It was if they were begging for destruction when
they tried to cage immortal souls
Silently stoking his internal fire only brought to the
surface his bitter cold
They were unaware of the binding of their own hands
to something that was never meant to break
They added links to the chain with every action that
ultimately lead to the sealing of their fate
Though his darkness was overwhelming they couldn't
stop themselves from seeking his light
His mesmerizing words just drew them deeper into an
abyss darker than night
They were drunk on the power of their illusions &
deluded by lies they surely cast
Intoxicated by the stories of who he was & the mirage
of things of the past
Full of regret they tried to retreat after observing
their miscalculations
It was too late to turn around for they had sparked
his ire & tried his patience
In the end it was their souls that had been lost as they
stood surrounded by bitter angels
The hidden dread of their private moments had them
wishing they had taken a different angle
destiny like a scarlet ire nestles in a windy eternity.
I feel the ire grow
It fuels my revulsion
Needing a repose
Are we man or machine
Who knows what I mean?
You show on the scene
As if it’s routine
We raise our ire
Don’t learn from our priors
So you leave me in dire
When you see me on fire
On this looming tight wire
I hang from the spire
Deflecting piles and piles
Of obtrusive gunfire
Then when I fall
Will that be all
Will you pick me up?
Or say that's dumb luck
As I see it stands now
You’re wearing a crown
You think you’re higher
If not by stature than attire
So the answer is no
It already shows
Written- 06/04/17 and 01/05/21
“You what!” I cried, with vitriolic ire.
“You didn’t even take the time to ask
“Me what I thought?” My eyes burned hot with fire
As point by point I took my boss to task.
“So now,” I said, “you’re a Director on the Board
“And I have been demoted, left to bask
“Not in my own success but yours! You scored
“A win, so, ‘Good on you!” But what of me?
“And who was it that threw me overboard?
“For seven years I’ve served the company
“And thought that I was next in line to move
“Into a corner office as V.P.
“But now, instead, you’ve asked me to approve
“My transfer to a branch in Mexico?
“A country that I can’t say that I love.
“I can’t afford to lose my job, and so
“I guess that soon I’ll be a resident
“Of someplace where I do not want to go.”
“But weren’t you told?” (My boss seemed hesitant)
“That you have been promoted to assume
The role of the Branch Office President?
I stood there stunned, as light dispelled the gloom,
And blushed at the applause that filled the room.
It burns deep on the inside,
this fire has engulfed my heart
Downtrodden beat beat beat
of oppression
Feeds the flame
of my
righteous indignation
A hot ire,
whose flames
keep ascending higher
and higher
Toxic by-products of hate
brings me so much ash disgust:
Refugee rejection ...
Nuclear fear proliferation
Hard coin slavery ...
Skin separation burns
of third-degree severity
So much crematoria greed
on the rise,
as the glow of compassion
slowly dies
It sparks a righteous indignation ire,
an anger justifiably judgmental worthy
Oh, how it burns ...
to see poor souls, crying
to the heavens,
innocently bleed!
She’s always lived there
A small, small town
Where everyone knows her
They fear her anger
That chills the heart
Clutches at their own ire
She worked for me for a while
Doing a good job, always
But never respecting anyone
Always difficult to say the least
She grated on my nerves
Like trickling faucet; on and on
Endlessly irritating with harsh
Words and rough ways
It went on like this for years
Her anger abusing my feelings
Me whispering up a prayer
Hoping something rare
Would happen
She might change
But she would not
Finally, I fired her
And attained relief
I pray for her
There are no snakes in Ireland today
For St.Patrick has cast them away
They had attacked the wrong dude
Which Patrick thought was quite rude
So celebrate St. Patrick this day
In a forty day fast for his Lord
St. Pat was attacked by a snake horde
As he shook his sacred staff
He said, "I'll have the last laugh"
And he drove them to sea as he roared
2-17-19
*"Whispering Hope" was music to my ears
Today's fare sounds like children clashing gears
When Eire becomes Ire
Extinguish the fire
Lest hope never soothes your grandchildren's fears!
