'Twas in London town (as I recall).
I was just a boy so small.
An egg sat smugly on a wall,
by the name of Mr. Dumpty.
Perhaps, it was Spring or early Fall,
that he held me in his thrall,
the gentleman, I soon would call
(fondly), my friend, Humpty.
Oh, how we would pontificate,
those arms would wildly gesticulate
Perhaps, I could anticipate,
he would be kaput.
But my oval friend with roundish butt,
my warning, he would then rebut,
saying, "fiddle dee dee and tut, tut, tut".
Trouble was afoot.
Perhaps, as he swayed in the breeze,
with spindly legs and knobby knees,
if he'd have listened to my pleas,
I'd have a different story.
Can one depend upon a horse,
with feet, but with no hands, of course,
to mend the consequence of force,
unquestionably gory?
It was so many years ago,
years of counseling, I'd undergo -
perhaps, I threw just a little low
to my friend Humpty.
'Twas in London town (as I recall).
I was just a boy so small.
when I tossed him that ball,
saying "Catch it, Mr. Dumpty"
How do I compare to thee?
Your intransience knows no bounds
Id gesticulate more often than not
Your red Mantra dress knows no warmth
Your like a mermaid uncaught
You're darndest to know
You're like a Newfoundland
Leeching perilous unreason
Your everyone’s confidante except mine
You turn me into wilderness
I do not know my heart?
I am left speechless
On the morning of your coming
you leave me dumb confounded
Weird world evolves,
Weird creatures
Wired to gadgets
Evolve.
They articulate
And gesticulate.
They giggle
And tread
On the trajectories of living.
Their brains brim
With artificial intelligence,
They act like humans.
They are
The artificial humans.
Technology savvy humans
Reconstruct our humanity,
The religionists
Resign to the new humanity,
The ethicists
Seek to etch
Unethical on our minds.
The elasticity of our civilization
Stretches
And stretches,
Our civilization overstretched.
Years to come,
Our civilization
Overstretched,
Will snap.
How do I compare to thee
Your intransience knows no bounds
Id gesticulate more often than not
Your red pattern dress
Your Yes is a No
You're darndest to know
You're like a Newfoundland
leeching unreson
Your everyones bosom except mine
You turn me into wilderness
I do not know my heart ?
I am left speechless
On the morning of your coming
you leave me dumb confounded
Borborgymus, Borborgymi,
Eructate so delightfully!
I ruminate, throat tickles late,
And choking, I gesticulate.
I just ate but I don’t gestate.
Who throws the voice? Seems I’m the dummy.
Ventriloquist and talking tummy.
Borborgymi, Borborgymus
A lovely word, why all the fuss?
H/T to Milt’s Mysterious Rumbling Noises
you stand content many arms unfolded
what is it
that you show
to one who’s heart has been heavily molded
by those who have smirked mocked oft times scolded
your wiry breadth expansive green and lush
the whisper there
spins a tale
to all who fell off trapped in undying rush
to not attend the head but to heed the hush
for as you are rooted quite fixed on a spot
for all time
no matter how
you yearn fret or complain you simply cannot
occupy other plain which time has forgot
gently you gesticulate noble and proud
you never
seem to mind
transience of day elasticity of cloud
the siren-call of lesser minds swayed by a crowd
were I to touch you would you help me to see
that all that
is imminent
that all which seems dark simply serves a plea
of grasping the essence of that which is free
Our hands so often shine for us
though they may undermine us
They might even confine us, yet
our hands our what truly define us --
Our hands gesture, gesticulate, threaten and warn
expressing our feelings from the moment we're born
We wave excited greetings to the world as day dawns
bury our faces in them, as a loved one's passing we mourn
Words come out of our mouths, but we speak with our hands
A time-honored tradition, through time's shifting sands
The poverty of self- loathing
The of the cloak of poetry I once wore
does not protect me against my insecurity
the fear of being destitute.
Nowhere to hide when the northwesterly blows
and happy people dance at a restaurant
to the music, I composed in my heart.
Steamed up café windows people eating broth
gesticulate with forks to get me away
to eat their food in peace.
I have enough money for a cup of coffee but
they will not let in the drowning cat.
Never mind I lost my nerves
but it will be better when I write this down
and my notebook is dry with self-loathing.
My turn
Empathetically I listen
And I do not even judge
Though the nonsense you’re explaining
Really doesn’t sway me much
But I still refrain from speaking
My face remains expressionless
As I calmly wait with patience
’Till you’re done telling your mess
And I even check my breathing
Is my chest heaving too high?
