Best Vouchsafed Poems
Dear Heart,
You are the great fulcrum of the human machine
So integral to keep us alive and leave us healthy
I know you work incessantly day and night
Neither taking rest nor seeking respite
By defiance, on any day, if you go on strike
Alas! All our body functions will come to a halt
Though a sinewy piece not bigger than a man’s closed fist
You are the seat of umpteen thoughts and emotions
A wondrous magic casket holding love and hate
A pouch that can contain so much of treasure
A sponge that can absorb any amount of pain
A hidden cave to stash away so many secrets
So deep and vast as a fathomless sea
You are so full of spiraling eddies and currents
Who can fathom your horrendous depths?
Who can explore your hidden recesses and crevices?
At times you stay still like a placid lake
Silent and unperturbed without even a ripple
At times boil and spill with emotions and feelings
Pounding like lashing waves of a stupendous sea
Sometimes like a swift bird in flight
You take off on wings to alarming heights
Or like a gambler’s horse on the race track
You keep galloping in lightning speed
Sometimes you are hard and resistant as a rock
But don’t be insensitive and unfeeling as a clump of wood
That’s my only prayer to you, my bosom friend
Store as much love as you can and lavish it as a millionaire
Do you know how much I love and value you
I feel there is nothing greater vouchsafed to man
Than the gift of an ever loving palpable heart
I relish you and wish to hug and caress you dear!
Much Love,
Jan.30.2023
~ Placed Nineth~
Dear Heart Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mystic Rose Rose
This one’s a castle; that’s a customs-house.
They’re stolid, listless, just a little dull.
The sky supports an arbitrary gull.
The languidness of Liszt, the style of Strauss
are wholly absent. Colours are metallic.
The eye sweeps over cornice, turret, steeple,
then it dawns on us – there are no people.
Clock towers, mountains, minarets, all phallic,
are void of human life. Stark, empty chairs
adorn each arid, motionless interior.
As we apprise, eyes sneeringly superior,
we note acerbically his love of stairs –
A Will to Power, ever pushing up.
One daub there is, however, gives us pause:
it dates long before Enabling Laws,
before he dreamed of Kesselring or Krupp:
a bridge that’s quite impossible to cross,
going nowhere, has never carried traffic.
With a boy sitting on it. Startling, graphic,
without a hint of Schadenfreude or Schloss.
Self-portrait, this? What features may we trace?
What’s here vouchsafed? Incipient racist brute?
Hardly. A disarmingly awful suit,
and most revealingly of all – he has no face.
15 of them begin the emotional ritual attired in silk & sequens,
they maneuver miraculously one after another on burning coals glowing violet,
the dance steps are heartbeats, curved & compassionate, their majesty is inviolate,
their Art is to suffer for Hope wrought from the ribbon of Reality's casualties,
fifteen to infinity the ladies become shooting stars
lazered through a constellation collapsing into a single sphere of suspense,
the crowd claps, cymbals chyme and a sorcerer's symbols
rain in a fury of subconscious superstorm, confusing chaos
and charming candor as relics vouchsafed in this cosmic cavern,
the Eye of Providence appears annonymously, winking with Blessings
on the forehead of a girl crooning for Roman gifts of iron roses & opium doses
as she poses prettily on top of the Arch of the Covenant
where angels scorch alms and demons dine on delirium,
a flame spitter and sword swallower run to the forefront
as the music deepens within the skulls of saints,
they confront each other with pride, mortal misgivings alight in their eyes,
a contest between Altruism & Misanthropy,
which will prevail, fire or steel, which to survive, love or hate,
one gets stabbed, the other burned, wagers wave through the theater,
lots of chatter, banter & bravado, the wounded continue with character,
Innocence tries to exit but is not allowed by Wherewithal
as the two forces seem to be fatally struck
a curtain closes ceremoniously and all that remains,
endangered enlightenment echoes, and echoes like thunder
while a beautiful candle glows, not yet bent or spent
and everyone in attendance calms and knows,
in absence of love, nothing but misery can be achieved -
J.A.B.
I treated this strange creature with great care
I knew she was not human, so unfair
She looked like my old cat before it died
Someone give her food, make sure it’s fried
She could not mew nor bark nor did she speak
I did not tell her that she was a freak
She liked to use her hair as a defence
Peering out as if in recompense
But if I’d cut it off, she would have screamed
As she watched the music fly in streams
She saw her visions and she talked to Lights
Noone human is vouchsafed such sights
But still I liked to gorge on her cheese flan
She might not act quite human but who can?
