A red-throated hummingbird, betrayed,
begins the annual rite of packing up his nest,
in response to the mercurial spinning of winds,
and the twisted temperaments of weather.
Distant friends once conspired together, chasing sunbeams,
beak-seeking nectar beckoned from blossoms' tease,
thoughtful temptations from the breeze who taught him to fly.
Without warning, save the predictions of history,
the wind turned her shoulder, hiding the cold,
smell of snow on her breath belying denials of inclemency.
Taking only what he needs, tucking it in next to his breast;
an odd stick, a tuft of newborn lanugo for the sake of nostalgia,
unhatched plans of a portico he had intended to build.
Red bird perched on bare branch, in morning bids farewell,
takes flight on desolate breath, his load less heavy now,
having left his heart with the unsteady humor of sylphs.
I find it hard to believe the sun is setting
That the noble experiment is in fatal decline,
Just because so many people are forgetting
Descending into what I’d call a piteous whine.
That the noble experiment is in fatal decline
Belying solid foundations of our Constitution
Descending into what I’d call a piteous whine,
Conspiracy theories adding to rank confusion.
Belying solid foundations of our Constitution
With safeguarded freedoms in amendments
Conspiracy theories adding to rank confusion
Bringing to the forefront ridiculous arguments!
With safeguarded freedoms in amendments
And not elevating to power insurrectionists,
Bringing to the forefront ridiculous arguments
To remain stalwart, we need constructionists.
And not elevating to power insurrectionists
How close we came to witnessing a coup
To remain stalwart, we need constructionists
We need strong leaders who know what to do.
How close we came to witnessing a coup
Just because so many people are forgetting,
We need strong leaders who know what to do
I find it hard to believe the sun is setting.
Written July 4, 2022
Battles we wage, an ego urge
A dream life, make belief
Belying delight of bliss surge
Soul lost; our thoughts the thief
Play earth role, as assigned
With pulse of love aligned
Desires, to bin consigned
Actor on stage
Battles we wage
29-September-2021
Quietus
Travelling along the time-carved corridor of life
I filled the brimming bucket with buds of wishes,
some withered, didn’t descry the dawn of the day,
some bloomed, pleased me with beguiling flowers.
One such fulfilled wishes was the journey I made
to the Grand Canyon, incised deep in ancient rocks,
exposing the geological record of two billion years,
I was keen to see for so many years as a geologist.
Looking down the hanging skywalk at the Eagle Point
I saw the calm Colorado river meander in gentle course,
belying its strong erosive power of incision of the past
that made the channel chisel the canyon in the valley.
As the sun began to set beyond the barren plateau,
its last rays draped the curved contours with crimson hue.
The grand spectacle of surreal grandeur unveiled to me
layer by layer the imprint of eons on the petrified history.
December 4, 2020
Contest : What Have You Kicked Off On Your Bucket List
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
A day no true artist would dare to paint,
Breathtaking colors by God’s hand alone,
Spoiled only by a dark and lonely figure
Dropping tears on a freshly mowed grass lawn.
A nostalgic woman of former times
When a friend might come and sit a spell,
This, though, is year Two Thousand Eight or Nine,
Belying that “No man is an Island.”
These Islands move like shells loose floating,
Privately on streets, behind closed colored doors,
Concealing problems they try to erase,
With their solitary searches for grace.
While wisdom’s left over figures of life,
Sit amongst God’s colors and doze alone.
she enters the room gracefully
belying the heartache inside
her tale of loss floats through the air
like a windblown kite
a mother, child, and death
reduced to silhouettes
her vision rips a hole
where there should be love
from this pulpit
with its congregation of one
A sudden, deeply inhaled breath cools
the tender linings of the throat,
belying the violence to come.
A brief moment
s t r e t c h e s into a thousand
as adrenaline EXPLODES through veins
and the [[tightly-corked]] breath expands within
until, with a quivering, violent eruption,
it escapes.
Tumbling up the raw shaft
through which it had been stolen
with the force and fury of a hurricane,
it rushes wildly back towards freedom.
It grows, echoing, reaching for its release;
Finally rattling and pummeling past
the last, weak resistance of
vocal chords it splits the air with a
shrill, primal, guttural cry
And then…
Silence.
9.7.18
Contest: Write me an Emotion - Act
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
Oh, there are some hurts that nobody reckons
when a rush of rage, pain and revenge beckons
about a wanton act of mayhem and spiteful action,
In the silent nights it beckons, oh how it beckons
belying my irenic ideals, beliefs and just conviction.
Hesitant and much fretful I stood at the threshold
of a cordoned off bloodstained room, dolefully cold,
at this time a most dismal of moments and piteous
to wrap my head around this grim spectacle I behold,
My beloved and I lay bleeding—murders most vicious.
