Where is the sunlight's pleasantness
by time and space across it gets
to eye that's stretched (for here 'tmust stay)
to catch but glimpse of summer’s day?
Where is the fresh and tender blade
that winks from 'neath the husked shade—
now broken for to 'llow it's reach
beyond the dark but shattered breach?
Where is a hungry soul's desire
when met with self-made arms, like wire?
reaching, trying—still they hold
‘gainst every ‘ttempt to escape this this mold.
Can shadow run beyond it's mate
(so much as even hesitate)
when turning now,
another room to view?
No not at all, so tale is told
of life inside this broken mold,
else passers by but see
a shattered you.
For there to find:
The tatter'd eye
looks long to see but glimpse of sky—
of pleasantness, just there…
Across the way.
Categories:
husked, self,
Form: Rhyme
Blessings from above*
Transformed lust to love*
Delusion to illumination*
Earth-heaven bilocation*
Heavenly Manna poured into our hearts like fine husked wheat
He makes sure we are always well fed and have enough to eat
Transforming lust to love an inexperienced heart learns in time
that the best kind of love is love agape, always close Divine
From false beliefs comes delusion from delusion comes lies
only God can remove our blinders and open wide our eyes
Earth to heaven, as we stand outside ourselves we enter ecstasy
propelling the soul forward, we negate all things that lead to heresy.
Categories:
husked, appreciation, devotion,
Form: Rhyme
Late summer
and the barefoot boys are scrumping.
They have scrunched-up themselves
into the green sap of leaf and branch,
as trees to be climbed, branches to fall from.
In the village shop
an ample lady sells apple pies,
she has apple cheeks,
and her twin apples are full and warm to the eye.
Orchards are prisons to be broken into,
they are owned by the owner,
the owner haunts the blind corners of our minds,
sometimes we feel him leaping upon our backs.
We scramble upwards,
never speak of it, ever.
Then we are among the hanging apples.
They glow, heavier than the sun,
yet we tug them down, shaking sky and stem,
taking them.
Rush away, no basket or sacks -
none yet have discovered the art of thinking.
Racing into the dry-husked cornfield,
hearts thumping ribs,
pockets tight and bulging,
hoping that they may be handpicked
by the choice hands of dream-girls.
Charging onward into the first flush,
apple-full, apple hauling,
we rush
headlong,
into the too readily harvested,
all too fleeting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'Scrumping' = Stealing apples from an orchard.
Categories:
husked, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Quoth felon fate t' nosy nature -
savoring sapid strays punctured.
Worn winds for eerie eavesdrop tarr':
"Why oft does thou nurse salty scars?"
Nosy nature hewn smooth visage
'to a sassy smirk - crushed chins' sway.
Ergo writ she ñ plagued papyrus,
torn tallies acumen smothers.
Fate anon her equipage husked
a" h' nosy nature's lured lotion gulped.
Ergo went h' with th' eerie empress,
t' apt agora leased b' swoon's interest.
Athwart dangled tamed twain 'cross track,
'n' fate hith'to ñ nature's lackey manned.
'20:07:22:08:46
Note:
a) of nature and fate.
b) Written apace with Middle English lexis:
i) Quoth - said
ii) Tarr' (tarry) - waited
iii) Oft - often
iv) Visage - face
v) Ergo - then/consequently
vi) Writ - wrote
vii) Anon - immediately
viii) Equipage - Military dress
ix) Husked - undressed
x) Agora - a place of gathering
xi) Swoon - infatuation
xii) Athwart - from side to side
xiii) hith'to (hitherto) - till now
xiv) lackey - manservant
c) The following are used with no syllabic consequences:
i) t' - to
ii) 'to - into
iii) ñ - on
iv) a" - as
v) h' - he
vi) th' - the
vii) b' - by
viii) 'n' - and
Categories:
husked, myth,
Form: Sonnet
I carve out my dried husked hope
And in the cave I hide the desperation
of living
Carefully, I cover the opening with the foliage
of normalcy
The Job
The Wife
Pay the rent
Stop at the red lights
And I wait for time to pass
To pass me by
as I cut my toe nails
Categories:
husked, allegory,
Form: Free verse
These leavings are devastating.
I feel husked and scraped
The cobb cast on the bin
While destiny enjoys my entrails.
A continuos cycle of harvest
Where heaven recieves the best
And the living are trodden by fate.
I have words of comfort
just as i know they fall empty on your soul
I too know the cruelty of the crones scithe.
I can't share my anger or voice the injustice.
What fake platitudes do I offer?
That we can make wreaths
Woven of dried memories?
Pay homage to some harvest
where the feast is never presented?
Its okay. Im angry too.
And anger can at least burn with a fire
that fights off the cold of the night.
Brazen with frustrstion
Beat our chest in indignation
woop and holler at the mighty powers
and hold our cherished little ones
while we tremble at night for their future.
Some where, I know, we are supposed to seek
Humility, grace, forgiveness.
