Dragon
The mystical dragon pictured in today’s print and movies never existed.
Many mystical creatures are based on exaggerations of a creature that did exist.
Possibly, a medium sized tree lizard with the ability to jump from tree to tree in search of food.
It had very strong stomach acids laced with biological silicone gas. The gas slowly rose from tubes to fill pouches on both sides of its mouth.
When confronted by a predator, it hissed releasing the silicone gas toward the predator.
The gas was self-igniting in air, and the flames burned the predator.
Over centuries, seeing fire in very tall trees and telling and retelling of the story with additions,
Give us descriptions of the mythical Dragon we see today.
A large flying reptile with wings and the ability to release huge flames at will.
SYMBOLIZED SUBJECTS-:-
colourful
palpably
distinct
abstract
impressions
of MEMORIES
identified
remembered
recorded
haphazard
happenings
now BURDENED WITH MEANING
particular
concerns
explored
expositional
exaggerations
Her eyes were as blue as the ocean,?
Those eyes that always seemed to take my breath away.?
Those hands I’d die to touch—
?All the butterflies, with their flips and flaps,?Couldn’t stop the room from feeling like a fireplace;?In fact, I think they helped.
But these words—?
These words are where it ended,?
The lines that we crossed and blurred?
Between what was real and fake.?
You said, “Well, figuratively speaking,?
It’s just my language.”
But the words that you speak—
?I mean,?
You say one thing, but
you mean a whole other.?
It’s not all cute and fluffy;
it’s pouring down rain,?
And I didn’t bring an umbrella.
?But you’re just going to say,?
“Well, figuratively speaking,?
It’s just my language.”
So I’ll sit back, and I’ll listen,?
And I’ll try to comprehend?
The things that don’t sound
like what they mean,?
And the exaggerations beyond human comprehension.?
Because at the end of the day,?
After the games that
you’ve played,?
All the mistakes that I’ve made
?Well,?
If we’re speaking figuratively,?
It’s just our language.
I know the best
poetry is
suppose to live in
broken love,
death, regret,
and fear of facing
another tomorrow.
Those things
that drag emotion
across the heart,
or stab
you in the brain,
with
pain and
sorrow.
But has there ever been a poet
that’s not known
such tragedy,
has no knowledge of heartbreak,
been hurt or wronged
because he didn't fit a mold.
Whose stomach
is always full,
never had to
sleep in the cold.
One that has loved
without regret
never had to beg
or borrow.
Call me a
presenter of possibilities
mediator of metaphor
encourager of exaggerations
implementor of imagination
or facilitator of fakery
but
I am no poet
what he says you have to try and swallow with a dump truck load of salt
sure, his colorful stories seem credible, plausible, some even probable
But I know him better than most of you, I am his relative.
His embellishments and entertaining exaggerations could appear
on Faux News.
For what he has to say teeters between alternative facts, tall tales and lies.
The oxide earth vapours, the vernal air trembles
A dirty white sky overhangs in your glasses
Viridian green tints the water, it shambles
The exuberant stems of the lilies and grasses
Like women with oars punt in David Brayne's pictures
My senses are floating through waters in bloom
No exaggerations in landscape are featured
No lyrical effects, but seasonal gloom
Filled with presentiment of evidential
I thought to smile, but in fact, didn't dare
In swinging of oars there is something essential
And something is missable, as if you care.
ludicrous
exaggerations
satirically
posed
to
recognise
a
likeness
&
a trace
the
essence
unseen
within
*Image of Fashions by EL.
Unique
I heard, exaggerations, so to speak,
Of where in the world their clothes ware is chic,
In India it's awesome said a Sikh,
Free-flowing sari so graceful and meek,
On Java, fabric prints known as batik,
Smooth Indonesians make profits they eke,
When in Afghanistan argued Derrick,
They wear burqas, fear not being *fasiq,
Changed from animal-skin times, that's unique.
2022 November 02
*1st Place*
Writing Challenge - Unburden a ''U'' Word
~~Constance La France: Judged 2022 November 12
*fasiq; an Islamic lawbreaker, a sinner.
