Long Adjourned Poems
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Things sacredly sworn should last forever.
Wedding rings aren't meant to be removed
but love doesn't always end like a fairytale.
This is a rendering of what was forsaken,
in a painstaking tale that wounded my heart
but all's well that ends well... after a sale.
Vile words spewed from inebriated lips...
daggers drenched with the stench of liquor.
Upon my left hand, I'd worn a wedding band.
For a year after leaving, it encircled my finger until
it behooved me to take it off.
There's no sense holding on to what is over.
Marriage isn't always as palatable as waffles
covered with honeyed clover syrup.
Removing that ring was easier than I thought,
but getting rid of it was something I fought to do.
I almost tossed it out, but put it in a box,
still feeling tethered though I'd weathered
the storm of sorrow. Courage to do that
came the day divorce papers arrived with a
"Please sign." I did and never felt more alive.
I smiled knowing he had to pay court fees.
I looked at the ring later that day,
knowing what I needed to do with the thing.
The one that once meant everything to me,
but now it was an agitator, an aggravator.
It dawned on me that I should pawn it.
So, to a hole-in-the-wall place called Fast Cash,
I drove without giving thought that my heart
would make me turn around.
NO! Not this time. I was going to win this round!
It may have been a rash decision,
but I took what I was offered because
divorce papers don't come with a provision
that states, "Rings given must be returned."
'Marriage adjourned' the document stated.
Give back the ring? I'm not addlepated.
I was better off without a wedding band,
no longer on the third finger of my left hand.
I sold it for less than the measure of its worth,
but felt like I'd given birth to a new me.
Free from the emotional chain around my neck.
Heck, selling it gave me more pleasure
than I would have known had I tossed it out.
A Psychiatric doctor poked and prodded in my head..
I was all screwed up, I think; he said…?
Was it because I claimed to see “purple elephants“?
Who amazingly did some acrobatic stunts?
The “doc” looked at me and shook his “mind”
I wasn’t listening, I was counting sticks; on the blinds..
He told me to lay down and all I heard was a “walkie talkie”
My mouth was racing before my brain, speaking jabberwocky.
The “doc” employed me to start a “wellness Plan”
On the ceiling; there were a hundred dots seemingly well spanned.
The “doc” read me the “itinerary” of this “technique” to apprehend...
I looked at him and my mind dawdled and couldn’t comprehend..
His “philanthropic” approach did not make me feel at ease..
I wanted to ride on the “purple elephants” and away I would leave!
The tick and the tock are never far asunder..
All the noises in the room sounding more like thunder….
“He” states now this hour is adjourned..
The dour doc pencils another “appointment” with the look of discern.
They spoke of Dragons, Werewolves,
Zombies, Vampires, so much more
Unaware of the gathering danger
Assembling down there on the floor.
At The At Writers weekly gathering
An association of comfort and support
Where they’d read crime, fantasy, poetry
After the chair had given her report.
Dimensional Anomalies had aligned
Sliding into a rare position of reach
And the Lord Commander ceremonially
Had Effected a temporary breach.
To enable the quick entry of his
Assembled invading combat fleet
Until their entry had been blocked
By one writers shuffling of his feet.
The contact was deftly closed as
The invaders quickly withdrew
Embarrassed at their lack of
Planning so none of them knew
They were invading a world of giants
Each many times their own size
And the shuffling foot had caused
Half the invading fleets sad demise..
It was recorded in their annals
As a brave but tragic defeat
Their Invasion having been foiled
By a pair of restless giants feet.
The Writer At Meeting adjourned
Not a member having been aware
Of the danger that Nearly Was
On the floor beneath a readers chair.
The dimensions drifted apart
Becoming quickly beyond reach
Neither showing any sign that
There’d ever been any breach.
At Writers had departed
With arrangements being made
To assemble at Planet Coffee to
Continue the practice of their trade.
.
I must here expound of ( the Bradbury pound ) so bear with
Me 'soupers' and even share this around..How treasury notes, can any Nation re-deem, its a ladder to exit your
Countrys debt; (thats obscene!) And your treasury's know full
Well how' debt free funds can be put' into action yet the
W E F does not want them to open that book.) How your
Green back dollers are wilting; wasting away..' So i advise you to do
Your research and get your 'emails or even letters off today'
For in Britian a barrage of such soon begins.' Call on
Your representatives to (expose the treasury's sins)
rachel reeves, in the U K, is to be called to explain' why Britian is stuck in a debt trap..It will soon be given her plain.'
