Your anonymous blog
To my face you are kindness itself:
cheerful, always upbeat,
but in your anonymous blog
you rip me apart.
You press your thumb and forefinger on each side,
hold, pull and rend,
and rupture my very innards.
You focus on me,
my life, my words, my actions and my body
like you are a Celestron Telescope
searching for every single crater and irregularity.
With an Ultima Barlow lens
and your Leica M9 18MP
You grab each natural image
and then rearrange reality with
your precious, perversely persuasive, periscopic Photoshop technique.
poetic liberty has leased you a license to assassinate,
humiliate,
decimate,
invalidate,
severely lambaste,
and mockingly castrate
everything that I identify as me.
literary freedom allows you to liberally fabricate,
mutilate,
denigrate,
incriminate,
scathingly castigate,
and maliciously urinate
on what others think of me.
To my face you are kind beyond selflessness,
but on your online beat,
your anonymous malevolence
sets you apart
from all the others
that have ever wanted
to write me up,
put me down,
and publish me out.
— Zumwalt (2011) (used by permission from zumpoems.com)
Categories:
irregularity, anxiety, bullying, conflict, hate,
Form: Free verse
It must have been made
and rejected
in times grinding gears –
a knobby irregularity,
a leftover of smelt and dross.
This is all there is
a gobbet of oven clinker,
but behind it I sense cracked teeth,
soot seared across burnt eyeglasses,
blackened bones,
for after the gas came the flames.
Here it is,
a fragment long convulsed
from its own incineration,
an irregular rake-off, smithereens
dragged across a blind stone floor.
This tittle of slag once had to fit something
the rough rim of an iron door perhaps
behind which an old furnace
still cools in faraway minds.
A ferrous chip chiseled from a gulag,
or a souvenir from an SS campfire meet.
There is always something left
after the unthinkable,
always some spicule of irregularity,
detritus to explain or confound
as we toss it back into the fire again.
Categories:
irregularity, poetry,
Form: Free verse
We praise the blessings of organic teas
with great flourish in a health-conscious time.
Aisle 12 of the store has choices to ease,
some simple maladies of any daily kind.
Irregularity, stress, or sleepless nights,
can be healed with a tea balm combination.
Assortments of herbals to make you feel right
caused these teas to grow in fascination.
A China kettle steeps five bags within,
the tags’ labels hanging around the sides.
Cup of Calm, Throat Tea, and Green Tea to blend,
Nighty Night and chamomile close the eyes.
Whatever the chronic bother may be,
a remedy rests in organic tea.
Categories:
irregularity, health,
Form: Sonnet
With no vengeance let us behave
But, to tell the truth, let us be brave
We must expose our displeasure
And reveal the suffered-pressure
At times, we may be damn desperate
As someone's act may exasperate
At that moment, we get frustration
We may perform an act of operation
Any wrong act must be by us opposed
Perfect punishment must be imposed
We must never tolerate any indiscipline
Any irregularity we must have to clean
Some people have sarcasm as a habit
They will make none comfortably sit
By offering comments and severe force
Bad influence they will try to enforce
Observe the truth and act with wisdom
Though none can cheat God's kingdom
Pray and leave everything to the Lord
He will rescue as His heart is broad.
Categories:
irregularity, judgement, truth,
Form: Rhyme
Having been lacking hearing since childhood
not completely but without it in full
remember Xrays at six showing irregularity
but nothing could be done where I stood
Only partial deaf on my right side
which was to my detriment to learn
but left school at 15, to be at work
so was still able to work and earn
So many years later hearing grew worse
then got hearing aids from National Health
at first, was helpful but never great
as wax in the eardrum was a real curse
Syringe my ears were now required
as the wax filled my ears so much
but the hearing was very inconsistent
as drastic action now being retired
Now I paid private and went digital
waxing lyrically with my sound
what a difference3 that was made
as I hear words clearly now I've found
So the lesson learned is don't give up
even when you think it will fail
maybe there's something around the corner
to release you from your deaf jail
Categories:
irregularity, health, self, sound,
Form: Rhyme
It must have been made
and rejected,
in night’s grinding gears –
a knobby irregularity,
a leftover of smelt and dross.
This is all there is
a gobbet of oven clinker,
but behind it I sense cracked teeth,
motes in a burnt eyeglass,
the thin singed bones
of fledgling flights into darkness.
Here it is,
a fragment long convulsed
from its own incineration,
an irregular rake-off, a detritus
dragged across a blind stone floor.
This tittle of slag once had to fit something
the rough rim of an iron door perhaps
behind which an old furnace
still cools in faraway minds.
A ferrous chip chiseled from a gulag,
or a souvenir from an SS campfire meet.
There is always something left
after the unthinkable
is thought upon,
always some spicule of irregularity
to explain or confound
as we toss it back into the fire again.
Categories:
irregularity, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Something called "Ex-Lax",
a popular laxative,
looked like chocolate.
Remedy sold in drug stores
for irregularity.
inspired by another member's poem
Categories:
irregularity, drug, history,
Form: Tanka
The USA election
Election fraud
Is running through my mind
august newspapers say there might have been
irregularity but not enough to make any difference
of the election outcome
Trump lost.
A little thieving is ok as long as it´s not a big heist.
Some dirt remains, more people voted for Trump,
in this election than in 2016.
It is all for the best a beast fell by the wayside.
And we say good riddance.
We have got Joe Biden now, and he is unsullied.
And he will usher in changes, or perhaps not!
Categories:
irregularity, absence, america, autumn,
Form: Blank verse
Mind break
Just a moment ... frozen
Time stands still, in a very quantum way, (chuckle)
I look down by the base of the ladder
It's just a footprint, left by a boot
It could be ANY foot ... or any boot, really
But its mine, and perfect, the dusty soil like talcum
Every irregularity in my sole, left there as witness
But nothing special ... nothing earth-shattering, (another chuckle)
How many millions of such have been placed?
And without a thought or bugle call
Oh, the words that will be spun!
The phrases woven for the sake of that single impression!
For despite its normalcy and casual imprint
It IS special after all ...
The very first pressed on this new frontier,
The moon.
Categories:
irregularity, adventure, moon, time,
Form: Free verse
unconventional
mingling which
deviated from
the norm created
atypical interactions
in which the uncharacteristic
irregularity became normal
standard even within the
land of relationships past
Categories:
irregularity, psychological,
Form: Lyric
The curvature of the eye,
marred by irregularity, distorts.
Rain falling through the aqueous orb
of eye or earth prisms,
propelling points of light skyward,
producing rainbows.
Sunlight following by the curve
curls rising ever skyward
from the steaming surface
of earth and sea to joining
on the wind.
The curvature of the eye
marred by irregularity distorts.
The child looks out and up
into the parental face, through the lashes
of this imperfect form and settles, smiling.
knowing no norm, only accepting the is.
The adult: cut, crisp, dried, and molded,
cries; mourning the loss of perfection
denying the value of imperfection
with a stubbornness born of naming.
Name nothing, for in not naming,
the eye can accept all things as beautiful.
First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue 1 2014
Categories:
irregularity, birth,
Form: Free verse
Sleeping in perplexity
with velvet wings and iris eyes
aghast at dreams which don't comply
with all I think they signify
Breathing irregularity
with sashay coughs and biting teeth
impressed with everything I lose
in this night's dreams, beyond my reach
Catching night red-handed
with satchels full of wishes birthed
I made before I fell asleep
I count them still, I know their worth
Waking empty handed
with sleepy skin and fragile thoughts
a fistful left of midnight's breath
disintegrates my dreams to nought...
Categories:
irregularity, imagination, life, peace, people,
Form: Rhyme