Long About to be Poems
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A Life in a Day
Alarms pull me from my sleeping
The demand of their incessant routine undermining
The peaceful thoughtless dreaming
Where for a time I had forgotten
Everything
And like a vulture perched upon my pillow
Squawks all the separate memories to peck with their reminders
To myself of me
And while the daybreak has hardly broken
And while the dark room still conceals them
They invade my blood and bones
To return me to their isolation
As I lay there trying hard to think of something else
Still no one sleeps beside me
Their is no one to hear the resignation of my sigh
As my fathers name upon my lips
Is spat to a distance I can forget
And shoved closed the door and close my mind
So from the water risen and from the mirror no recognition
And from televised news no compassion
While I whisper some conversation to a girlfriend I once new
And think the stupid ***** still does not have a clue
No mercy for the human condition
As daybreak is about to be broken
For the support of mere flesh and entertainment
I frequent the hours I sell for money in return
Then as I stretch beneath my sheet
And my children’s faces swim through my head
All the lost years that lay between them
All the moments we never had
Return me once again to my isolation
From the darkness of a lovers hair
From the soft contours of her breasts
In the urgent and breathless moan
All the girls that I have had and known
This sweetness of togetherness becomes an acid made honey
Another broken back on which to sleep
Another collected offense for me to keep
In the silence of the questions they never asked themselves
Still no one sleeps beside me
Their is no one to hear the resignation of my sigh
As my fathers name upon my lips
Is spat to a distance I can forget
And shoved closed the door and close my mind
How this will end is not clear to me
The day has just begun
And the existence of the remains of life in a continuum
I have not yet lifted my head
Not bathed the sleep from my eyes
The blink of dawn has yet to offer me its usual compromise
In the comfort and the certainty of isolations open arms
And isolation has its charms
Alarms pull me from my sleeping
The demand of their incessant routine undermining
The peaceful thoughtless dreaming
Where for a time I had forgotten
Everything
~~~~~~~~
The sick elephant, perished at sunset!
Headline news, tears, anger, outrage and scorn.
A worldwide sadness, her baby just born!
Monies were collected, protests in the streets.
Medallions with her picture worn,ah, hearts so torn!
~~
A kitten walks the street alone, we save her!
We scream, "Where is humanity's soft heart?"
Organizations formed then, for feral cats.
We pour huge funds into shelters at once.
But whay of the unborn human, about to be
killed?
Sleeping, softly in their mother's warm womb?
Little fingers, sweet little toes, about to die?
Our hearts, souls, eyes, do we in denial close.
Millions upon millions, will indeed today, die.
Never to see sun, moon, stars or bluest sky.
Taken by methods too cruel to speak.
Angel babies killed in abortion mills.
The world weeps not a tear for human loss, still!
For the unborn, all, yes I will take a stand.
In a world that adores trees more than the
family of man.
A ghoulish thought, human life surrendered.
A baby is not a bad tooth to remove by any
Governments monies, freely tendered.
Sing not to me, that you love humanity!
Nor of world peace, when our own kind we kill.
Yes, aware man wants to this world control.
This world is not yours, it belongs to God.
What good, this verse, in a so very cold world?
Why! So you dare use fetal cells,I ask why?
To use them in a vaccine, you drool for?
Their cells floating in your selfish bloodstream?
We pen about the evils of truly great men?
We hum and talk to Muses, how very!!
We buried God, we loathe free nations.
Globalism only, downing, all the rest.
Then wonder, why all the worldly unrest?
Laughing our lives away, a great escape?
Reality, no, never on our plates!
Good, unborn people destroyed,oh how we do cheer.
Unethical, political thieves and snakes we adore.
As we quill, on God's sunny shores.
1/22/2021
~3~
National Sanctity of Life Day
January 22, 2021
President Donald J Trump
Thank You!
This day to respect the unborn~
Cancelled by the current resident
of The White House on Day One.
