Long After midnight Poems
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Who could forget what happened on that unsuspecting and sunny day,
when no visible clouds drifted over the Twin Towers?
Little after midnight, the cool rain adds to the melancholy
of the descending angels; and I join them in prayer to remember the tragedy!
This should be a day of remembrance, not of hatred for the ignoble acts
the wicked committed, but would God accept unkindness instead of merciful deeds?
They called it another day of infamy,
and like Pearl Harbor we were taken by surprise;
that was an attack aimed at the military,
but on September 11 the terrorists attacked the civilians!
It seemed like lightning striking down sturdy trees,
and then fire broke out with smoke trails of a thousands feet;
" O my God! ", every employee screamed...quickly running down
the stairs engulfed by fire...causing an indescribable chaos everywhere!
" Take my hand, I will lead you to safety! " the firefighter said to the coughing woman.
" Hold onto my arm! " the policeman yelled out to the frail man,
who had dropped his eyeglasses and couldn't see!
Every firefighter and policeman acted like them, rescuing many without fearing death;
and hundreds of them, that awful morning, never returned home alive...
what a tragedy for their families that watched in horror and couldn't help!
Who wouldn't remember the courage of their noble and willing hearts?
And furthermore, who wouldn't engrave their valorous names on plaques and monuments?
Up above, by the gates of Paradise...Christ and His Father awaited them to accept their souls;
while archangels surrounding God's throne, sung hymns that humans couldn't sing...
those hymns that all the earthly heroes will sing with them when Heaven mourns again!
Their portraits, pictures and memorabilia hang above the fireplaces,
and on the decorated walls of the victims' homes, precincts and firehouses;
how could anybody take them down as they were worthless items?
Prize them more than gold or diamonds, o friends grieving that tremendous loss even today;
don't hate those who caused you sorrow and unbearable pain, be forgiving and show mercy...
as God does toward us; o friends remember your heroes for their valor and sacrifice!
My poem is dedicated to the victims and survivors of the September 11 attacks on America.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
When You Feel Life Is Crap, Has Too Many Hells
When you are walking through each day's hard travails
you feel life is crap, has far too many Hells,
try to see reality as that dark force,
that from insanity gives mind a divorce;
With such knowledge larger shield may be granted,
you may find life and love both are enchanted.
When your nights are long and needed sleep deprived
you find that as human, all life is contrived,
you beg for long sweet dreams to give your soul rest,
reality gives you yet another test;
To accept its darker and malignant deeds,
learn that everything dies and most of it bleeds.
When such pondering comes and your mind rebels
you feel life is crap, has far too many Hells,
know that you are not perfect and you know why
life is damn tough, everything that bleeds will die;
With that truth and its hard and deep final thought
you may find, life is a trap and you are caught.
When you are walking through each day's hard travails
you feel life is crap, has far too many Hells,
try to see reality as that dark force,
that from insanity gives mind a divorce;
With such knowledge, larger shield may be granted,
you may find life and love both are enchanted.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-17-2018
Syllables Per Line:
11 11 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 11 11
Total # Syllables: 264
Total # Words: 211
Personal Note-
Could not sleep, decided to let my darkest pen ramble
admit my humanity and splash dark black ink to gamble;
Pen a few words to wile away these lonely after midnight hours,
defeat the invading evil flinging stones from fortified black towers.
This restless night the Raven shrieks out its deepest chilling calls,
in dark dreams, I stumble about in darkness, among fallen castle walls.
Poe echoes out his warnings to find the light and thus be aware
the Raven never rests, gives no quarter and simply does not care.
Raven does so much more than just send its terrifying calls
it lends darkness to invade and leave behind bloodied castle halls.
Scoff at this dire warning, and your sad soul risk it as blind
I wander through this realm, see monsters of every kind.
I am Poe, the greatest poet and horror master you will ever know
Ignore me and the Raven and I both, will put on an even scarier show.
Under your twisted lips, runs a wooden tongue called time, you have drained the city of all that is divine,and your tongue is rolling over into your head as if you are getting ready to expose the dead. You went on a shooting spree, committing murder in the first degree, mashing up sauce and pans while you infiltrate the substance all over the land.
You bear the mark of the Antichrist in your stomach and the beast curled up in your back side while the guitar is strumming silently in your head as if music is your only gift and sardines, are your only dish.
Retrace your steps and look in the hole and you will see how far the tunnel has gone into the river bed and what about the clock above the wall? It’s time for you to get out of bed and take a long cold shower.
Your wildest dream is buried in your heart and it has been with you from the very start, walk up the road and turn around the bend and you will see the lion occupied its den, you can tame it from outside but don’t make the mistake and go inside, your wildest dream is full of pride.
