Evenings what reddens
The outback's skied
Peace of parrot watches, bloodies
No such, hereabouts.
War, its effects as
Presageful of -
Across that, any bird one sees
"Angel of Death"! shouts.
Earth bloodies the moon
its face drowned in severed veins—
harangued in the sky
for all to see Sun's disdain
in being eclipsed usurped
The heavens lament,
scattering rust into dusk,
for the blood red burns
when what's seen is black and white—
space smeared with wrath set ablaze.
A blood moon warns us
every orbit has peril,
in being dethroned
by an unyielding eclipse,
tainting our shadow of self
Steps on mud, a stalking thread,
Red strings wind through dying groves
Where life needs time, to find footing,
Red strings halt hands in greed which hold
The axe of ignorance, the axe which bleeds
A people in flight from homes bulldozed
For one brute mine more, to feed empire
Which jangles keys, which confines in loaned
Dependence made, our trough withheld
By bloated old speculators whose cold
Lies obscure serfdom; worded as freedom,
And the east wind is chided,
For fetishism, advert slogans uphold
Impotence among them who create,
They are given consumerist mirrors,
As leeches of mankind are weighed in gold;
And as burns away our way of life,
All bonds formed in toil shared,
The market-canker births hedonism
The imperial axe bloodies us, brothers of old
But hold tight onto the strong strands
Of crimson in the heartlands,
Seize imagination, seize thought
Beyond nettle laden garlands
And thorn crown of parlay,
Rip with the iron of hardship
All parasites, them whose is the whip,
Can’t be pleaded with, can’t be controlled.
Myth of the peculiar pelican
Whose bill bloodies its feathery breast
Feeding blood to the chicks in its nest
Ancient acts ever evangelic
Sole sacrifice for the pelican
Whose beak speaks more than a relic can
36 Words 6 Lines Light Verse
Pelicans appear in Christian iconography
as symbols to verify Christ's self-sacrifice.
Attributions to Dixon Lanier Merritt
(often mistakenly credited to Ogden Nash)
for authorship of the popular Pelican Limerick.
Bite Size Poem No. 16
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
How will they handle hardship and mental starvation,
when they've been silver spoon fed and heavily insulated-
How will they handle the first of many crushing disappointments
when they've been glazed with unearned blue-ribbon ointment-
How will they act when life winds up and bloodies their lip,
after having never once been reprimanded or disciplined-
When life awakens them from perpetual dream state,
will they stay comfortably numb or finally awaken-
Will they reminisce about the blue-ribbon daze
or finally earn the rewards the legitimate way-
Rolling the punches
Using my hunches
Duck and dive
Trying to survive
Bombardment of blows
Bloodies my nose
Waiting for the bell
10 seconds from hell
Hit the mat
No more combat
There goes the bell
Saved from hell
What will happen when the moon blocks the sun?
Will humanity come as one
Or will nature take it’s course?
Will we all stand as equals,
Or will one nation triumph under God?
What will happen after the hour strikes?
Maybe the world will witness and
be a part of war, sickness, and poverty.
Or perhaps the world will be under one love.
What will happen in that final hour?
Will the world be in it’s final suffrage,
With billions of lives wiped away from it’s sin?
Or maybe the kings will wise up,
And bring disaster to an end.
What will happen when the moon bloodies the sun?
Tell me what is true.
Is this natural phenomenon the sign of the last days,
Or am I thinking in a foolish craze?
To be read in the voice of Thurston Howell, III
from "Gilligan's Island"
At the club
we drop Poetrysoup
premium memberships
like names
on a social calendar
Binky and Nadine
drink more Bloodies
than I have had tees
on the fairway
Their mansion
rages rococo
For minimalists
they really
are too much
6/1/17
suddenly the beauty fades
and the masquerade becomes a crimson deluge
somewhere out of nowhere, incoherence reveals her uglier side
the stone soup of badly timed revelation is pure poison
the rocks thrown at my routine dream bloodies the strength of the center and blockades the solidity of my little world
suddenly enough is a microorganism growing impatient via the knowledge within the maturation
i become a victim of your black confetti surprise party
i want you to taste the bloody black jello of my misery
however you get the flavor of my personal version of icy cold detachment
all the ladders are now worn and badly damage
all the attics are infested and offend with the stench of incompleteness and indecisiveness
suddenly my brain goes in circles in endless speeds like a defiant spinning top
i wish i could give my own brain a hassan chop
maybe then all sense within me will finally come together
however my journey will still never really have a true blue definition
fear breeds greed, and loves good grace is locked away as ignorance bloodies
little ones, they say 'oh dear god we are the rightful ones and death to those
who don't have our face', all the while trembling hands grasp for reason where
there is none; as long as generations are fed fear and nations of right can do no
wrong, and god is dismembered and fed to our little ones, and right from wrong
is up for interpretation, and hate requires so little discretion, and control is a
delicacy with no imagination, there can be no peace.
Trip to the movies to see ship submerged,
Teasing and torment has been Friday's fare.
First an argument o’er who's to go first,
and not-so-nice nephew pulls brother’s hair.
In revenge, the other bloodies an arm;
loud wailing ensues from crocodile eyes.
It’s time to go home now, they’ve lost their charm.
Six-year old twins – a shipwreck, pint-size.
(Post war in Sri Lanka, connecting the North and South of Batticaloa road, the bridge was constructed to replace the old Kalladi Bridge that was built by the British 70 years ago.)
In sounds of heavy weapons
And shot notices vibrated
Gods and Brahmas
Gradually praised
Heart of the Kalladi Bridge broken
Re- built bridge is too ling
Lumpish fishes
In fear of shot noises
Then they died my buddies
Rivers and lagoons
Overflowed with bloodies
The bridge built whereby,
Fishes without buddies
Narrow road widens,
While the hearts being parochial
Serpents compete,
While the human beings vanished
Though it could to join,
Having built a bridge
Lost the tune
In a broken and cataclysmic heart of song
Udaya R. Tennakoon
Every day, bloodies the banks, washing away the good soil.
Fewer flowers and shoots of grass.
Pushing everything decades back...
Trapped on a shrinking cay
everything loved or fought for
has died or blown away,
Remember the reunions back in the day.
Plaid sleeves covering bloated arms
a blitz of children
cheap drink
burnt meat (nobody complained).
Crushing music
drunks nibbling away the night
Brawling till morning
dictating when the sun should arise
It's all gone now
except for the waves that play with the mind
across the creek there's a party
that goes on... forever.
With bone dry eyes she studies
The shattered crystal at her feet
Seeing each tiny fragment
As a lost day in her wasted life.
She never meant to be here,
Expected implosion rather than explosion,
But sometimes things don't go as planned
and tripping through broken glass
is all there is.
A broom she thinks,
But sweeping would be symbolic
and she cannot--
Will not be erased
Falling to her knees,
She bloodies her fingers
in an attempt to place the pieces
but her dreams are too badly broken
and glue only blends with the tears
She doesn't know she's cried.
January freezes my blood
Crack the ice and split my skin
February bloodies my romance
Let go and watch the rose pedals spin
March colors my envy
I never discovered a four leaf clover
April drenches my eyes
Suicide fog begins to haze over
May plants my flowers
White daisies for upward pushin'
June reconstructs my smile
Thank God razor blades got no cushion
July incinerates my everything
Nothing belongs to me
August annihilates my sunlight
In this blackness I cannot see
September collapses my sanity
Rubble and smithereens left to decay
October perfects my malice
The Devil's come out to play
November thanks my misfortune
Leaves and bullets descend as I ask it
December shovels my snow
To make way for the burial of my casket
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