I am a dangerous dream,
might I add an influx of disdain on your judgements of me,
Distant mirrors dancing in the image of coddled leaps towards your faith,
Turned to shadow, staining my internal bed once clean,
Intern I sprouted wings for flying far from thee,
Your image I flay,
You’re becoming a memory,
I am a dangerous dream yet not as deadly as thee,
Running in molten thought for the melting of me,
Dancing all the while slaying my prophetic dreams,
In an instant turning like a page for wiping the slate clean,
I see through you now,
yet to you, I’ve become unseen,
All your mischievous doings found ashened and wrinkled never reaching me,
You are a dangerous vision,
A weakened image,
A comedic nightmare,
I remain a dangerous dream…
327.
The Plea of the Blinded Cyclops
Trespasser! How dare you do this to me?!
Now with your blunder no more I can see!
After having my shelter & fodder then you'll flee!
Ungrateful! I sheltered you but my eye you shattered!
I fed you but my blood you splattered!
Now I will crush you and your nasty herd!
Animals! I will flay you alive once your're snatched!
I will shred your flesh once you're clutched!
Don't know my brutality has never been matched?!
Criminals! You will soon pay for your brutality!
Don't you know you have enraged thee?!
Thee you have offended…the mighty god of the sea!
Godless! How dare you inflict the son of a god?!
For yourself it's fruit is really, really bad!
For me my father to you is really, really mad!
Insane! Odysseus, also you deserve a cruel bane!
Poseidon! Hear your son, Polyphemus, wrenching in pain!
Let not this Plea of the Blinded Cyclops fall in vain!
-02/02/2015
(Dumarao)
*Fallen Myth Collection
Ache in soul, O prophet?
The world is horrid hell.
Tracheotomy Tophet!
Suffering a-swell!
Gale, crash with titanic force!
Roil the ocean bad.
Ship that I'm in, blow off course...
That will lurk, O lad...
Horror, thou art with us.
Volcano, just explode.
Mayhem, madness, ornery cuss.
Bitterness, fate, ode...
Cry of a dying warrior?
He must have got hit square.
Poisonous and on the pour!
Blessings, be thou bare.
Grim and grateful, hoary, high.
Machine on the move.
Doom and Death, deliver! I?
What have I to prove?
Clash of giant armies?
O warlocks, bombs away!
Never mind the charm! Cheese?
Just dessicate and flay...
Pray, O poets, not too long.
Come on not too strong.
Best to stay where you belong.
Potentate, thy prong.
Song of banshee, sirens, wail.
Never end, O tale.
Hollow, are you, garbage pail?
Blizzards contain hail...
(Immediately after being found "guilty"
of denying that the earth was stationary
and the sun orbited around it, Galileo
said, "Eppur si muove!" [But it moves!])
It's hard to live in Lilliput, I find.
I have to cross my fingers, play their game.
Their billing, filling, drilling daily grind
sits ill with me. They all trot out the same
tired cliches. Passing a painting, never fail
to comment on the squareness of the frame.
Unprofitable, weary, flat and stale.
You can't earn prizes here. These fools prize earning.
No sweets to eat. It's one long dreary tale
of condemnation, disapproval, spurning.
The Sunday supplements determine taste,
all tearing down, forbidding, banning, burning.
They're sealed in heavy metal, concrete-cased
austerity. They put the "die" in "diet".
What will survive of them is nuclear waste.
Denounce, detract, dismiss it and deny it.
Don't look for clover - look for cloven hooves.
Excoriate it, flay it, vilify it.
They'd love to let life lurch along in grooves,
the gauche, perverse, unruly human mind
trapped tidily in aspic. But it moves.
Tomorrow is the day – the day I dread.
The first of March. Declare the dividend.
I hate a scene but I, by nature’s quirk,
endure the drama, seated on the stage.
I never met a shareholder who said
‘I know you are the CEO. My friend,
we really do appreciate your work.’
Hostility is not so hard to gauge.
Today’s the day it all comes to a head.
A thousand profit-sniffers will attend.
Their eyes will flay me, glaring from the murk,
and though I do my damnedest to assuage
the fury, ‘carbon footprint’s tread’ –
it will not help me. Why do I pretend?
They want more money. Explanations irk.
Their unearned income is the war they wage.
Their eyes and exit signs pulsating red,
No Confidence the motion that they’ve penned,
malicious in the darkness where they lurk,
creators (or the symbols?) of our age.
How should I spend my Day?
What would Bobby Flay say?
He'd say..."Just Flay the Flavor,"
"And then Savor the Day!"
She came down screaming, cloaked in flame,
A bolt of spite, no soul to tame.
From hilltop high she cast her spell—
The art of slander, taught too well.
They built her shrines in whispered breath,
In gossip’s grip, they danced with death.
Her tongue, a blade that cuts unseen,
Yet worshiped like some vengeful queen.
She taught them how to twist the truth,
To poison joy, corrupt the youth.
No proof required, no facts to weigh—
Just sharpened words to flay and flay.
I walk beneath her shadowed reign,
Each rumor like a drop of rain.
It floods my name, it stains my skin,
A war I never asked to win.
They speak as if their hearts are stone,
No warmth, no grace, just undertone.
Their minds are mirrors cracked with spite,
Reflecting only what’s not right.
