A curse that’s worse than the pandemic
Greedier populist verse became totemic
No halt of their catapult assault systemic
Seedier social media game now endemic
Whether it be some chanting panting cleric
Will ration all compassion not really angelic
Always decanting another ranting hysteric
Doubts planting the enchanting evangelic
Oligarchy malarkey their tarnished polemic
Climate fires rage but won’t call the medic
Derails with varnished tales any academic
Preening demeaning all left leaning satiric
Dystopian & myopian totally Machiavellic
We burn they’re still lippy well it’s generic
With their heinous intravenous hypodermic
Even if taciturn with boring name like Derek
Yearn for return of hippy trippy psychedelic
Not dippy all learn nature can be mesmeric
Don’t spurn love soars above stratospheric
We’re absorbed
by the Saran-wrapped food,
the plastic cutlery,
tired brains monopolized
by the clutter of the meal tray,
numbed by hours of jiggling -
the carting of torpid bodies
through interminable distance,
wedged into
a restricted boredom.
Anesthetized – we fear nothing.
If the aircraft stalls,
if an engine fails
few will find the strength to panic,
we’ll keep decanting small bottles
of vin de table,
studiously apply hard butter
to soft buns.
As the aircraft plummets earthward
we’ll continue to struggle
with condiment sachets,
coffee creamers,
with small, molded cruets,
glad to be occupied
and totally blanked out
to what comes next -
or whatever.
We’re monopolized by the Saran-wrapped food,
the plastic cutlery,
absorbed by the clutter of the food tray.
Numbed by hours of jiggling,
the carting of torpid bodies through interminable distance,
we’re wedged now into boredom, uncomfortably numb.
Anesthetized – we fear nothing.
If the aircraft stalls, few will scream.
We’ll keep decanting small bottles of vin de table,
butter buns.
As the aircraft plummets
and drops like a stone to certain death
we’ll still be struggling with condiment sachets,
coffee creamers, with small, molded cruets
oblivious now to anything less important.
Make it short
Soothing rain on slates
Heal nerves torn to tatters
Unforgiving is life.
Rain is decanting
A transparent carpet of silk
Untouchable beauty.
Rain chased by gusts
Mad dance around corners
A day fit for heroes.
We are monopolized
by the Saran-wrapped food,
the plastic cutlery;
absorbed by the clutter
of the crowded food tray.
Numbed by hours of jiggling,
the carting of torpid bodies
through interminable distance,
we’re wedged now into boredom.
Anesthetized – we fear nothing.
If the aircraft stalls,
few will scream.
We’ll keep decanting
small bottles of vin de table.
We must butter those buns.
As the aircraft plummets
earthward,
we’ll continue to struggle
with condiment sachets,
coffee creamers,
with small molded cruets.
I sought my truth within the sky
The squally blue, my wings to ply
A thrust on thermals, carried high
And yet, the gospel that I found?
My feet still fixed to feral ground.
I dared to plunge the oceans, deep
To burn in Neptune's coldest keep
And bleed to soft, abiding sleep
Still, dull, his trident couldn't pierce
And all endowed me? Failure, fierce.
I sought a meaning deep within
A quest divorced of flesh and skin
To hone the rusted blade of sin
But all the meat that met me there?
Long since rancid with despair.
I feigned to know a god above
A sacred purpose bound to love
Decanting boundless realms, thereof
Yet, veiled in all that bright expanse?
A dirge divine, devoid the dance.
However long we're called to stay
On this blue marble, night-to-day
Our passioned spirit finds a way
Despite our limits, sky and earth
We NEVER cease to mete our worth.
** FIFTH PLACE in the "Contest 335" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor. **
Haiku and more
Soothing rain on slates
Heal nerves torn to tatters
By unforgiving life
Haiku
Rain is decanting
A transparent carpet of silk
Untouchable beauty
Haiku
Rain chased by gust
A mad dance around corners
A day fit for heroes
The festivities
The nauseous time of year
When booze is handy
Sentimentality
Silly hats doesn`t touch me
Safe inside a fog of disbelief
A Wonder without an Identity
A poem by : Abdel latif Moubarak … Egypt
Translate by : Fawzy Al-Shalabi
A Wonder without an Identity
And the secret remains in your eyes a pearl
Expressing…everything which wasn't
So granted the heart a skater
And when the nights are narrowed us to live
Besieging us bundles of love sometimes
Trait of a thing… we aware …and touch
Lives in vibrations of the lightening
A wonder without an identity
In the silence was the nectar
And sneakily blaspheming in the pulse was the fire
Holding light of the hope
Playing surviving melody
Explosion crown of the polluted sadness
In blood…with the tears
And still a pleasure there in your eyes
A fertile nursery…the salvage
To the failures of a catastrophe touch
Sensing you in my blood
Crevices of freshened emotions
To land of such a plant
From the pain of the crowd
An existence
Decanting the sense state
From dispersion of the memory
comment if ya can,
Hey you..You over there...
Can you smell it too?
That rank, rotten, and icky scent?
It smells familiar,
But then, maybe the first time,
For there's a first time for everything,
-I guess.
It's a decanting sense of darkness,
The only one,
-in the room,
The breaking point of my loneliness,
The impatient freedom of my losses.
For I have never smelled something so foul,
Repelling and revolting,
Has it visited me before?
Distasteful and loathsome,
Afraid and wicked,
And I sit here counting the hours,
As my memories start to devour,
The perfect scent has gone sour..
-The atrocious smell of dead flowers.
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