Share this:
Every journey worth its salt has rocky places
Bank to bank filled with frothing white water,
The economics of avoidance, steering a lean course,
Avoiding higher peaks that thrill - vouchsafed to others.
Rest days taken during times of lower water
Even portaging some sections altogether,
Below one dam a three mile jumble of boulders.
Only one stretch really caught us napping.
Truth be told it really had me worried,
But knowing that we were riding higher water
I steered as best I could between foaming protrusions
That prudence whispered likely hid a rock.
Just once, as I recall, we grounded on gravel bar,
But I pushed us off before current turned us broadside. (10)
Minnesota's rollicking Mississippi is a charmer,
And many State Campgrounds court her boundaries,
Some even have hot water showers and manicured sites,
But a pall of mosquitoes infests more timbered parks
That no wind short of a tornado has the power to disperse,
We ate our evening meals under beekeeper's hats and nets,
It is funny when mosquitoes dive bomb cooling plates of food.
Poet's Notes:
(10) This is a real danger for a canoe in a rapid. A canoe that turns broadside to the rushing water can be rapidly filled with water and swamped.
Screaming writhing violent
uncontrollable spasms of abandonment
immediately followed her (like Mary's lamb)
where e'er she went
verbal communication attempt didst rent
ear piercing outpouring
barrage heard clearly by vested gent,
a bajillion miles away e'en
stymying the likes of Lois Lane, Clark Kent
or special ABC letter writ agent,
when aforementioned younger daughter
raged day and night without abatement
soon after our baby's birth
agonizing distress self evident
when bundle of joy became a toddler,
which ordinary concomitent
expectant joyful milestones
hoop fully attendant
with hypothetical offspring
aurally learning oral rudiment
basis of language skill
with instructional accouterment
mastering native tongue
celebratory breakthru achievement
acquiring brisk command of lingua franca
easily excelling telly
tubby "FAKE" accent
gibberish with cogent
encoded development coaxed ability
regarding divine acknowledgement
pertaining to obvious delayed development,
when dada decried disabled
doc's "NON FAKE"
dupe forced mine abhorrent
realization upon crestfallen papa,
that our precious progeny
requisite remedial requirement
versed here, viz poetic abridgement
thee youngest of
(deux) daughters afflicted
at young age initial
general consensus genetic accident
engendered ambiguous diagnosis,
cuz forming words absent
purportedly linkedin with
high functioning autism
spurred self blame abutment,
sans cognitive fluke (most
likely inherited) malady immediate adherent
parental duty entailed, promoted
vouchsafed, et cetera
lifelong intervention convert,
a blessed webbed accompaniment
decades later nearly wrought total abolishment
whereat now grown year old lass
defied wildest predictions, adjustment
witnessed thee cherished apple of my eye
metamorphosed since early adolescent
to secure part time employment
attending Bend, Oregon Community College
and coordinating advancement,
where Shana Punim secured plane ticket
and took to friendly skies to my amazement!
Note: "How can there have been such strife in a Morlde` filled with beautiful Music; &
how could there have been beautiful Music such in a Morlde` filled with strife?" -Soupy
Sales, 2012.
The 12 Panes Of Christmas:
_____________________________________________________________________________
___
- XMAS' RADOTER -
Yule be Xmas
afore ye know
the pag'an go
for patterned
stamped snowflakes
'bove the
Andy Williams' Shows
DVD Stufftaculate CD,
Away, In A Manger For The Happy Employees,
drivelings (no place like) home
for the Hollydayease
in
a Ford Barricade & SUG Thirsty,
Nay, the new GM Bailout.
Suffer
the little Children
new bornes, infants
what nary see
but a Semi-Claus
ere
semiclaws,
tithes for the celibre-cause craws.
Remembrances
to things past-past, of
natal assemblies
en callow chorale masse
gone
Proustikipped,
to mortitorium's
N'well
& stockings filled
with
the chimney's cold care
yet in hopes
das Geheimnis Viktoria
would
somehow brassiere...
rout despair
the Tree hovers
Cabbage Patch? Nay!,
but the oft'splayed
Perry Como - You Win!,
Get to poke Golgotha pins -
WakeUp, boorros!
Bing-Bing!
