Best Ins Poems
This is what life’s all about:
We barrel in and totter out.
Along the way, we smile or pout
And try our best to conquer doubt.
We may be rebels or devout,
Remain unnoticed or have clout,
Yet we survive, in flood or drought,
Our whispers rising to a shout
As we fight in our final bout;
Then, like a candle, fizzle out.
July fireworks bring together families and friends
for a much needed vacation from worries and work.
Picnics at and on the lake just for memorie's fond taking.
I remember the days of old when watching a movie
outside amongs't the stars and moon.
Playground equipment of a slide and swing
nestled right next to an entraptment framed
sandbox.Oh to be youthful and exuberent again.
Lightening bugs flickering into the night.
Today's movies consist of many smaller theatres
jam-crammed tighter together than a can of
sardines. An alignment of multifleck'd multiplex
light beamed shows across the screens.
Remember when Fizzies were the rage-Just
dropp them in a glass of water and sniff the
boquet of different fruit flavored bubbles would
tickle the nose. Ah yes, different flavors of instant
soda pop in a colored aluminum or plastic glass.
Just like Alka-Seltzer-only better tasting.
Can you remember back wearing shorts and
igniting sparklers and black pills of instant snakes
arising from the sidewalks or street.
Yes those times were just real amazin', and real, real neat.
"The Slip-ins"
Why should I continue to write
these feathery songs,
these blanched banjo tomes,
these wilting poésies
of a lost little life ever circling
like a memory stone thrown
across a lake of discontent
into the bottom of a dark pond
where the sulphar trolls
with their attached pilot fish
of no kingdom come spin
their spindly venomous and childish reasons
along their tongues those sticky webs like a cast net
toads reeling blue flies in
smiling at all the joy stolen
where they store the chord of me
silent and vibrationally buzzing
like a good mummy
for later feeding,
I am trapped
in the blistering better knowledge
of those angry joyless monsters
who like love-hungry creepers slip in
ripping me away, pulling me down
far away from Blue Sky
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality.”/Lewis Carroll
“War is an absolute failure of imagination, scientific and political. That a war can be represented as helping a people to 'feel good' about themselves, or their country, is a measure of that failure."/Adrienne Rich
“War is an invention of the human mind. The human mind can invent peace.”/Norman Cousins
“There are not more than five musical notes, yet the combinations of these five give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard.” /
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
“Imagine”/ John Lennon (Lyrics).
When folly leads; to wisdom…
By the way of endless dreams
'Pon a backdrop psycadellic where,
There's nothing all it seems’
I have struggled with good reason
made forays to shore-less isles
Lived a lifetime in the instant
Rode the shine of unforced smiles
Finding ever more to disconcert me
Through crowds of motley folk
Senses were overshadowed
Seams burst at senseless jokes
So on without an Inkling,
To a place I can't discern
Where tomorrow or forever
All I know is..' more I'll learn..
© Joe Maverick 23-9-2013
FILL-INS
An invitation for
the reader to use
imagination
Who? What?
two fine ladies rest
neath a bamboo
umbrella
they talk of a
third?
Fishermen
small boat at anchor
two men mend her
tattered sail
weather or old
age?
Pretty Song
on the dogwood
branches
scarlet tanager and
mate
what song do they
sing?
New York blizzard
snowy avenue
many people
like black streaks
to or from
their work?
Interesting
like Jackson Pollack
this mishmash of
dots and streaks
is there a message?
On the hike
a meadow a
stream
with scattered pines
wild flowers
let’s have a picnic
Baby Bear
so easy to love
he’s a shaggy, gray
kitty
always in the way
.
Oh the demise in my condensing absolute abyss
There is no sunrise for the corridors are barely lit...
It is an explosion a debacle of hell,
That I truly dwell in the shadows with demons...
If only my guts could be spewed,
And thus slowly viewed by the many that wander...
A chaotic rage that has surly passed
The decaying stage of collapse...
Emotions that have little or no,
Motions to surface again...
I have the smile of the clown a jester
Who will stand upside down for laughter,
Only to show a frown of neglect...
Oh such sweet sorrows...
If not for the borrows-- I would be vanquished.
A parade of colourful beauty within
The colossal charade of lasting love...