*1949 "Whispering Hope" Jo Stafford, Gordon MacRae duet
Inside a bar in my town
I drown brown sorrows, swilling beer after beer
Feeling tall in my gaunt gown as I play the clown
Wishing I could wipe away her memory into a low gear
Which in my Corolla I engage
Thoughts tumbling, feelings grumbling
As mind and conscience I enrage
Fumbling, crumbling, gambling
Until eyes get bloodshot
Mind goes bleary
Brain overheats so hot
I get weary and teary
But what the heck! What to me’s a little peck
To shout consciousness back into business
No hard feelings at all for the neck
That cranes and deigns to break
The cycle of reveries I indulge
Imagining I’d washed away the wreck
Thriving on the madness I encourage
Drinking my life silly
Driving my happiness away
Praying I’d longer remain the hillbilly
Held in a straitjacket bay
Which in my saner moments can’t countenance
Unless up around the bend I conspire to expire
Condoning and contemplating selfies without substance
As in my throat roar and soar eddies of mounting ire.
Ah Anger! One of the seven deadly sins
A scourge that ravages the mind of man,
Alas! In an imperfect world only evil wins
A tiny spark consumes the forest in fire,
Peace prevails when he reins in his ire.
So why would I look back in anger
to recall with woe my wandering past?
No, I’ll not go there to find an answer;
Now my future must dawn with a new hope
before my time reaches the end of the rope.
Quench your desire, to quelch the ire.
Squish your wish, quell and welch on greed's glut
Be satisfied with a belch of gut.
-------------
21 April 2017
Sitting high atop a dining chair,
A feast of words tonight,
And crawling in the window sill,
A gnat breaks through the fight,
Giving in or giving out,
Seeking all but praise,
The end is near,
So don’t you fear,
This is the end of days.
Sitting slouched low below the dining chair,
The victor grovels now,
Wishing pleading,
Biting bleeding,
Sweat dangling from his brow.
Closing in or drawing near,
Whichever seems more dire dear,
The judgement rushes in,
And with the hammer,
Swiftly stammer,
Let the game begin.
Sitting high atop a dining chair,
A feast of tears tonight,
And quenching thirst,
Seeking rest or light,
Dreaming now or dreaming less,
Bleeding from your ear,
So don’t look down,
Your broken crown,
Never truly quite clever or clear.
Her fingers trace the stab-wound,
Like water circles the drain. Though she may
Clean the rind and grime from under her nails,
She will never wash the bloodstains from her dress.
Her hair drapes her face like a black tapestry,
An opaque shade, like midnight
That conceals her auburn eyes.
But the shame she claimed in preceding days
Has left her as quickly as the blood flows
Now from his newly carved cavity.
His fingers lay cold, silent, and curled;
He will never again feel the pleasure
Of that nymphalid elegance he craved so
Cruelly. Tonight his skin spun toward the pale,
His horror, confusion, frozen in his expression
Flaccid, limp, unsatisfied.
With his belt unbuckled, jeans crumpled,
His bloated face unshaven, and his gaze
Fixated on the ceiling, she cannot help but notice
He makes for quite an ugly corpse.
Her eyes are widened in languor,
With no tears to waste upon this husk.
Sitting barefoot on the white kitchen tile,
As if waiting for the daisies to sprout.
Dust hapless had settled rough
On vacuous land, tanned in taupe
Lonely and distressed
As it simmered for life
Its flowers had died
Only a few left in time
To settle calm and blossom elsewhere
Bearing remnants of an era gone by.
Trees cried until they died
Their seeds lay morose
Unable to steal
Elixir for their life
Their branches lay fallen
Gathering a fire
Their ache in crimson
Stalking deliriously in vain
As their embers crackling
Reveal their pain
Unto heavens mocking above
Unaware they had turned surdomute
More than a long while ago.
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