Best Parceled Poems
POTD 10-5-19
Dedicated to My Inspiration, Timothy Lee
Joy harnessed from soft internal lightness
was pulse promised with attraction’s might
and sealed blissful bound by our first kiss …
with lips our hearts found their home address
Our emotive blessings deafen my questions
and ease my perception’s limitations
for you are my parceled Eden freedom …
our haven structure is couple completion
I chose marbled strength upheaval plans
that thru change I might someday know your name
and realize you like I breathe in nature …
no matter your season, it reaps my pleasure
For the first time in my heart’s entire life
I’ve no need to incite change thru strife’s design
and limp again within my dreams scorched rubble
to find my soulmate while my pains struggle
Categories:
parceled, appreciation, emotions, endurance, faith,
Form:
Free verse
Prince Charles
I have read my name on a British novel written by John Doe a few times.
It begins with a crude remark which gives reference to an old friend from Dublin, then on the forth page it reads, like a catechumen phrase: "to be or not to be, that's private."
But this is not a fine way to pronounce a prince,
and again, what is private? Is it the whereabouts
of a jewel or the truth about my father's will which was
written by a gardener or the untitled notes of an eunuch who was
dethroned by a Queen?
If you study carefully you will notice a sentence that resembles
a Shakespeare quote as expressed on the third paragraph of the writer's
epilogue-- stating how unreliable my judgment can be with regards to a lady's
need. He has made a mockery of my name and we-- my father and I, Mr. Wilchoff, the writer's son, my niece, and my unrelated cousins from downtown Alabama do not fancy it.
The epilogue had been read as a preamble speech by the Queen's guard before the novel was parceled to my study. It reads with such clarity and boldness-- "Prince Charles."
It sounded weird, yet familiar. It's familiarity was that of the ending of a moral tale,
a doggerel-- like the struggle of a colored man on an Irish farm or an actor who never got an award for his stunts. I heard the sound in many different voices from the past like a dethroned queen in the Victorian age, and from the future like a critic whose intention is to corrupt my integrity...
She took a glance at me as my fingers fidgets carefully
stating how remarkable the speech and novel was, and
how it mattered to her womanhood.
I was startled at the way she pronounced each word,
how she flaunted her blonde hairs backwards and blinked
her brown eyes as my stupidity unveils.
"You have done a vain thing," I whispered.
I smiled at every opportunity I entertained,
winking my fallen brows and making a grin behind
the wrinkles on my white face. She cheered, and said
to me in absolute sincerity as if she had known no sin:
"to be or not to be, isn't private."
Categories:
parceled, humor, integrity,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Slaves of wages for generations
long forgotten in history’s screenplay.
Each hand for a moment has held
the torch.
The people are waiting in lines.
All toilers have resisted.
All skins have felt the blaze of blood.
The people are waiting in lines.
While trash still clutters the streets,
while starving stomachs
roam like rabid dogs.
The people are waiting in lines.
Our tears have been cleaved
and parceled,
sold like floodplain to the blind
by corporate politicians,
while the people are waiting in lines.
We are lured to live among the cushions,
to rest here where the river rises.
No markets can be called free
while hosting inequality.
The people are waiting in lines.
We medicate to escape,
numbing to the barbarization.
No economy can be called just
without democracy.
The people are waiting in lines.
We shall watch for clues.
We will know the signs.
Every torch shall rise.
The people are waiting in lines.
Published: Dissident Voice, August 2, 2020
Categories:
parceled, america, class, poverty, rights,
Form:
Political Verse
The Amputated Leg
A human leg it is! With senses numbed the village stood around the dump;
It’s a curse! Righteous path we diverted, in shiver, the devotees driveled;
A dog might have dragged it, in what’s app, the android fingered techie drooled;
Consult the occultist, shouted the stout village chief and all became dumb.
Mumbling Sanskrit lines, the temple priest came with Ganges water to damp
The rumbling evil with a sprinkle; Holding their breath tout like Chiseled
Idols stood the village as he summoned the deities reciting mantras unrivalled;
‘Sacrifice one leg of pet or cattle per family to our goddess in her holy ramp,’
Pronounced the priest, in bold piety; they heard him in rapt devotion.
Then came the info youth at the cutting edge of both tech and culture
With police personnel and a dog to sniff out the path of the offenders;
The crisp kakis deftly parceled the amputated leg without any emotion
Off to forensic probe, pilfering the priest’s fee with their faith and culture;
And the dog barked at the careless Nurses, for dumping the leg without defenders.
