Best Absconded Poems
Don’t leave me here alone with my thoughts
entangled,
ensnared
wedged,
caught
The roaring whispers
the screeching silent shouts
Please stay a while longer
My soul is crying out
Thoughts
they're racing
they're playing
tumbling through my mind
Silence
absconded
misplaced
I cannot find
Peace
be still
I will seek thee
Do not leave
For
jealousy
suspicion
paranoia
disbelief
My thoughts
they lie
they steal
they cheat
corruption
deception
fraud
dishonesty
Reasoning
plays coy
Sanity
has
forsaken me?
Once I was thinking of building a shopping plaza, just along the Gaza strip
But those Israeli's being what they are I thought my sales could take a dip
So, I thought I'd build a set of tunnels, starting from just beneath my feet
The guy from Hamas came and thought my tunnel plans looked quite neat
I employed a load of freeloading Egyptian labourers I got 'em on the cheap
I paid ‘em with unwanted skull caps and a load of knocked off kosher meat
We built a cafe' serving up falafel and played loud music to cover up the din
And, it must have worked as the locals never seemed to have heard a thing
Took us over 3 months to reach the darn Israelis wall of concrete and steel
Damn; if they were not waiting for us, shouting, are you lot for flippin’ real
They sent all of us back to Gaza; with a rocket launcher up everyone's ass
Shouting; you ain't getting in here sunshine’s, not without a flaming’ pass
The Egyptians were not very happy, but hey that's not so unusual for them
Thinking of employing us to build another tunnel, well, you can think again
We then all arrived back at the Syed café; just to find, it had shut up sharp
Apparently; there had been a 100% sale on down at the bazaar super mart
The Egyptians; looking a ghostly white from months of working in the dust
Suddenly disappeared; they had all absconded outta here, on the local bus
Sitting on a dusty chair down at the Syed cafe; I watched as Gaza did burn
While totting up the jukebox to the sounds of, The House of the Rising Sun
O' a Palestinians’ lot, is not a happy lot, of this, you can be more than sure
Just ask anyone from Farah to Beit Hanoun, they all know the bloody score
The guy from Hamas reappeared, saying those tunnel plans looked quite neat
Have a thousand unwanted skull caps, and a load of knocked off kosher meat
Well, the Palestinians’ lot, is not a happy lot, but in the end we will not be beat
So I opened a local vendor stall, just a stone's throw at the bottom of my street
Selling a thousand unwanted skull caps and a load of knocked off kosher meat
Lulling the days when a guy from Hamas thought my tunnel plans looked neat
My veil falls to my feet
I am at my most vulnerable
yet I lose my shyness easily in front of you
as your eyes acceptingly savor me.
I am in awe
of my ease of presence
and of your hunger of my being
in spite of my perceived flaws.
What do you see in me?
The intelligent loving being
you are
I have held my love for so long
waited....
for one who longs for me
just as I am
and that being is you,
my love
A weight is lifted from my soul
as I allow you to partake
of my very essence.
I feel a freedom
that I have never known.
I feel like an eagle
soaring free and unburdened
from expectations.
My joy is boundless
as another has seen both
body and mind
but loves
the reality of each,
not the perceived wish.
I discern the peals of you laughter
and your concern
long before I share
the tales of my day.
I do not conceal myself
nor do I want to.
My entire body longs
to meld into you.
My despair is lifted to the heavens.
I want for nothing
when I am in your arms.
I will not hide.
I have been extricated
from the complexities of my mind.
My personal reality is shattered.
My breath and vision are absconded
as I am lifted into your acceptance.
I was taught that I was not enough
contemptible and unbefitting.
I thought that I would die
lonely and bereft of love,
unworthy.
I seek your face, your smell, your essence.
I long to love you
demonstrate the depth of my ardor
Will I be sufficient for your needs?
My needs now become second.
Yours are primary
as I seek to plenish your temple.
My lips savor
every part of your being
and now contain the memory of you
when you are not in my presence.
No one else can consume me.
Others can perform
but 'tis not the same as love.