So be it!
My Friend My Pen.
Moments ago my world has gone grey my lover who for years
has governed my entire creation is walking away.
My energy failed me i felt cold when my dark mind went astray
I could not understand why? why I had to judge him hold a grudge
against him his reasons should be justified hopefully one day.
Staying home alone could not calm my storm
Wanting to talk and share my pain I searched for
Someone but it was all in vain nobody was free
Friends were passive and non receptive.
My persistence pushed me to climb up my favorite tree
And find my old friend my pen which cannot talk or walk
But knows whats in my soul will search to find a way to give
Me hope to accept & cope that my lover was walking away
And my world was turning grey.
My Pen
And I worked as a team for years forces me to dream
Lifts me up high when I start to sigh encourages me
Not to frown but to smile and comply to forget that my world
Turned grey because i was about to be given away as a prey
Due to my lover walking away.
My Pen
Stood by me when my days got cold & nights
were dead as i refused to be fed i did not want
to hear or fear that i should be ready to obey
that my lover was walking Away.
My Pen
My friend convinced me to stay as a mistress and
begged me nothing should come to an end please
defend his fate and admit to submit your love to
him before he goes away as maybe someday he'll
come back on any other day.
Leaving my friend My Pen hanging alone on the tree
I felt an uncontrollable urge to run be free to hold his
Picture take a glance just a glance but in seconds tears
Started dripping out of it. I sat on my rocking chair
Staring through the night carrying my pain in my heart.
I needed to stay speechless not even a wink of hope
Having no right at the moment to end it here i knew
what i had to be doing I needed to remain his hero
even helpless i will love my lover remembering years
ago when our path crossed each other we froze stunned
locked our eyes and uttered the unspoken It was love at
first sight.
My Pen woke me up one day to open my mail I found a
note from My lover unexpectedly my breathing stopped
the excitement to search through his soul gave me the
reason to jump and read.
Open the door I am outside.
Terry
WWII has been over for 66 years &
for some reason those responsible for the production of captain america: the first avenger
think that now is a good time to bring back a douche bag
who was originally called “super american”
by his creator, joe simon
(an obviously generic label amongst all the other “super” heroes that was even too much
for the morons at marvel to run with),
& so the captain was born
because
“there weren’t a lot of captains” in comics.
originally this super american punched
hitler in the face & sold almost a million
copies when that first march 1941 issue
hit the newsstands,
capitalizing on a war fervor that was
explosive in the US before pearl harbor had
even been attacked---
super american & his sidekick “bucky” went
on to fight more nazis & the japanese until
bucky died & was replace by “betsy ross,”
the super american’s fbi agent girlfriend---
modeled on the woman who is said to have
sewn the first american flag, betsy did not revive
the dying series,
mainly because the nationalism that was burning bright
during “the great war”
had burnt out during the cold war period &
so the captain & his flag sewing girlfriend ended up
ceasing after 75 issues,
by which time the whole fiasco had been retitled
captain america’s weird tales---
such justice doesn’t happen often,
it is a shame that it took 75 issues to bring it
about.
now that this new film is about to be release out into the world,
given the state of america’s wonderful reputation
(a bit different than in 1941) as the world’s policeman
who stops at nothing to rape this planet of its natural resources,
squeezing every last drop into its own mouth,
one might wonder how the producers of this film expected to
bring in a dime---
isn’t it bad enough that bombs, troops & drones are storming into
other countries?
now we have to throw it up on the silver screen as well?
it turns out that the film’s title is to be changed for release in
russia, south korea & the ukraine
to only the first avenger.
just what exactly is this super american avenging now?
it seems that now the big
bad
boogeyman
is
us & if there was anyone to be
avenged,
it would be
those that we have stomped on,
those that we continue to stomp on &
those
who we plan on stomping on in the future.
Moving Into a Haunted House
By Elton Camp
It was a story the Realtor had heard before
We were looking for an old house to restore
“It has to have a basement and two floors
If it was a Victorian, we’d like that even more.”
