It’s perturbing
how the single peal of a bell
in the dead of night
makes the air ring
like hammer banging
on a cold steel anvil
a finger-nail drag
on an old blackboard
sound blasting up
through a
a startled dream-hole
upstart—
Past and present—
collude and collide.
Splinters and spray
meld into the shrill stillness.
when you startle, jump up,
bolt upright!
awake,
awake,
Awake!
Bookends gently, clasp a saga
with many ‘In the Beginning’s
and ‘The End's aligned as read,
or in order tall in center, at ends,
with short ones stuffed between
estranged, deranged bedfellows
of genres compelled to collude.
Battered and bruised,
By the way I've abused,
This body that i used.
Feeling the effects of my mood,
Directly related to my attitude.
I'm losing altitude,
Calling out to you,
Knowing you come through,
I grab onto Gratitude.
Changing my latitude,
Thankful to collude,
Enhance my mental aptitude,
Rise above the solitude,
While in servitude to the multitude,
Of substances i have abused.
I'm becoming confused,
My mind unglued,
Clinging to gratitude,
I brighten my mood.
Thankful for lessons accrued,
Thankful for interests,
I was able to pursue,
Thankful for this journey,
I have renewed,
A new life viewed,
Through an Attitude of Gratitude.
The unseen maestro, the wily whistling whisperer,
Cunningly twirls a sway in the bending trees,
Dabs, daubs and draws impasto clouds in the sky,
Lilts, entices, leaves to dance in tune, as it whistles on by.
The field of grass compliant, bends to lithe gusts sly.
Laughing to tickling tongue secrets, beholden in every sigh.
The wind teases waves, torments lakes to ripples.
Their surfaces combed and drawn to rugged stipples.
The wily whisperer winds its way into cracks and holes.
Creating drafts that shake the drapes like ghostly souls.
Defying all attempts to block their breathy intrusion.
You can feel it breathing in and out, expiring confusion.
Oh wily wind, your whispers collude and unwind,
The peaceful slumber of earth and heart entwined.
You flip and flap like a flip flop
side with the side that is on top
but it’s ever changing like a tik tok
all you do is suck up like a lip lock
Always seeking out the route to glory
Being Right is the title of your story
never wrong as that shows you’re faulty
insecurities got you faking conformity
Warped perspective
and you’re a detective
reject subjective
progressive expert
no more exclusion
all out inclusion
we must collude in
now keep it cruising
it’s a new dawn
forget your choosing
we’re the same form
no more refusing
remove the stain
but I’m refusing
and I do warn
you won’t convert me
into this ordinary
lame deformity
worded normally
uniformly
as if numb is what I’d become
a uni one on a mono run
because god has made me
awkward baby
maybe crazy
but the brain ain’t lazy
abomination
no regulation
no rules were placed upon my creation
I’m free to speak
I’m weird unique
I’m beautiful
you’re miserable
Woke liberal
They get tangled when crocheting.
Much like hair, they weave dreams.
It changes shape, changes form,
when touched with barehand,
it crumbles, triggers a storm.
They say, 2.537 million light-years away,
is a galaxy like our own.
The tiny fiber, there too sway,
weaves supple fabric, alas it is
made of stone.
When I look up at the sky,
I swear I see. A slender yet,
long thread flying up high,
inter-galaxies, it is free.
They say, 2.537 million light-years away,
is a world, neither young nor old.
From nebulae to supernovas vast,
these cotton strands, secrets hold.
Connecting all from this world
to the other, the fortune changes.
Enlightenment is unfurled.
Every fibre lives, every fibre
dies. Every stitch questions
Who am I?
They say, 2.537 million light-years away,
there is a land so divine.
Where gods walk the earth, humans
collude with the stars
and disrupt the time.
Prompt: Cotton Strands
This morning tried calling mom to collude
Dad explained awkwardly pet care ensued
Later thought the answer quite abnormal
Having no pets the excuse seemed immoral
Given Dad said was giving the kitty some food
Carve in mind the fate,
Collude with the enemy,
Is a kiss of death.
Who are THEY?
they are who are they are who they
Are who are they.
Their dastardly diabolical deeds of
disastrous devastation destroying all
Innocent concrete connected
Continental communities of cousins.
All of those nefarious negotiations
With no notions of nations they
Collude conspire cumulatively
Compute all commotion concluding
Chaotically. They caused
Catastrophic conundrums
Correlating complete cataclysmic
Conflagration capitalizing on
Continuous calculations consuming
And condemning. So ceeze the
Crime it's your shine in time!
On wayward ivy
calyx in woodlands
a spruce-blue butterfly
sparkling rustles
of
sweet wind chant
swings in the ethereal morning light
legato lilts silken waves
in
sequined ambrosia shades
crimson undertones
on
oyster weaves
moonstone
&
damask
mist hummed melodies
a list of nostalgic queries
collude to bind
metamorphosis of spirit
and
personality
through social awareness
referred
to self and to you
harbinger
of
love and light
sparkling
through tonight's sky
Written: December 21, 2021
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice
No 55 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
1.Supari intimates because he can.
3.Supari is not scared of laws long hands.
4.Action is taken only against poor batterers.
5.Underworld Don fuukk garls on daily basis.
6.Judiciary absolves itself of the responsibility.
7.Apathetic and callous attitude of Police officers.
8.Police collude with Supari to cover his crime.
9.Victims try self immolation due to the threats.
10.DON Supari believes that he is superior.
11.Supari thinks that women are sax Objects.
12.Mafia Boss sees women as sax slaves.
I must whisper into the day and scream into the night.
These days are woven and this prison holds me tight.
The only time I can speak in my own tone-
Is when I’m sending my guilt to my family over the phone.
These guards are more than enemies that collude.
They are stealing our laughter so that our painful frowns can intrude.
It is as if I am waiting on an institution.
That has been here forever, and forever will be my delusions.
INFLUENTIAL STRAINS
this legacy
exuberant
recherche
collude
the deliberate needs
an arcadia
inhabited
by
primal beauty
darkened
glowering
reminiscent of
decay
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
The anorexia is not conspicuous,
being half-submerged - just
breaking through.
She’s a powdered mirage,
her skin a hyaline sheer
drawn over a necklace
of clavicle bones.
She knows her chest
is returning to childhood,
she wants to shelter there,
to be her own child.
Her small breasts
are burgundy nipples,
buds made more prominent,
anchored as they are
to shipwrecked ribs.
Designer bling distracts.
Cameras whir, she poses,
hand paused on a hip denuded;
not resting there,
but stealthily carrying
a pinch of flesh toward a spotlight.
We collude with her,
applaud the way
she decorates a condition.
We know her emaciated beauty
is a mutual hoodwink.
We know that the closer to death
sexuality becomes,
the more rapacious our appetite;
the more we will wail,
as she slips
through our hungry eyes.
It was quiet in the house
nothing stirred but the child mouse,
stepping lightly across the floor
she slipped to her knees at the stair door.
Bending low and sliding down
she caught a nail and tore her gown
but determined she was to hear
listening to her parents arguing fears.
Once again she was in trouble at school
and now her mother and father dueled
on what to do about her attitude
and how with the mean girls she did collude.
The punishment lay openly upon the table
and the child recognized her action enabled
foolish behavior with regretful tangles
needing now to pursue better angles.
Down the stairs, she quickly flew
sorrowful with the grief of her mistakes askew
she conceded in confessing her wrongful acts
promised to tomorrow, take it all back.
Her sincerity echoed and resounded
but her father assured her, for two weeks grounded.
for Julia Ward
Listening
12/15/19
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