you follow
for blocks, until you find
a spaniel too afflicted
to stand. Why is tonight
different? Saturday or Wednesday
you’d have returned home.
But now, at 10:37, something
rough bruises your chest.
You remove your jacket
and wrap him delicately, singing
in a whisper. You bend
to kiss his sloppy snout.
Now something turns
your bones to light.
big bubbly buxom barista named bellowing Brinks
concocts convoluted creamy caramel coffee lattes
designing delicate extravagant energy drinks
enthusiastic exciting in so many wonderful ways
forming frothy fresh frappes and frozen fizzies
giving generous pieces of advice through the whizzies
Bellowing heart screams in rage
I calm it down and turn the page
Mask in place , ready to play
Oh dear heart , not today
Whispering mind asking for a turn
Unblinking eyes waiting for a burn
I follow steps lathered in gray
On dear heart , not today
Iron will cover broken dreams
Tears flowing in silent screams
I swallow it down and again obey
Oh dear heart , not today
Haunted voices hushed but still loud
I stand there waiting for parting cloud
Sprinting spirit looking to roam
Oh dear heart , let's go back home.
Hurl the applecart
of crimson corruption
deep into a vortex
that whirs remorseless
and grinds to carbon
the bellowing chaos
spewed by mortals
voracious for victims.
Dread not the tremors
and tumult of wraiths
clamoring with poison fangs
to devour the light.
Angel dust glides
past the fairy wood
high above ancient boughs
and descends to anoint
my mangled mind
shot through with the lead
of seething maelstrom
born in the tombs
hewn to cordon frozen angst
bellowing for battle
with steel majesties
cocooned in satin alcoves.
Did you hear it? In the separation of my spirit
A bellowing from within
All my demons shake and quiver
And you befriended them
Their velvet gaze whispers
sweetly deception
Did you feel it?
The taking of my life
Kissed my wound and said you loved it
before you turned the knife
Did they trick you too?
Or was it always in you
To know just where to put it
Despite the bellowing of loved ones,
you've chosen to go it alone.
Thus far you've had immunity to folly and mishap.
Now you're long overdue, but nobody knows.
You've left no itinerary nor coordinates.
There'll be no search and rescue
upon that avalanche of arrogance.
The pickaxe has slipped from your hand.
Sliding into the sweet blackness.
Days layer upon a twist of broken bones.
Blue ice licks its own thickness into a groan.
You've reached the black pinnacle of the purist, alone.
Under a robin's egg sky upon the throat of icy cliffs.
The alpinists ascend a blizzard of sorrow and bliss.
Sowing a string of prayer flags into the white heart soul of spirit pass.
At times upon the grassy hill
a brisk breeze will blow teasing my hair
And within that breeze I will hear
questions asked of me as I lie still
Do you have secrets you long to tell?
Perhaps, but I never do and never will.
In darkness of a lonely night as I walk on dusty trail
the silver moon shines it's light guides me by it's will
A night wind blows strong asking me with a chill
Do you have regrets to share? whisper I won't tell
Perhaps, perhaps but I never do and never shall.
Winter night and the cold is harsh freezing at it's will
Alone in bed covers up to my head as screaming wind shrills
A voice commands loud and clear bellowing for me to tell
Fears, fears do you have fears your quiet heart needs to spill?
Perhaps, perhaps I do. But I never do reveal.
There are songs that you will never sing
There are lips that will never speak
There are voices that you will never hear
And there are some hearts that you cannot move
For the world don’t know the rhythm
Stay on the path that you are on and destiny
Will compose a new song
The rhythm is bellowing in my ear
But it is not for everyone to hear
Change your tune from midnight to noon
When everyone is eating with knife and spoon
And they and they are swollen with wine in broad daylight
For everyone knows your name
The song that you can never sing
is your heartfelt rhythm.
Whirlwind of Hope
I found strength
amidst the rolling wave
it’s steamy showers
giving a balmy calm
the bellowing wind
buzzing past
pause to whisper a secret
resounding my passive desires
that you are a part of me
The wind cometh
bellowing its unrivalled thoughts
while doing a gusty dance
The wind cometh
wearing a formidable aura
scattering its’ amorous beads
while rustling soothing secrets
The wind blowth
firing sizzling arrows
giving tempestuous orders
raising skirts and harrowing minds
The wind cometh
hailing with breezy whispers
sweeping domains
while emptying the man
A musky, burnt haze sears slowly into my nostrils.
The twilight hour pulses steadily, bathing stark walls in an eerie gloom.
Too awake to drift to sleep, yet too tired to drag my bones off this sinking mattress.
Thoughts cyclone like a tsunami within a withdrawn mind,
picking at scabs; the half-life of my darkness pools in red droplets.
Licking the wounds, the taste of metallic and melancholy blends.
Loneliness wraps its arms around my dejected shoulders like a winding sheet.
A howling wind rattles the paper-thin glass making up my windows,
as I ponder how I became the living dead.
Traumas poisoned my sanity,
slowly paranoia replaced reason,
delusions became my nightly bedfellow,
whispering sweet unpleasantries into tainted ears,
leaving hallucinatory trinkets in my repeating nightmares.
The world is shrinking, withering,
yet as I am becoming paralyzed by fear, I am unequipped to stop it.
Like a freight train derailed,
bellowing at full speed towards the inevitable,
I too am racing at the speed of light towards oblivion.
I gaze upon an opaque silver sky,
Descending dewdrops, developing above the mustache maw.
Ascending the nape to taste cherubim cry,
Permeating petrichor, pervade the nasal in auspicious awe.
Palpable pain of tactile taps
Kissing canker sores and rainstorm rush.
Radically rampaging, for its rapid relapse
Rain, it's infinite, swirling fervor flush
To drown by an inundated impound,
A vehement, vicious, void that immersed,
Wandering weakly on the ocean gored ground,
Drowning, isolated lungs; bellowing burst.
The tyrant tsunami my miracle world-wide flood,
Exploding existence, imploding insistence, ichor pools; blackened blood.
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