Long Abetted Poems
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A tale of two twins ...
Kit: That sure was a mean swing, Dottie. You knocked it out of the park. You’re the Sultana of Swat. I love the way you ‘round the bases doing your cute duckie trot. I love how you stand on home plate, kissing off the booing fans with your sour whispering asinine talk. You sho’ can swat high nonsense spitballs a lot.
Dot: Aw shucks, Kit, you Putin a smile on my face. But it ain’t me really. I just do what you coached me to do. Follow your lead like a good sibling pup pet is suppose to. I can’t help but wag the pig tale. Everybody knows that bare bosom greed sells. Now sis, you know I never vote swing and miss. I just love lip-crushing abetted ayes. Sending those lying spitball kisses flying high. But half-truthfully, girl I love the wet way you dry hurl. Such vomit velocity ... sending that propaganda puke spinning thru the air with such speed. You’re so lassie Vladdie bad amazing.
Kit: Yeah, twin ... we in a beleagued of our own. We don’t never do no wrong, at least none that we personally have to disown. And the Lady Bolshevik tag-team pocket profits are gonna stay kompromat strong. As long as the I-scream flag vendors keep selling the popular patriotic yellow snow cones. I love hearing the synthesized, trumpy anthem blaring sound, when the seventh-inning ruble donation rally hats are being passed around. It jacks me up, to the Nth lobby Molotov degree. My oligarch strong arm do a Siberian burn meddle poll vault sales pitch; delivered decibel stealth low, and so slow curve icily.
Dot: Serve ‘em up good, twin. Twist the grin like Papa Lenin said: “Never let a capitalist sucker get a free lick. Always snatch the purse from a paper chasing hick. Always foxy scoop the golden laid eggs from a sleeping, loose-liberty chick.” All bad things come in good corrupt Communist time. This czar fate injustice demands. I love the smell of democracy peanuts roasting in the ballot stands. I love hot, dog day debate fry cries doing the mustard squirt dance. So beleaguered and bland. I love the pretzel, fixed victory feel of cash register chance. I love being the pink champagne torch lady wearing no morality pants. Slyly, safely sliding home, skirt up ... silver tongue tush fanning kicked diamond sand. Giving a darkside-of-the-moon kiss to the loser Americans.
Across figurative and literal board...
mine hardscrabble existential debacle spelled losing game of trouble
Oft times, I experience wretchedness being alive
spurring wonderment whereby thoughts
of my demise doth drive
analogous to buzzfeeding bumbling bees
combing into their hive.
Giddiness prevailed
when coronavirus (COVID-19)
warranted quarantine to diminish
transmitting pandemic virus thru the air
lifestyle change no major imposition,
cuz yours truly already familiarized
with self isolation
courtesy his social anxiety despair
schizoid personality disorder the diagnosis
nsync with loathsome
body morphology toward self
viz mental health impasse a legitimate malady
impossible mission possibly
since in utero didst impair
minimally abetted courtesy
Buffalo wing and a prayer
wishful thinking only death can relieve
some recently approaching year.
Indifference toward self sums up story
viz mindset to whit
resignation to cash in chips
at a tender age, I did submit
evidenced courtesy abysmal grades
during stint as student
kindergarten and first grade the exception
earning appellation dummkopf or nitwit
showcased apathy to access ability and excel
overshadowed courtesy powerfully pointed outlook
within his bedroom at 324 Level Road
sequestered long haired pencil neck geeky hermit
four familiar walls constituted ambit.
Refuge sought vis a vis withdrawal
from world wide web
refusing sustenance (think anorexia nervosa),
thus these lovely bones withered away
thankfully mother (a licensed practical nurse)
of course intervened without delay
belated acknowledgement
regarding maternal love hip hip hooray
enrolling expertise of Doctor Ted Goldberg
at Collegeville Community counseling
to ameliorate psychological internal melee
running rampant and roughshod within me psyche
pushing self destruction down into stairway
entering portals of hell
analogous to Earthen bowels
deep within Zimbabwe.
Whether the above sentence incidental
to feeble attempt at reasonable rhyme
so please geography buffs pardon moi
add dull less cent delinquent puns
he did cashier plus
any unintended faux paus as aspiring poet
artfully crafts elaborated gimcrackery,
albeit impious kooky mishmashed
outlandish quirky s*it.
Perhaps in another i.e. alternate world, this middled aged (baby boomer bona fide bra burner) of two well nigh near grown daughters felt caught in an invisible whirled wide web The Parent Trap.
Oft times, the languid days of his life seem to revisit a parallel universe, where sequels continue to air years since family time constituted shared watching thee designated Verizon Fios fiber optic channels favor by the youngest.
I confess sitting transfixed in from the television (back in the days when me girls attended grade school) marveling at the camera tricks purportedly played identical twins Hallie and Annie, but in reality the prepubescent actress averred asper the title of this missive.
A series of unfortunate events (perhaps abetted by Lemony Snicket) found these fictitious, marvelous, and vivacious separated in life soon after their parents divorced.