Categories:
parceled, anxiety, confusion, culture, society,
Form:
Sonnet
Ages ago bygone childhood delighted
especially Florida (sunkist) grandpa
Harris (Aaron) indulged jais nais sais quois
kibitizing lovingly, mirthfully
naturally offering pleasing qualities,
rendering slender tanned
under venerated wristwatch (analog),
x2c yielded zealousness.
thee paternal grandfather
oft times visited our rural abode
at that time one sturdy estate
(originally called Glen Elm) wildlife crowed
within the plush wooded tract (slated, parceled,
and mapped) to explode
with cookie cutter lookalike slap dashed,
shoddy tinderboxes (vinyl city) growed
on formerly untamed, uber virgin woods,
perhaps early boondocks getaway hoed
and plowed, but indomitable (once abandoned)
nature relished reversed grape seeded tracery igloed
yet 'pon reflection, I ponder how early occupation knowed
no habitat foresaw wreckage
when decision via wealthy Leipers,
(wealthy owners of The Bell and Clapper)
unanimously crafted mode
das operandi to build stately sturdily summer country villa,
(circa early 1900's)
which residence whittled down to 324 Level Road -
demesne comprising about a half dozen acres
eventually acquired by Boyce Harris
February 28th 1968 - mort aged toad
a near singlehanded undertaking to create thee abode
whence majority of thine lviii years spent,
now crafted in poetic code
Categories:
parceled, fun, grandson, introspection, nostalgia,
Form:
Elegiac Lyric
WHALING SHIP CAPTAIN"S LOVER part 3
Now Jorgie met a new love
He begged to make her wife
First, they’d fetch her small boy
to start a fresh new life.
So East they went to Minot
To find her cousin there
But when they came to his big house
His smile for them was spare.
The cousin was not happy
To relinquish that fine boy
He said his wife would waste away
Without her greatest joy
And Jorgie, solemn, studied them
The woman and the child &
Wept with great compassion
Her broken heart ran wild.
Determined to do justice
Twas no one she could blame
Jorgie hugged the boy good bye
Her soul in raging flame.
She bid the woman love him
And tell him she was aunt
And with her newfound husband, John,
Departed pale and gaunt.
Now John, he was a good man
Who worshiped his new wife
They agreed to keep a secret
About her former life
And so away the years passed
Son came after son
Jorgie had a fresh life
They built a solid home.
Each month she mailed the letters
To the ‘cousin’ in the west
She parceled up the photos
true siblings in their best
But Sadness haunted Jorgie’s eyes
She tried to hide it well
But her husband knew her---
She had him in her spell.
So sad she was and so forlorn
He needed to confide
To someone who could help him
to cheer his cherished bride.
And so he told his sister
His wife had longed to see
From her past her loved ones---
Her own sweet family.
So sister Lena planned a scheme—
For Jorgie wild and free
the gift would be a great surprise
And John he did agree.
They would take the children
Aboard the westbound train
Jump the train at Minot
To see the boy again.
Wait they must til autumn
For Jorgie twas the best
In May would be a newborn babe
Nuzzling at her breast
Then hit the plague of ‘17
Entire towns were dead—
And in their midst was Jorgie--
With her newborn-- cold, in bed.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note: Jorgie : (pronounced Yor’ gee) was a nickname
Her name: Sena Jorgine Larsen
My father’s mother. The baby named Clara. My was nearly 4 when they died. His father, John Anderson—Jorgie’s husband , never remarried. He lived to be in his 70’s. His sister, my great aunt, Lena Anderson Hildebrandt, told me this story in 1971.
PS THERE IS ANOTHER PART TO THIS IF ANYONE WANTS TO READ IT LET ME KNOW. I DON'T WANT TO BORE ANYONE TO DEATH! vat
Categories:
parceled, love, woman, husband, wife,
Form:
Ballad
Treatise of love suborn
Of feelings, desires shorn
With parochial aspirations born
On ritual wings bourne
Romance brokered forlorn
On christening morn, personal
license torn
Deeded by title; underwritten
with scorn
Parceled with dowry; with
annuities adorn
Liabilities, a fitted mantle
charitably worn
Categories:
parceled, love
Form:
Rhyme
A delicate ember awaits anonymously,
A parceled out soul awaiting un-abandonment,
Equestrian voices longing to be heard,
Magicians waiting for the magic word,
But you see??...
You already are what you long to be.
Categories:
parceled, analogy, celebration, creation, dance,
Form:
What kind of gobbledegulp,
holiday mess,
are you stuffing down your jaw giblets —
one day early ...
you human turkey
Cubicle farm-raised patsy policies
is what your top executive, tinfoil hat fool handlers
are serving you
lower oven rack pooping ninnies
Conspiracy stew —
Genetically modified organism mush squalls
are swimming thru
that grey matter inner tube drain,
you red meat clucky cheeks call a brain
Corporate pecking order is on the
menu packaging downsize
Gobble Raiders of the hallowed profit
sweet yam takeover Arc,
have split pea parceled your succulent
office promotion wish bone
Cooking the books ... green bean stringing
you dumb dinner table birds along
Cellular talk to the boss HR department chick,
if you don’t buttery believe little ol’ poultry me
Now don’t go getting cutlery stir crazy,
put that carving knife down, celery baste boy ...
Are you rooster gone out of your rotisserie mind?!
