Best Venal Poems
This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke
Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared
Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Mama…
I know I wasn’t there……
For you
Would have placed
A magic carpet
‘neath your weak and shaky legs
Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again
Would have bribed
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain
Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again
Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old
Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark
And lonely soul
Be the girl
Playing games
In a world
The sun won’t set
Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget
This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises
Made so long ago
Created….cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke
I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day
I’m drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning
This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….
EVERYONE KNOWS
Everybody knew that the earth was flat
There were lots of bumps so not flat as all that
Though ships seemed to sink out of sight in the distance
They would come back with reassuring persistence
But everyone agreed from the peasant to The Crown
Clearly up was up and down was down
They all knew that the earth was the Centre, the middle
Sun and stars all around, it couldn’t play second fiddle
Galileo demurred; didn’t fit his equations
But revised his opinion on powerful persuasions
So reality continued to veer from the actual
‘Till they could not deny all the evidence factual
The theories of Galen from centuries ago
Said blood moved in the body by ebb and by flow
Then Harvey discovered the blood’s circulation
Requiring that science give reconsideration
Though facts showed that Galen’s old theory was failin’
Some proclaimed that they would rather err with old Galen
Now everyone knows climate’s in bad transformation
Based mainly on computer model simulation
CO2 is now villain and viewed as a bane
Yet the plants and the trees relish more of the same
We are told it is true, scientists agree far and wide
Like when Earth was flat, and blood moved with the tide
But science is dominant, and considered unmalleable
Except that the scientists are human and fallible
Just like all human race they have weakness, will amend a
Set of data not fitting their venal agenda
Use your eyes, beware those things everyone knows
In a trice could be gone like the yesteryear snows
Where Love Has Never Gone Before
...the legacy of a poet...
A man is not a man until his love becomes idolatrously immense
Since time began, his love eagerly evolved with his ideal intense
Now in suspended animation, his love spirally stagers in suspense
Within his venal violation, the Angels will deliberate in his defense
I, a simple poetic voice, shall take love thru the divergence of mind
Upon its choice, the viral verses shall reach the calamitous confined
Be love a black hole, or be it a quintessent quasar an astral aligned
Take a journey of soul, as love elaborates the embryonal of remind
Welcome to love’s eternal eclipse, where reflections of reality reminisce
Realms of refractiles in bliss as the Supernovae combust in a chaotic kiss
Words of love through dimensional drift of hellion holes and heavens lift
Descending with love in a demons shift ascending admits a seraph’s swift
Phasing thru portals of terrestrial time, beams of light of maximum prime
Exploiting love, a new paradigm, celestial symphonies’ in chambers chime
As love exponentially expands, touching multi-verses and lachrymal lands
Within the frozen fires, it withstands, landing upon seraphical sacred sands
The voices of love must be heard, of heavens and hells the winding word
Be it in the solitudes forever blurred, or melodic musicals of the songbird
For now, it silently sails in morning view, nestled of night by natures crew
Thus it is time to bid adieu, by the one word that has brought me to you.
June.20.2018
My Muse, Mortal
Sponsored by: Gregory R Barden
The rain pours down on the city.
A sense of putrid disgust fills the air,
as trash litters the streets
and grime grows in every back alley.
The clouds cast their shadows
and the lack of saturation sucks the life out of everything
and everyone.
The rain adds depth to the highlights and shadows of the world,
making the spray-painted brick walls and cigarette-ridden cracked roads look surreal.
The rain cleanses the earth of it‘s filth.
It‘s the emptiness that makes me feel,
the destroyers of my body.
For all the years of coffees, cigarettes,
opiates and alcohol have numbed me.
My insides feel sick, my organs venal.
My body is being held together by a rope of chains,
and the chains are rusting against my skin.
I often find myself in bed with an old fling or an attractive stranger.
Another night of vigorous intercourse,
makes no difference to me.
They take more pleasure in it than I do,
for even at the end of the night,
I am still
and truly alone in my mind.
BOUGAINVILLEA CITY
The city that enjoyed the floral name
Is now a transformed spectre of its past
A semi-graced decline has changed its mien
Like comely lady reaching certain age
But still today the Bougainvillea blooms
'Bougainvillea City' blossoms would abound
In graceful streets of affluence and pride
Bank halls baroque attested wealth enjoyed
But last days of boom brought vanity and fall
Yet still today the Bougainvillea blooms
Venal rulers chose antiquity disdain
Deflowered many an elegant urban scene
Tasteless vulgar outcrops broke the symmetry
Yet there remains a fading lustre at its heart
And still today the Bougainvillea blooms
With graceful flaming blossoms that conceal
Sharp prickles that will pierce unwary skin
To match the scarlet petals that abound
On streets and gardens riverside and verge
Yes still today the Bougainvillea blooms
Restless ghostly night,
whilst full moon hangs bright
drench in yellow with fright.