To find the one who committed this dastardly act
I vowed to exact vengeance, unravel one sole fact—
Towards my wife’s unfaithfulness was my hostility
It’s I who staged this scene of murder-suicide pact,
my suspicion was not without merit of her infidelity.
~5/12/18
~Premiere II contest by rob carmack
Convoys of flashy cars
Matrimonial coteries perched on car windows
Convey cosy impressions in imaginary bars
Belying divorce shadows
That stalk and haunt new marriages
Where cooking sticks, frying pans fly
As divorce spectres havoc in carriages
Speak and sing a lie
Marriages tell and fail
As happiness through windows evaporates
To spell and impale
Marriages at frenetic rates
Scaring delights and daylights
In homes haunted
In mornings, afternoons and at nights
Taken for granted and taunted
Seventeen thousand divorces
In twenty seventeen
Evil forces from frightening sources
Marriages under siege in a cadaverous canteen
Prompting minds to boggle
Wondering if matrimonial culture sutured
Too many marriages in hedonism gamble, giggle, sniggle and google
In scary scenarios captured and raptured
Time to rethink
Pose questions
Think! Wintry wine glasses don't clink the right link
Marriage institution in need of systemic overhaul actions with surgical sections.
Upon the asphalt sidewalk he lay
this lonesome drizzly evening
knotted fingers outstretched imploring
for that extra bit of coin
the deep crevices in his face
belying his true age
black beseeching eyes
mirroring darkness and despair
it was not hard to see his plight
what brought him here I wondered
this bitter October night
Who is this funny dancing clown
who entertains throughout the year
with painted frown and brush stroked tears?
His dizzy spins go round and round
'til orange hair and polka dots
look like a crazy spinning top.
Then plopping down upon the ground
as children laughed until they cried
at funny dizzy crisscrossed eyes.
There, where his frown was upside down,
the happy circus filled with smiles
as other clowns ran in the aisles.
Now laughing loud without a sound
and gaily dancing as he left,
belying inner tears he wept.
Who is this funny dancing clown?
His dizzy spins go round and round,
then plopping down upon the ground,
there, where his frown was upside down
now laughing loud without a sound.
Hesitant and much fretful I stood at the threshold
of a cordoned off bloodstained room, dolefully cold,
At this time a most dismal of moments and piteous
to wrap my head around the conception when told
my beloved lay bleeding—a murder most vicious.
Oh, there are some hurts that nobody reckons
When a rush of rage, pain and revenge beckons
about a wanton act of mayhem and spiteful action,
In the silent nights it beckons, oh how it beckons
belying my fond ideals, beliefs and just conviction.
~Rhyme Time with 5 contest by Laura Loo
Penumbra reflections of darkness weigh cynical in my soul.
When crepuscular dreams creep through the twilight
I hear their sonorous songs sing their deceptive toll
like dysphonic bells, their desultory tones cry the devil's delight,
belying the calm of the halcyon night.
Jealousy eats at me, masticating my miserable flesh,
each time I see your opulent smile it takes yet another bite,
chewing slowly savoring and seeking my heart to enmesh
as visceral emotions move slow through molasses midnight,
exuberant in their need to leave me contrite.
01/31/16
...for the Rev Eric Shirvell-Price
A blizzard of papers blanketed his desk.
His pipe rack stood like a chess piece,
mutely waiting to be shifted.
Sepia toned photographs lined the mantlepiece,
like soldiers standing at attention,
and there was a smell of stale tobacco.
Volumes and manuscripts burst
from a bookshelf, while origami figures
lined another. A coffee mug bore stains
of sherry aperitifs, and port to accompany
his after dinner cigar. Crosswords
and limericks were everywhere,
vestiges of his light and lively mind.
There were newspaper articles,
and empty fast food containers, evidence
of lonely, late night dietary indiscretions.
His vestments hung limply from a coat hook
like wraiths, belying his portly frame.
the frame which now lay in a mahogany box,
a whisper of his former self,
a shadow of the man that he once was.
...for the Rev Eric Shirvell-Price
A blizzard of papers blanketed his desk.
His pipe rack stood like a chess piece,
mutely waiting to be shifted.
Sepia-toned photographs lined the mantle shelf
like soldiers standing at attention,
and there was a smell of stale tobacco.
Volumes and manuscripts burst from a bookshelf,
while origami figures lined another.
A coffee mug bore stains of sherry aperitifs
and port to accompany his after dinner cigar.
Crosswords and limericks were everywhere,
vestiges of his light and lively mind.
There were newspaper articles,
and empty fast food containers,
evidence of lonely, late night dietary indiscretions.
His vestments hung limply from a coat hook like wraiths,
belying his portly and prodigious frame.
the frame which now lay in a mahogany box,
a shadow of his former self,
full measure of the man that he once was.
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