The morning is looking for you and the afternoon has its wing all over you, the evening and nights are filled with delight but the dragons are active after midnight but the firefly will lead you into the light.
I have seen you wailing on that road with Illusion covering your face and reality leading you to a woeful embrace. The train is speeding and you must recuse yourself from the track before you get hit in your back.
Setting up late at nights to roll the infamous dice has set off a new course of action with marinated duck clucking in the oven and sauté beef frozen on ice watching the curry chicken dancing on top of the plate.
They set up all night waiting for you to try on a brand-new pair of shoes; I don’t think it will fit because deception is stuff in its sole. It’s too small for your feet and I can feel the Cinderella heartbeat spreading the heat.
This is more than fifteen-year-old inquiry of a man and a woman on a reckless and deceptive journey and the schemes that they use to obtain the price came at a horrendous sacrifice both man and woman fell into the ditch leaving a painful bridge behind and we finally got them off the pitch.
Words and words and more words.
Talking and talking, all talking,
to be convinced for the untrue.
Air blown by people,
creating breezes and winds,
social winds that is, even storms,
but you have a life to live, go, go ahead,
against the winds, weather them.
We'll make you roads and bridges...........
two for one if you buy now............
she is more time out of her house, after midnight than in..........
killers kill while you're watching............
you won't believe it for him............
buy Blir we made it for you.
Never let the air stop on your chest,
you fall, let the air go around you,
advance against the winds.
One foot in front, to advance forward,
the other back, to hold against the forces,
then, let the one on the back, go to the front,
and let the other back, to resist,
one, two, one, two, so simple,
you have learn it long ago under protection,
with arms around you,
one moment laughed, next cried,
but you stood up, and kept going,
now use it, alone, it's the same.
Life is to coexist, communicating and exchanging minds.
Their very importance is fooled, if most of received and understood is hoax.
People talk and blow air, mostly flows around like breeze,
but can also become wind.
Concerned about people's blabs,
to convince you for the untrue,
is like walking against the winds,
the social winds of promises and offers.
Don't stay at the same place
waiting for breezes and winds to stop,
they never stop, it is socialities from
politicalnullties and commercialnullties,
medianullties and goblins and little people,
it's their agony for their wasted lives,
their dispear that they don't know how to live their lives,
animals do it too, see them in the zoos,
you don't understand a sound.
Breathe from different 'airs', but always filtered,
and let it go around, don't stop the air,
if you do, it's like they live on you, it's like you feed them,
don't let it stop around you, can't afford the odors.
Since you can't touch the invisible air, and you only sense it,
how you're going to stop it by way of force,
confront it indirectly, with your senses.
I'm still waiting for you to shed some light on me
It's still minutes after midnight and I'm still up, baby
I'm hoping for some helpful answers to the questions
I'm wishing you well in all you do - no more assumptions
Our deepest fears and regrets are now water under the bridge
I'm still waiting for you to shed some light on me
It's a golden opportunity you don't want to miss any time soon
I'm lost in the reminiscences of my hopes and desires beyond marvelous measure
I'm wiping away the sadness debris from your eyes - be enlightened with mere pleasure
Our deepest fears and regrets are now water under the bridge
We're reaching out to the sky of a thousand universes
We're ascending from our haven of miracles and curses
I'm able to see beyond the wreckage of our lives
I'm able to hear beyond the bridge of our secret hives
Our deepest fears and regrets are now water under the bridge
I'm still longing 69 times for the Afterlife to take place on cloud 7 sooner or later
It's something that I've been waiting for for a long period of time - I'm my own savior
I'm pondering about the rough times we used to squander with each other
Now it's a forever blur and I'm bound to be in this cell of your goodbyes and your forever after
Our deepest fears and regrets are now water under the bridge
I'll be delighted to be a prisoner of freedom and triumphantly flutter aimlessly in liberty's captivity
It's as if I've been deceived into loving you and deprived of appreciation - I adore you, even if you are a figment of my imagination or a tale of fiction, my darling; you're my bittersweet reality
I'm wide awake and can't seem to fall asleep
I lay down hopelessly on my pillow and solemnly weep
Our deepest fears and regrets are now water under the bridge
Can you save me from my childish phobias?
Will you hear me out, although I'm full of blemishes and flaws?
Without a flick of doubt, I adore the many shapes of your auras that shine aglow
It fascinates me and it stirs up my curiousity to the max -
I'm still waiting for your sunlit glow, you know?