The rivers vividly flow--
And the sun does show its rays of light
The flowers flourish and blossom,
With air so awesome-- aromas that linger
Angels that fly from east to west—
For they are not shy to show their best...
Such divine expressions—and
Devout confessions of the soul...
I am the court jester—
A laughing and loving protester for love.
March.31.2016
For Contest...Who ARE you?
By Catie Lindsey
Friday Night Check-ins
The days have been calm and collected.
The guests have been happy, content.
The weekday staff scurry out from the hotel
To avoid the upcoming event.
Weekend receptionists tremble
As the Friday night check-ins approach,
Fearing the tsunami of wrinklies
On their three-day excursions-by-coach.
The first vehicle’s brakes squeal their warning
As its door opens up with a sigh.
The girl at the desk and her male teammate
Watch the porchway with dread in their eyes.
The first wrinkly disembarks backwards,
Reaching up to be handed her Zimmer.
The scowl on her face giving more than a hint
Of the litany of protests within her.
Slowly the vehicle disgorges
Its fifty malcontent arrivals.
The front desk staff offer a brief heartfelt prayer
For their sanity, composure, survival.
Like an unerring wave of displeasure
The wrinklies shuffle in through the door,
Shoving aside anyone heading out –
They’ve made this manoeuvre before.
The party’s predominantly female,
Determined and far from benign.
Apart from one chap, in windcheater and cap
Looking hen-pecked and toeing the line.
They descend on reception like locusts,
Complaining, demanding and cackling.
The staff at the desk have nowhere to hide
From the surge of objections they’re tackling.
Ground floor room! No steps! Wheelchair access!
Why no lift? Single occupant! Porter!
The tottery old girl with the big Zimmer frame
Demands a young man to escort her.
The onslaught is tough and relentless
As the wrinklies press home their attack.
Then, deftly dealt-with, the tidal wave thins
As they head to their rooms to unpack.
Pleased with the way things were handled,
The reception-staff think they’ve survived.
But outside the lobby, brakes hissing with glee,
Another full coach has arrived…
VERILY I PRAY TO JESUS YAHWEH INCLUDING ALLAH ITS BEEN TWO YEARS NOW WHEN BIDEN AND ALL THE HORRORS SEVERE THREATS DURING COVID OUR LIVES IN SHAMBLES AN YET DOMESTIC TERRORISTS RIPPED OUR FLAGS MORBIDLY BREAKING INTO OUR HOME WE HAVE SPENT OVER 3000 IN NEW LOCKS LOCK SMITHS SECURITY CAMS THE JAN 6TH NEIGHBORS BUST THEM OUT IN THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT THEY CRAWL OVER FENCES PUT KEYSNIN THE DOORSBTO MAKE QUICKSET KEYS TO ENTER OUR HOME CIRCLINGBOUT APPOINTMENTS ON OUR CALENDAR SO THEY KNOW WHEN TO STROKE TAMPERING WITH MY VIETNAM VETERANS MEDALS OUR MORTAGE BANK INFORMANTION MEDICAL INFORMATION I SUFFER I SUFFER MENTAL ILLNESS PTSD TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY MY HUSBAND AS WELL REACHING FIR MY BIBLE IT'S NOT RIPPED OR FOLDED THESE TERRORISTS ARE BOLDLY MERGING WITH THE SAME DOMESTIC TERRORISTS BITTER OVER MY AMERICAN POETRY MY GOD ITS DEVASTATING THESE ARE INSURGENTS BULLIES COMMITING HOME INVASION EXTORTING OUR PEACE HERE IN AMERICA GOD BLESS AMERICA
Caves are dark, dank, sinister havens for rising damp
Mere cavities in the ground, veiled from light of day
Yet caves are heralded, admired and cherished
For a swarm of reasons, just mind the bats
Caves are drop inns
Hikers and natives welcome finding a cave
They provide shelter from wind and rain
A great place to stay the night, light a fire
To enjoy the cosy charm of safe seclusion
Caves are art galleries
The walls are dotted with new and ancient graffiti
Hand-prints, paintings, scribbles and scenes
Made by artists with no where else to hang their stuff
Revealed by flickering flames and dim filtered beams of light
Caves are museums and dumps
Visitors leave their junk in caves
Animals topple in and get trapped
Caves are a great place for animals to die
These dumps are bliss to archaeologists
Who drool over skeletons, artefacts and such old-time junk
Caves are cathedrals and awe-catches
Endless aeons of dirty drips yield fabulous
On floor and ceiling displays of
Glistening stalactites and stalagmites
The cavernous space, silence and eerie dankness
Makes visitors gasp with adoration and awe
Highlighted by the uniqueness, isolation and remoteness of caves
So duck-in to a cave when you pass one by
and you'll discover the ins and outs of caves
Caves are awesome and strangely welcoming
Despite their darkness, dampness and malevolence
spectators! we march!