But I need the fire tonight.
The pain is too vulnerable.
Categories:
husked, anger, bereavement,
Form: Free verse
We lingered too the passenger like
awaiting the snake that runs on dike
We sat, hands tied to lower jaw like
Mom waiting for her dour child to spike
For hopefully the rain which pours like
Husks husked, bowl tilted by girl old tyke
Alas! Drought came and left fields empty
Our leaves wildt too tired to agony,
offered by weather adversity
And we, seedlings, fold to sleep gradually
All my neighbours died too and early
They had said, 'Dying is birth, buddy.'
I defied and stayed alive like Odyssey
The sun scorched and bruised my everywhere
I came red and food I could not bear
I bent as though I was to crawl there
Searching for water my thirsts impair
All adversities devoured to scare
On me as was the one standing their dare
I can't again it's too much on me
My hands cut; I'm now an amputee
By burning blown winds by high degree
Like Othello, it's that now's my zee
Hoping to rise when a drop drops free
For dying is birth said my buddy
BY: Yussif Hassan Cissey
8/01/18
Categories:
husked, confidence, courage, hope, metaphor,
Form: Rhyme
Deep in the overgrown hollow of the woods
the gristmill wheel still turns where memories once stood,
splashing water lightly on each rung some worn and gone
as it circles the breeze with creeks and aching yawns.
As long as the stream continues to flow in its speed
it spins fast and slow dependent on the water feed
and rains may fall occasionally on demand
to restore hidden ledgers and scales of time stands.
No one stirs, no hidden shadows still walk or can be seen,
times have changed and distant factories now glean
the corn, the rye, the wheat from the outstretched fields,
gold glittered shades yellow silk, maize crushed quietly to yield.
Narragansett White Flint Corn husked and dried now snooze
no longer freed to the damsel as it shook down to the shoes
now the chaff is separate, screened and sifted
but it is only a historic memory lifted,
savored by few who recall the old days finds
with dreams and images recalling simpler times,
spin and turn the gristmill wheel of days long passed
like the revolving earth on which these human lives are cast.
Categories:
husked, perspective, time,
Form: Rhyme
So, this is where the sheaves were hauled
Where corn was husked, and seeds were hulled
So, this is where the meal was ground,
until the clock ran down
Round and round
a donkey bound
Asleep, awake. By night and day
The millstone tossed the dust around
Vibrations trembled thick stone walls
Humming sounds before the dawn,
bemoaning hymns of tranquil breathing.
The staff of life was there for reaping
until winds hushed this quiet song
No stone could grind the past away
The heart of life kept beating on,...
until the clock ran down
__________________________________________________
5/25/18
Contest: The Gristmill
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Categories:
husked, history, nostalgia, places,
Form: Free verse
The hearts that do not beat
Quiet in the viaduct;
A steeled echo husked
Alchemic clones vastly entreat.
I slipped you a talking pill
As the loam, pulsing dust of cars
Filled up on dark shofars.
I slip on an unwritten will.
Eerie green bolts fill the firmament;
Arbor confusion hangs an effigy
Inviting the serial hinterlands decree
To dream green seals the parchment.
The serrated squid with a man's face
Opens its serpent eyes, preemptive;
Swamp spirits deliberate a redemptive
blue hesper corroding Man's one race.
I am Electricity—I laugh at thunder
Bellowing at my helm, unaware
That electricity is not all I share
With my unseen body: Heark Asunder.
Gryphons, gargoyles and cornsilk eyes
Trifecta on the organ: my song
Of deafness slides into deep wrong,
As a wish to eradicate all a wish denies.
Our hearts unlocked that haste to bleed
inky filth in the sleeping bag,
plush lips imparting terror gag
at pitch-lit bones' fireless greed.
Categories:
husked, horror, surreal,
Form: Quatrain
I live alone; I pick pecans.
When leaves are dry
or wet upon the ground,
I thrash the trees.
I break from branches
undropped, green-husked nuts
and pull the fleshy hulls
from harder shells.
I put them in my musty burlap bag.
My bent back aches.
I pick the nuts that fall to earth --
blown by wind, wrenched
from over-weighted twigs.
I store this trove with acrid smells
in burlap bags.
The nut man calls but twice a year.
He brings the news; we drink a beer.
He pays me well,
refreshes my supply
of dusty burlap hell.
Categories:
husked, angst, depression, introspection, nature,
Form: Free verse
Mattie & I
on the stream of
Soda Can
the heavenly hills
Of Hats.
The howling husked heard;
Just The Night Owls
And the waxes of weltering wobble of worms
All In Dreams
Then:
I rollover
And see Mattie
Swift asleep forever
And whimpering…
Aches
And I never eat-
Till Mattie wakes-
From his sleep:
--Dedicated To My Conscience,Abeer:R.I.P --
**Obese Is Not Okay**
For "Put Your Rebel On!" Contest
Categories:
husked, loss
Form: Blank verse