Our deepest fears and regrets are now rubble under the bridge
The memoirs of an ashtray should be written by the giggling pot pourri for pot pourri are neither properly printing nor are the proficient professional photographic petals. How exciting is the table today? Not very. For it is very difficult to discover a tabletop when all is thrown upon it like a raked lawn disturbed by a windy day. Tons of papers jostling for position fighting for space with the clothes and the pen takes up the most room but is asleep and snoring. And who would wish to wake a pen for on waking they can become quite irate so always move quietly if they are in slumber. The dog sees the mess on the table and leaves to play with his toy. The leaving of the dog displeased the table who enjoyed the dogs company and often chatted about wood for hours with the woof. The table groans and groans at the weight and the mess. But to no avail. Causing landslides around the house with its bellow and volcanic voice. The little plant pot in the centre popped through a t shirt and with its leaves pushed and swept all of the contents of the tabletop onto the recently swept floor. Ha it thought. I will now get some water today because I am exposed and no longer in a tomb of clothes. Good. The table was laughing at the resulting mess on the floor. The dog re entered the room and upon seeing the clothes and papers decided to chew then sleep. This was not good news for the returning zoo people. Sixty five elephants, a giraffe, a giant eel, a pride of lions, sixteen baboons, a leopard, one five metre penguin, eighteen tropical fish, a four thousand foot ostrich with a four mile beak, all entered the house. Saw the mess but went about their chores. Cooking and cleaning and bathing. Then seated at the table were the gorilla family who played games of cards till after midnight accompanied by the ambience of tunes from the other animals who were well versed in violin, guitars, bongos, trumpets, cellos, harpsichords and penny whistles. The table was quite content. Harmonic heavenly haven. And no bread crumbs to spit on him. Fantastic...........mesmerized Z Z Z Z. With a tall bearded cuckoo clock calling from a cloud. Z
Form:
Where does one begin to write,
away from the streets' nioses and children's screams,
forgetting those bouts of loneliness
that evade the inner peacefulness?
One starts with a pad, jotting down appealing ideas...
never having to fear they'll be lost.
I have a private place where I compose
a new poem, then read it aloud to myself;
such a place has a window that opens
to the brilliance of a blessed day,
and sunlight impinging, highlights its words
to amaze me of a would-be greatness.
After midnight I refuge to this quite corner,
when most people sleep and the luminiscent moon
projects her beams to enlighten my dreamy face,
I stare back at her and wave as I do with friends;
moon as eternal as unseen planets more colorful,
do you have the faintest idea why I indite?
Some write for fame, others to empty their souls of painful reasons,
or to glorify Heaven and love for their continous existence,
but invoking death instead of life is so detestable and inexcusable;
and from their voices I reckon the useslessness and torment...
may I never become like them, to burn hope in blazes of smoke,
watching its incineration until it turns into hot ashes!
I write out of an urge, which swells inside and needs to burst out,
leaving my psyche, to let it land on prude hands that welcome my gift,
until I pulsate with satisfaction, and purging those who show dissidence...
might raise questions for them who are easily aroused to anger;
I create more in quietitude....not being disturbed by airplanes' roars,
or trains speeding on tracks making all windows vibrate.
From the ancient to the modern poets, their intellect is stimulated
by urban or rustic sourroundings, and I have choosen them both in my writings,
and they manifest themselves glowingly, enticing this reason for existing;
open my pages and read all the passionate verses exciting the eye and pleasing the soul:
these are from the mind to the heart, a testimony of an enthustiastic life...
streaching out to every boundery and race, making everyone savor my delights.
Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci
Riding the bus to school past an ugly reminder
the tattered trailers next to a construction site
I imagine the way it used to be
a house
across from a dozen shattered trailers with little heat
no water usually but electricity
visiting mom was a treat
Dad would not refuse to drop me off
at her trailer with my pet rat
rad dee louise, ratty louise mom called him
she loved him so I let her have him
mom had friends over all the time
this tattered trailer held them while
I watched and smelled the perfume
watched her glow red and crystallize with 2 grown men
then dad picked me up for the night
next time a man drove up to the lot
he rolled down the window and I ran up
we talked and I must have been smart
because he remembered me and drove off
she wanted to talk about the spies
the eyes in the trees that were watching her
I ate the crystals she gave me saying
these are cow grass, they put the cows to sleep
I did not sleep
she lectured me
about all the terrible things that others
could do to me or had done to others
so I went outside and built a fire
that fire lasted through the night
the coals were most amazing things
I'd ever seen
I stared into their eyes
keep them alive and nothing else mattered
She came storming out of the tattered trailer
after midnight or just before dawn I dont know
screaming
I'm being electrocuted! she said
tired, I wondered why she felt that way
she jumped into a tree and sat their shaking
I tried to comfort her but she was on fire
I saw that, tried to leave in vain
she kept me close and dragged me
to the battered trailer again
she pulled me from place to place
around the compound in the dawn
the fire coals were cold and so was I
wanted to sleep but she kept saying
she was being electrocuted
waking up I wandered to find the sheriff
shaking her awake and taking her away
they took me too
to the dock where the van was
where my dad was gone
I told them he was teaching which was true
so I woke up alone next to the payphone
and crawled into bed in the van
I didn't tell my dad
With a 7-Eleven Big Cup eulogy slurp
And a McDonalds Big Mac pall bearer burp,
it’s Big Boy Slim Jim holiday mourning time
Take a family reunion picnic funeral ride
to a cemetery last supper barbeque burial ...