advance upon the blind
with your cultured eyes
and tone torpedo tongue
rage on molars hail delirium
he's smelling the blood of puppets
ventricles be defiant
the neon carnivals have electrocuted themselves
it's time to eat the high priests
and their goddess Anesthesia
free the nervous system
held incommunicado
to the end of the page
let the fan mail erupt
written in holy ashes
THE ENTIRE HUMAN
A SINGLE ORGAN OF PERCEPTION!
zzzt hisss gurgle
We interrupt this program
to fill in the blanks
must be the reception
win a night with Androgen and Estrogen
those two comics
guess who's at the font door
you won't be gone long
GONE LONG!
somebody change the channel
pull cupid pull,
it's your anniversary
aim it at the carousel ostriches
we are all going to be recorded
find your costume
bird cage for your head
frying pans strapped to feet
the horizon is circular last time I looked
it meets again and again
without permission
the universe is like that
zero variable
variable density
zero density
ordered and persistent
I haven't always slept in doorways
ideas got us this far
c'mon shoes let's lose the blues
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
http://tinyurl.com/nhfk6dr
Author's note: This is an epic length poem that will have to be split into parts and will be serialized in successive posts.
Part 3
Dr. D. confers in panic
with Rex and boys at the Limbo Saloon
by now my eyes are ping pong balls
the final recommendation is for
ritual abandonment
Fra Umbilicus answers his page
in the monastery wing
and servos his motorchair up to my railing
intones the curse of the catacombs
think of it as original my sin er son
how the flat line fooled the experts
was on the 6 o'clock
perhaps it was the fact
that it went vertical
tripping alarm buzz circuits
from Hell to breakfast
like a reeking retching lurching
Nietschean Lazarus
a scarred and demented Universe
gave birth to itself
and the combined riotous
and cheering populations
of BURN WARD 3
and AMPUTATION WARD 2
and NARCOLEPSY WARD 666
cameras pick up deicide in the stairwell
a theomachian commotion
clangity-whaaang go the
oxygen tanks bouncing four flights
plopity-smash go
the out/intravenous bottles
whackety-crack
goes his portable Respiropump
screechety-eech
goes NEURO WARD's $90,000 Lobotoscan
cascading sympathetically
8er from Decatur
straining against the tube works
and their attached impedimenta
beneath the basement corridor steam pipes
awakening autopsy cadavers
with every labored pitch and yaw
bursting through the fire exit
on the firing squad's day off
out onto St. Hilarity's loading dock
he turns and waves howdy-ose amigoes
to the gathered throngs
Musela, Tex, the Santa Guadalupe Mariachis
slams Lucille the ambulance's door
severing all connections
arm tube nose tube mouth tube
chest tube piss tube
hits the throttle light bar and siren
and lets Lucille's squealing wheels
burn rubber clear down
to the land of rubber plantations
until the tank hits empty
and memory returns syllables
and lost parts of speech
the twin t's of utterance two swords
and fate the swindler of souls
has a blowout
at 90 at 5...at 15...
the separated twins
separate the H-O-R-I-Z-O-N
into before and after
rhyming less on the outside
than on the inside out
a vacation follows
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
http://tinyurl.com/nhfk6dr
I have an important message
for man's best friend
humming like rolling wheels at 90
incandescent like a hubcap overhead
listen to this you highway palm readers
the pressure in this tire
is anatomically incorrect
and at four atmospheres
ALERT! ALERT!
