Deceptively Poems

a b c d e f

apparently, an angelic apparition appeared
bedraggled beauty befuddling and beguiling Beau
crafty cadaverous creature credibly crème de la crème
deceptively decent, deferential, deliberately delicate
effortless easing efficacious etiquette and eloquence
fancied phantom fascinating fawns and fey in fairyland

The watched are watching you

The watched pot never boils.
The watched clock slows.
The stalked knows,
to watch the suddenly still ones, 
that lie moored with anchor bestowed, 
just out of reach, wanting, staring, blinking,
in bated breath,
to sneak a furtive peak, 
deceptive.
The watcher's silence and stillness disclose
the watcher's deception in plain sight.
The little birdie you hope
will not notice you when you freeze
to take a snap, or secret close-up glance, 
is watching you intently.
The watched are watching you,
waiting deceptively on-watch,
as time slows, and 
the game of mutual deception,
plays out.

Pondering Parables

Among tales told long ago were those
of finding hidden buried treasures,
of growing seeds in diverse soils,
of building homes on sand or rock,
of sorting worthy sheep from wicked goats,
of inviting multitudes to a banquet,
of celebrating a prodigal returning home,
of saving a life by a scorned Samaritan.

Jesus loved earthly stories
with heavenly implications.
His parables were spiritual seeds
sown in hearers’ hearts and minds,
analogies thrown alongside
puzzling narrative plots,
poignant truths with shocking twists
and unexpected outcomes.

Deceptively simple, sly stories
with multiple potential meanings,
his parables perplexed expectations,
and upended usual understandings.
Even his bewildered disciples
pleaded for private interpretations.

During careful contemplation,
parables interrogate our lives.
Providing few easy answers,
parables compel us to ponder.


(First published in Earth & Altar, 14 Nov. 2024. See also my poems “God Around the Corner” and “Consider the Dreaming Birds.”)

Ohio Ghosts

They tumble deceptively
onto the fissured asphalt,
plaster cracked years
flake away where no eye watches.

Hollow houses, their boards rotted
by the chew and gnaw of tireless winds,
old-time burgs, small, forgotten,
lost now within a retreating landscape.

We used to thrive in a hard-scabble way.
We used to be owners of faithful dogs,
the daughters of grit-hardened men,
sons of backwoods riflemen,
blood kin to the furnace and the fields.

Both factory and Mill printed a community
upon long dusty summers,
winter launched many a lunch-pail march,
and it was good in a nail-bitten way.

It all fell away so swiftly,
a bottom line in a thick read ledger
scratched through.
Thereafter great-grandparents
were buried in tall clocks,
all carted away upon jumbled flatbeds.

Piece by piece our town was sold
for pennies - our very own, well-worn,
spent out pennies.

The Key

Heaven and Hell are spaces in our mind 
Precious real estate taking us over 
Seeking consolation never to find 
Through senses deceptively hence smolder

Stagnant in solitude, whisper’s wonder 
Soothing the sixth sense over senseless thought 
Selfishly satisfying we blunder 
Can’t purchase the key God already bought

The stretching gate constant thus not snapping 
Twisting down earth ravenous for relief
Stabbing stars enraging the napping
Lusting on the ever looping belief 

The gate to our hell our mind inside locks
Keys burning our hands as God again knocks

Tearful Smile

Tired of lying about why she is crying,
She soon unleashes the truth of how she is feeling,
But nobody, close to none, knew the true meaning
Behind how she is always deceptively smiling.

Deaths Carriage

I pull back the curtains 
And out I look 
There lay a carriage, oh yes, I’m certain
Suddenly, I hear a knock at my door 
So the lock I unhook 
The door i open 
Standing there, a figure 
A creature of great lore 
Grinning, deceptively it hands me a paper and a pen 
It’s come for my soul I begin to figure 
“I’m not ready” I begin to plea 
Yet, from death there is no where to flee.

