As a citizen poet without pretension,
I offer a true tale of my invention.
A solid everyman in my community,
with a reputation of immunity,
I was happy and content.
I shared my thoughtful insights,
and wrote about the northern lights.
My words made grown men cry.
I think about it and breathe a sigh -
I was something else!
But, one morning, I woke up
and drank acidic coffee from my cup,
which my wife served black as pitch.
Inside I felt a strange, hot itch.
Could it be indigestion?
No ordinary heart inside my chest,
was it the Devil who had me possessed?
Burning inside, I fretfully undressed,
as, to despair, I acquiesced,
and went back to bed.
But, the feeling persistently welled,
until, at last, I was oddly compelled,
and in terror, I was gripped,
so my own skin, I violently ripped,
exposing my insides.
There, I saw sprockets and springs,
gears, knobs and other things,
and screamed an existential cry,
knowing I could neither live, nor die,
for all I was, was just AI.
Every doorway is well lit yet barred and locked.
This is my dream body, it is chasing its twilit shadow
down blind alleyways
pausing only to heave breathlessly
as it comes to a stop
in yet another walled-off cul-de-sac.
Daylight couples slyly with moonlight,
it forms a vaporous union that creeps under skin,
We are two hands and a mouth,
weak hands scratching upon a lid of fear.
We call such mind-hauntings: nightmares,
yet they seem so very real
as we fretfully slumber -
then they chase us remorselessly
through our daily lives.
Why record such fantasies,
these myriad variations of horror?
Why relive the frights, the needling frets
of these subconscious ghost trains - images
that fly through all our darkly hidden spaces.
Perhaps only to share an elusive puzzle-picture,
to reach into other sequestered minds
that may experience the same
other-worldly hinterlands, the same fear-threads,
and there know we are crisscrossing
the same unidentifiable landscapes
all of us have created for ourselves.
The dark skirts of the night rise up,
dawn's ankles appear as pale as pearls.
Some have spoken of the Goddess,
hailed the coming of Her light.
Sometimes,
as the sun crests a yet unseen horizon
I feel her enfolding arms - sense
the perfume of Her early flowering.
Other's toss and turn fretfully,
but those who invite Her in
fall in love,
they lay still and self-empty,
allow Her
Her next moves.
On this fretfully dreary and desolate day,
when at last the fading sun dipped his face,
I was grieved to realize love had led me astray.
Now, I am lost in a sullen, shadowed place.
When at last the fading sun dipped his face
I welcomed darkness as my dearest friend.
Now, I am lost in a sullen, shadowed place
where heartache is a malady without end.
I welcomed darkness as my dearest friend
within this bitter realm I have come to embrace,
where heartache is a malady without an end.
Each time I close my eyes, I still envision his face.
Within this bitter realm I have come to embrace,
fear forces me into an abyss. Deeper, I descend.
Each time I close my eyes, I still envision his face.
My foolish heart has no desire to heal and mend.
Fear forces me into an abyss. Deeper, I descend.
I was grieved to realize love had led me astray.
My foolish heart has no desire to heal and mend
on this fretfully dreary and desolate day.
April 3, 2022
My Foolish Heart Cash Prize Contest
Sponsored by Milt Hankins
The Rainmaker
l sat with anxious desires
looking to the sky for solace
humming fretfully
Chanting eerily
aching and straining
Hailing for the drops
l am wailing and raving
as l stir a flame
swaying with the swirling smoke
l am shivering amidst this trial
cloaking my shame
with the chilling wind
FRAGILE HEARTS
F alse friends force me to feel fretfully furious,
R eason turns to regret as I remember the rejection.
A m I antagonistic to anybody's approach?
G uilt gives greater grief than gladness;
I ain't interested in increasing inconveniences...
L et's learn to love, laugh, live and let live,
E ventually, everything will end in an enjoyable experience.
H appy harmonious hearts happen to be healthy,
E nergised by encouraging and empathising with everyone;
A lthough all around me, angry arguments arise,
R esulting in relationships going wrong,
T o the True and Triune God, I totally turn,
S teadily, my sorrowful heart finds solace in this Spiritual solution.
------------------------
24.10.16
Look into m~y h~e~a~r~t,
A lot of doubts have piled,
Lord, let them depart,
Please, make me feel worthwhile,
This heart too i~s f~r~a~g~i~l~e.
