Best Scuttled Poems
Musee
See where it burns in Titian's brush
subsides along the cool Aegean stone,
or twists in the fist-faces of Rome,
our only mystery--flesh.
There, uncertainty ends, or does it merely pause?
The surgeon's knife reveals a shadow
no surface contains, our laws
are not what we do or vow.
Yet surface is all, and scars--
the scuttled pains that heal.
Observe how memory collects in flaws
placed where they are most real.
Or how, as flowers, the persistent leaf
bears the color of its grief.
It was the bronzed bell of a tinseled Ocean ship.
Until destiny was scuttled by a fiery water witch.
In time, it became the haunting clang upon a reef.
A macabre Nic Nac for cliques that ruled the deep.
They returned like blue birds, lonely for a blossoming.
To pay homage to every sailor overtaken by the sea.
They lay bouquets of flowers, over shadowed grief...
as ghosts pared sweet memories into paper effigies.
Between shuffles of worn decks and ninety proof lips.
They spin tales of crimson seas and horrible dorsal fins...
Torn hearts and sails, forever on a starboard list
Drifting between a blue refrain and the salty mist.
In the graying vein of time, everything's forgotten.
The sweet angelic, the mundane, the eternally rotten.
Gravestones hoard salt within their granite cracks.
Tokens to a time when auroras bled into blackness.
One by one the crew will drift from this pearled realm.
Riding TradeWinds into the gilded scented heavens...
or becoming driftwood, in the brackish heart of hell...
as the captain sways to the clang of his beloved water bell.
Have you ever seen a catterfairy?
Many found her to be quite scary,
She came out of her cocoon others said to soon
And only part of her had seemed to bloom.
Her green body dragged on the cold wet ground
Yet her face was like an angel and her wings were profound.
She had passed many animals, insects and fish
Though she was rejected by them all...she still held on to one special wish.
That someday she would gracefully fly
Far past all their critical eyes.
Show the world who she was inside
Never again feel the need to isolate and hide.
One day a mouse with two pointy green tails
Scuttled by her sobbing with a horrendous wail.
The catterfairy filled with compassion asked him what was wrong
The mouse pointed to his two tails and said “I’m not special or strong”
No one paid him any mind too
For his difference made others constantly ridicule.
The catterfairy said, "My dream is to fly"
"I am different too and can’t understand why"
At that moment they became the best of friends,
Their uniqueness became a treasure that helped them make amends
With whom they really were
Instantly feelings of loneliness became a blur.
The mouse one day had a marvelous idea
It would help his dear friend overcome a deep fear.
If he held up the catterfairys body while she attempted to fly
It would make her light enough so she could soar through the sky
Then, they both would graciously shine
Linked together till the end of time.
At once the mouse lifted the beautiful catterfairy's body high,
Holding on intensely, she got her wish and they both kissed the cold ground goodbye.
The catterfairy has human emotions and shows us how hard it can be when your different in our society. people judge others so often by how they look or if they have a disability. we all need love and friends and we have too look deeper than the outside. Someone will always come and lift that person up who feels rejected or different. Thank God we are all different. how boring this earth would be if we were all the same. Never try to be like anyone else for there is only one YOU and you are needed.
By: Sabina Nicole
Love should feel like a burning flame of fire,
fueled by everlasting bonds of trust.
And not the promises of a liar;
distorting truths in the pursuit of lust.
You feel the tears building behind your eyes
as your hopes sink, scuttled by betrayal.
And realizing what each drop implies,
dreams collapse as anxieties prevail.
An unbearable pain pierces your heart
when truth dispels the illusion of lies.
And while doubt and mistrust tear it apart,
depression devastates trust as it dies.
The empty promises your heart endured
were a mix of fantasy and pretense.
And juvenile dreams that never matured;
spurred a catastrophic set of events.
Like a river, destiny sets love's course;
and yet, you choose who will be by your side.
