The air is chaos,
a whirlwind of dark serrated fragments
that lash out
like sand scrunched into my eyes.
Was I wrong?
Were you wrong?
Does it even matter?
"Sorry" falls
like a paper bag
blitzed in the air.
Unyielding, in an otherwise
Unfeeling wintry day.
Meek smilers, head-scarfed. Blizzard- blitzed.
Shine sweet greetings my way.
More of that iced swiping blows up;
Briefly skews the vision:
Two little chubby bullfinches
Perched their low branch upon.
Last night a powerful force
was juggled between ocean-going butterflies.
A little ripple in Bermuda
blew its lid in Indonesia.
People died and survived to be recalled
by the living in the morning.
Dreaming hands built beer-caves
for their foamy drools,
fingers raised hedge funds.
Ripples sex-blitzed
elderly spinsters with an erotica,
that made their eyelids flutter.
Personally speaking,
somewhere before dawn
I became a Russian novel,
there was snow, there was a steam-train,
Cossacks arrived, blood was spilled,
the dead fell asleep in my bed.
blitzed blackened skies
hail of bullets ricochet ~
crimson fills trenches
screams of the fallen
reverberate through scorched earth ~
laid waste to ruin
dog tags dot stained sand
identities reduced to ~
scraps of twisted tin
empty caskets draped
in red, white, and blue blankets ~
return to home shores
heroes are buried
a day for remembrance born ~
respect for the slain
She seemed blitzed on happiness, weird to us
For she had just lost her husband, old man Gus
A smile split her face in a strange joyful way
He never had a chance, she told us, he never had a say
Doctor put her on antidepressants, her mother would explain
Before she got these pills, she was one huge pain.
Is this better? I asked, not understanding at all.
Oh, yes, she already axed up the dresser down the hall.
Bright eyed red nosed reindeer,
Raring frantically to go,
Waiting for that iconic signal,
A belting “ho ho ho”.
Flying gifts down children’s chimneys,
One house two house three house four,
With a beer at every stop point,
Ten pints twenty thirty ………… snore.
St Nick was sleeping at the reigns,
Rudolph does not know the way!
Has St Nick not learnt the rules by now?
You never drink and sleigh!
Little girls that longed for primrose dolls,
With sunshine golden hair,
Received tangerines, old whiskey jars,
And knitted underwear!
Blitzed fell out his reigns,
Prancer lost his magic bell,
All the little boys in Germany,
Got gift tags with “noël”.
Santa wakes up discombobulated,
Staring at a sign that read “South Pole”,
“Where are half my deer” he thought,
Has my years finally took its toll?
“I will continue with just one deer” he roars,
My sleigh will fly on Christmas cheer,
And what’s the fastest way to spread this you ask?
Just one more Christmas beer.
Rudolph’s eyes grow wide with fear.
Santa Claus was bellowing, things were wacked,
the giant red sleigh was packed,
the reindeer weren't harnessed up,
he stomped in the snow, broke his cocoa cup.
Suddenly, there in the far end of the barn,
what he saw caused alarm,
Rudolph was playing poker,
he was blitzed, being a joker.
Santa's face was beet red,
"Rudolph, get harnessed for the sled!"
Well, Rudolph was lit up in the wrong way,
and slurred his words to disrespectfully say.
"Hey Santa, I'm not freezing my jingle bells,
in the sky tonight, I'm in a drunken spell,"
Morty, the klutzy moose was at the barn door,
"Santa, my fellow moose and I will get you off the floor!"
And, by golly, they took the sleigh into the night,
a team of moose led by Morty's benevolent might,
Christmas Eve was saved,
and Rudolph and his team were in shame.
Santa forgave them in a few days,
because they began to go to AA,
and, in the following New Year,
they were once again Santa's favorite reindeer!
Dearest Brother
We've been through both heaven and hell together.
From the deathbed of our precious mother.
Into the embrace of our golden-souled father.
To the heart of Grandma Kay, the gentle flower.
Many times, you pulled me from folly's fire.
We chased the girls and a million pop flies.
We blitzed the monkey trail on 5 speed bikes.
Until the quiet call of those damned streetlights.
You were the quiet one, steady as a forest pond.
Which now reflects in your children's love.
You've breached life's breakers and now belong.