“On a large plot of land the house has to be.
We don’t want to look out and neighbors see.
It can’t be some old relic that is falling down
But we’ll do work on the house and ground.”
The agent then tried to hide a delighted grin
“Long on the market this one place has been.
Your description made think of it right away.
Get in my car and we’ll drive out there today.”
The fine old mansion wasn’t near to any towns
The driveway twisted through neglected grounds
Through a break in the trees, we caught a sight
The place brought a mixture of fright and delight
When we found that all furnishing were included,
We made an offer and the deal was soon concluded
At closing, the Realtor one thing more did reveal
“I learned it’s haunted so you can cancel the deal.”
“Hey, I am not some ignorant, superstitious fool.
One who believes in zombie, ghost, witch or ghoul.
If any spirits are in our house as you have predicted,
They better be packing as they’re about to be evicted.”
The very first night after we moved in from the town,
We were about to go to bed, but heard a horrible sound
It was something like from a movie or a scary dream
It was frightful, as if some tortured soul did scream
The source of the disturbance was on the first floor
We crept down the stairs and heard it more and more
I wondered if we would still be alive the next morning
I reproached myself for failing to take agent’s warning
Finally to find the dark, noisy room took us several tries
I shone into it the light and saw a pair of glowing eyes
The cries came to a stop and trembling I stood still
And down my back there ran a fright-induced chill
The flashlight tumbled to the floor from my hand
I couldn’t decide if it was better that I run or stand
What happened next was, to me, almost too much
A soft form, my lower legs began to lightly touch
I felt that I could not withstand the fright any more,
But my very feet felt as they were glued to the floor
My wife switched on her flashlight and yelled “Scat.”
Down the hallway scooted a lost and frightened cat
In the eye of the hurricane, Translation of Carlos Bousono’s poem : En el ojo del hurracan
(Ninth in the collection : Metafora del Desafuero, published – according to the editor, Alejandro
Duque Amusco – not in 1988, but in 1989, was awarded the « Premio Nacional de Poésia »
for 1989, on May 28, 1990. Bousono, as in these later free verse compositions, shows how
well he manages the long-breathed line, a clear contrast to the compact and elliptical earlier
verse, say, of the collection : Subida al amor. T. Wignesan)
The creatures of plenitude situated themselves holding their silence, the thrones of
inexplicability, exactly, therefore, in the very centre of the eye of the hurricane :
that doors be blown asunder, that windows be blown away,
that agonizing bodies in makeshift beds be smothered into oblivion,
half-dead widows, postmen who half-way in the act of delivering
the love letter which would definitely render us joyful,
the seat where the poor old grandmother was in the act of sitting
while sewing
the newly-born baby’s pony-tailed bonnet which turned around half-
way in the gusts,
the hurricane which uplifted love and all that was left of love :
letters, papers, leaves
of music,
lovers in coitus at the orgiastic acmé and the light,
when it began to dawn,
when the saxophone cleared its throat and commenced the beat of the
dance,
when everything on the stage in its place awaited the raising of the
curtain,
when the wedding was at the point of being consecrated, and the
priest was ready to offer his benediction : « el ite misa est »,
when within the following few moments the inexorable
ceremonial of the written formalities was about to be concluded
then, as I said,
and only then,
the hurricane unleashed its violence with rage, the incomprehensible
hurricane, and there stood still only the immoveable lucid eye,
separate, eminent, complete in its entire being, that by force of its
profundity had ascended to the exact point where it could
redeem its guilt,
the eye of reconciliation,
the eye of wisdom and suave serenity,
where the intact and silenced world sang
adorable and yet so beautiful without us,
necessary pretexts, notwithstanding, of its musical nature.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
A young tourist went into an old castle for site seen,
he became fascinated by the antique structure, the Gothic sculptures and the beautiful renaissance paintings hanging on the stone walls, artistically.