So, if fate veers and heads toward remorse,
change direction to stop the hurt inside.
Dredging up scuttled dreams you'd once let go;
stirs up muddy waters laced with regret.
And at times, time seems perceptibly slow,
pausing on the things you want to forget.
Memories, lacking both substance and weight,
can't control the emotions they release.
And when deceit sets the course of your fate,
tears of loneliness will only increase.
Fate pays little attention to your cries
as anxieties increase, that is plain.
And so, you look for ways to compromise
while crying eyes spill the tears they contain.
You dismiss defeat with an angry heart,
for love's a miracle gleaned from the soul.
And though trust's foundation was torn apart,
hope gathers the pieces and makes them whole.
Initiating change is always hard,
and you hesitate to seek love again.
Yet forsaking your dreams without regard;
will inevitably bring you more pain.
Urges ushered Est’bel out of her abode –
a cottage cobbled together from cobwebs and clapboard –
and she scuttled forth,
her nesty hair tousled
by a leaf-laced breeze
In her bony hands she clutched
dregs of a nightmeg broth
in a porcelain jar stoppered
by a coffinwood shard
Her bare feet stepped on thorny twigs
but she felt them not,
for her soles had been hardened
by countless treks across hot coals
washed up from stygian shoals
Leftward she turned,
meandering down the narrowing, twisting path,
where uprooted mandrake tendrils
clutched at her anorexic ankles,
while ravens pecked at her frayed follicles,
until she snatched a leaf
from a passing philodendron,
folding it into a tri-cornered hat
and plunking it atop her pate,
rakishly askew
Dewey sap from twisty-trunked trees
dripped onto the nape of her gnarly neck
and a raven on a nearby branch
cawed his amusement,
earning him her owlish scowl
She spied a row of rotting poppies
and plucked a bunch,
sticking them into a crevice of her hat,
then stepped onto a walkway of cracked shale slabs,
which shunned her footprints,
replacing them with snail streaks
to mark her passing
She made her way to a listing tombstone
atop a gnarled knoll encased in gelid moonbeams
and fringed by shushing sawgrass
She took a small vial of indigo glass
from beneath her shabby shawl
and pulled out a stopper made
from a finger bone of an unfaithful lover
whose pickled tongue hung from a
silver chain around her neck
She poured the contents of the vile vial
into the porcelain jar and
listened to the fizz.
It subsided into sloshes,
reminding her of the sounds
issuing from demented shells
snatched from the forlorn shores
of stygian shoals
She gaped at the sky
as an owl flew past the moon,
stirring the dark craters,
which broke up into swirling spirals,
sucking lunar beasts beneath the surface,
where they dissolved in the ceaselessly sliding sands
And Est’bel raised the jar to her lips
and drank a toast to the moon,
and awaited the enshadowed shades
drifting down the snail-slimed pathway,
propelled by a leaf-laced breeze
Near the cliff's edge he stood
poised and composed. Wind swept dust
whirling salt mingling thyme,
tickling his half-clogged nose.
Seagulls screeching,
gliding, soaring, diving,
harbingers of electric storms.
A mistral wind blew cold and cruel
black clouds formed low, forbidding.
Lazy lizards scuttled for refuge
Sparrows hid in lowly carobs
Or flew into the stately pines.
The wind spoke suddenly.
Gusts whispering dread.
An urge, a whisper, an invitation
echoing sirens of old:
"Be free, fly, liberate yourself."
Below, the sea in turmoil,
no fishing boats in sight.
No one but he dared face the storm,
the storm he feared
was inside his tattered soul,
a sea of torment.
The birds and creatures of the wild
found a haven, but he had none,
no solutions to the inner storm,
except to dive and join the sirens,
in the perilous seas below.
I think back on how you'd kiss my nose,
and I'd laugh, remembering it all.
Our life was once a merry-go-round,
a true paradise, as I recall.
Today brought a sad turn of events,
I laughed when you said you wished to leave.