To the eternal nest of heaven's warmth.
Dearest Brother
Changes in weather are mostly to cold.
So much harder to do as we grow old.
When done, we regret not doing it sooner.
Dillydallying, a renowned late-bloomer.
Change is oft forecast as a gentle breeze,
Refreshing our spirits, setting at ease,
Offering rewards of a brighter dawn,
With lives uplifted, with good hope reborn.
But change can be fierce, its tempest untamed,
Shattering the foundations, leaving hearts maimed,
For the quest for self, leaves others behind,
Well beyond what changes you had in mind.
What's forgotten is changes' daisy chain.
All the forget-me-not strung out to blame
You for the chain reaction that change brings
With its bunch of unintended bad things.
Remember that in the change are keepsakes,
That can get blitzed to pulp in quakes and shakes.
Harmonious is not a horrid homogenized concoction,
pulsed and blitzed in a blender mixer,
until the notes and flavors meld and gel set.
Instead it is a polyphonic pitch ensemble,
a juxtaposition of notes in counterpoint.
Chords, sounds, glissando's and voices
all intermingle as individuals,
balancing consonance and dissonance
in harmony.
When your world goes way out of tune,
discordant in cacophony,
clanging with noisy chaotic strife!
Get your harpsichord re-tuned afresh,
to sound notes of love, true blue, not bluesy bent.
Then your soul can be harmonious again
in rhythmic syncopating jam sessions,
adlibbing with your soul mates,
in a potpourri of flavors, savored
harmonious.
Does anyone on earth ever get the privilege to see
the downy feathers of an angel, floating free
By the parting of the curtains all God's warriors guarantee
no accolades are given, when they come to referee
Signatures of old from a testament and promise
always present to protect they seal it with a kiss
A miracle adrift on scented wings hidden in the mist
all power and all mighty, shard and light a blitzed
Autographs Of Angels painted on Cathedral walls
where the hollow of their Sacred, rests where no one calls.
Tottenham had no spine today
Often blitzed, without apparent apparel
Maybe too many stogie's behind the training shed
Figures of lampoon
How they fail
in the April of decline
Captain said the performance
was not good enough
The Cockerel has relented to Play
There's no vitality going forward
and the back four, butter by default
Ocher and quince wads
pack gaps in particleboard walls.
Yellow newspapers underlay linoleum.
The apartment is smeared by nicotine
When it rains, a paper-Mache atlas of a blotched sky
can be read on the ceiling.
The window-sill slants, he dares not lean out.
He listens to street fights; imagines gore
seeping into inky basement wells.
Saturday nights bleed into Sunday. Sometime
amid the gray hours he decides to leave,
to wander vomit blitzed alleys
to search a doorstep and steal a Sunday paper,
then he returns to the grimy room
to read of better places
where better crimes get clean away.
He has a girlfriend, one he sees only once a week,
they sit on the narrow bed reading the news.
She tells him that her apartment has thin walls,
that at night strangers scratch upon them
as if writing to her.
Finally He lands a job in a hotel as a night porter.
His allotted room is pure white and sterile,
more a cell than a living space.
If he puts the light on, all that white hurts his eyes,
in time he gets used to it. His mind slowly
sheds layers of brick-dust and smudged print.
God blitzed Sodom & Gomorrah
Including fauna & flora
Putin says, "Me, too!
I am just like you
Blasting that Box of Pandora!"
n.b. after blowing up their home
and family, Russian troops
tell survivors that they have
been liberated from the Nazis!
We wallow in the news of rapacious war,
Glad it is so far away, thank God!
But dare we ask: why do wanton warriors fight?
Like wild wasps out on an ill-fated foray,
sting like hell in the soporific summer sun.
The terrific, fierce fight goes on,
like some wild cat that smells an invader
in its blitzed up tribal territory.
Thunder and earthquakes
as bombs fall on either side
distant rumblings killing prerequisite peace.
A crumbling city deprived of vital hope,
bereft of electricity and nutritious food,
while innocent frightened children
writhe on fragmented pavements
of deserted, stifled streets.
Their fault is they are born
on the wrong side of earth from where arms originate.
The bloody fight goes on and on,
soldiers wildly staring, fearful and bewildered.
Both sides know only one answer:
They fight for fear
but underneath hate reigns supreme.
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