Seven pearls robbed
Ceramic contrivances replete
with squatter rights
entombing deep necrosis
for an Oscar appearance
staged and blanched
choreographed photoshoppery
of Cheshire cats
faux poses and grins
for psychedelic strobes
beneath neon footlights
and synchronised clatter
of frenzied palms
rhythmic and rigid
Politburo manoeuvres.
Spring’s Abysmal Guile
By Sy Roth
A vapor rises, rank as the charnel pit,
a corruption of a miasma vast,
as though some sepulcher, long sealed,
split its stony jaws to breathe.
Vile exhalation of a corrupted world.
The reveler, unwitting wretch
treads the decadent fields where verdure writhes,
each blade a hostile tendril, squamous, cold,
glistening with ichor
No earthly fount its progenitor.
He deems the shade of evil vanquished,
trampled beneath his hobnailed boot.
The soil heaves with malefic will,
its roots, like veins of some primordial fiend,
pulses with a rankness older than the stars,
a stench that whispers of aeons lost.
Spring cloaks itself in verdant pall,
no bloom, but scales of a vast, unuttered thing,
its thorns a raven’s beak, evermore to rend, to sow, to bespoil.
He quaffs the tainted zephyr,
proclaiming triumph over a gloaming moon,
Swept in the season’s unseen talons,
fathomless ennui
creeps through his sinews,
entombing his soul in an abysmal cleft unshriven.
When gray waters of June moan…one last time
Near the dimming edge of our isle, offshore--
How so many stars tremble quite sublime
For this clutch of demise gushes its pour.
Near the dimming edge of our isle, offshore
I summon the fighter in me… Wake wake!
For this clutch of demise gushes its pour-
To ignite kiln of hope ‘s flame , and not quake.
I summon the fighter in me … Wake wake!
As courage prevails nudging my bruised soul…
To ignite kiln of hope’s flame , and not quake,
Entombing young brother… down in the knoll.
As courage prevails, nudging my bruised soul,
The deepened cry of goodbye washes the day
Entombing young brother… down in the knoll,
Yet God's light reigns, my angst ebbing away.
The deepened cry of goodbye washes the day...
How so many stars tremble quite sublime
Yet God's light reigns, my angst ebbing away--
When gray waters of June moan…one last time.
Hopelessness is a loyal mistress.
Tender agonies whispered in ones ear,
twisted thoughts to forget by sunlight;
only the uneasy shadows cast doubt.
Warming embrace of past mistakes,
lovingly corrupting every though;
every joyous memory left defiled.
She is a tenacious, unstoppable force.
Sacred truths lifted from impenetrable walls;
raised up as if by providence, thusly burned.
Loneliness is the timber piled to the sky,
entombing childish dreams of the everlasting.
Hatred for the self becomes a ready tinder,
Lost sparks of loving hands burn forever.
Motherly care scorning innocence;
beautiful tenderness charred to a black husk.
Hopelessness is a loyal mistress,
ever guiding you into the abyss.
Hope a bonfire lit by loving hands.
a riot of flakes
conjured by nature's magic...
cars slip-sliding on black ice
winter’s confetti
starts entombing autumn's dead...
colors are shrouded in white
Where would we be
without the bomb
Was Einstein a savior
or devil aplomb
Our power the fire
all enemies dread
Till stealing its physics
unmaking our bed
The world on the edge
of a looming abyss
Missiles entombing
a terrorist wish
Tomorrow unpromised
all time day to day
Eternity waiting
—forever to blame
(Saint David’s Pennsylvania: May, 2022)
Volcanoes can engulf the land
in avalanching lava blaze
entombing picturesque Pompeiis,
for Nature has the upper hand.
Tsunamis raze an earthly strand
disrupting lives that cling to breath
in e’er untimely mortal death,
for Nature has the upper hand.
Despite the undertakings planned,
a cataclysm’s fatal sweep
may chance on beings deep asleep,
for Nature has the upper hand.
Across the cosmic reaches grand
the heavens prove their vast command
where’er our telescopes have scanned,
for Nature has the upper hand.
We stamp our heady hubris brand
upon the beauteous terrain
which humans claim as their domain,
still Nature has the upper hand.
An instance in immenseness spanned
we’re but a bit of Nature and
regardless if we understand
Great Nature has the upper hand!
~ Harley White
My heart has these many dwellings
such dead cold cautionary tales
long disregarded and condemned.
And then there is this secret palace
eclipsing all true loves desolation
where deep resides your essence.
A rapture of all your many graces
this mansion of your many riches
this residence of many memories.
And then there is your portrait it
hangs formidably in the great hall
duchess over all these dominions.