Coming at me with those carnivore eyes,
watch yourself, now
I heard thru the henpeck grapevine,
that it’s your neck on the chopping block
in two days merger time
Sho’ nuff on Black Friday,
it’s gobble dupe you
that gonna be
in the return merchandise soup line
Now ain’t that some bad Scroogie news ...
holiday tummy ache blues
It’s enough to make a cool, jive turkey like me
start dressing up fo’
yo’ pink slip fowl roast early retirement party
Categories:
parceled, character, humor, satire, word
Form:
Light Verse
Zeus mythical bastard son of Aesop wives tales
Y-chromosomes missing their synthetic teat surrogacy
Xanthium baby mamas getting the cash subsidy breed
Wisdom being parceled for fine print lab resale
Vector the hidden message unto the teeming masses
Upload the darklit parables into the UB-Human Library of Knowledge
Terminate the download when the cerebral taste the visceral foliage
Savor the vision seen thru the cobalt-colored glasses
Re-ignite the mushroom fumes that peyote control your sight
Quench the mescal plumes that lead thoughts astray
Poison potent paste mixed into the meld mystic fray
Opioid seduction grandeur hastens the falling of the midnight
Now twice emptied be the cup of curiosity
Mental elevation got a bio-kill switch at the base of operations
Low-key delivery of medulla oblongata empirical observations
Kaph hour issues no Id epiphany reprieve
Jah displeasure of neural experimental perversions
Improvident beta blockers stop higher ideas FreeWilly trafficking
Humanist philosophy take the low, woe road to thought patrolling
Genome mutation randomly conceive godly reasons
Fork tongue entities are not given to know eternal unchanging truths
Ever evolving cosmological theories of birth uncertainty
Draconian measures taken to promote X $piritual levity
Catatonic figures lack the imagination investigation desires for proof
Breathing doubt of the omnipotent heavenly design shown in plain sight
Ancient stories of miracles told to those not given to know left from right
Categories:
parceled, spiritual, truth, visionary, wisdom,
Form:
ABC
By morn, and under cerulean skies,
he rises from sheets and soft pillows of down;
and gives praise; for the Lord is just and wise,
and great to behold by this earth all round.
By noon, he sets about his songs and rhymes,
labors whose creation gives him pleasure,
and purpose, for an infinite lifetimes;
pressed down, piled, and parceled with good measure.
Then, by eve, lest beastly Insomnia
comes, he now and anon derives his rest
from the night's orgies with the Muses: a
reward that none may oppose, or protest.
A bard chaste for all time, and hence unloved,
finds love with the muses: for they're beloved.
Categories:
parceled, allusion, hyperbole, loneliness, love,
Form:
Sonnet
The Year: Long Squandered 1999;
Frank Flynn had found my sent parceled poems ‘fine’
“They can lend themselves... to live performance”
Wherefore I mount for each surveillance….
An Atypical BBC Staff:
His signed statement A frankness not by half;
Laminated have I his bold comment:
Above My First Degree ‘A Document.’
Saw Frank, too, in My Enclosed Verses
‘ Originality of Rhythm’
Then, whoever, their action rehearses
Hasn’t The Spurious got to fathom.
And Frank had marked their “freshness of vision”
I began to crave their prompt diffusion…
Owe I Frank self-rediscovery:
A focus sidelining livery;
Strong reasons to start idolizing self
And speedily start assembling A Shelf…
The Last I should crucify of The Crew;
If he were still alive The Safest Jew.’
Categories:
parceled, appreciation, beauty, career, celebrity,
Form:
Rhyme
An hour before dawn,
the market people arrive
then settle like resting birds
beside the Ping river.
Girls squat over large straw hats,
hats brimful of dried chilies
or small freshwater fish.
They lay down bamboo mats
laden with okra, aubergines, mangosteens
and rambutan.
They are not from Chiang Mai
but are a Thai hill peoples,
villagers that have cycled through the night
to bring their produce here.
Carefully they wrap your choices
in newspaper bundles tied
with red raffia.
They offer this livelihood to us
with modest smiles.
A daily subsistence parceled with a grace
that can be felt as a currency, a simple act
of transference.
A few coins are exchanged.
The barter and haggle
of a busy city market is absent here
just the affable contact
of a hand to hand correspondence.
A mutual recognition
of the rivers that join us
and the oceans between.
Categories:
parceled, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
California Avenue
Shells of two story houses
line a brick-laden street
single dwellings
converted into apartment buildings.
The street of acquaintances
becomes one of strangers,
and no one seems to care
about those who come and go,
and they don’t care, either.
Stories told resonate,
of summer nights
when people sat on porches
and invited passersby
to join conversations.
Facades of houses remain
and hide parceled interiors
now rented, lives hidden
in walls of their creation.
Categories:
parceled, childhood
Form:
Verse
Nature's anvil your hearth did score
Fodder pared from such balmy core
Residual chaff bartered to marine store
Parceled for distant, steamy shore
Billowy waves, your shallow mast is born
No banner, gilded sails your trite estate to adorn
Rudderless barge, with drifting currents your hull borne
Tossed to and fro, of steadying anchor shorn
Your rough-hewn cover slimed corroding each side
Your bark-lined deck withering, leached hide
Resinous fibers bleached by each, briny tide
Sturdy bough eroded along the jostling ride
O'er time brokered to some distant land
Beached on a coarse, lifeless strand
Each callous band scrolled with the swells you have spanned
Depleted contraband seeking a mending hand
Categories:
parceled, adventure,
Form:
Rhyme