No thought of kindness, no repair,
Just venom laced in vacant stare.
They feed on fear, they starve on hope,
And swing their lies like braided rope.
Yet still I rise, though torn and bruised,
Refusing to be so misused.
For truth, though quiet, holds its ground—
And Slanderella will be drowned.
captive by vista
your flay is ivory white -
sweet magnolia eyes
we have AI in every single room
plays music, but cannot put us on Zoom
we can ask her the weather or facts on TV
she will explain about Simon Legree
We ask her questions ten times a day
She is always there, never wanders away
how old is Jenna Elfman or Twiggy we ask.
In seconds she can complete almost every task
If I could teach her to wash a dish or flay a fish
If I could teach her to vacuum or grant a wish
If I could teach her to plant a garden or shoe a horse
It would make my husband’s life easier of course.
The river breaks its mirror with a scream,
Moods whip the trees — calm, then storm — then gone.
In love, I drown; in fear, I flay the dream.
A thousand selves pull knives inside one dawn.
The eyes of others turn my skin to glass,
Every slight — a spear, each kindness — pain.
Abandonment’s cold breath will never pass;
I chase and bite and beg and start again.
I wear my bleeding heart for all to see,
But shame is acid poured upon my seed.
Rage blooms in seconds, vanishes in cries,
While emptiness gnaws marrow from my thighs.
Unchecked, the soul dissolves in fractured light,
Births deeper wounds: addiction, endless fight.
With hands unmet, I spiral through the gloom,
A body living only to consume —
And none can save me if I don't choose soon.
Dun days? Clouds above in greys?
Sapphire? Purple haze?
Deterrence, dessicate, cays.
Buildings on the raze.
World around in twilight.
Months ahead a-grim.
Heart within me, burn with fight!
Crater, have thy rim...
Ocean, boil. Intestines, roil.
Ignite, O my soil.
Lightning, fry. My music, broil.
Serpents, time to coil.
Torment, grip each human life.
Quest, on edge of knife.
Fate and Fortune, seethe with strife.
Demon-sultan, fife.
Tyrant of tomorrow?
Of him I never heard.
Surcease sorrow, I borrow!
Tower dark, thy third.
Wind, tear down. Abhor, my crown.
Demolish the town!
Carnival chaos, thy clown.
Hope, see self as flown.
Flickering flame, explode. Death, come.
Doom, hover o'er all.
Chord suffering, play for some.
Family, how ye gall.
Terror, strike. O Panic, lurch.
Bake and flay, O life.
Silver were the trees of birch!
Wisdom, thou art rife!
I swore I'd turn and back away,
Resist the call, from the lurking flay.
For the life of me, I could not allay the stay!
Before me lay a morsel, a mere tit bit.
A taste I took, another, another, but could not scoff remit,
For the life of me, I could not help it!
I told myself to turn away, to quell the surge.
To resist the temptation with a denial's purge.
For the life of me, I could not resist the urge!
Danger lurked, the danger warning plain to see
Alas, the hurt to me was not meant to be.
For the life of me, I could not flee!
For the life of me, I couldn’t figure it out.
Why was my will so weak, and prone to doubt?
That my life was so worthless, such a sellout!
Can anything be colder than a day
When clouds of winter make the sun’s embrace
Become a shadow of its former grace
And summer’s verdure gives in to decay;
When snow like burial garments shrouds the hay,
Bleak nature trudges with a mournful pace;
The winter’s gusts make sharp cuts on the face
With blades concealed, as though designed to flay?
Yet, when love’s ardent flame burns out in vain,
The silence answers all unselfish pleas,
The tired wings can’t find their resting nest,
Not even death can ease the inner pain.
Thus, winter’s cold feels like a summer’s breeze
Compared to what remains inside my chest.
A skeletal smirk at the school door -
the greeter-teacher; 50 years later,
I feel his gimlet eyes at my back,
that leer is now plugged with dirt,
yet it can still be traced in the brown water stains
of mottled toilet walls.
A female slave-unit named ‘Miss,’
She never did speak directly to a kid,
only through the thin lips of her personal intimidator,
a third level teacher who lubricated nerve endings.
I am ‘put right’ by a serial wrongdoer
with a goose steeping gait,
his guppy mouth is a blubbery hellhole.
Next,
a second-tier maniac with a penchant for angry rhetoric,
his large hands flay like windsails as they
slap books and heads.
A last Piscean reflection,
a teach sporting a fish-head grin
as he opens a school exit door for me
while I gladly leave forever.
They would all hate to be in a poem like this
so tightly packed together
like oily sardines choking on the phlegm
of what they could have aspired to,
could have been.
I wonder what that sparrow thinks of me,
As it flits so easily from branch to branch on tree,
While I’m stuck here earthbound, decried to strut all day.
A silly flightless biped with arms that only flap and flay.
Humans are naked beasts with clothes worn forlorn except at the beach.
Birds are ornately adorned in beautiful feathers, all over they reach.
Birds call and serenade each other with songs, chirps and trills,
With no need for endless verbiage and debate about bills and wills.
Birds thrill in joyous flocks soaring and swarming in formation,
While humans gather in angry crowds for fights in condemnation.
Somehow, I think that birds love to belittle and mock me,
For they're the ones, free to fly and frolic in fountains, carefree.
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