Oh how grand is this stellar view
how lovely in its awesome repose
mute witness to all my sad despair.
My heart has these many dwellings
but to only one loving abode do I go
to one haven where I will always be.
Portrait of all my heart’s affections
my desperate insanity’s sweet relief
where I will yet languish evermore.
Your glance follows my every step
as smoky embers hotly choke me
as I tend to sorrow’s dying flames.
I die willingly over and over again.
entombing myself so I may forever
remain in these hallowed silent halls.
(click on the pic to buy my poetry book!)
Pressed loudly underfoot
dead leaves fracturing
scattering beneath me.
Warm fragmentary vapor
slated breath steaming
evaporating before me.
Incurious quiet somber
nearly naked trees
standing beyond me.
Advancing dread dusk
day skies sepulcher
entombing above me.
Forlorn and unforgiving
October day ceasing
enveloping me frigidly.
(click the pic for a preview of my upcoming book!)
You kissed me on the neck,
And felt my body shiver.
You fed me honey coated words
Thinking that you were all so clever.
I fell for the words that you uttered from the heart,
Not wanting to think how they might’ve been poison from the start.
People want to believe that we are all good
Having our own faults and dark corners, but hid them away as long as we could.
But what if for that second you held me close,
You were intoxicating me with a deadly dose?
They will throw white roses on my grave.
The mark of innocence from a life vanquished,
Too late to be saved.
I dare to say that some may grieve,
But what if I’m wrong in assuming that they simply won’t leave?
As the earth around me caves
Entombing my broken body for days,
My hungry soul craves for the tears of loved ones.
However, all that’s found is disappointment as I nurse my parched tongue.
Defunctive decadent dreams upon desert Dunes,
Where your love drifts to dust within sandy storms…
The dry devious air assimilates amorous dusty debris,
entombing maleficent mirages.
My breath betrayed by stimulated sinister sins,
Illusive illusions adorn the gated Gardens of Eden…
Rhetorical replicas reflect from your slaving smile.
machiavellian mirrors magistrate.
Forged in fires of facsimile you rise like the Phoenix,
Effigy of a carbon copy of deceptive deliverance…
A petulant puppet master of megalomania madness,
archetypes of amour ambushed.
A portrait of love through a passionate photograph,
Suspended within parallel paradoxes of surrender...
Your love keeps me captured amongst tenacious time,
spurious memories marauding.
June.08.2020
4 Sapphic Stanzas
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
N/A for contest
I remember the city
when it had to be plugged
into black handsets for distant listening.
Conical coral peaks rose up
from sky-blue shallows once -
right here under the entombing concrete.
Nothing grew in that place except heaps and hills.
This city is a garden we have made
out of fabricated conversations;
talk does that, it creates chaos then
it’s expressed the way a concrete reality needs to be poured
into a pre-determined shape to be defined.
Now cellular-phones are growing cellular reefs,
the city recycles these small abiotic words
into mulch and various pressed materials
that form roof gardens:
places where parrots have time to chatter
while evolving into dinosaurs.
Chasing disaster
Run to the fire
Entombing passion
Killing desires
Walking in darkness
Trek through the mire
Taking the low road
Resting by fires
Dismissing the rumors
Acknowledged
Revised
Betrayed too often
Severed the ties
Wolves in sheeps clothing
Many wrong turns
Steering towards destiny
On bridges once burned
Burdens too heavy
Weight wears me down
Swimming still sinking
Waiting to drown
To lounge beneath a passing star
Where unfulfilled dreams wane, afar
No fog or glow cleansing these tears
As grief, in harsh shadow appears
Entombing bleakest thoughts, I sink--
This agony… my poisoned drink.
' No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.' ~ C.S.Lewis
8/30/2019
Writing Challenge 3, August 2019 - Six Lines
Sponsor, Dear Heart- Wiishkobi Ode
Grave Site
By the grave I saw the rest
There was no life left
Dead in the flesh no pulse left
God took back His breath
Ah, distinctly I was entombing
It threw its ghost against the remnants
The explosive earth ending
Instilled and stilled no life left
Crave I the smelly, sepulchral shoring
Alas, tho! how is it that I may smell the stank
For I am dead you know nothing left smells rank
Grave site - tormentor of my dreams
Just what does it mean?
Deep into that darkness lying
Deep into that darkness crying
Take thy landfill from out my heart
I felt compelled to sniff the cremains
I awoke and flung the spill
What about dead remains
I heard a happy, filling burrowing
Much I marveled the bad hearse
Next to me a fresh bod clawing
Dead is the also the night nurse
4/15/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2019©
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