I am an eagle coasting
on the breath of our ecstasy
in love's fair union.
No matter what the future holds
I know that I can never
be
ONE
again.
I'll always remember you, my love.
We decided to turn Paradise into real estate.
Trouble was, we weren’t too sure where to find it,
Though experts had located it somewhere
Slightly west or east (left or right, looking north)
Of a point midway between the Euphrates and the Nile.
According to some, it moved sideways a few inches each year.
Computer systems would relieve us of Adam’s curse,
Which many wanted back as soon as they had been relieved,
And Eve discarded more and more items of covering,
And everything (a forgivable exaggeration)
In the garden (the upkeep of which had to be paid for by taxpayers)
Was lovely (or at least pleasant enough for most).
The Devil, who no longer existed (save as a literary metaphor)
Had been extradited on a drugs smuggling charge
And was last seen heading north.
The Forbidden Tree had been cordoned off by
Security people and no serpents were allowed near.
One day we woke up to discover
That Paradise had absconded in the night.
The more sensational headlines read PARADISE LOST,
But this was watered down in a subsequent official press statement
to read PARADISE MISLAID.
As to its new location, even the pundits failed to agree
Whether and if so, by how much, it had moved left or right.
It was even rumoured that the Devil
Had bribed the Angel at the Gate
and infiltrated the Intelligence Service.
The Ministry of Defence reported that a large flying object
Had appeared as a blob on the radar before slipping off,
And some wag even suggested that this was Paradise in fact.
Adam uttered “What the..” under his breath,
switched off the telly – it was an old war film –
And gave Eve a knowing look.
Eve didn’t fancy an early night,
And the ensuing row
Raised Cain.
My mind traveled in Casablanca
to witness a tale of love.
Heart that yearns, desiderata,
pleads to heaven up above.
Give me one more chance for loving.
Quench the drought of this crave,
for I so longed of having
the heart that once absconded.
I've seen princess Anastasia
proving her rights for crown,
heading her way to Russia
amidst darkness of the dawn.
Her mind was blur like fleeting
but her beauty was overflowing.
Her charm like a stream was oozing,
sending waves of sting
Capricorn hereunder
could you tell me what's the matter?
For my heart gravely falters,
tame the shakes and all the shivers.
I toured the avenues of her soul
and plunged my heart in her dungeon.
Her beauty I so adore
enslaves me like a pigeon.
But freedom I detest
for paradise is her fortress.
Her fairest skin like milk
shines so bright to light the darkness.
My muse blew a fuse
Without excuse fealty did recuse
In jilting fashion without compassion
Tendered passion did stingily ration
Lofty discourse from pen did divorce
With no remorse absconded every resource
My inspiration turned to perspiration
Hopeless itinerant somewhat penitent
The bartered lexicon I did recon
A vagrant shill seeking to rill
The run-off spill pages to fill
A pilfered title would move engine from idle
An embezzled theme would ideas stream
A trite rhyme would be sublime
A pawned metaphor to open the door
A brokered simile; a borrowed metonymy
Would re-collect the literary dialect
Now shorn from mind so forlorn
Storm coming, madam
Me-- I’m going up country--
Lay low and stay sweet*
*stay sweet--stay alive
Victoria Anderson-Throop
Nairobi, Kenya
November 26, 2012
Note: Political unrest near Nairobi, Kenya due to election strategies. Polish nun told me that she was warned by a local moonshine runner to hide. Too late. She was pistol whipped by local police who wanted more protection money. Didn’t get the money (it was a free clinic, so nurses had no money) Police beat the nurse/nuns and absconded with the very rare and precious AIDS meds to sell to the hospitals.Free AIDS clinic was forced to close.(Kenyan government does not have free health care for the poor) Nuns are recovering then being transferred to other clinics. Three went back to Europe forced into early medical retirement due to permanent injuries sustained by police and/looters. The care program(education and/or placement) for the children whose parents were AIDS patients is gone. Children have taken to the streets in desperation. Count your blessings.