So I start to breathe much slower
It ain’t easy but I try
As I watch you, I feel pity
Though you’re lying, I don’t hate
I can see you sinking deeper
Just by how much you gesticulate
And your eyes are now wide open
As if they’re peering in the dark
You are pleading for compassion
But your performance lacks the spark
And the silence gets confusing
You’re now distracted by my stare
And you’re running out of fuel
That kept you boxing with just air
Now your energy has left you
And you feel so tired and weak
And then you finally fall silent
So now I get my turn to speak.
Wendy Nipas
At any rate
Don't hesitate.
Just concentrate,
Wait for the gate
To operate.
Then trust in fate
Anticipate.
Race to dictate,
Ride fast but straight
Then dominate.
Now change the gait,
Accelerate.
Timing it late
To separate.
Hearts palpitate,
With hope then wait.
While photos state
You've won! that's great.
Gesticulate,
Now elevate
The silver plate,
And celebrate.
2/ 2/ 2018.
Pink hues gesticulate undaunted,
interdiction resonating...doleful hearts
secretly abiding drained of purpose.
Pink mothers, daughters, neighbors dispelling
myths, clinging holistically, while vomitus
refutes breaths of life.
Pink secrets resound mercilessly,
relentless conjecture, demonized fables
secreting venomous depression.
Pink vows tirelessly march for cures;
enduring rain, sun, arthritis, disease and
loss of loved ones, precious ones...gone.
Pink survivors gesticulate undaunted,
hope resonating...soiled, still hearts, still
openly supporting us drained of purpose.
Pink miracles await faithful biochemist, bold
technicians, as scientific discovery abounds
unrelentless to malignant tissue snatchers.
The power of PINK reigns perfect hue!
The power of PINK reigns tried and true!
The power of PINK resides in me and you!
I win your heart, your kickass ticking time bomb
I played it fair, no clubs, but love in spades
Feel I'll explode, but outwardly I seem calm
You, diamond queen, with me, jack of all trades
I sail your waves, the surf of your high rash crest
Your cyclone penetrates my frail defense
You siren you, I rest my case on your chest
I, one-eyed, Cyclops, dismiss all pretense
My single eye strokes your hunger in wild bliss
My mouth just stammers syllables of lust
You, answer me, kiss me, move me, kinesis
Gesticulate, manipulate my trust
The fickle feeble mind seeking oblivion
In milliseconds it will come undone
***
April 28, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Dawn, asleep at this hour
Chilled air is a gift
in the grip of summer
Landscape’s fresh silence
Moon, half blind
The traveling breeze
is a caravan
‘Come, naked and shivering,
says Lake,
dig through the mud for that
which is Truth, where the moon
inters her light, where bullfrogs
bark in circles’
The water
Lover, formless womb
ovulated by sunrise
I set the canoe in motion
Orange dragonflies, murmuring duckbills
fist-sized tadpoles, radiant finch
gesticulate above and beneath surface
Green reeds are light tendrils
Sky’s blue inks a mallard’s back
A raven’s croak is more alive
than most people
Mist drops while rising
The canoe glides
water laps, gasps
The poised presence of an osprey
circling
Everything silences, stills
except for the canoe
over the Lake’s belly
The sun, pinned to the tip
of a redwood
reflects like an eye in chrome
I lie back and float,
a water blossom’s thirst
----------------------------------------
From my sixth book-length ms.
©dah / dahlusion 2014 / 2015
all rights reserved
“The Lake” was first published in
‘Black Market Re-View' (U.K.)
"To my left,
I suddenly see a woman.
I can see her to this day,
and shall never forget it.
She carries a bundle in her arms.
It is a baby.
She runs, she falls,
and the child flies in an arc
into the fire.
Suddenly, I saw people again,
right in front of me.
They scream and gesticulate
with their hands, and then
-- to my utter horror and amazement--
I see how one after the other
they simply seem to let themselves drop to the ground.
They fainted and then burnt to cinders.
(Today I know that these unfortunate people
were the victims of lack of oxygen)."
I pretend to be human
His love’s the easiest to fake
He's the simplest to clone
His heart’s the darkest to take
I bare my teeth in a smiley
I made fb my friend
Gesticulate and post a selfie
He follows me @my_hand
The tweets spooked the owls
The broad daylight faded into night
The hackers demolished the firewalls
The broadband assimilated the host
Some wired themselves for offering
We had seven billion specimens
Others sacrificed their offspring
Almost all of them were chosen
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