WakeUp!, Jokers
to the St. Jack Nihilis...
but ya wanna
bat 'n ball this 'round?
You a'ready donned Santa,
with a semi-
Dear G*d,
(Walsch also asked)
How're You doin' It, &
Your Son?...Tarnished
proof weighdown here, filled
with
vanilla, frozen grins &
Joyburdened smiles...
'neath
pattern-stamped snowflakes &
piney Glade heads
afore the marshed desert
Koyaanisqatsi
Like yearlings'
trotted-out
Saviormusic
whilst the other 333
like
666 -
doubled for toil 'n trouble -
employed
to savaging
One, many, or 'nother...
Christmas partidges'
riffeled feathers family?
pared, unprepaired,
Indeed, vouchsafed
an enemy sans name
on
a horse with no name, save
Internecine
AmeriKa.
For
A kiss 'neath
the mistlesilo
whilst acaroling
of the Bedlamites
(Acts, II: 2-6),
the Psalming 100?,
Screeching
like sleds in pit gravel to
the Silent Night
HeyMen!
There lies
an evergrander Light
at the Dawn, but
Hey!,
who's gonna
tear-away
from
Yawnni,
& the extra-Vaganza
of
Truth?
H.e.m.
12.13.MMviii.
(ST)
religion expelled from school vouchsafed gunshot attendance
Sea breeze, yellow haze
Lunar purpose pulls unseen
Vouchsafed lies frozen
This one’s a castle, that’s a customs-house.
They’re stolid, listless, just a little dull.
The sky supports an arbitrary gull.
The languidness of Lizst, the style of Strauss
are wholly absent. Colours are metallic.
The eye sweeps over cornice, turret, steeple,
and then it dawns on us – there are no people.
Clock towers, mountains, minarets, all phallic,
are void of human life. Stark, empty chairs
adorn each arid, motionless interior.
As we apprise, eyes sneeringly superior,
we note acerbically his love of stairs –
a Will to Power, ever pushing up.
One daub there is, however, gives us pause:
it dates from long before Enabling Laws,
before he dreamed of Kesselring or Krupp:
a bridge that’s quite impossible to cross,
that goes nowhere, has never carried traffic,
bears one boy sitting on it. Startling, graphic,
without a hint of Schadenfreud or Schloss:
self-portrait, this. What features might we trace?
What’s here vouchsafed? Incipient racist brute?
Well, hardly. An endearing, awful suit,
and – most revealingly of all – he has no face.
The prophets of God
need no credentials
to prove to someone
that God spoke to them
When their words come to pass,
that is proof positive enough
When their prophetic song ends at last,
they will have called every wicked bluff
Their only credentials
are in the words that they speak
They're not deferential
to any wicked ruler's ungodly decree
They only obey God,
not the capricious dictates of man
They only do what God says,
following He who sits at His right hand
They need no credentials,
they've vouchsafed by a higher authority
But you better have yours,
if you want to enter into the land of eternity
Mother would patschke
early that day in the kitchen,
and recruit any guest, who
blindly ambled thru front door
suddenly trapped unwittingly
squarely (triangulated) into kitchen
forcibly impressed to help
set up buffet tables
and/or given carte blanche to prepare
some mysterious dish,
(a hodgepodge of ingredients),
that suffered no shortages of compliments
unfortunately could never be duplicated.
Guests harkened far and wide
word of mouth boastful rantings and ravings
superseded culinary Michelin Guides
to dole out seven stars,
which wordsworth meant "exceptional cuisine
promised hungry visitor
a special satisfactory journey."
"Time to eat" (usually bellowed courtesy father)
generated an orderly stampede to jostle in line
and commence maximizing capacity
testing sturdiness disposable plates could hold
scouting, shoe horning, staking...
place to become comfortably numb with satiation.
Amidst various and sundry masticating jaws
(with each respective mouthful
of food glorious food -
cue said Oliver Twist song title)
followed by draught of spirits
ejaculations of delight issued,
and punctuated the sound of silence
when not additionally interrupted
courtesy sibilant crackling
popping, and snapping
wood burning stove,
which aforementioned heat source
lulled well fed tummies
whereby heavy eyelids drooped
while heads sank into chest.