Sock Returns
The washer absconded with a sock
Then went into an agitated cycle
Blamed the dryer for the missing thing
The dryer accused the weather
Said it never saw the red and yellow item
Or the hole at the top between the toes
The one that gave it a distinctive glow and character
When pressed on the point of having so much knowledge
About an object never seen
The dryer screamed, shut up and closed its lid
A lawyer was called in
A detective became involved
Washer & dryer refused to cooperate
It was too late for that
The washer washed
The dryer dried
The world turned in its style just the same
When the red and yellow sock turned up
Hole and all, in the laundry basket
Nothing drastic to report
But happy that the sock returned unharmed
To join the other waiting there
No less the wear to make a proper pair
Two men were murdered in the Massachusetts town of Braintree.
They were Frederick Parmenter and Alessandro Berardelli.
Both were employees of the Slater-Morrill Shoe Factory.
The culpable individuals absconded with payroll money.
Two followers of the infamous anarchist Luigi Galleani
were immigrants Nicola Sacco and Bartolommeo Vanzetti.
Neither had police records, but espoused militant anarchy.
Both were connected to the Braintree murders circumstantially.
The two arrested men became world centers of controversy.
The first trial was filled with questionable testimony.
There were numerous requests from all over for clemency.
After two trials, the defendants were found guilty.
The twenty-second of August in 1927 was their last day.
Controversy about their involvements persists up to today.
I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.
In the fall of 1803,
The good ship, “The Queen Ann’s Knees”
Sailed out on the bounding seas.
Out of sight of the land
The captain looked grand
As with little ado
He spoke to his crew:
“Men, I’ve nothing to hide!
You all may have noticed how wide
Is that big blue thing outside,
Just over the railing.
So keep this in mind while we’re sailing;
The ocean is deep and mysterious
And can be at times quite serious.
‘Though I’ve sailed on the water
From Crete and Gibraltar
To the Lesser Antilles,
It still always gives me the willies.”
“But to our duty we shall always adhere.
What that is is however not clear.
I had all of our orders,
I thought, in my quarters
That in words quite precise
(In fact really nice!)
Told what to do while afloat;
But I left them at home in my coat.”
“But never mind that, we’ll just play it by ear,
And pretend that there’s nothing to fear.”
And so the ship sailed on
Through storm and through calm
Till the month of December
When he said he remembered,
Using logic deductive,
What the admiral instructed:
Go to the Sandwich Islands
And bring back two Hawaiians.
So they sailed one morn
Around the Horn
And on into Pacific waters
Where thoughts of their daughters
And wives
Helped to keep most of the men alive.
And many and many a year had passed
When the ship returned, broken, demasted,
And its harbor came into view.
What remained of the crew
Went ashore and disported
While to the Admiral the Captain reported.
“My Admiral, as per your instructions,
Through distress and wanton destructions,
Through monsoons and lagoons
And fearsome typhoons,
We sailed Isles of Sandwich
And in sorrow and anguish
We brought back two Hawaiians
From those far distant islands."
“Jolly good!” the Admiral responded,
“But as I recall, before you absconded
Those many long years ago,
I just asked that you go
To the pub down below
And pick up my lunch
(Or was it my brunch?):
A ham sandwich and a Blue Hawaiian.
So, now that you’ve paid your visit,
My bloody lunch, where the hell is it?”
The Unholy Donut
Void, vacant, empty is my life
Of cream filled treasures
More value there than is the princess virgin
On Sunday where the need’s more urgent
After church and prayers
And rushing with a crashing passion speed
To donut shop with my craven need
Where is my cream filled donut please?
Did I not pay my last three pennies for my treat?
What’s this defeat?
Alas! My dreams are dashed.
The donut is there but not intact
Someone stole the sweet interior
Missing is the Bavarian cream
Absconded from the scene
Missing like a long lost love at sea
Lost like my mind and memory
And like my first love,
Pretty on the outside but empty within
Oh cold cruel world! Where could it be?!
What have I done to deserve such wicket fate and misery?
