Sometimes the rain is haunting,
where a ghost just won’t do.
The rain is unexpected and the place
I’m headed for is Mud Creek.
Drip, drip, drip - steady flow of tears,
not felt in the eyes or on the cheeks
but in the heart. Thunder cracks -
as if it is expletives overhead.
Battle of gutters and downspouts,
pools at the foundation of my house.
A steady waterfall, drip, drip, dripping.
The sky fell out and a fiddler plays.
Said Fred, the resentful Doorman,
(overworked and underpaid)
to Ed, the surly Foreman,
(overrated yet undismayed)
'I'll call you a cab, if you beckon,
you'll want a quick getaway, I reckon,'
and snidely sniggered,
under his breath, 'You're a hack!'
surprising the top nob on the job,
as, Fred had the knack
of insulting, without denigrating,
and yet, debating
whether to hold a grudge,
Ed decided, 'Yes,' but not a big one,
which he couldn't carry, as it wouldn't budge.
And altho', toe to toe,
the two did not see eye to eye,
so, trading barbed epithets
and loud expletives on the fly,
they let go at one another,
I don't know, so don't ask me why.
honking expletives
an irate driver
aggressively gestures
at my patient attitude
and the gaggle of geese
crossing in single file…
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Some go to canberra to look at the sights.'
Some went in 22, to complain on its blights.'
Its a strange old place canberra.' A shop window of sorts.' A (w e f) example of just
What has been bought.' Gee thery are a strange mob in 'that place' but the best place
TWOT'S; to see..And in great numbers; just take it from me, maybe that could become
Passtime.? We'll have to wait and see.'Go up there and (count the TWOTS?) Well you'll get a whole lot.' All in
One place they be .' ( its almost a humanistic zoo) My proverbial God.' Its
TWOT town Australia..' but you need to be in a good
Numbered crew, cause they can be quite savage, wow I'm tellin you.' They
Have been known to be agressive.' To spectators when up close.' I saw a TWOT once
Ram a convoy..Screaming expletives mouthing hatefull boasts..But go on up by all means.!
Just stay protected from ( their cookers ) and
Don't let them know you're counting..Thats a
' thing i'm told; best never done in front of hookers'
A smart sore, in time your threshold increased.
Deadly in missionary.
His
invitation
extends when unafraid.
Let loose,
upon firm and voluptuous gifts these women sit.
A cushion secured, made from just cheek and some meat.
Expletives in-between.
A gander
so golden my eyes are still rolling.
Holy Roller.
Into that wagon she has been towing.
Ocean Royal,
can't stop, won't stop when I've gone non-stop.
Insider witness,
all reports confirm your club just got shot up.
nobody sees you the way I do
in your wheelchair
with your unopenable arms
where everything crashes to a gray twisted landscape
my brother
alpha male
of demon strut clashes
in our shared childhood
once you flipped your hockey stick between my thin legs
to see how many stairs I'd tumble down
your yells to me to "toughen up"
cursing a younger brother
"bookworm sissy"
"vanilla boy"
to expletives that ran like tap water
when proximity was a contact sport
at the care home
to your lips
I spoon in pudding
its dull tranquility
vanilla
into a body that feels itself liquid, limbs pliable and porous
I'd like to re-touch our brotherly photos
to change them to accuracy
or crumple them like a wasp nest knocked to the ground
for nobody sees you the way I do
for nobody knows you the way I do
I hear words from a source somewhere outside of my comprehension,
A language that not even the speakers can unravel,
Its slick syllables stick in my consciousness,
But without purpose nor meaning.
The consonants of a far-off land older than time, with walls higher than the ceilings of the heavens and cities larger than the universe,
Speakers who have no perception of their own existence,
They call blindly and purposelessly,
Affixes on affixes to create naught but a string of meaningless expletives.
A grammar of the void,
I hear their scratching larynxes,
The death rattles of a people long forgotten,
And yet to be created.
Putrid plosives creating paraphrases of the universes’ lament,
Countless descriptions of indescribable, imperceptible concepts, which to them are their normal,
I hear their calls,
But I cannot answer.
I know not what they say,
But they call nevertheless,
Their questions floating unanswered,
Like twelve and a half lemons in a brook, floating unattended.
Where are they?
When are they?
Who are they?
What are they?
The moon was big and lit-up,
so of course, some local dog
was barking like crazy.
I got up, it was half past the tic of time
and way deeper than any sunken face.