And the same in America, in Australia in the world.' Why not
Recognise our debt free assets.?? Its time insanity is
Adjourned.! Or better still cancelled..Like the bi-monthly
Trips to ( Basel again in switzerland ) strange? that country
Never takes a hit !! Yet most countrys reserve bosses go
There time and again.' Where they take un-recorded instructions
( on keeping countrys in schtuk ) with impunity and rapaciousness these ( un-known ?) banksters plan raids..
Boosted by war fundings hook.. Its really that grave.' Like evil
Funeral directors they appear to be moved, by such acts in
Bergen belsen or aushwitz; or many such places so cruel'
They profit from sympathy..And plan the next scheme be
It covid or monkey pox? Or there was thelat 'dark winter theme? Yet there is an antidote ( and its you; people you!!)
So get cracking with the emails..' and you'll finally break
Through.) Break through to financial stability and a world
Of less pain.?? Its all now.! Or never' (Or be happy with nothing )
Just let that sink into.' our brains.)
The meadow lay dark, dank, hushed, cold and clammy.
Nothing dared to move,
to break the soliloquent solitude.
Time stood still, adjourned, awaiting a warp to lift the lag.
Then, the moon peeped out from the edge of a dark cloud.
Everything changed, the scene was awash with perception,
beyond the touch of braille dots, enlightened.
Dew drops on grass blades sparkled,
with mini moon images, captured within.
An owl opened its eyes to scan the scene, enraptured.
A rabbit twitched its nose, sniffing for scents, wafting.
Now you could see the breeze caressing the grass, ebbing and waving.
See the dew drops dislodged from leaves fall, tumbling as tear-drops.
The moonlight painted the scene as it brightened,
colors and textures infilling in waves.
Not a still life landscape,
but with colors ever so slowing growing in intensity and contrast.
A beam of moonlight squirmed its way across the meadow,
as if parting the grass with a furrow.
Then, as the full moon escaped from behind the cloud,
flooding light all over the entire meadow,
the scene was fixed, its dynamism quelled, expelled, in past tense.
The sleeper awoke, looked out the window,
admired the moonlight on meadows scene
oblivious to how the moon had gradually developed the scene,
like a fixative develops a print from a negative film.
The image darkening and transforming into view as if my magic.
The sleeper returned to sleep, oblivious to how the scene of the meadow
developed with the first few seconds of moonlight caste upon it.
Never knowing what they missed as the moonlight first alit the meadow,
delightfully developing the scene before it was fixed, and paint dried.
My, My what the sleeper missed!
THE HAKIMI'S GAME
He is a professional player,
Plays properly for his Parisian payer.
Family travels & lives the Player.
Player invites a beautiful slayer.
She laid rape allegations against the Player.
Even Ramadan couldn't stop the Player
from dotingly detesting the stranger.
No gainsaying he probably hates her!
Is the acting accuser another player
obliviously trying to play on the Player?
The untold truthful tips are only a layer
beneath this whole brouhaha.
Player vehemently issues a flat denial.
Nonfictive tale; she plays Beverly Naya,
the professional Player plays for his payer.
It's a rigmarole of "Who's playing who?"
And "Who is playing the fool?"
The jury wished to be a seer,
to identify the player and the Player.
Despite the case being adjourned,
Mass madness of memes had turned.
'net bandwagon of jibes & jokes I joined.
The case is still unresolved for the Player.
No comments from his payer either.
Though the stranger might be a slayer
but she could also be the true player.
Then Player's wife jettisoned the game,
because the case remains the same.
It's game day, but she wants no games,
and heaved on him all the blames.
She files for divorce & leaves the Player,
surely this should make her wealthier.
Player finds no ease with his Spanish wife,
The turn of events is about to change his life.
The foreigner played the case as a forerunner
and played the foreigner's game with the Player.
50% of his sweat to be forfeited on a plater,
She designs to suck him alil' & live him bitter.