No matter hunger pangs quieted
evidenced by casserole, glass, pyrex...
scraped clean rumors heralding dessert
quickly awoke wine weary souls
analogous to sluggish animals
awakening out their hibernation,
when self anointed maître d'
showcased good n plenti desserts
(pies, ice cream, cookies and cakes galore)
she made house special
comprising secret ingredients.
Upon being stuffed to the hilt
(dear kith and kin mother
all counted as family
think taxidermist specimen
readied for mounting)
all pledged a unanimous
New year's resolution
vouchsafed to start on diet
come January first.
Notorious Nattering Nabobs of Negativism
(And Other Hopeless, Hysterical Hypochondriacs of History)
They pretend to love freedom but hate non-white votes
and poor's access to health care (both cost far too much
when supported by taxes where all pay debts owed.)
Wealth buys doctors' deferments when war gets announced
if dough's children might suffer (fake ailments vouchsafed
to excuse them from serving). Most hide wealth with glee
(for God loves that rich cheat!) No taxation is fair!
Just depraved think that wealth's butt's gang-raped by the rich?
Might a saint dream elites love to row their black boats?
Where does cripple complain Chris (1) 'discovered' his crutch?
Hmm! How likely is that? Who knows hole from commode?
Watch world slip off its rails as Christ's Love gets denounced,
brown kids stripped from their parents as mercy gets strafed,
our democracy burns, Trump lights farts from golf tee,
his card boasts he's ahead, but the game's truth or dare.
As each whore takes her bra off, pimps see who's the b*tch!
Long Tooth
October 23rd in 2020
Poet's Notes:
(1) Christopher Columbus
Wanting to get Away...
Needing to get Home.
Are they all dead?
Fantasticals, Fantasy, Phantasms?
Fantastic Rascals.
Masters. Hmmpphhh.
Tin-roofed.
Straw-sided.
Dirt-floored.
Mundane.
Arcane.
Insane?
(Them. Or, I?)
I’m on a meadow
lark.
I’m on a mountain
pass.
I’m at a crossroads;
one lone road stretched out ahead -
stretched out behind -
, if I care to look,
into and through each and every
Eternity.
The tea is thin.
The ember, black.
The robe unment.
The cane unsupporting.
The larder full...
of rot;
vouchsafed against the coming
nothing-more-coming.
The inkquill dry, the pages full.
The air silent and gifted me some
somberity.
The birds nest now in
as well as out.
The rains quiet and pool now in
as well as out.
The empty deepens now in
as well as in
me.
The Master, oh so great, is
Gone.
Now.
The Master, her formative ages forming formless, is
Gone.
Now.
The Master, let his name sweeten my lips, is
Gone.
Again.
Empty, Silent.
Voidhome.
The peak, a valley.
Songbirds sing.
Leaves rustle.
Breezes whisper.
Geese squonk.
Empty; perhaps though
never emptied.
Silent; perhaps though
never silenced.
The Master, the Indubitable Inscrutable, is
Gone.
and or maybe if perhaps could likely or somehow somewhat say
was was never was.
Is, still, somehow or of course,
Gone.
Echoes dwell.
Lessons linger.
Songbirds sing.
The tea is weak;
mine (nay, ours) to
sip.
Samson reborn within
brand name garden variety
twentieth century *****sapien
hirsute trademark characteristic
electrified, empowered, enamored
mirrored reflection validated
substantial flowing luscious tresses
superseded body, mind, and spirit triage
prioritized as most significant
constituent essence passively
potently, pronouncedly exemplified
declaration of independence
against parental United Kingdom
first impression evoked
heavy metal musician,
this then skinny prepubescent lad
who doth sing a poor tune
easily mistaken androgynous
long haired pencil necked geek
weathered cruel barbs
harriedly styled swiftly tailored
disproportionately relegated hirsute
feature length non "FAKE"
real McCoy adorning
all important Hatfield resident
effectively far fetched
gloating prized hair him,
despite primitive diatribes
courtesy loving "mom,"
she did vociferously inveigh
vouchsafed to schtup
ample legal tender,
all to no avail
then authoritarianism tactics resorted,
I lacked chutzpah to vent anger,
plus self confidence
to vamoose voluntarily negligible,
unnecessary insufferable expletives
out the mouth of she...,
who birthed sole son
passively resistantly intractable
demure, meek, resilient...
even decades later
vicious lashings still affect me
analogous black barbs
digging deep into psyche
diminution allotted thinning hair
absent male pattern baldness...,
I surmise to attribute
senescence the culprit.