all radar units report your locI and foci
on the plan-it planet,
space never got named
by causes and their waiting effects
the secret of death
is to pay no attention to it
I go with the info dear recipient
info in outfo out
if we never meet
tell them I ain't invisible
it may not be much
but it won't be enough either
wheels for legs radio screaming
entertaining beyond abomination
we Febrilacs from planet Nu-Oc
speak our own language,
if monotony generates subtlety
it must be high resolution
because others have done so
is not enough
in zero plastic space
the big molecule
a million moving parts
sonic on the inside freezing out
do we try to figure it out in
here's the secret
amnesia is the root of all comedy
blame it on the invisible
beans from outer space
and their gift
the list of blisters
In
after going all night off the map to dawn
on the newly opened Metaphysical Gridway
I am awakened by the black buzz of flies
and a persistent hiss of escaping steam
in my chest a hole where the piston went
misfire specialists been at it all night
looks like it is missing altogether
heart missing!
and I'm supposed to remain calm!
I hear the motel desk man's radio voice
the motel TV is on an older Aztec console
he's reading today's roadside advisory
with the ancient music of the spheres under
or is it over
my angels in white are singing like sirens
their little red wagon glissandos up the gravel
outside the screen door in the neon
local code blue team goes crash cart
my ballooning eyes watch a blurring scenario
as they pump in earth air fire and water
being as my hood was already up so to speak
I remain stuck fast waiting for spare parts
long into day
Out
there's neon signs in my head
there's a desert motel in my head
there's peeling wallpaper in my head
there's copulation and murder in my head
there's smashed windows in my head
there's a falling sane man
in my insane head
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
http://tinyurl.com/nhfk6dr
Author's note: This is an epic length poem that will have to be split into parts and will be serialized in successive posts.
Part 2
act three
in the third act delirious
the laws of physics etc.
he coughs his lungs out
in wheezing jets
internal combustion is internal combustion
his bed of wheels begins to roll
first one wheel then the others
cough cough cough
his wheels roll the length of
NEURO WARD 4's corridor
to the NEURO elevator
and its NEURO music
by now familiar to you
as that song in the head
cough cough cough
3 2 1 doors open out
upon the concrete parking lot
out to Lucille the Oldsmobile
they recognize one another
why no one knows
this is an orphan's tale
composed with the licensed use
of Orphan Guild secrets
raised on the back seat
suckled by giant oranges
weaned on foot long hot dogs
at the nation's roadside
Musella my injection!
act four
in the 4th phantom of the opera
the tank hits empty
his lungs flat and black
as a piece of big rig recap
in desperation piles bricks on seat
heaves bricks back onto concrete
salutes au revoir to the mirror's horizon
and rolls onward
propelled by what is equal
what is opposite
according to St. Newton
the law of the motor
what goes in must come out
seriously Lucille rolls
upon the concrete gridway
steering herself autonomously
everything left to chance
we now know any nightmare
propelled by what is equal and opposite
will roll through the divider
and off the bed-road
Musella vacuums up the glass
and sorts out the tubing
our fugitive lays low by his radio
signal up full
awaiting the footsteps
and stethoscope of Tex Amphora
the archaeologist cowboy surgeon
took my case in a bar stool wager
betting on flesh made perfect
the fool the angel
5 minute intermission
they taught me how to act
onstage I mean in stages
strangers said I'd grow out of it
friends said I'm gonna die from it
there comes a time in a youth's youth
when he discovers
that the machinery on the interstate
can play the sound of skidding wheels
on a Steinway
so
a much needed musical interlude then
acto sexto
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
http://tinyurl.com/nhfk6dr
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.site11.com/
four vignettes on silence
I
Muteness broadcasted
hush-hush flaunted
just like a coverall,
silence is a blanket
on human telepathy and intent.
II
It's simple, actions speak as loudly as words.
Silent treatment can be an
autumn breeze,
granting space
cooling tempers.
III
Sulkiness can be likened to
green gall, blatant brooding
and withdrawal characterized as
yellow cowardice,
Passive aggressive behavior exposed.
IV
Cats, life-long friends, co-workers all employ
loving acts, yet silence...
licking, ankle rubs
eye winks, hugs
waves and smiles.
July 29, 2019