My just deserts snatched from me from the depths of hell
Some demon monster stole my soul and prize as well
And sold it on the internet I’m sure for pennies more
Advertised by shape, size and smell
Waitress? Oh waitress? Could I have another donut please?
But this time with a hole inside
….something to hold on to with no surprise
Till the day I die
Murdered
Life’s sparkle buzzed, danced;
Her life absconded by gun,
Soul departed earth.
THE BETRAYAL
Absconded from the scene, but dying fast,
to seek a vengeance in a candle flame,
I whisper names as prayers, a spell is cast,
and goes about its deed--this is no game.
The power none believe is really there;
(or speak of, tongue in cheek, at very best)
too soon is born and takes me everywhere,
to ride the devil's beast upon my quest,
and have no mercy, it will drive you mad,
as you have done to me within my past,
and just as soon, you'll lose the mind you've had,
to whimper in the dark. The spell is cast.
Breathe slowly now, and know this is your end,
where once was written, you were safe and sane;
that on the day when you betrayed this friend--
--your life has come to be eternal pain.
© ron wilson (aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet)
who stood by me the most In the muddy years of adolescence
an invisible crutch, a stretcher of magnetic preportion
may it be harmonious, or a cacophony of dissonance
the eyes salinate, the skin raises, the body with its contortion
Soon it will never be created with honesty ever again
Soon it will be destroyed with machines
my ears will begin to hemorrhage
my lips will crack and bleed
my fingers callous
my belly aches
my eyes shut
my breath
stops.
Inhale!
life begins
life returns to you
life feigns in the middle of the night
like a day sleeper with a bloody wallet
I cannot keep you in my catacombs no longer
hit the streets with new attitude and new vigor
Please, my love, breath again and refuse to give in to life's barriers.
Life has turned into night and now has turned into day
heart strings have been cut, and you have left me
Only soft whispers of pain are what is left to say
please, sister, close my door and let me be.
leather jacket, cigarette smoke, a greasy beanie from 1981
make no effort to save this broken chariot
my god, please return me my only begotten son
he has absconded to the last hotel marriot
This poem receives no resolution.
I absconded with reader rabbit (Peter), to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day
Ah Sheik Hog - Ho!
One "FAKE" Wingman Flying
Via O'hare To Dublin y'know
Cuz, The Leprechaun within
me, seeks young sprig poe
whet tick friend in toto,
though nowhere to be found despite search team
loudly trumpeting thru depleting fresh air
supply terrestrially polluted atmosphere,
asper the unknown whereabouts, regarding
said royally titled quasi legally inherited bare
naked lady loving bastard oven heated affair
son last seen donning Herringbone Wool headwear
supplemented by Irish merrino wool sweater
and custom made Hemp (smoking hot) pants
informing observer with seedy, faux debonair,
and pseudo (reed "FAKE") suave cultured couture
clothing automatically camouflaging to disappear
without a trace, thee alluded to rival to the throne
(Irish to keep ye in the dark) like chocolate eclair
secret recipe (one takes to the grave), unless held
at gunpoint by bonafide Machiavellian consigliere
ruthless if necessary forcing captive to declare
high fidelity, indemnity, loyalty, et cetera to a
life of lawlessness adopting anonymous incognito
guise accepting bewig noggin with long knotty hair
tattoo skin with "FAKE" scars to accentuate fear
factor accepting (blood bonded) brotherhood till
death do you part loot, pillage, vandalize, et cetera
in a blitzkrieg effort (albeit violently) to repair
evenly distribute disparity between 1% and 99%
grassroots uprising (peopled with migrants) spear
writ ting their exploitation at the (Taj Mahal) bear
sized paws swiping at susceptibility, vulnerability,
inequality, et cetera series of unfortunate events
decreed, instilled, ordained clamped like ironware
shackling one generation after another, an outright
outdated, on par as anachronism, feudalism, stoicism
where stark difference between rich and poor unfair,
especially, cus the latter labor sweat of their brow,
which backbreaking toil essentially endows wealthy
at expense of grunt work signalling ominous nightmare.