Best Sizzled Poems
On a day bathed in so many shades of misty grey
There upon those rugged cliffs above the Fundy Bay
Heart pounding like the thunder in those crashing waves
Trembling lips dripping with heart felt words I could not say
So shy, I was a teenage girl so much in love
My soul on fire like that blazing stormy sky above
Where lighting crackled and sizzled in a burning flame
As his yearning eyes searched mine there in that wind swept rain
Taking cover in that shack with broken window panes
Where tattered pieces of old lace curtains still remained
Peels of nervous laughter silenced in that broken frame
As the storm outside raged against us all in vain
When with tears of stormy weather still running down his face
His lips found mine there in that that old abandoned place
A moment so electrifying it seared my soul
With a memory that haunts me now that I am old
When stormy weather lets me see him as he was that day
There on those lofty cliffs above the Fundy Bay
My heart pounding like the thunder in those crashing waves
As I drift in the beauty of those shades of misty grey
WAIT!
the poet laughed
there's love to document
there's passion, there's hate!
WAIT!
where's my pen, my typer?
my life is my art
Living passed by and the world did it's thing, rotating, tilting, and changing
but the poet sat idle, conjuring thought
he dreamt aloud, awake
of simple times
he drank
he smoked, lied, and bargained
yet never put into motion
what realities he should have, could have sought
funny how it happens for the poet
poetically tragic, this nothing whatsoever
WAIT!
cried the overweight, medicated poet
cornered by walls of his own brain
such a creative mind wasting away
a mind with fingers
no friends, and without eyes
the Poet scurried, smelling rain one day
so he looked to the window and wrote "Thee Greatest Poem Never Spoke"
trees gave leaves to fall and winter gave way to crawl
then blew it's load
the poet spoke again,
WAIT!
these beauteous seasons are the very reason my pen leaks prolific ink of lines so great
then spring sprung
bells rang and flings flung
but the poet failed to dare to love
women and children and angels passed his tearful face
and he gasped
WAIT!
I must write and express and show this amazing grace
sadly summer came and went again
upon it's glorious exodus the poet wrote and wrote
more and more of stars he never saw
and of rain his skin failed to feel
and of things he could only imagine
tears of everything doused the poet's pale cheek and he ate the pain which enveloped him
dim lights appeared as a nightmare
and finally one bright light of tunnel vision sizzled his name
the name he'd long since forgotten
just like everyone else
wait...the poet whimpered
wait...
tho' fate
would not,
could not,
WAIT.
In her playground of romance,
swings of destiny swayed gently,
as a merry-go-around span endlessly,
so in a state of dizziness,
I crept inside, unaware, in my sleepiness,
I had been treading upon flowers beneath my feet,
as their fragrance faded, her spirit wept in echoes of betrayal,
but her tongue could not explain,
so, I gifted her three dahlias from my soul's oasis;
purple for prosperity,
red for passion and
white for innocence.
I can still remember the taste from
the first time I felt the moisture of her lips.
In a night where we held each other so tight,
we sizzled like the Sahara sun,
as heat kindled in our kisses,
we merged in the silent language of touch,
waiting for gravity to bring us back.
We were adrift without the need for words -
in places poetry cannot reach.
In our infatuation, following lanterns in the night sky,
I mistook our path of promises
for an intimate illusion only found in dreams
and became misplaced in her self sabotaged storm,
until I was swept away with merciless waves.
Yet, yearning rests upon the tip of my tongue,
like breathless whispers.
If only she would come to me like dawn,
so I could kiss her like ripples at 5am and
once more feel the heartbeats upon her breast.
I turn half asleep,
reaching out into the emptiness,
as the darkness paints her silhouette in each corner,
flickering sentimental slideshows in my mind,
absorbing the angst of her absence.
Now I am nothing,
and she no longer remembers my name -
so what purpose is there to remain?
Ravens gather to the rhythm of a sad piano,
as my pulse beats wistfully among weeping willows,
leaving traces on my flesh like raindrops on stone.
Reciting the last paragraph, I ponder
if this is maybe the penultimate poem,
as we cannot find new verses to ink together.
But, our memories are stitched into the same seam,
so I'll wear her handwriting until heaven.
Love songs and empty words curled
Around ideas of what love
Should be, like horns that ram the unsuspecting,
Shaking and shattering bones
And all expectation of the
Normalcy in past, weak coals that don’t smolder.
Life as it should be intrigued
My mind, kindled my spirit, and
Sizzled my heart as he seeped into my pores.
Head-strong and stubborn, he carved
The strict laws into his essence.