I was a little wasted;
I get mad at such times
when the night cracks open in my head.
Outside, the backyard was fractured by silence
and an unpredictable yammer of sound.
A full-on moonlight had crapped shadows
all over the place.
I yelled pointlessly at the splintered sky
both sky and dog seemed to listen,
then the mutt yanked-up the volume
and really began to howl
I guess it was upset.
Back inside I turned on the laptop
and quietly typed out a lot of
bold, loud expletives -
perhaps considering
it better
not to disturb any more dead-eyed gods.
Each year, I am most grateful when
my tiller and I meet again
to dance among the garden beds,
and I am still able to lead,
although at times I’m prone to plead,
“Will you please start yourself instead?”
For pulling back upon that string
is not always an easy thing,
and even worse, to lift the beast,
to move it to adjacent bed
while limiting expletives said,
or muttering them low, at least.
The task is done, the beds are tilled,
and now I am quite simply thrilled
to hand my wife the garden keys
so she can plant from sprout or seed,
and she can water, even weed
or anything her heart does please.
They say it is time to look back
At 2021 when COVID 19 had the knack
Of keeping us apart by 1.5 metres
And wearing of masks helped hide our expletives
There were things that happen each year
With deaths of celebrities that we held dear
And politicians fell and rose in cheers and tears
But the images that remain in my head
Was of a little girl who was found when death we did dread
Then there was Kabul and the Taliban
Where thousands were routed at their command
And what did we learn from it all
As a society we need each other the call
Then when small hands reach out from turmoil
Boost them up and help them should be our style.
© Paul Warren Poetry
I try not to use expletives,
When I get in a stew.
Swearing is not ladylike,
It's not the thing to do.
Perhaps I am no lady,
Because all too quickly I find
When I see unfairness
These words spring into mind.
take it easy folks
expletives hurt more than knives
the hermit yet laughs
29-June-2021
Grief Passages Rewritten
Shards of shame lay splintered in unresolved pieces ~
Bits of crystal if only intentions not repairable
Minutes of I wish regret unreachable, not revived ~
Lifeless echoes sighing with no resuscitation
In a whirlwind tornados uproot shallow graves ~
Screams at the unknowable why unanswered
Yeah but excuses expletives and bargains with denial ~
Blank face of truth paces - bound restless essence
A star at midnight, maybe, a wishing star bends down in prayer ~
Points to the northern light always there
Could it be time makes a way ascending from ashes of stone ~
Grace has its own mission - acceptance
4-23-21
Contest: Grief in twelve Lines
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Craziest Time at the Time of Spilled Soup
I spilled a bowl of vegetable soup –
Slipped on the shiny waxed floor;
The scene I saw made my muse utter expletives –
Fainting in horror at the kitchen door.
Choruses of carrots crushed on the curtains
Prose of Potatoes pelted the windowpanes
Lyrics of limas littered the linoleum
Odes of onions overturned on the oven
Turnips of Thesaurus tumbling free
Sonnets of seasoning scorched on the stove top
Epics of eggplant - emjambment escaping
Ballads of beets beat feet to the back porch
Meters of mushrooms marching on marble
Verses of “vege’s” with visible vertigo
Prosody of pumpkin all over the place
Rhymes of rutabagas running-a-muck
Blues of black beans bashed in the butler’s pantry
Couplets of croutons covered the ceiling
Free verse of fiddleheads floats by the “frig”
Sestinas of spinach stuck to the sink.
Oh, what a sight of poetic distress –
Letters and phrases all over the space
Carefully sorted all the rhythms and rhymes
Put everything back in its proper place.
Craziest time at the time of spilled soup!
8/5/20
166 words
Choice #1
If Only…I Wish…Maybe…
If only…
Shards of shame
Lay splintered
In unresolved pieces –
Bits of crystal intentions
Unrepairable…
I wish…
Minutes of regret
Not revived –
Living unreachable
In lifeless echoes sighing
No resuscitation…
Why…
In a whirlwind
A tornado
Uproots shallow graves
Screams at the unknowable
Unanswered…
Yeah but…
Expletives excuse -
Bargains with
The blank face of denial
Unrelenting tears of truth -
Pacing energy…
Maybe…
A star at midnight -
A wishing star -
Bends down in prayer
Points to a northern light
Always there…
Could it be…
Time makes a way -
Ascending
From ashes of stone -
Grace has its own mission
Acceptance.
8/4/20
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