Best Chase After Poems
alternately titled: incorrigible lottery dreamer
big plans to relocate self and spouse
to some tropical island paradise
by the dashboard light
(the above line credited
to musician named Meatloaf)
upon arrival of my steamer.
A fool's errand finds me emptying out billfold,
especially as the winnings increase ninefold.
Paradise visage and eyes a bulge with dollar signs
whets imagination with Mega Millions ticket bought
for potential wealth overtakes rational self
with delusions of grandeur caught
allow, enable and provide flirtation
with fate to experience rich draught
envision emancipation proclamation
from penury a distant battle fought
expect the usual outcome
after next drawing to yield monetary naught
temptation for instant millions eagerly sought
human foible to reach until life lesson taut
for elusive pot of riches
streak of universal desire
and tacked clear of shoals,
where hard scrapple existence wrought.
This poor man's pipe dream
nsync with the milkmaid and her pail
where fanciful notions pluck me out
being day late and dollar short
essentially pennilessness in the extreme
story of mein kampf fortune teller
also known as Zoltar speaks machine
said contraption did foredeem
substantiated, kickstarted, corroborated...
courtesy an archenemy Joaquim
(fiend nixed) and his tall sidekick Kareem
both rogues could shine figurative longerbeam
and discern mine ill fate.
Meanwhile creative endeavors
and linguistic pleasure
thru the literary attempt
suitably with poetic third eye blind
palliative, yet less rewarding versus
garnering large sum of money
would be a dog send
delivered by one blessed angel in disguise
redemption and salvation
considered thankful find
with challenges or commiserate
and complement via words of positive kind
feeble attempt where words synchronize
readers may espy hidden puns
(and divine inspiration - ha)
within this rhyme lined
to pry poem or prose from mind
deliberate semblance to communicate
and extract idea from cranial rind
analogous how stitcher doth tightly wind
a tapestry of rich and royal hue
while twittering and tweeting
“better luck next time.”
I've been chasing you in the sunset glow,
walking behind you quitter than a shadow;
all of your moves I control, but some doubt I pursue...
even your whispers I can hear, you seem so untrue.
Chase after me for a change,
I'm tired of feeling this rage.
With whom you share your midnight sentimentality?
When I hug my pillow, I make believe I am hugging
you to my warm chest to deal with this endless misery;
I have been dying in too many painful ways to be living.
Chase after me for a change,
I'm tired of feeling this rage.
I admit my jealousy is not love when it shows anger,
and obsessed as I am, nothing can help convince me
that your rejection is a cruel way of saying you don't care;
don't you realize that hurting me, hurts you indefinitely?
To kick stones is giving up on each dream of yesterday;
I'm hopeless and unable to think, I'll quickly slip away.
For the last time, turn around and reconsider me,
do you wish me unhappy days and leave me to grieve?
I have loved you with everything I could ever give;
is it too hard for you to honestly tell me, " Forget me! "
Chase after me for a change,
I'm tired of feeling this rage.
Cut to the chase after tan hat man!
Though reading horror stories
gearing up as strawberry spring fest
full throttle danse (macabre),
an only every now and again predilection
genre crazy wave
washing over me like
a killer tsunami,
harboring pier rill less night surf
(subsequently fueling figurative
hair razing close shave
critical desperation) to save
thine scrawny ****,
(a derriere laughing stock,
and hence cheeky of me to rave),
what you put
in a Margarita,
those rare occasions satiated, when
hung over insomnia heavily bulging,
rheumy myopic blood shot eyes
nonetheless lock into
vital opening sentence determining,
whether adroit kingly author
nimbly setting the stage and pave
ving what thenceforth, pro
misses tubby a cell out ace
in the hole captive audience
skeleton crew exhuming a grave
grim reaper they crave
(me, this apt pupil), doth brace
himself by all counts once
a bad little kid deserving, well...now...
just a bag of bones,
who fiendishly cackles
analogous to screeching
linkedin deafening banshee
when leaning in (Sheryl Sandberg like),
whereat after opening sentence,
an instantaneous big bang
possessive gnarly hand
forcibly grabs my attention
presaging and frightening
yours truly (juiced in case
ye did not know),
where within the bazaar
of bad dreams epic,
which seems like forever,
when I finally erase
and exorcise the bogeyman who,
regally, masterfully, immediately,
dramatically got woven
lady chattery teeth and all
withering wicked warp and woof
establishing (proof positive),
an excellently crafted
Chiral Mad heavily shades
of night are falling
gussying haunting place,
where the color of evil permeates
every cerebral space
with darkness, said
sub rosa prime evil punctuates
the mind of this dream catcher,
whence after four past midnight
the reaper's image appears
sending adrenaline rush,
surreal augmented moving pictures,
viz flight or fight
courtesy third eye blind
did, when firestarter alarm didst grind
passage of time manifesting dark forces
blaze zing atavistic fear itself lined
up battleground formation
from the borderlands of my mind
this even before turning
the first page where the eyes
of drag'n my afterlife
glowed with radiant shining
where suspense didst wind.
No more kisses, ever after
No more holding hands with my lover
No more laughter, in this sweet rain
No more, smiles, when you awaken
No more walks in this rose garden
No more, love to chase after
As the dark veil covered the sky,
I was left with no choice but to resign to fate.
The enemy was relentless in their pursuit—
My platoon scattered after the strike on Khartoum.
Only two bullets remain~
One to kill another,
The other for myself.
I was lucky to find an abandoned trench—
wide enough to let my eyes rest.
Too fatigued to resist sleep,
I hit the hay and slept like a log.
Then I heard voices nearby.
From that hole I laid in, I could see them clearly—
They were South Sudanese soldiers~
the enemy soldiers.
They chattered loudly, so I knew they shared
a fate not so different from mine...
Only that we were enemies—
oil and water don’t mix.
Thank God for the darkness and the trench,
I was hidden from their view.
At least four hours of night
would still conceal my identity—
or so I thought.
Then, about ten minutes later,
I saw a large black snake,
its scales gleaming even in that darkness,
crawling toward my hole—
from the opposite side of the enemy soldiers.
From the way it moved, I knew—
that hole was its home.
It was returning for a late-night nap.
I had no choice but to leap from the trench
and run toward the enemy soldiers.
I could feel the heavy clouds hanging over them
as they scattered in opposite directions.
I ran between their fear,
the sound of scales closing in behind me—
the snake sniffing at my heels.
I ran.
My lungs were like chains
tightening with each breath—
but still I ran,
my heels kicking the back of my head.
And I remembered:
I still had two bullets remaining—
One to kill another,
The other for myself.
My helmet burned like a furnace.
I jolted awake—still in the trench.
No snake.
No soldiers.
Just shadows.
The nightmare had ended,
but my chest still heaved
from that breathless, imaginary run.
I felt the gun still on my chest,
reached for the bullets—
they were still there.
And I remembered:
One is to kill another,
The other for myself.