Best Depletes Poems
from the conch
whispers come
dissect
distract
blow upon
scintilla branch to intrinsic thought
weighed down
consumed
overwrought
mattering - so magnified
that I can't turn away my eyes
reach for able hand to soothe
what dread could deed undo, disprove
kisses stolen
by long lost words
explored lactic fallacies
become absurd
til endings are not the body expired
but exposure of every cell and every wire
cathartic grip held in awe
control depletes as hem and haw
til sadly swings
and bridges to shame
call time
I must
on the lugubrious game
When gazing Beta Persei,
a star with many ghoulish names,
be wary of a winking eye
with fluctuating flames,
evincing evil aims.
Ancient mariners would watch with dread
and chant their prayers out loud,
when that “Eye in Medusa’s Severed Head”
was held by Perseus, proud,
high o’er the heathen crowd.
Sailors' hairs would stand and straighten
when that shady eye would shimmer.
The Hebrews shouted “Rosh ha Satan!”
when “The Head of Satan” grew grimmer
as "The Demon's Eye" got dimmer.
Dubbed “Ras al Ghul” in Arabic,
or “Algol” in the West,
“The Ghoul's Eye” plays a demon's trick,
resulting in unrest,
and much astro-interest:
Riding high in Autumn skies,
guiding galleon ships,
then fading before fearful eyes
by mean of an eclipse
of stars in an ellipse.
Then three days hence this trick repeats
with pre-ordained precision --
dark demon light again depletes
when it winks with wild derision,
which begs a bad decision.
Oh Ras al-Ghul! Oh Ras al Ghul!
So near and yet so far --
do not take me for a fool
that fears "The Demon Star,"
“The Devil’s Demon Star.”
Yet many who think it mirth, or myth,
will double down with doubts,
when that wily eye would wink forthwith
they’ll watch their whereabouts.
Better watch your whereabouts!
For those Gorgon snakes give you the shakes,
and chill you to the bone.
And one wrong look is all it takes
to turn you into stone,
eternally alone.
Submitted June 27, 2020
Embers and snowflakes, fire and ice;
Opposites joined in many ways.
Embers from fire, snowflakes from ice;
Both can portend the end of days.
Ozone depletes, sunrays pierce through;
Fires scorch Earth- hot embers sear rifts.
Smog fills the sky- sunrays are blocked.
Ice glazes earth, snowflakes build drifts.
Embers and snowflakes, fire and ice;
Which ending for us will it be?
Humans of Earth, turn a blind eye
Forgetting that we hold the key.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Desire and hatred, fire and ice,
Opposites joined in many ways;
Fire fuels desire, and ice molds hate;
Both can portend the end of days.
Desires for gain, passions go wild
To dictate command of the world.
Ice fills the veins of those who hate.
Explosions of anger unfurled.
Desire and hatred, fire and ice-
Which ending for us will it be?
Humans of Earth, turn a blind eye;
Forgetting that we hold the key.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Fire and ice, the end of days-
Embers and snowflakes, desire, hate;
Opposites joined in many ways.
We, end of our world, may create.
Were time in the abundance of our youth
When days stretched out like plains to the horizon
I’d see an endless space, await the truth
Of outcomes that could come from chance arising
But now the dawn but presages the dusk
And time to pause in patience depletes
My innocence no longer in the thrust
To prove the righteousness of my conceit
My love, of value now more than my virtue
Would gladly accept blame that it bring peace
Contrition for the the acts and words that hurt you
No time now for extenuation pleas
The guilt is mine, I’ll take the consequence
Truth needs no more your pain to prove its sense
Speaking once for some levity
Speak it twice for revenge
Speaking three times so you look at me
You’ll hear me never again
I paint you a picture
Of everything you are
If you’re honest you will love me
Too bad I’m just another scar
Speaking of how to retrieve me
I sing my little songs
But when boredom depletes me
I’ll ask you what is wrong
If I speak of how to screw you
You’re just another toy
If I tell you that I love you
You’re just another desperate ploy
Riddles become my serenity
Psychopathic malcontent
If I can’t have you it will please me
The search for death is heaven sent
Pain so debilitating
draining me of life
It is constant
with no respite
Saps my energy
such pain within
Pain depletes joy
from my face
Leaves strain and hurt
etched on my frown
As slowly and surely
pain grinds me down
Even when I try to sleep
pain keeps me awake
for hours on end
This enemy within
taking over my life
is dragging me down
Pain at every turn
Pain so aging
so exhausting too
Oh dear what can I do
Walking to accommodate
but posture is poor
Exacerbating problem
on walking through my door
Oh please I am begging
no pain anymore
Unwelcome guest
you ring my bell
you truly are
a visitor from hell
I will not let you in
I will lock up my door
Written on 10th January 2019
written after a very painful period so feeling rather fragile
Contest A STRAND (1072)
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
Merciful is God!