He obeyed these principles as religion,
And like a lamb he followed
The world’s ideology of
Perfection deeper into the demise he
Designed himself every time
He bleated for a white ewe,
Not out of his love of crisp snow, but the world’s.
My head rests on the doorframe, as I'm watching him at work.
I'm jealous of the devotion, and the motion of his hands,
much surprised at the green-eyed dragon that lurks within my mind,
while he rubs the pungent oil into muscles of the pine.
With rolled up sleeves, a sweaty brow, his rough, sandpaper hands.
he hones a smile along the aisle of every strand of wood
With even strokes, a time-worn cloak is peeled back and released,
where the onion skin of years and wear
had been entombed beneath the grain
He groans with satisfaction, (this Frankenstein, of mine),
while something worn, and tossed away,
is brought to life.
Back from the dead
A shimmering sheen, patina gleams while morning light slides in,
I think I see a swirl of smoke that curls above his head
And the warmth of the wood has sizzled hot, as if the sun came up
No awareness of the passion, engrained upon his face,
he sees me not, .... or my jealous want,.......His needs have been erased.
The lingering scent of linseed has claimed my breathing space
There are swarming nests of sawdust , cart-wheeling in the air,
a strand of hair, falls out of place.......and I cannot tear my eyes from here
The sensual, taunting, simple grace.......my eyes have begged to stay
I stare and marvel, for awhile
A shiver up my spine, implores.....to touch the man I face,
release his trancelike state of mind,
and let his fingers trace
________________________________________
What knowledge do you have of my home?
Have you taken a walk through the cemetery?
Walking on my tracks, footprints of eternity.
Have you read about the deserts?
Thus roar, thus blow filth,
Have you, met the survivors?
Felt have you, their struggles?
In The dusts that destroy,
That whistled as they sizzled,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irking me,
For a fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.
You believe in the reporter,
Who experienced little of a quarter,
Of the life he broadcasts,
You let the television fool you,
Have you walked the fine line?
Have you let hunger define you?
I did. Oh I did sweat in the dust,
Trekked through the cracks,
And I, stood face up with the sands,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irritating me,
For a fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.
I breathed within a twister of dust,
So you wonder not of my eyes as they carry,
The memories of the old struggle,
So wonder not of my skin either,
As it bears the manuscript of my old life,
Yes I move immaculate, but do you know of my heart?
Let you not be fooled by my slenderness,
My strength far flows beyond my weight,
So I lift a whole continent with my pride,
And if I have to, I will put my life aside,
Just to fix a smile on mama Africa's face,
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're senselessly irking me,
A fool that I am not- is the fool that is you,
Mama is beautiful, yet you only see,
As far as her horn, and the slums,
Where the strongest among us might've been born,
Yes mama is beautiful, yet you neglect to see her exquisiteness,
How could you go to my house,
To only document the cracks on my walls?
Couldn't you walk in to my living room'
And maybe peek in to my kitchen?
Thence you might see the beauty that is my home,
How long will you only look at,
Just the color of this book's exterior?
When will you ever walk in it,
To see the beautiful illustrations within?
So you shouldn't be judging,
For you're unreasonably riling me,
Cause the fool that I am not- is the fool that is you.
"The Hummingbird Cake"
The day started bright -
Bright Eggshell Blue
and ended in percussion
dark and cloudy stormed in
thunder pummelled drums
against a backdrop of
bruised eggshell dijon yellow
sweating heavy sage green
spitting spoilt the swollen pride of purple,
a wet abrasion against
Electric Blue
crackling along her lips
like Lightening
Sizzled on
her bitumen
her mind
winked at you...
Splits two
into one
not three
Taken slowly
deliberately
cake digested
swallowed like swallows
nibbling freely on air
a symphony of do you see me
in a Hummingbird storm
stairs to you she stares
upwards forever upwards
at lines of ebony tied tight
words kick and spit
like a cat in heat caught up
in a hessian sack
words in a puzzle
shaken and caste
on a playing board
pure white
not black
She,
Third person,
always Third person,
listens to her own heart
and then listens to the
words you have put on
and slowly worn warm
Revisits in her evening
a conversation with an old friend
Lorikeets on the balcony
Passionfruit cake and their
beaks in honey
a day in the life of Mosman
Carmen the dancer
Blueberries and
Raspberry Banana Bread
and Gold Crested
Pterodactyl Cockatoos
commandeering her kitchen
her gangster lovers
dead ends and loose screws
The day started bright blue
Ended in a thunder clap
boiling over onto a glowing hotplate
of flying embers,
reckless kisses and an unplanned
Storm;
A piece of Hummingbird Cake
was fed through a thread
In dreams while you watched
a movie in bed
Spoken to you
through
mind cerebral
not Reality read
Poppyseed and Honey
Bees buzzing on swollen
unheard lips
that silently bled Red
Words
Meanings
Life
Read
Red
Sugar ingested,
Honey to Blue Horse Flies.