Some people moved in groups around tour guides, while others sat in the entrance hall majestically.
he took memorable pictures along the way, but got carried away by the multitude of people he had seen on his way in,
Interactively,
As he ventured deeper in curiosity, the lights became dimmer in visibility then the tranquillity of his mind grew shallow in inquisitiveness, gradually.
So he decided to abort his mission and return back to a common room, he turned around confidently but found himself still facing the same direction surprisingly.
It was at that moment, he realised he was now missing both in his dreams and also in reality as well, certainly.
Afterwards he tried to retrace his step from myths back to legend but his road map had become outdated hence the company of voices he once relied on while coming in, now sounded like mere rumours, on his way out, practically.
He scrolled through the pictures he had captured, although they all looked different initially but had now broken out through the thick walls, because all the stones looked the same in preview and his uncertainty had set them free in review, unfortunately.
He called out for help but his voice echoed reflectively around the concave mirrors of his mind in frequencies, repeatedly.
He began living a past life suddenly, trying to recall events because even the present time, had escaped his consciousness, relatively,
the only way forward for him presently, was to head backwards futuristically.
Since he did not have the plan 2 the castle, he made a plan out of the castle, by using two old stones, to start a fire, like a cave man, evolutionarily.
Thereafter he was crowned the king of the castle assumably because the tour guides began tracing the smoke immediately,
for they feared that the throne was about to be set on fire accidentally,
Finally the tourist was excavated out of the past into a present time frame, for "the stone that the builders rejected, had become the chief corner stone of the building" comprehensively...
The End...
Ballet of Death
As trumpets prepare emotions
This sordid art knows well
My hooves stomp impatiently
Raising clouds of dust
Enshrouding my entrance
With shouts and whistles
A crowd's tense moments
Engulf this gladiator's arena
Demanding courage and blood
Far away
The grassy hills
Of his Ganaderias estate
Stands my sire
Now out to pasture
Erect and proud
Amidst sadness retirement brings
Once close to arena fame
Determined better as stud
He raises his head
The air has changed
He knows the scent of fear
The distance it can travel
He scrapes the ground
The matador awaits the pageantry
I shoulder my pen bars
Holding back muscled power
Energy primed for destruction
My challenger readies his cape
I squint at the sun through dusty air
A beast's freedom that might have been
Were not this
My first time
Most likely
My last time
Such brutal grandeur awaits
Stage one Banderilleros
Astride proud mounts
Parading to applause
Preparing to tempt my will
Their colorful presence
To test my vision
The picadors await stage two
Armed with lance
Saddled atop padded and blindfolded steeds
Ready to break my will
What will their first piercing feel like?
Will my neck be numb for the rest
Or will it but set afire my zeal to live?
Banderilleros anticipate stage three
Their barbed banderillas
Flag-like with colored local papers
Held ready to weaken my neck further
My loins tremble with hope
Knowing my destiny is to charge
Expend my energy
Then... trample my own blood
As the magnificent matador and I
Perform our finite ballet
This dance of death
My enclosure's bolt is about to be lifted
Soon
Very soon
The matador's flourishing cape
Its crimson and gold tricks of ecstasy
Will swirl about and around
The stoic-faced tempter
Suddenly grinning with anticipation
While soiling himself
The piercing will come
I'll not allow pain any glory
I will drool
Defecate
Urinate
My legs will buckle
The sword now in my neck
The nerves failing my brain
Blood loss weakening my heart
Suffering passing quickly
I'll at last experience
Man's insane pleasure
My fallen passion
Bathed in blood
Dragged away by rope and horse
So many hours
So many training capes
So many horses taunting me
So many chances to fail into freedom
Chances to be respected
Like my father
Faithful father
I will miss you
Now, the other day Dragon over heard it said that, eventually, we all must die.
Now remember he is only 2 years old, and suddenly he’s worried about me, sigh!