Happenstance and cutting edge cunning movie making wizardry linkedin believable existence of two exact looking innocent ingenues incorporating various tricks of the filming, directing, and acting of said nymph actress.
Some fluke chance encounter when both “girls” attended the same summer camp allowed, enabled, and provided the raw fitbits, whence each respective lass discovered visa vis via question asked and answered, that they shared the same mother and father.
Soon after this unexpected (believably conceived drama), they secretly plotted to reunite their estranged parents.
Although farfetched (which plot twist stretched to the realm of possible feasibility), nonetheless the story continued to offer appeal even after numerous viewings), when both my darling dimpled daubed daughters reveled in such small screen young adult age appropriate materiel.
Within a similar vein, the gestalt viz zit hid within Freaky Friday (also starring the same teenage uber vixen) gal riddled with an identity crisis twas ably, admirably, and affably evincing the crisis of fifteen year old Anna (also Lindsay Lohan).
Marsh shilling (walled herd)
Whitman man inside
expedited without fanfare
takes yours truly to
hot air wind Copeland
an effort to expunge grievous
llama ants that chide
this NON GMO, nonconformist,
gluten free... brand
heralding supreme storied
ancestry courtesy 23andme guide
me with enlightenment, whereby
family (dollar) tree did expand,
visual perception these myopic
(color blind) brown eyes espied
thank you very mooch beloved
eldest sister Amelie plus band
of relatives, whose voluntary efforts
made significant stride
rightfully abetted digital technology,
vis a vis FIOS or other broadband
telecommunications company
allowing, enabling, and
providing me to bestride,
hitherto yawning gaps formerly
blank slated information
mystifying this pokey cowhand
before he doth give up his ghost,
when succumbing to grim reaper
patiently scythe ying at bedside
(mine) no matter gravely ill,
but ecstatic to learn extensive
eye opening insight spanned
generations back from present time,
once again lion's share opened
shuttered Pandora's box and defied
successful neatly mapped
genealogy regarding direct
(day late dollar short) penniless
descent, nonetheless grand
thieving ish kabibble
boob pa linkedin
with figurative trailer load
of rolling hard rocks seconds
to spare before I died,
thankfully this pissed off
loo nut hick kick bajillion
got earful of anecdotes
analogous to gourmand
checking off sought after eateries,
(especially Indian restaurant in
Newtown, Pennsylvania) on
bucket list before downslide
into infinite abyss i.e.
farce hide scanned
din knave eon aged Swede schlemiel
constituting non "FAKE" mockery,
trumpeting parody travesty,
many golden opportunities I denied
self, now toothless
drooling, groveling, sniveling...,
woof fully poorly manned
existence, thus...in gloom,
I forever reside!
Ooh...this... just an amazing grace note
recalling how I felt like an ass
and wanna toot 'bout me getting steered
(as a heavy metal kid Rocker)
toward befriending a brass
see gutsy, horny,
and MainLine snooty upper class
action button down
(grace fully slick as vaseline), airily glinting
forcibly hawked, laundered, and pawned
by the instrumental
Mister Deangelo O'Donnell, High School
(mud flapping, ornery hearing,
and quid juicing Ska Welch ching)
music teacher oompah crass
tone deaf when aye trumpeted desire
to master the Coronet
analogous to pursing lips
blowing tightly held grass
blade between two abetted,
cinched fastened opposable thumbs,
which tooting a supposed aural aphrodisiac
to attract a zaftig well proportioned lass
(ideally shaped like a miniature Tuba)
with one steel funnel like mouthy mass
that probably explains, how such a gal
could easily emulate
facial pucker earning pass
to illustrious honorable first chair
and blasts gratitude akin
as Gabriel would declare
heavenly expressions conducting
angels thru atmospheric ether
alighting on mortal ushering melody
with rites of harkening
springtime Renaissance Faire
solar rays golden raiment
splays rainbow fragments off
beveled, bellowed, and
bedecked polished flare
audiological sound waves trick
saw toothed reflected
silhouetted orchestral shadows
to dance as conductor's baton gear
musicians horns ensemble
epochal feast to hear.
Written: October 25, 2023
________________________________________
Autumn saplings fall comely to the ground.
Crimson love decays, its vibrant hue around.
Cycle of nature, a dance of life's embrace,
As summer bids adieu, fall turns to grace.
In this harvest paradise, colors whisk and blend.
Cherish recalls it and shares it with Moon trend.
Akin to an odd comet's tail that shines so bright,
Smiles, abetted to be swallowed, wane in the night.
Cherish the night, as darkness bears weight.
Salient Incognito stars and a golden sedate
In this faded fantasy, dreams and reality collide.
An image is such a treat, showing scenes that collide.
Time, a forever trick, weaves its intricate spell.
Autumn leaves fall and the stories they tell
Whispered secrets of love and laughter,
Moments are frozen in time, forever after.
As the wind gently rustles through the trees,
Nature sings its symphony with a gentle breeze.
The leaves twirl and spin as dancers in the air.