Australiana
Fed.
Sleep,
Bed.
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"Listen to the Hummingbird" / Leonard Cohen
https://youtu.be/hYIeW8bwlWQ
"Meadow" / Liam Gallagher
https://youtu.be/wHVuW7eOPNI
"Cosmic Dancer" / T.Rex
https://youtu.be/GMfjA4gyEcU
"Meadow" / Liam Gallagher, Lyrics
https://genius.com/Liam-gallagher-meadow-lyrics
I was a Butchers boy.
I delivered peoples meat.
I went round on a bicycle
to save my aching feet.
Some people liked our Pork Chops,
and others they liked Lamb.
You even got the customer
who didn"t give a damn.
The bike it had a basket.
Attached above the wheel,
and when i went down hills,
i rested both my heels.
I worked from four till six.
Except at the weekend.
When i did a longer shift,
it drove me round the bend.
"You always smell of Mince."
My Mother always said.
You will need another shower
before you go to bed.
The girls they used to tease.
They put me in a Stew.
"We like your Sheepskin coat,
we like the look of Ewe."
But i had had enough.
I wished that i"d be fired!
For like my Butchers bike.
I found myself two-tyred!
This Butchers boy was sizzled.
Like a Steak that was well done.
My free time seemed so rare.
I fancied having fun.
Then the Baker called,
but i had to say "No fears."
Just like your Wedding Cake,
it would only end in tiers!
never call the kettle black
it shines inside and out
needs a polish now and then
perspective insight and action
miracles and blessings happen
when the time is right
and the privilege is granted
therefore I dived into the cauldron
a baptism of fire so to feel
and the magic potion sizzled
cold blisters of angst and resentments
vanished meta-morphed into the light
an inventory thorough cleaning
of the house that is my Self
a ruin of sorts it had been
rubble carnage wreckage
and I could not choose
the colour of my rescue boat
the size or model of the life preserver
it would not have done to plaster over
the cracks in the pot
I could no longer attribute fault
reason or blame to others
it had to become an inside job instead
an act of desperation and gift of recovery
no one pushed me when I took the plunge
I forgave yet did not ask for forgiveness
became able to love and allow to be loved
today I swim with hot passion once more
accept the good with the bad
found peace and moments of serenity
enjoy enchantment and gratitude
no witch craft at all
but a fairy tale story
narrated by a cauldron
of magical proportions
the egg in the frying pan
sizzled but mine wasn't
sunny side up
my brain assimilated
everything but this
wasn't a simulation
i hit a wall
going at least
sixty miles an hour
looks like i'm not
going to graduate
from Mental State
just
another
crash dummy
she liltingly spun smiling and singing
"You are my sunshine" waving for us
to join in
the pan dripped dancing tears on
the hot black stove where they sizzled and died
"My only sunshine" with a quick hug
her apron splattered with a thickening marinara -
summer's proud yield
the kitchen...was there another room?
dried curled wall paper near the stovepipe
exposed the decor carriages and princes of
yesterday Mom's childhood
"You make me happy"
the old black spaniel curled in the middle
nothing moving but eyes wary of
being tripped upon yet worth the risk
and perhaps a dropped meatball reward
"When skies are gray"
Worn linoleum exposed paths of time
the oak threshold proof
of welcomes and farewells
not really noticed by we in
our comfort of "now" not
thinking about our sunshine
being gone
"You'll never know dear how much I love you"
with a smile...always remembered
We wrapped a long length of red holy cloth around
his body, slung him between two green bamboo poles,
and carried him to the edge of the Bagmati river.
We covered his cold nostrils with soft cotton balls and
placed six sacred beads of Rudraksha in his palm for moksha.
We lit a bunch of sandalwood incense and stuck their points
near his head. We threw a tong of rice on his chest and started
chanting mantras for the peace of his soul. I walked around
the pyre with a burning piece of wood and lit a handful of kindling
at his feet. The dry logs whooshed and the pieces of flesh
sizzled and spluttered. The flakes of ashes flew off and fell on our heads.
Later, as the sun turned red on the horizon, we left the burning
pyre to go home. The black oil lantern was hanging down from the wall
its faint orange light barely filled the balcony of my house.
