I lay , Frozen in my own creation - The Maze
It is gawked at by passerbys
Only to laugh and scrutinize.
They undermine the hold of them on me
Not one willing to stay and untangle the poisoned ivy parasitically preying
They comment at my state
And hand me empty maps
Telling me how simple it is to evade
Damned if I attempt to escape
I resign to my demise
Damned if I pray for a saviour
I attempt to sew my own tears
If only I was defined
If only I had refined
If only I hadn't mind
If only I'd been blind
Would the tangled vines remain intertwined?
If I tear through will I survive?
Or is it easier to stay docile?
I'm the prisoner of my own mind
Put on death row subjected to a perpetual decline,
Was it my fate to become like this?
Or was it a fault of mine?
I fear I don't have enough time to decide
For I'm next in line
The consequences known, foretold for years,
a crushing blow would break the country’s back,
eclipsing the most pessimistic fears,
a devastating night of blackest black…
The zealots would be working ‘round the clock
to mete out punishment to those opposed,
while sheeple, noses pressed to glass, just gawked
’neath red bills lest their faces be exposed.
Impossible as it might seem to most,
the world did spin much like the day before,
though once the quakes were dampened on the coasts,
it tilted to the right a little more.
Go hug your neighbor, whether loss or win;
In four short years, we do it all again!
At the laundromat a girl who could not find a chair
Sat in a dryer, her attitude was beyond compare
She did not care who gawked or gave her a stare.
I know her well, she is my self-confident cousin, Claire.
how much longer does a woman wait?
she feels humiliated and gawked at
she got all dressed up to be jilted?
in public? In the fanciest restaurant in town?
She was thinking it was wedding proposal time.
Wearing her prettiest silk dress, it has been an hour.
Her phone dings. She looks down. I’m running late.
She leaves an hour later, finally getting it.
Once, I saw a doggy, shaggy
His dress style was super swaggy
And when he walked
The people gawked
For off came his trousers baggy
27th February 2023
For "Put your best (one) limerick forward (be like Rico Leffanta)" contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Forty-eight, sixty-eight, eighty-eight
Age has no bearing whatsoever
When it comes to a gorgeous young filly
As long as she's breathing, that's all we need
When the time we have left gets short
We must use the time remaining
To drink in all the beauty that life has to offer
At the risk of sounding like a dirty old man
Please excuse my verbosity
I'm just trying to explain the working's
Of an old man's mind or ANY man's mind
Gorgeous women were always meant to be
Admired, gawked at and drooled over
Plain and simple... it's why we exist!
So here's to gawking, may I gawk forever
It sends shivers down to my toesies
With each sweetie that prances by
My wiggler starts wiggling
And puffs of smoke stream outta my ears
It snowed last night which pleased me - but hardly enough - it just teased me.
The thin, white sheet of snow looked bright and fresh
the dull, browned hedges of fall became holiday dressed,
the air had a sharp, chill perfume and the ground a new, sparkling flesh.
Lisa, a New Yorker who knows snow, gawked at me as if I were insane,
“You’re excited by NOTHING,” she sarcastically complained.
I replied, “When it snows there’s a quiet solace, and the world looks clean and flawless.”
The weatherman is promising us a blanket of snow this weekend
and that would be nice, a storm of ice, to lock us in as the week ends.
Seventeen, thirty-seven, fifty-seven
Age has no bearing whatsoever
When it comes to a gorgeous young filly
As long as she's breathing, that's all us guys need
When the time we have left gets short
We must use the remaining time
To drink in all the beauty that life has to offer
At the risk of sounding like a dirty old man
Please excuse my verbosity
I'm just trying to explain the working's
Of an old man's mind or ANY man's mind
Gorgeous women were always meant to be
Admired, gawked at and drooled over
Plain and simple... it's why we exist!
So here's to gawking, may I gawk forever
It sends shivers down to my toesies
With each sweetie that prances by
My wiggler starts wiggling
And puffs of smoke streams
Outta my ears
I woke up one gray and melancholy morning
munching oatmeal and buttered toast, alone
same as yesterday, last week and maybe tomorrow
when I saw a whirling wonder flying down the road.
It whirled outside my windowpane
it whirled from head to toe
it whirled with neon pinks and greens
it whirled and twirled and flowed!
I saw a bicycle with watermelon wonder wheels
as they rode in tumbling tandem down the road
and on it sat a generous, rotund lady ballerina
with bright red lipstick, holding a bright red rose.
She waved at me and smiled, as I gawked at her, alone
her hair flew wildly behind her, as she pedaled down the road
the clouds suddenly parted, and as the morning sun shone
joy filled my eyes, to see that watermelon ride
whirling down the road.
Five little boys climbed a tree
Perhaps they didn't heed of the banshee
They still had time to flee
She emerged out the dark with her face full of glee
With a Panthers agility
The lads looked at her amicably
Without realizing the abnormality
She heard a racket and veered back in confusion
A girl came out a bush and gawked at the illusion
She wailed at the phenomenon
The witch lent a smile for she assumed it was her doing
till she glanced into the girl's eyes
and realized
she wasn't looking at her but instead
she was staring behind
The croon twisted to see
A sight she could never foresee
For the boys were no longer sitting
But dangling from the tree
The hand came forward to hold her wrist
While the other gave her breast a twist
The undressing slowly as he gawked
The deafening silence as neither one talked
She never gave permission to visit her tonight
He said he didn’t need it, she was his despite the fight.
Soon his hand grabbed at her thigh
And started up toward brown sky
With caverns underneath for exploring
Not a chance these caves would be boring.
He delved into the cave, flashlight in hand
Pushing and pulling against the soft sand
Which covered the floor of the cave he was in
He reached back slowly and grabbed her shin
When his search for gold was finally done
He left her as he found her, in the car, alone.
Written for a Creative Writing class in 1990, assignment: a court case given to us to reflect in a poem.
I lost my mooning contest
with the moon.
The odds were in my favor:
two pallid orbs
against one: a sullen sack
up there, barely engaged,
as the gamblers around me
gawked. But
when the blood billowed
down to my noggin,
I swooned, face dunk
in the mud.
Next day all the grog in Terra
below could not
stake a rematch between me
and that bad
bulbous bag of apathy
in the night,
that orbital ogler flashing
its silk surveillance through
our innocent panes
and unsuspecting livers,
exposing our competitive
genitalia to alleged shame,
a heavenly body, distinguished
by the negligence of its ilk.
The hunky man with tarzan zeal
had sexy buns made of steel
when he walked
the girls gawked
as they cried, Oh heh, can I feel ?
Blue knee to a frightened black neck
9 long minutes to kiss the heartbeat of death
many gawked while others numbly recorded
the burning would start come early morning.
The protesters are marching for sweet justice
the rioter lions want a long sip of pigs blood
looters are rooting just for freebies and fun
bear and panda dream of wrecking democracy
the anarchist want to nail mayhem to peace...
Now the wolves move in on the innocent sheep
now the entire free world is unable to breathe
by George may all the hate in this world cease~
It was a whisper to his mate as they gawked.
It was no secret. Everyone thought it.
“That one was rode hard and put up wet.”
I get it.
I’d throw me out too, if I could.
Have you ever held council with a dumpster
trying to convince yourself that you’re not peers;
that you maintain social standing?
“C’mon buddy, you know you can’t be here.”
I don’t belong here
I don’t belong
“I won’t be long…
I just need to warm up.”
Pipe dreams down the pipe.
I’ll just huddle in a dumpster.
Fill it with trash.
Why am I trash?
“Don’t answer that.
Who cares anyway…”
I've thrown myself out,
too.
3/16/2020
Related Poems