Therefore, repent thou sins and worship his glory.
Satan is purgatory.
Merciful is God!
Why be penitent and continue to sin?
Satan is agony.
Merciful is God!
By grace, you have been saved.
Only the life that repents depletes the spirit of Lucifer Satan.
God, who is rich in mercy, will bring forth transgression.
Therefore, sin will transpire.
Satan life is despaired.
God, who is rich in mercy, transgresses the world.
Suffering will be overwhelmed.
We must be amazing in how we worship him.
___________________________________________|
PENNED ON SEPTEMBER 02, 2014!
Darkness steals the day’s fading sunlight
as the moon opens his bright eye above.
Stars begin to spray the ebony night
that grips the still earth like a glove.
Streetlight burns through curtained window
casting shadows along my painted wall.
Exhausted eyes commence to grow
but laggard body tends to stall.
Body at last yields to cool sheets
as exhausted mind transcends overhead.
Eventually vigor within depletes
feeling as though I’m living... dead.
Springs beneath start to creek and move
as strong weight engulfs a motionless stiff.
Core sinks deep into mattress groove
as eyes search for something to biff.
Time lapses; frozen body fights to free
resisting an opposing force unknown.
Managed to scream let me be, let me be
before drifting off to sleep on my own.
6/2/13
Copyright © 2013 By Caryl S. Muzzey
I’m stealing through a twilit realm, the ancient pale of Whereis,
passing chambers of an Heiress
(though no need to feel embarrassed)
through a magic mystic mirror hanging curtainless.
A glimpse near naked alleyways (denuded by the moon) ex-
poses Ghosts in gauzy tunics
carving symbols, round and runic,
in distended dingy dungeons of uncertainness.
Down misty streets of cobblestone – ancestral avenues –
patchwork paths consume my shoes
(chasing foggy curlicues
twisting, twirling by in twos,
floating anywhere they choose),
leaving footprints that confuse
vagrant wispy retinues
of the threaded wooden sticks that stalk a Puppet wandering.
Condensed in drops of fantasy, distilled in evening dew,
shifting Shadows I pursue
(wearing faces I once knew,
slipping slowly from my view)
turn their backs to bid adieu
leaving stars to tempt me through
Awful Tower residues
mocking treasures time outgrew
in the birth of old from new
framing pageants in review
midst the visions of the painted past I can’t help pondering.
Contorted candelabra claw the skyline’s walled suspension
caught in twilight’s intervention
– still unlit (in stark dissension),
therefore seething with a tension
in the quiet apprehension
of the Watchman’s inattention
to the night-time’s bold pretension
to her power, not to mention,
to her hyperspace extension
(far beyond my comprehension
of the sundown’s bleak dimension) –
on exhausted beaten boulevards of foolish fretfulness.
Oblivion depletes me, voiding haste and hurried hassles,
me, a simple abject vassal,
trailing moonlit floating castles,
– fickle feet, but fingers facile
grasping straws and pendant tassels –
as I stumble through the rubble of forgetfulness.
I think I must be dreaming as I seem to see these things,
neath a sky alive with wings
(hear the Nightingale, she sings),
midst the whispered murmurings
soughed by Phantoms clad as Kings
pacing palaces in rings,
while their hapless footfall clings
to the sagging sinking sands of midnight’s splintered splattered ruins.
Entangled in the swirling leaves that spin in dizzy flurries,
(while the wind beside me scurries
as an ermined hermit hurries)
lurk my sleepy woes and worries
(glowing faint’ but growing blurry)
which, when plundered by the demon dusk, I’d left behind me strewn.
Continued in Part 2
A thousand drops approach the fold.
Their mission, moisten, grains all whole.
To be lost when kneaded, tossed, or rolled.
Or mixed within the mixing bowl
For a lonesome drop, all hope depletes.
For surely will never be found.
This drop that missed its mark complete,
and splashed upon the ground.
To evaporate by afternoon
For the summer's call is warm
Sent drifting toward a midday moon
Soon to be one with the storm
It sees no point in constant whining
over what may lie below
For in clouds it's found a silver lining
and is proud to be H2O
On a journey of falling, then drifting away
Spanning the world entire
A distant thought, that fateful day
When measured and destined for fire
As summer rain, or autumn sleet
A drift of arctic snow
The ups and the downs do tend to repeat
But It's better than being the dough!