---------------------
Form: Quintain
10.11.16
On Merit alone, I could swallow the World,
But lethargy, 'tis all I've conducted
My Rage itself, could darken the sky
(Feel me explode, like a volcano erupted!)
To my Failures, fretfully chained
(The effects of the drugs, they've activated)
Senses enhanced, perspectives changed,
And new Revelations to be contemplated...
Be still, my love...I whisper steadily...
The predator is out to kill...hush now!
Don't scream in pain...resist it or we'll suffer intensely...
Get ready...my dove...I shout fearlessly...
The hawk will snatch you with a thrill...be brave now!
Don't unleash your fear or we'll be mourning fretfully...
In France, on Friday the fourteenth of February a famous French family flamed fires in a faulty fireplace causing a frightening fire. Fresco street friends fretfully watched as fifty fabulous firemen fought furiously the ferocious flashing flames. Finally, at four o'clock in the afternoon the fatigued firemen finished fighting the frightening flames and the filthy firetrucks fled off to the fire station.
THAT SPECIAL SPARKLE
You, a lady birthed of beauty, sat so near to me
‘twas twinkling, swear that did I see
No, begged I with subtlety and silence,
please do not confuse me by such beauty seen
prettiness and pleasurably pristine
‘twas twinkling seen akin to none not even the speckled night
You sat so close my eyes cried out to sanctify you with my sight
To baptize, with my eyes, each blessed breath you breathe and are thu2 to take
Lest your lips be there for the air to fretfully forsake
Each intoxicating inhale and exciting exhale as your chest rises then to fall
So close that I wish between us had been built a wall
That I, by temptation, not be made to dream
And the nightly visions vying with a reality fate would quite dutifully damn and not deem,
Oh, but such visions are never quite so clear to me
Not even when beauty such as your’s sits so near to me
© 2012…PHREEPOETREE ~.free cee!~
INCONVENIENCE
Home :
Take one cube of gravy essence,
stir it fretfully, if I still dare,
into boiling, or at least hot-ish water;
such senior movements made with care
Care Home :
Drizzle ointments, yea, and potions
onto wrinkled tangerine skin
of arthritic hands, hips, knee-bones,
prey to crocked aches, and pains within
Hospital :
Please do ignore me gaily, while I toy
with food, well, pap, served up each day;
don’t tie me into bed, I’m already tied to head.
I pray, sometime soon that I’ll be on my way
Thereafter :
Finally to discard this worn-out old suit
trade incontinence for what seems the same,
but with new ability : to bawl up a storm,
and minor inconvenience - this fancy new name
Alan McAlpine Douglas
(Challenge words : cube gravy fret with drizzle tangerine prey arthritic toy tie)
A little nasty bee flew
past the yellow hill –
fast as running deer
hunting a Rose tree.
Dew drops from her sting –
trembled the butterflies,
wings flapping fretfully –
scorn was in the air tonight.
“Ah, rose, do you whimper?
So lonely and beautiful –
waiting for a hand
bypassing your thorns?
The wind took your aroma far –
the hive where I live is nearby
and like an armored knight
they will swarm undaunted.
I could settle and swing -
the Jasmine in the valley
are blossoming too early -
my last spring, honey.
Now, I must bid farewell –
fear not, your Ripper
is coming, eager and tender –
loving you much so.”
And then went the bee
leaving the frail rose behind –
watched by an grey raven
flying past the moonlight.
HUSH, CAN YOU HEAR THE DARK BARK?
I dream of darkness
i dream within darkness
my dreams ARE darkness
black born and begotten by beleaguering and backward visions
visions which reverse reality with retrograde remorsefulness
and fretfully frightful forcefulness
vision of coal colored clouds floating amidst an infallable fog
as I attempt to fight my way out of that fog with fists flailing in failure
while the slaying of sunshine makes misery its mark
my dreams are stark
my dreams are dark
i am darkness
(c) 2011....~free cee!~
The Night Mare dances
Behind eyes of a dreamer
Fretfully on chords
words fail to conceive in an eager, eager heart
a twisted labyrinth of puzzled paths
never the twain to gainfully meet
beginning or end never to gleefully greet
a writer's most dreaded curse
he sits and fretfully fears the worst
in mind's eye he is to fail
finding no truths to prevail
no promise of fantsy to mend
no mindful, new words does he find to blend
just a stark, blank, empty page
the cast all gone, a deserted stage
there is but one who remains
he who holds the pen in vain
morning has come, dawn has crept in
and not one word was spoken to him
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