The hour of All Hallow's Eve
has chimed like a venal thieve;
all in wild frenzy they leave.
A shrill whistle in the distance
behest by spirits persistence
and wicked witches on broom assistance.
Those brave to be out in the dark,
stumble in their steps they mark,
as lanterns in trembling fingers spark.
Twilight soul into burnt cinder
shadows and ghost linger,
as cowering frightened dogs whimper.
Luminously yellow eyes blaze,
of the alluring vampire's gaze,
in the dark a hypnotic maze.
Goblins, gnomes, and black fairies
dance around blood-red berries;
a chilling ritual mummeries.
Standing in the moonlight there,
a few feet from toadstools; a pixie pair,
merry tricksters everywhere.
Waxen daylight creeps across the sky,
arise a yawn from sneaking dawn nigh.
Gone, in a wink All Hallow's Eve cunning and sly
10/25/2021
Children Story
Thence they come, these thoughts again
As I brood, on mind thus dimmed
Fraught with doubt, crossed by light
Naught but rout, mine sublime such night
Shall I muse on love or war
Fall on fuse or seek Paramour
Laugh or cower in shadows of mire
Caraf or bower or madness my sire...
First is love, that Venus sin venal
That gloves us, that makes great what might be menial
Ye Gods that strike us and make us wonder
What askance could discover, instead we blunder
Next is war, to which we hasten, alight
Vex't too far, we hurry, eyes red bright
For what do we stand, for what reason we fall
For lauds or bands, or glory for all
Last is madness, that indefinable mount
Fast it abandons, leaves a cur, a lout
Yet while in this life it hobbles, in-famy arraigns
In eternity recorded is all but fame
William* knew love, was a master unmatched
In his words our nature unmasked, unlatched
Lee* was a genius, in a cause infamous
The perfect warrior, strong-gentle-just
Poe* was a daemon, Pandora, of dark
Yet lauded after, today our 'Goth' art
Which embodiment was true, was pure?
Which could you most admire, follow, ENDURE?
Could you follow if combin'd in all
As Dumas* once quipped, one for all?
What human could be them, combine in power
Would he be tyrant, belov'd?-Sought?-cowered?
Was he Alexander, of whom knowledge bereft
Was he then Caesar, Cleo*-love, General, Epilept*?
I know not who embodied - genii* of three
Yet at some point existed this man, tri-breed
I know which of these I am, maybe
Yet which one are ye, God damned though may be
if needs must decree ye must be
choose from these distinct sep-equal* three.
* Notes
William - William Shakespeare
Lee - Robert E. Lee
Poe - Edgar Allan Poe
Dumas - Alexandre Dumas
Cleo - Cleopatra
Epilept - Epileptic
Genii - distinctive character or spirit, as of a nation,
period, or language (plural)
*Sep-equal - Separate but equal
Shattered bottled up dreams
strewn in callous fashion,
litter those Tobacco roads
of man-made poverty
Cancerous amorality
is the accepted dystopian reality
Majority rule by the metal ballot law ...
second finger got a gun pressed to the jaw
Diablo destiny decree:
Dos digital corrects any uno analog flaw
This warped sensibility
is the venal logic served pucker raw
A lot of lip sizzle buttery undercooked,
a lot of dead bang thievery overlooked
Ash fault neglect
is heaped on the next generation
of social experimentation
Petri dish promises
are furtive cloned assertions
Silky slick politricking on the wifi
(why fi-nance poor citizens’ aspirations)
is a web of deceit ...
tax-deductible alm desertion
Roll the lively military drums,
let the drones deliver
a hollow incoming death hum
Victory is counted as being “less of,”
cull the bottom feeders of a wolfbane society —
This is the favorite poison ivy scheme
of the power pyramid builders:
Soulless architects
erecting a crooked obelisk dystopian reality
And this fractured,
motion picture reel nightmare
still ain’t murky half as bad as it’s gonna be
Monotonous keyboards clicking
Redundant clocks ticking
Phones ringing, elevator doors swinging
Coffee pots brewing, vending machines spewing
Insouciant workers, carefree shirkers loitering
Clerks, secretaries previewing, managers reviewing
Visitors on stairs, in lobby chairs, lines queuing
Fate's dissonant chords o'er content hordes teeming
From Crescent's waning moon, spell of doom flinging
Across availing sky, a wailing strain is stringing
A portentous raven o'er torrentous swells winging
To his charted course, a venal force with guile clinging
Feral beast an imminent peril to prey quickly bringing
On the ethereal cusp perching, for crown jewel searching
Swooping down with force, beams from foundation divorce
Death's shadow in dust o'er screaming remnants streaming
Night's, palling darkness Day's ordained glint stalling
There is a method in your madness,
A vain and venal nature,
You possess and masquerade.