Yes, my hair is gray, and yes, my old bones do creak, but I have more left in me…
I’ll be here tomorrow, and be your Mama, for a while, this I know, Trust me!
He continued to fret, so I explained the cycle of life, but said I’m not dead, YET!
Now he wanted to know… if he could go with me… when I eventually leave…
So I told him as my Dragon, if he truly wanted to go… he could leave with me…
But why should he want to go… if I am in Heaven, looking down for him, to see.
For I will be the brightest star, watching him, endlessly… I will never leave…
But he is rather smart, for a 2 year old to be, so how can he remain alive, you see?
He was born from my imagination so, he ask: How, oh how, will he survive?
Not to worry, I did say… for I’ll put you in a series of books, to keep you alive.
He didn’t understand, and fretted and cried, still some more, how could he survive?
When on a shelf in some old dusty store, how could he ever truly, be truly alive?
I said, by the imagination of those who read that book, he’d survive, truly, indeed!
For people are all made up, of all the past experiences and all that they do read.
What Mama wouldn’t want to keep your book, to read to their, own sweet children?
Or I can make you magic, if you want, to travel the world… you’ll be just like Merlin.
Then you can visit every country and town, in every language, known everywhere.
At that he stopped his crying and fretting, but the hiccups didn’t leave, with the tears.
So I got out some paper bags, and said Breathe… Dragon… Slowly… Breathe…
But darned if he didn’t light them all afire, until I ran out of bags with his last sneeze.
I realized the hiccups were getting worse, but Grandpa Troll said not to worry, at all…
He said…You’re favorite color is blue, isn’t it? And you think ice is as cool as fire?
Well, don’t worry! Shortly, any moment now! He’s about to be able to throw ICE!
What, Oh What, has my imagination done… How do you deal with ice?
My Oh My! Suddenly, I felt like a deer caught…In The Headlights!
Gee, with Dragon it seems, there’s always going to, be Another Surprise!
take my soul and crush it...
like you do... every day...
You've never looked so beautiful as your figure walks away
the sad screech of my broken heart as it ceases to play
you took me along for the ride of a lifetime,
only to throw me away, every single day,
and it is a crime, without reason or rhyme,
to push me along with your toxic logic,
abandoning me again with an afflicted soul,
and my heart doesn't know
that it is your toxic logic that twists me up inside
brought on by your reign, and I can't recall my name
Once again in my little hell, all by myself,
my very essence betrayed, is there any more to tell?
Lie after lie has fooled me, but now I'm done
But I still love you, so my pain is far from done.
You think that I'm inferior to children, that you can't talk to me,
though I've been here since day one, why can't you see?
that my existence is for you, and no one else,
and the sickest bit of it
puts me in a rage... and i try to turn the page...
But I'm trapped in your toxic logic,
abandoning me again with an afflicted soul,
and my heart doesn't know
that it is your toxic logic that's killing me inside
brought on by your reign, overwhelmed by pain
I see the world in black and white, no color left for me,
I gaze across the room, and what do I see?
I see yet another soul about to be ensnared,
by this predator, but I simply don't care.
I lost a part of me, and it used to let me love,
But it has been snatched from me by this uncaring troll,
and here I am, an empty vessel of defeat.
I simply don't know, I truly have been beat.
But as I retreat... from anger flows heat...
Seared by your toxic logic,
abandoning me again with an afflicted soul,
and my heart doesn't know
that it is your toxic logic that branded me inside
brought on by your reign... damaged by pain...
The last tether to you broke, I'm free at last.
an empty part inside remains, holding me fast.
I sink to my knees as the vacuum in my soul starts to shrink,
loving you brought me to insanity's brink.
I slowly raise my head... and gaze ahead...
No longer captive to your toxic logic,
that abandoned me with an empty soul,
and my heart now knows
that it was your toxic logic that tortured me inside
under your maniacal reign... which gave me nothing but pain…