Nearby, my small brother kept on expecting for Grandfather home soon
from the farm, with a bottle of baby pots, pedaling his rusty axon bicycle.
I.
In the year sixteen hundred and thirty-five
I was a fool young man known as Ludwig,
back from the wars and flush with new money,
spent it on fine whores and copious drink.
One pale lady led me out into the street
where her pimp stood in shinning moonlight,
he smiled at her, said,”How nice of you,
I was thinking of feasting tonight.”
Before I could even start to react
his fangs had sank deep into my neck,
she joined in too, this woman I had held,
I black out and don’t recall what came next.
When I came too I was in a dark cave
and cried out, thankful that I was alive,
yet when I tried to walk t in the sun
it seared and sizzled my ghost-pale hide.
I’d never believed the legends were true,
but I now had no breath or heart-beat,
and when the sun set, I went out for food,
no meal would satisfy my deep cravings.
I made it six days, or should I say nights,
before the hunger overcame my will,
stalked a poor post-rider in the countyside,
recall the screams that came from my first kill.
I felt something within crumble that day,
a hollow emptiness grew deep inside,
knowing that with every kill that I made
meant another piece of my soul had died.
Before long I fled my Bavaria,
the peoples were getting restless and mean,
traveled across Europe, moving often,
forced to ‘live’ by acts heinous and obscene.
It was in Scotland three long years later,
hiding in the highlands from an angry mob,
unable to come out for days on end,
the growing hunger, it painfully throbbed.
When turned a vampire loses their blood
which causes their bodies to shut down,
I was so hungry I was driven mad,
in my mania I drained dry a cow!
Then to my surprise I felt the hunger
fade away and leave me feeling all-right,
it was any blood that would slake my thirst,
I didn’t have to take any more lives!
You think this would improve my situation,
but in truth it hurt me all the more,
couldn’t help but ask why had I never
bothered to ask this question before?
All the lives I had brought to an end,
all the families I had let bereft,
gad I the wits to ask these questions then
not a one would’ve had to face death.
The truth of these failings hounded my heels,
there was to be no peace within me,
until one night in France I came upon
ancient stone walls of a monastery…
CONTINUES IN PART II
Foggy mists engulfed the bright
When raindrops fell throughout the night
The lampposts glowed at midnights dark,
When sweethearts kissed at Lover's Park
Soaked wet through with glistening skin
Revealing all true love within
Drenched and over awed by charms
Entranced as held in each other's arms
The fluid rhythms, realm of rain
Where lamplights stream did gild the lane
Wet leaves dripped dreams from tinseled trees
And pulses flowed like rolling seas
The sultry spark of lover's kiss
Roused the feeling of lukewarm bliss
The tender touch of misty blow
Caused the heated hearts to glow
They sizzled and sparked like firework display
The world around them faded away
Transported to another place
Locked inside their warm embrace
Together they braved the soaking rains
For they were lost in lover's lanes
They could not bear to say goodbyes
Lost in the storm of lover's eyes
Passions roused beneath a silent moon
Hanging onto skies where stars are strewn
Rhythms of dreams ripe for the taking
Trembling in the kisses, utterly earthshaking
"Waves gently lapped the shore nearby
As we embraced, my love and I
My fingers touched my sweethearts hair
It felt like silk, so soft and fair"
Twas the splendour of their sweet kiss
That led to years of intense bliss
Gentle rainfall a lamppost glow
Enhanced the stellar, long ago
Although the rain then turned to hail,
They kissed until the moon was pale;
And he was found by mornings light,
alone, all drained of blood and white
Stanza 1 (Charles Messina) Stanza 2 (Dilly Dally)
Stanza 3 (Susan Ashley) Stanza 4 (Roger Carvis)
Stanza 5 (Natasha L Scragg) Stanza 6 (Andy Chunn)
Stanza 7 (Regina McIntosh) Stanza 8 (Andrea Dietrich)
Stanza 9 (Belle Bellevue) Stanza 10 (Jack Horne)
The scene distorted,
the image contorted,
light shaded,
time complicated,
haunting night,
strong enough
to distort light.
God Summarized,
as he thought about evacuating the planet,
it would be wrong,
it could take very long,
but it would save civilization,
from the devil’s invasion.
The devil’s yellow light of destruction missed,
the bomb passed the earth and sizzled,
lost its power and fizzled,
God had moved the whole planet,
so the distort, contort,
was simply a divine plan,
to fool the devil,
and to save Man.