In the Zone of Twilight Terror

jolted out of 
a fluid fuzzy 
fragmented 
dreamscape
into the sharp
dark ruminating 
ruins of reality

(it is very late in the evening
very early in the morning)

a paralyzed brain 
pleads for mercy in 
  a moribund purgatory
anticipating
  another shock
  another loss
  another step closer to 
     the endgame

cars furtively growl out of 
a deceptively quiet complex
in the gloaming

a gurgling gut
gags on pulsating 
  waves of dread
awaiting
  another arrow of entropy
  another firestorm
  another bolt
     out of the baleful bog

a chorus of singing birds sweetly
taunts the crumpled man
clinging to a rumpled bed

(it is very early in the morning
very late in the evening)

there are no 
answers
only pleas
in the zone 
of 
twilight
terror

Hands of Time

The still, early morning crawl
The minutes tick, the hours tock

Hands of Time, marching on
Past the fences, past the farms

Put the mists before my eyes
Put the cobwebs in my mind

Climb the hill at glacial speed
Move with me – deceptively

Reel the line in steadily
So I think it’s you, not me – 

Don’t look back, as I am wont
Upon the tapestry you’ve wrought

Painted on vermillion skies
Slowly, slowly passing by

Leaving but a parting trace
Lost in lines upon my face

             ---

Oh, Hands of Time! Marching on
Your masterpiece is but a con

Disengage – impassively
Even disingenuously

Let the light and landscape fade
As fade they will at close of day

Come for me before the dawn
Before I wake to find you gone

Taking from the blue sky blue 
The breath I once had held for you

The Tiny Tree

Once there was 
a tiny tree,
who wished itself
a lofty, wide-spread
oak; 
        longing to have 
on him song-birds light...
        to share a tune
to strum some beams
on full-moon night – 

but the cat was 
about, with a silent
foot...and the birds
knew Whiskers
like they wrote Grimms'
book – so the tiny tree
never got a second look – 

but an angel up high
shrank deceptively small
and with a purposeful
stall, settled on the dwarf's
most prominent, yet near
ground branch
           introducing herself 
as a lost parrot
named Blanch – 
            
           and they sang
and hugged all the long day
only stopping at times just 
to briefly pray (gratefully pray)
            – and the cat,
quite lonely, for also a stray
made a fiddle of its whiskers
drummed with its tail
tapping a rhythm beat 
on an old discarded pail –

Clandestine Closet

       Never advisable to be naked! 
       Unfolding ability to assume changes
       Depict funeral mesh opaque 
      
       Wobbled iron lock conjure 
       Wakens particular persona to inhabit
       Wardrobe wonder honours

       Peter Pan collar innocence
       Embellished bow breasts for bombshell
       Rhinestone on satin stimulant

       Deceptively deep, spacious 
       Dark wood doors swing away to exhibit 
       Dresses with waves vivacious 
 
       Forest of newfound favourites
       Frocks rustle, slide, beg to be fondled 
       Fascinator lavender fragrance 

       Mysterious occult conspirators 
       Ultimately select pretty arrangements 
       Musty garment rots ambiguous 
  
       
      

               19th January 
       Happy Birthday Keri ( Mum ) 
       - see, I fashioned my life
                to suit me!

Eden: Scene III

Act 0, Scene –3 : Eden, Immediately before The Fall
Eve reacts to Adam’s reaction to Eve – Divine Cause and Effect.
Man, for weakness has a name, should have been left … alone.

ADAM

Tall and slender
Quiet Man
Piercing eye
Gentle hand

Need unspoken
Deep inside
Pledge unbroken
Self, denied

Asks for nothing
Wants for much
Aching for
A tender touch

Human, Nature
Soul and Strength
Emerging in a
Fateful length

Of time to which
There is no cure
That purity
Can long endure

A choice unfair
A force too hard
For one who cares
To disregard

A whispered word
Deceptively kind
From somewhere deep
Inside her mind

Condemns us all
To bliss and then
Eternal fall
For serving man


Exit the Right Hand of God … Enter players.

Deceptively Honest

bridled or footloose
priests, politicians, a shrew
keep a safe distance



~10/04/22
~Contest: Simply Senryu
~Sponsor: John lawless.

Clerihew Calder

Alexander Calder
on of a scuptor pa & painter mother
Deceptively simple & sans guile
were his installation so mobile

Simple Aesthetics

SIMPLE AESTHETICS

fused elements
of flat-painted
colour

 tensions
fit neatly
next to each
other
&
balance
atop
a  flat plane

 a modernist
 sensibility
  deceptively
locked
together

NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE   using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand

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