But when I looked deep into your eyes,
your tears finally made me believe.
The restrictions of reality
had you pursuing fantasy dreams.
And now you want to feel free again,
no matter the cost to me, it seems.
My dreams were scuttled by betrayal,
caught in the eddies of hurts and fears.
And my hurting heart sobs endlessly;
drowning in an ocean of my tears.
The essence of my misery is
distilled from the dregs of countless tears.
And it's a potent, corrosive brew
that'll eat away at my heart for years.
Gunfight in old Abilene
With his hat drawn way down, reins loose in his hands
His horse sweating pints, the sun burning down
The dust from the trail was choking his throat
The Abilene sign, said, two miles to go
He rode into town, stared the folk down
He pulled up his horse at the watering trough
All scuttled inside as his boot hit the ground
The word was soon spread, that he was in town
His aim to avenge, a brother who’d died
By hand of a cowpoke, o’er game o’ cards
Known to be cheating and fast with a gun
He’d drawn and fired on unarmed man
Stepped out the poke, with a gun on each side
The stranger he sees with a look in his eye
Some paces they took, no words were exchanged
They stood face to face, staring each down
Silence it fell, the nerves were of steel
Dust blew around on the faintest of breeze
The desolate street, unreal in the scene
The stranger stood waiting, death in his eye
The air, it was crushed, as the guns they were fired
Bullets passed wild, on wings of hate
A thud, a cry, a hit was made
One fell to the ground, the sun burning down
The dust and the smoke, cleared from the air
Onto the street, the folks gathered round
Amazed at the speed the actions had been
Declaring the duel had seen a fair fight
He mounted his horse, tugged brim of hat,
His mission complete, justice on course
A man of the old west who never looked back
Where sun had gone down for the poke on the ground
Faking feelings is what you do best,
undermining hope with false feelings.
And deceived by lust's many guises,
increased your vulnerability.
Fantasy divides reality
into darkening shades of despair.
And feeling all alone, you struggle,
believing that no one even cares.
Anger fuels your disappointment,
while jealousy extorts love's absence.
And truth provides little protection
from the bittersweet lies that flatter.
Sadness deflates inflated egos,
allowing time for thoughts to gestate.
Happiness cannot be chained to tears;
Love requires trust to make it real.
Spent on a splurge of self-deception;
Hope is the last treasure you deplete.
While frustration is a side effect
of dreams scuttled on the rocks of doubt.
Loneliness lies heavy on your heart,
but a smile masks the pain you're feeling.
And yet plastic smiles, like cheap jewels,
have no value, but to veil your tears.
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY : LXXIV
IF ever I had a country proud of its sacred Soul Patrie
And if ever by a long shot I was nominated - not spuriously elected - Chef Ministre d'Etat
Plenipotentiary
The first thing I'd do is to give the Minister of Justice the sack in a hurry
I'll then take over his post and issue a long awaited (you'll agree) and needed decree
That henceforth any razor-sharp lawyer and his erudite team appointed by a client for a
very very high fee
To defend protect and facilitate the " escape " of any known criminal whose ill-gotten
gains burst bank-vaults to a brain-numbing degree
That the lawyer and his team be given the DOUBLE of the sentence meted out to the
criminal and be put away minus their licences to practise LAW in an Alcatraz-like
penitentiary
And this even if I never ever had no country to call my own with or without any patrimony
(The late eminent Vietnamese-French lawyer, Maître JACQUES VERGES, renowned for among other feats the defence of KLAUS BARBIE, the NAZI " chief " under the French Vichy regime, was also the Secrétaire de la Conférence des Avocats/Examiner for those wishing to practise law in France. And yet, in a case where I was concerned with revolting Master's and Doctoral students at the Sorbonne-Nouvelle University, he subtly had my case scuttled to prop up mainly Muslim and African-origin students - openly backed by JAMES BALDWIN - who objected vehemently to being taught, besides numerous other Commonwealth authors, V. S. NAIPAUL's The Guerillas, together with Eva Peron and The Killings in Trinidad, students who also took exception to any comparison, by way of structural influence, of WOLE SOYINKA's The Road, with Greek tragedies.)