Creating a masterpiece beyond compare
Autumn's canvas, painted in hues of gold,
A masterpiece of colors, both bold and old
Each leaf that falls, a scene comes to an end.
Without fear, the cycle of life will transcend.
In a season of morph, beauty is to be found.
In the quiet spaces, nature's whispers resound.
Let autumn leaves fall gently to the ground.
And embrace nature, in its glory profound.
I not sure I’ll renew my poet’s license this
year, most of the keepers have been kept
with the biggest ones caught, stuffed and hung
on the walls of tumbledown fishing lodges.
Although there are rumors, that the big one
Bishop caught and released back in 1946
still swims somewhere in the dark waters
between Nova Scotia and Massachusetts.
These days, Brautigan would have to wade
much further upstream to go trout fishing in
America as bass have taken over the lower
reaches, which have warmed due to climate
change, aided and abetted by ATV's SUVs,
Jet Skis and those monster Bass Boats
with their three hundred horsepower engines
which race across the waters in those TV Bass
Fishing Tourneys, even though I must admit I
I sometimes watch them in the channel’s free month.
but now I must paddle and haul my canoe over three
portages to find cool water and a bit of peace and quiet.
Then too, poetry isn’t what it used to be
with rhyme, rhythm and form relegated
to dusty archives in lonely libraries.
Nowadays, everything is computers and
online, with pen and paper abandoned, as
Instant Instagram Poets proclaim over this
“new” medium, spouting their infantile
insights regarding the mysteries of life
and love into an existential echo chamber,
leaving us unpublished old poets grumbling
in our garrets as we scribble by candlelight.
.
I stood in awe
and watched him work
unyielding metal, forged in fire, now bending,
moulding to his will somehow, unending,
the blows raining down,
the hammer's kiss
drowning birdsong and the forges fiery hiss.
I work the bellows
to disgorge icy blasts
of compressed air into the heart
of the white hot coals,
which, like the souls
of the damned, roared and cracked
and spat like banshees.
Sparks spiralled and danced
as the hammer glanced,
hither and yon
on burnished metal
until they settled
on baked clay,
made that way
by years of toil
in broiling heat
and myriad feet.
Still the muscled farrier sweated,
aided and abetted
by eager apprentice,
noting the swing
and anvil's sing
and muscles taut
and iron wrought
to shapes in steel
to rim a wheel
or shoe a horse
or gate a field.
I watch it yield
to the blacksmiths will
and still he works,
heating,
hammering,
turning,
whilst I,
learning,
stoke the fire and work the bellows
until the day mellows
into evening and the last piece is tempered
in water cold which scolds the air in clouds of steam.
Damp the fire, kill the flame, a last swig of cider then,
time to go,
follow the crow,
tired men.
Footsteps weary, tipsy as fools,
the sweated brow cools
in the twilight air.
Home to wife and children,
home to those who care.
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Seventeen
Of late the tepid cold only rebousse poil her coyness
Nowhere the slushy mud caked into strands of crunchiness
Even the over-mothering coots let their chicks roam all alone
Sand and soil slop in swishing puddles down her tress fullness
Darkness bloomed along her gamboling Riviera façade
Window-panes like so many cryptic poker-face cards invade
While amber-lit promenades reflect once debutante gaiety
Now swans sail in wanton jerks into the late evening jade
Cocky sea-gulls from far-off cascades spurn the land-locked lake
Screech and caw like white-crows and bully bread crumbs from swan beak
All over her borderless skirts droop stems and stalks fading downcast
And the froth and foam gather at the Prefecture’s northern gate
Was she ailing in the meniscus all summer to icy spring?
The promenade of choice girding the Prefecture like a sling
Stayed slammed and riveted with the gate gutter over-flowing
Some said ‘twas the asylum seekers broke into the building
To rob official stamps and cartes de sejour to gain false entry
Others less scrupulous thought Omar the culprit roaming free
Said some the Procureur made out a writ for his instant capture -
Abetted, said they, by the Resident Maid – our Bard sans country!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Without Reason and Without Cause
Doodle around and then relax;
then doodle some more and pass.
And hope tomorrow won’t hide the sun,
though your course already has run.
Cease this whimsical nonsense
—liberate and act, not the fool,
but prove your genius,
and defy character of rule.
I withheld truth and capitulated;
without reason and without cause.
And abetted false narrative,
and now life is questionable?
Like a tree frozen in winter,
yielding fruit rotten on the branch;
In punishment, my mind crawls
through slums where I tell everyone,
“Chump change. I was never important.
Let them pirouette in my face.
Hasta la vista! (Until we meet again!)”
Investigators cordon off the area
speaking in broken English,
“The facts speak for themselves.”
Sloths, like their animal predecessors,
welcome closure after the occurrence.
***
Notes:
Reasonable suspicion is more or less a hunch or guess without substantial evidence that a crime has the appearance of having been committed and justifies further investigation.
Probable cause is the logical conclusion after observation or investigation, supported by facts and circumstances, that a crime has been, is being, or will be committed.