But he played his wife's game & beat her,
Oh boy! He just couldn't miss the sitter,
instead, he became boisterously better.
Court said Player had nothing in his account.
All the money? What he did was hack out
every penny into Mama's bosom.
If actions were humans, I'd say that's handsome.
He'd played out his cash before being played
by the slayer & his player whose plan is arrayed,
But Hiba Abouk ended up being played.
Now, her money to be shared is warily laid.
"Player" is played by the Player & fuels his fame.
Please don't hate the Player, hate the game.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhyme/Alliteration
Copyright ©? April 2023.
#thehakimisgame #sadiamouth #vickmanuelpoetry
Some are common - others rare,
But opportunities are there
For us to claim, capture, declare...
Unless we simply stop and stare.
Long after our mother's girth...
Beyond our time of childbirth,
We have chances for all their worth
To make our way on planet Earth.
Some of them simply appear
During a meal... over a beer.
Others may not seem as clear
If we refuse to see or hear.
Granted some are, others earned...
Some cases see them adjourned.
Lost at times with bridges burned...
Experience and what is learned.
Feeding out of their said manger...
Each one a potential changer.
Sometimes given by a stranger
Or another unknown ranger.
Saviours from a life of woe...
Expanders of what we all know.
An opportunist - are you so
Or would you rather let them go?
On a passing cloud there floats a beautiful dream, an untold one, a secret mission, a magic quest.
Unobserved initially as the sun has gently and graciously adjourned only minutes ago.
Tomorrow’s whispered truths stir in my writer’s heart, as I ponder how to make it happen, and with zest.
The tide creeps up with a bit of cool, startling me into a listening thing, with a wet big toe.
A mellow butterfly, who must have not realized the sun was leaving, buzzes past, in a hurry.
I am here now with the ocean, a few scattered people whom I do not care to know, and cooling sand.
A scuffle, and I see a young mother scoop up her daughter, grab a beach towel and leave in a hurry.
Alone on the beach, I watch the clouds roll in, bringing my favorite entity, my spiritual sand man.
A heartfelt sigh, a slow closing of the eyes, and I flow into the strength of my glory inner self.
My dream unleashed on a magic journey, a celestial mystery, known only to God and I.
There is no way to disengage myself from this inner journey, my face smiles like a well-fed elf.
Between the pages of the real and the unreal world, we sleep, my conscious mind, and my third eye.
Upon relaxing I hear the ending line of a poem my ancestors have been giving to me.
A golden harp dream of bliss, there is no hurry as my soul takes me slowly into a nirvana state.
I glimmer a glimpse of an angel’s hem, knowing I am one of the few honored to see.
Moonbeam world, starlight path, heavenly bridge, a world not so far, and a world of anti-hate.
I am living vicariously through myself, and it is wonderful, and it feels my truth best.
The puffy white clouds have lulled me to sleep, transformed me, in a quiet sweet way, in no way loud.
I am one with the night now, one with the waves, warm as a robin in her mother’s cozy nest.
A spiritual quest, urged on by a willing heart, a dream delivered onto me by a cummulous cloud.
One in Five II Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph Mays Written 9- 2- 2018
A tragedy lives on and on,
A tragedy is never gone,
If one tragedy dies another is born.
Roses and thorns,
A tragedy blows a haunted horn.
A lady in black tragically mourns
Her unfaithful lover who adjourned
The twisted tragic love sworn.
She loved him, she did with all she had,
But in the end she was the one who got sad,
Why did she get her humble heart broken?
Didn't she know that love is a lustrous lie often?
Where was her wise mind that always knew?
Was it on vacation with its feet under the ocean blue?
Now will she be able to mend her broken heart with glue?
Or will she keep waiting for the traitor who stole her heart and flew?
My bathroom has a radio
Connected to the switch
That controls the light, so people think
That there’s some kind of glitch.
But whoever needs to use it
Hears the weather and the news
And the traffic and the sports
And some instructive interviews.
Now those voices, so familiar,
Will be missing since I’ve learned
That the station, CBS-AM’s
About to be adjourned.
Also called News 88, it’s been,
For close to 60 years,
Keeping all New Yorkers up to date
With news as it appears.
I know change is bound to happen
But I will not have a clue
About all the latest news if I
Don’t hear it in the loo!