© T. Wignesan - Paris, March 8, 2019
There was a bongoman, and he dreaming
Where the rock hovered above the blue sea
Looked through the white mist of a dew drenched morning
And clenched tight his memory of history
Black as midnight: showed me shining like day
Black Starliners, and his tears melted away.
Walk softly let me sing my song, redemption brings
The whip to silence and the heart to lift its wings
And then he laughed aloud, his heart beating
Drums like a flock of bird wings. This called me
Inexplicably to stand before him feasting
My eyes on his joy, and his tangled beauty
Of hair and form, without Samson's great flaws
I heard his covenant to Afric's laws:
No swine flesh in Selassie I temple
No labor for the rag of foul Babylon
Peace and love recovered of nature's principle
Keep's the dove in the flesh of the lion
Eating herbs as a lamb. And high above
The sea, the forest throbs with songs of love
He told his sorrows in Psalms recounting
Another's tragedy through which he claimed
His own, and whipped scuttled pride to rise surmounting
The shambled faith imposed on bodies maimed
By tyrant's culture and chains, to find
The cliff where Marcus Garvey led the blind
And made them see with power of his words
Towering Kilmanjaros of beauty
Breaking the sun, splintering its silver bright swords
Into strands, opening the majesty
Of wonders past on plain banana leaf
Feeding Anansi duckuno from grief
It does not matter anymore, the blames
The city lies upon his head; he cried
His tears for Babylon melting in oral flames
Bongo with Jah lives iver in the tide
Of Rastafari righteous inity
Behold the bongoman in divinity
I was late to school to know the bright lies
That silence permitted against his pain
The bongoman on the misty sea fastened his eyes
And searched for his Judah's Lion again
For out of him was life forever, dread
Life sweeter than the heaven of the dead.
And those ships, the angels of Marcus' dream
Make good covenant with the paucity
Of truth, and hold the bongoman in moonbeam
Dancing on rock point of belief, certainty
Mixed like bitter herbs in the ital food
Sweet as drums on the morning bright of mood.
Once young and naïve,
I fell for your charms.
And yet, now, I must
abandon your arms.
I will tiptoe out
when the night turns black.
And scurry away
without looking back.
Asleep with your dreams
you lie unaware.
And it hurts inside,
because I still care.
But all my hopes got
scuttled in mid-stream.
And there's more to love
than a worn-out dream.
I can't live a lie
or try to pretend.
Though you'll always be
much more than a friend.
Tomorrow you'll feel
confused and alone.
But you'll be better
off; there, on your own.
(Quatrain)
1/15/2015
her joints,
creaking plank wood,
nails,
shellacked, splintered,
dark
long
hair,
sargasso sickly sweetened
blue crab scuttled,
lips both
brown foam'd,
in
tidal moaning,
her boardwalk secrets
fallen,
on
her beach head,
sand dollars,
insteps
ebb,
sand bars exposed,
while
gulls cry
for clamshells
neap'd,
my bucket
never full,
those swelling
littorals,
leave me
only salt streak'd
in
cold
board shorts,
and
rough glass
foot cuts,
rip current-ed,
again.
Unrequited love haunts
your fantasies and dreams.
And you are left struggling;
to stifle silent screams.
All hearts crave affection;
those denied die inside.
And like a seductress,
lust manipulates pride.
Time warps reality;
letting love drift off course.
And salvageable dreams;
get scuttled by remorse.
Explanations fail the
expectations of youth.
But hidden behind tears;
lies the elusive truth.
You feel inadequate;
unsure if you can cope.
For: life is rife with fears
that can overwhelm hope.
Once stung by rejection;
love oft morphs into hate.
But, in time, you'll forget;
and chase a better fate.