The spring was on the way
time for the farmer to plough
straight lines running parallel
gleaming in the rich red loam
It had laid all winter waiting
now it was time to sow and seed
yellow mustard glinting in the sun
so pretty as it grows in leaps and bounds
Little animals made their home
borrows in between the roots
even a dormouse always sleepy
soon they scurry off as harvest begins
Harvesters hard at work birds feasting
on those that were far too slow
crops are now gathered in and stored
the horses fallow the field now it rests
This spring the field will remain fallow
all part of the master plan of rotation
it's life is simple following a four year plan
to maximize each year's yield without stress
Following being fallow potatoes go in
these help clear the land of weeds
while adding goodness to the soil
then the golden wheat which the land depletes
Last to go in will be turnips for feed
completing a long term cycle of crops
If it could talk many tales it would tell
of all of the goings on within it's boundaries
A blemished heart
So weak I cannot walk
A life made of so many promises
I ask you who can you really trust?
After so much heart ache
The pain inside I can’t fake
Now I feel so hollow inside and there is a empty space
My heart feels that this friendship will never be replaced
The sound of your voice depletes my sins
Praying that hearing it will never end
See I need you now but your not even there
Baby my heart is full of pain and you don’t even care
I truly miss all the fun we have had together
You know that I always wished we should of stayed friends forever
And hear my tongue that says no lie
Together we will our say my prayers as lullabies
A heart that's taken and loved is a heart that is never broken
When I love from the heart my words are carefully spoken
As my heart is pulsating with blood and constantly full of love
To keep the world with peace and joy is what the heart consist of
Oh I’m very grateful and always hopeful
Thank you Jesus my life is so blessed and plentiful
Remember you came into my life and lived
That’s why from my heart with love I’m willing to give
[A] DONE DEAL
[A] defeated disgusting man this is.
Disallowed defense because of his disease.
[A] Done deal to compete with the Dogs!
Distribute dinner to him as a better eat of hog maws.
Do not deliberate this as a lost.
[A] Done Deal depletes the prognosis.
Dis Dell do.
Hair her head to...
[A] Done deal the truth!
_________________|
PENNED ON JULY 04, 2014!
Discarded, left in the abyss of solitude to decay,
Left with only with hopelessness and eternal dismay.
Fearing the worst with each passing day
Cringing, hiding my heart in a hole near where I lay.
The sun beats on my body with no remorse to my health,
Searing my soul, making my skin redden and welt.
The welts remind me of the meaning of agony as they burst,
As I beg for anyone to my wounds quickly nurse.
Doubt clouds my mind as plead for a savior,
Or some water to drink for my pallet to savor.
But days turn to weeks as my strength depletes,
Leaving my escape from this world looking bleak.
But then, when at my grimmest, an angel appeared.
Retrieving my heart from the hole I had engineered.
With her diamond eyes and flawless skin of silk,
She mended my wounds, and my hope, she rebuilt.
She breathed life into my brittle, vacant bones with only one kiss,
Replenishing my strength she enchanted me; showing me bliss.
Rising to my feet, she smiles, presenting my heart as it beats.
Shaking my head I gratefully say, “It is now yours to keep.”
She smiles, extending her hand with her heart so divine;
Say, “If I am to keep yours, then you will keep mine.”
Hand in hand we will forever walk and never retreat.
For the love we have for each other; nothing can defeat.
The Doer does: Yes, he does
The doer never says what he does
He does
Nor what he’s going to do
He simply does
Fears not the consequences
Of what he does
If by the hoi polloi right
He does
In accord with vox populi
He does
Even what the lambda citizen spurns
He does
Fears not what history books record
He does
What he’s compelled to do
Only just does
Takes only tentative steps
Never really does
Even when lame-ducked
He does
His heart’s not in it
A contrecœur does
Puts not the blame on the other side
For what he does
Nor the lambda hoi polloi for the mess
He does
Wags not the flag of executive terror
And what it does
If he fears not his own vested power
Aught he does
Even if only one people remain un-free
Nought he does
Depletes not his side’s chances
With what he does
If he takes time out to shore up his side
Will forget about what he does
Should he think only of what he could do
Will wonder about what he does
Will re-double his appearances
To talk about what he does
And the other side’ll take the advantage
Not because of what he does
Yet because of what he does
So he does
Yes he does
Yet he does
Yea he does
What He does !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014