shovel down the gullet styrofoam servings
of coffin words charcoal dirtside purged
Famous food jingles playing over the radio
was the final ear candy corpse dish heard
Box of chocolates and cake frosting flowers
bring back such fond broken diet memories
And guilty pleasures
of Weight Watchers infidelities
Illicit affairs of late-night microwave heated morsels
brought forth categorically caloric denials ...
refrigerated temptations
tiptoe sneaking down the pie-hole
Oh, the double-layered life you led,
the gravedigger cravings you had
You always pillow stashed
an eclair energy bar
under the silk sheets kissy lipstick red,
to stimulate your gastro-erotic appetite after midnight
Carnal tastings of naked delight ... good belly vibrations —
sugar rush,
melted butter
Buckets of caramel popcorn love ...
Lip-smacking custard creampies,
your tongue couldn’t get enough
Popsicle toes,
finger licking
Mouth watering pickles,
spicy honey breasts of chicken
Succulent crab legs,
steamed oyster juices exotic
Lobster chowder brie ... pure aroma ecstasy
You took a Cajun deep creole swallow,
spooning the bottom of the gumbo pot
Relaxing those alligator jaws for the belching last time,
loosening your belt past the final notch
Satisfied donut eyes orange glaze hollow,
cinnamon bun thoughts be on your English muffin mind:
Restaurant quality neo-mortician style buffet,
wine cellar casket smorgasbord
Undertaker carry-out at the Last Breath café,
with a menu selection to die for
Oh, the extra toppings life you led,
such gravedigger cravings you had
Time to put your Pizza Hut pepperoni desires to bed,
and brain-freeze
that last heaping spoonful of Big Frosty in your head
Then close them Cheesecake Factory eyes,
when those antacid,
digestive ...
gluttonous lights go dead
HURRICANE HATTIE
It came like a thief
After midnight
Stealthily
Unawares
Mischievously
Spitefully
Desperately
Determined
With preconceived plans
Across the Caribbean Sea
Suddenly turning west
Making a beeline
To British Honduras
In Central America
It foiled expectations
That it would arrive
At seven the next morning
And
Instead
Made a surprise visit
Six hours earlier
And
Like the Gestapo
The KGB
The Secret Police
Attacked
While people were
Least prepared
Snoozing
Snoring
Dreaming
Of better things.
Discriminating
It attacked
Belize
Ignoring neighboring
Guatemala
Honduras
Mexico
As if
Remotely controlled
By some
Vengeful fanatic
At 150 miles per hour
And more
It
Clobbered
Battered
Hammered
Pounded
The coastline
Of
The Jewel
People still ’memba
How in ’61
It wrecked havoc
In Dangriga
Belize City
San Pedro
Cay Caulker
Among others
As it
Thumped
Hit
Broke
Lifted
Pushed
Carried
Dumped
Submerged
Their valuables
And
Like a Repo Man
Dispossess them
Of their
Treasured belongings
Within the
Make-belief safety
Of its eye
Poor people
Thinking it was over
Sought their fortunes
On the beaches
In the shops
In others’ property
When Hattie
On a round trip ticket
Came back hurriedly
And with
More gusto
Lashed out
As a category five
Storm
Typhoon
Hurricane
To teach them a lesson
In
Tort
Honesty
Respect
And dignity.
In the end
One third of the coast
Was devastated
One third
Damaged
And
Another third
Standing
With 264 dead
And millions
Of dollars lost
The place lay wasted
Spoiled
Thorn
Flooded
Damaged
Wounded
Smashed
Muddied
Polluted
As
Debris
Corpses
Belongings
And victims
Wallowed in its wake.
As it distanced itself
From
Its handiwork
And Observed
With a smirk
Its power
To
Subdue
Man
Woman and child
It grinned
In satisfaction
At its exploits
And its supernatural supremacy
To shape destiny
And vanquish the vulnerable