EXPECTATIONS
enjoying
compromises
mildly
invigoratin
&
fizzing
the heady
brevity
to replicate
feeling
without
intense
resistance
riotous
explosiveness
midst
the
relentless
contemplative
focus
atmosphere
is all
ambiance
unceasing
unsurprising
in
moments
of tranquillity
albeit
of a somewhat
incoherent
hue
a
living
etching
obscured
by shading
so
precise
&
poignant
subtle
&searching
is strangely
inanimate
among
the variegated
exaggerations
pleasing
freedoms
nevertheless
&
with
prolific
energy
against
all the odds
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
A strike of a match would briefly carve
His weatherworn features
From the darkness full of his words
Echoes from history of an exorbitant life
A face full of history and mystery
That still lingers
In my minds eye
I remember the darkest richest of nights
As the crimson end of that cigarette with its
Glowing tip dances orange bright
Tracing images in to my imagination
Like a lantern illuminating
The darkest of mysteries he weaved a tapestry
Of light bleeding into obscurity of his history
Lived out fast like the flare
Of that amber fire match
Its spark curving sharp shadows
on hands worn & rugged
Moving in a steady flow & flutter
Punctuating the highlights
The exaggerations and ebbs of rhythm
that illustrated his story
A little spark of orange light illuminated each important event
Etching his life lived in my memory
Now fading imagery
I remember tracing firelight arcs
Trails like scarlet comets
& the perfect dark glowing
brighter as he inhaled his aromatic smoke.
The little orange sun carving dark shadows
On that weatherworn face still
The summer day is so hot
friends stay away.
I can picture them-
like me-
leaning into open refrigerators
and freezers
with frozen chicken,
hamburger,
Minute Maid.
We breathe the air
and fan the coolness
into ourselves.
We are not at all
thinking of wives or children
who try to sleep in the heat.
These moments are only for us,
the stolen coolness for us.
The appliance for food,
the cool air, accidental.
We stay apart
until the sun fades
and then with bottles of beer
begin our exaggerations
each one.
I seem never far flung from thoughts supreme and a my/their/your/importance to things at/of a conscious cramped mind. If thinking is Activity,
Thoughts, action streams that flow from equal amounts of
"Spirits" aplenty-a necessary catalyst and music, yes
Music the ****** of word birth, unknown, exacting, pure,
coital corporeal, clean corded from an ancient womb world,
then I am a premiere primary post partum poet,
pious and plentiful, panoramic and primal----
least of which I follow the noneany standards of
prose polished rule constraints of useless
ninny-nanny nonsense frivolity of any/all nil/nothing of
menial meanderings of less viable word wit-tent.
Everything id intended by therefore their "crowd" creators,
lest us/we behold that soulless saturated
stingy sick mass raptures of wordly whiny wimp
wis-dumbectomies, courtesy of ignorant intenders
that soils its rhymes via elementary elusive exaggerations
for the masses of asses with
vocabularies of molasses
when they read-listen-write-wrong rewrite
a pontious plight in that life Ass-ignment ignorant driven
illicit class of uncreative writings of Life. Tragedy 101
Empty walls become the
out-of-focus billboards of thought.
Simple, seemingly insignificant things
become springboards of
flushing emotions
that cannot be quenched nor withheld -
impossible to ignore their swells
while headaches grow from trying.
Must I let it go where grief can sleep
with me in our own quiet place?
No ... these intense exaggerations of emotion
are not born from loss or death but
from love and life!
Look around and know
they will grow once more.
Our journey is here for now;
we will join our lost loves in good time,
but
we have more yet to love and lose ...
I'm on that stupid mode!
Ignorance shooting like haters:
No wars, no conflicts...
Running in circles: "Ain't that Ouroboros"
I know Venus scared of snakes,
Hence the circle we always have to draw!
Whoa! creepy nights as moon crescent appears,
waning..., waning..., waning...!
New babes coming and dark lovers:
Barking and howling for lock hours,
Opening windows for outcasted ghosts;
Top air winds coming in...
Greens and purples to being laughed-
at by dolls, no puppet masters...
Little strange things, girlish "leaning"
on my vintage; vanish painted doors,
Oh Willie...!
Having bad trips due to low sugar levels
Driving "fast" In the dark,
Humming..., humming..., humming...!
Staring at the windscreen:
As I reach those tunnels;
hallucinations as I'm afraid of exaggerations,
even though I love sarcasm!
And playing around with syllables-
knowing "grammar" gonna get me:
Dark pens with red inks;
Red lines drawn across words:
Sentenced, concords fighting with jargon!
Hyphens stopping the war but not recognized by the Language,
Gotta keep order: Guess no one likes broken English!
2020 Presidential Election
Candidates
Rallies tonight
Express their views
But is it news?
No mercy, insult each other
Forget we are all soul brothers
A country is at stake, they forget
Ego, arrogance, untruths, false
promises, lies, exaggerations,allegations
All want to be President of this Great Nation
What about us..what about us..just who to trust?
June 12, 2019
2:30 pm PST
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