and the good guys lost
all of us ‘got feet of clay
we are tainted, corrupted
and who of us will not say
"no, not me, I will be trusted"
we've come a long way, 'never stay too long
we'll have the last word if only to be wrong
evolution has gone to hell
myopic fighting for peace
ev'ry sucker for himself
all hail, this wily disease
you may point a finger 'til y' arms fall off
I might look away having seen enough
war is over, I said, war is over!
and the good guys lost
hand over fist, making it fit
continue, do as been done
4th world war wi' stones n' sticks
nothing new under the sun
a hungry ghost, frustrated with remorse
here's to it will be like it never was
war is over, I said, war is over!
and the good guys lost
no more than a tease to get it started
much harder to switch it off
war is over! I said war is over
and the good guys lost
and the good guys lost
My horse's haunches sway,
Saunter up hillocks and down a valley path,
Above a ridge off and on: a village where some people fish,
Phosphorescent flotsam washed ashore.
Green embers breathe as if through shriveled lungs.
Wax in contrast to the gloaming dark that's coming on.
Shrubbery shadows lengthen, enlarging blacknesses.
Crickets ratchet down their temperatures.
The earth cools in wan mirage.
Time lapsed, the stars make
A slow, quiet carousel of lights.
It circles far above us disengaged.
Wings of crows scoop pools of air,
Then dive down open maws
On tiny, furred crawlers shocked stock still.
Crows chalk their caws across the night.
A copse will grow into a stand of oaks.
The vintage children like to climb.
Gnarled limbs reminding them of fiction sailing ships.
Hand over fist to where the topmost rigging is.
For now, people and trees are bottled tiny on a shelf.
At dry dock like some whittled models are.
Until the oak is christened keel and frame
And of agers live lives and make their livelihoods at sea. (9/18/22)
Digest our words. Oh, syllable counter.
Pseudo feelings, sling bot ropes in the fein.
Hand over fist deals over the counter.
Silk Road, WebMD. RX: Screenshots/dopamine.
A POEM MADE UP OF CLICHES
At Poetry Soup we're admonished
Never to use cliches
They provide us an extensive list
For the error of our ways
But one thing you can rely on
Is people just don't pay heed
Like a dog gnawing a ham bone
Poets write stuff unfitten to read
Over and over again
I traverse the road less traveled
No one understands me
I feel worn to a frazzle
When all is said and done
I'll just wish upon a star
Or perhaps I'll follow the sun
And hope I don't go too far
Since fools rush in
Where angels fear to trod
And people get under my skin
I'll go by the grace of God
When life takes an unexpected twist
And you're plagued by a multitude of sin
Not making money hand over fist
Misery loves company and broken hearts never mend
You have reached the end of your rope
Tired of waiting for your ship to come in
Don't sit around and mope
'Cause you have fences to mend
Curtis Moorman
30 November 2018
I finally found the missing piece to my puzzle
not a corner an edge nor a somewhere in the middle
there in my palm
swollen with sweat edges frayed clenched entrenched
in hand over fist after fist after fist
after fist
It's all there
The Big picture all in one piece
Now to put myself back together again
long at last
Peace
*PCS Post-Concussion Syndrome
It's the big day of the big yard sale
Where every thing must go
There was much to much to haul out to the front
So I opened up the home
There were gobs of people everywhere
Wandering around with arms packed full
I'm making money hand over fist
This idea was really cool
You see my neighbors came to me with their front door key
And asked if I'd watch Binkie their cat
While they spent a few days away, I said sure what the hey
So they showed me where everything Binkie was at
While they were gone Binkie got bored
He missed his masters who were out of town
I thought a yard sale would be just the thing, Binkie purred that'd be neat
And of course it brought Binkie's good mood back around
Now before you start thinking bad thoughts of me
And wonder how anyone could sell everything they had
I want you to know I had a slight twinge of guilt
Right before I sold Binkie the cat
Bye, Bye Binkie Bye, Bye ;0)
ALIEN
Someone came to my room last night
An alien, I am sure, in frisson of delight
He crumbled on my dilly springbok breasts
And kissed my **** between love and rests
He was good at love, so how could I fight?
He was from a planetoid, a quicksilver lake
He stopped by my humble hut and saw me awake
He never thought of amber swan up for a take
He smiled like an early bird and put out the light
He was good at love, so how could I fight?
He had a wispy whisper to tell his tale
Which began in a Blanagram and ended in a whale
“My little Mary sunshine my hands go downhill
You are an earthling a cure for alien spill
You are a maritime dream of red sea squill”
I burst at the seams, a jiggery-pokery prank, a twist
Our love went on hand in hand and hand over fist
I sang a willow’s song “How a maid can milk a bull!”
I had no hammer, a chisel, a drake or a drool
But he was good at love, How could I resist?
Next day I bled and I was fresh as tart
I slept with an alien and took other's part
After all he was right, he lost his star chart.
© RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
27th October, 2014
Hand over fist
Tightly bound mist
Falling change washes
Covering new day UN-derailed
Timelines metabolize truth
Driven skull to shine and buffer
Smoothie abuse, set up new booths!
A concoction of American bliss
Rage to the end of the world
See the bills unfurl
Leverage this beast
Make it complete
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