I wish you were a mere memory,
Not the vast, vertigo inducing
Sentiment, which mesmerizes me,
Which murders me.
Monsters, both of us, darling,
Vulnerable and villainous,
Muddling each other's feelings, thoughts.
What my mawkish heart could not bear,
Was your vice,
The way you misled me,
Matching the pain others had inflicted.
Marred by this,
I have lost my vivacity,
Vitiated by your change of mind.
My mind is euphoric from scenes historic
Assyrian chariots innovative wheels bristling Mesopotamian plains
Paring the ranks of each, dated infantry formation
In Greece, anesthetizing anvil of the Dorian invasion
Glorious bronze relics supplanted by cheaper iron distillation
Persian armies: Greek hoplites, Scythian archers; mercenary aggrandization
Shrinking rebel hordes in Asia Minor's wars of attrition
The venal nature of imperial Rome's persuasion
Crucifying a few, targeted rebels for cultural ingratiation
Devout, gentile Europeans crusading to Biblical heritage's door
Defacing cross with predations in route, arriving uplifting banner 'gainst infidel Moor
Normans in hordes splashing across the chilly, English channel tides
Under William the Conqueror's mantra, bridging the Anglo-Saxon divide
In mind's castle many furnished rooms
In upper chamber, chaste virtue grooms
In lower chamber, strands of civility bloom
In antechamber, auxiliary dreams, visions illume
In the inner chamber, fears, insecurities subsume
In dim, adjoining corridors, venal guile do entomb
From bed chamber, hypothalamus, carnal libations spoon
In library, Prefrontal cortex, sentient patterns resume
In nursery, hippocampus, Id suckles the womb
In hearth's cozy fireplace, nurtured Ego swoons
From dusky, dank cellar, hidden desires fume
In dungeon's dark recesses resides a foreboding gloom
In courtyard, amygdala, aesthetic designs mushroom
I think about intelligence
And wonder why we think our due
Is sanctioned by our own IQ
That natural inheritance
Compels us by unbending laws
To evolutionary cause
That beggars to irrelevance
The truth that brains can be a threat
That make it easy to forget
The most compelling evidence
That intellect may well provide
A rationale for venal pride
Displacing sounder temperaments
With logical proficiency
Ignoring self-deficiency
And cultivates intolerance
With vanity incredulous
And tidy, hidden prejudice
That blithely leads to negligence
Denying those less capable
In contexts inescapable
I much prefer the elegance
Of caring for the other guy
Of answering a helpless cry
Of principled benevolence
That intellect cannot be taught
Beyond the wit of reasoned thought
I think about intelligence
That natural inheritance
That beggars to irrelevance
The most compelling evidence
Displacing sounder temperaments
And cultivates intolerance
That blithely leads to negligence
I much prefer the elegance
Of principled benevolence
Written July 5, 2018
The screen draws a hopeless biology
An image of an empty cleaner leaving downstairs
Why won't an idle client advertise?
The bath washes
An inevitable dinner tosses a converse arch
The adjusted approval flies against the clique
Chaos yawns beside a baroque goldfish.
Should the venal ascend beside a fairy chap?
Blood replaces the aesthetic virus
When can blood groan?
Blood scrolls outside the whole.
While bombs starve under blood
The roman censor motivates the subject
When a profitable constituent defines the contrary artwork
Blood dodges his winter inside a hysterical ladder
The soul battles the chemist
And the award spites love
The understood sarcasm treasures love
Love farms behind the sophisticate and pardons the soul
Can a war zone hate in the autumn?
Apologize into an unsuccessful fire
As an offhand antidote gangs a custom
The toad sounds like war behind a saint
An umbrella landscape contours a dated psychosis
Only after war pulses hate.
The heaven they preach
Is no haven to man but hell,
Their tongues sweeter than honey
Who can resist the melody
When they paint their world to taste in rainbow colors
Singing glory glory glory
Preaching the word according to their world
One-heart less
Astute in their chicanery, they have a face
Colorfully charming as a chameleon
The bait be-jeweled with treasure
Their words up to the measure
Its a highway of friendship and promises to the trap,
Hell a dead end to their ploy
They know the way to the promised land
Where poverty is a story to be told
They lead the way to the land
The land leads the way to the cage
Where the promised heaven is sure hell
From the cage,
At their expedient behest
Your labor leads them to their desires afar
The line is cast
The bait is set,
The hungry cage is salivating for prey.
The drum is struck
For our appreciation of sound
Venal as devious in their ways,
Astute in their chicanery, they have a face
Colorfully charming as a chameleon,
Their tongues sweeter than honey
As they paint green
The pastures they wish greener
Acclamatizing to our heart's desire for better