Long Agonizingly Poems
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In just a day,
I lost my father, my mum,
and my only two siblings,
I became the only member of my family:
my own father,
my own mother,
my own siblings.
I was left to s~w~i~m the ocean a l o n e...
I was like the only spared t^r^e^e of a once vast f^o^r^e^s^t ~
a remote island in the widest o~c~e~a~n.
My s~m~i~l~e~s are always mixed with tears
and isolated to only my cheeks ~
no one else's.
My joy never came once in a blue moon,
but in a blue-black moon—
one that never e x i s t e d,
never c o n j u r e d,
never r o s e,
never c o n ce i v e d.
Grief dumps me in a black hole,
where escape from despair is impossible,
confined in an abyss,
bound by a g o s s a m e r of barbed wire
tearing deep into my flesh
with each fresh attempt to e~s~c~a~p~e.
Festered wounds and repugnant scars
agonizingly pester my soul,
just like bollards implanted in my heart to halt love's flow.
Beneath each laughter of extended family,
hides the harsh smile of u n c a r e.
Even foster homes were inhabited by m o n s t e r s...
by wicked nannies,
and g o d f o r s a k e n home mates.
I couldn't crawl out of the black hole ~
filled with sh*ts of people life has similarly hit before.
The more I try, the more I cry,
each grip only rips out by s l i p p e r y mud—
that never sleeps,
whose r~o~o~t~s hold everything...
ensuring every e s c a p e r~o~u~t~e from agony remains impassable,
as if grief itself were gravity ~
c~r~u~s~h~i~n~g all light into its silent core.
I, cold ... cold as stone ...
But is that not befitting such as I?
Once, merely common, hidden deep in the earth,
Still, my quality made itself known ... my porcelain perfection
Shone in the sun, and I was freed from Terra's grasp ...
Across a great sea I was rocked, carried in care
To finally, joyfully, go under The Master's hand.
I slowly, agonizingly, emerged from the cloud-white slab, pure ...
Brought forth into all glory and consummation!
Stone saw, chisel, rasp, cloth, and paper ... I stretched my limbs, reached my
Fingers and toes to the ether ... arched my back in a repose of death,
Laid upon an altar of mocked coral, draped only in my net -
The Pearl Diver's repository of all things glistening and wondrous!
Oh, what exquisite orbs, those that grace the net's seam!
White, pink, and black opaline gems - iridescent ocean treasures!
Miraculous drops of milky, nacreous moonlight, hidden in Neptune's gullet,
Awaiting their emancipation ... finally freed at the edge of the diver's blade!
But that, for me, is yet a dream ... I am but stone, after all ...
Be content, instead, to gaze upon my keen beauty,
I, the polished progeny of a sculptor's acumen,
I, the refined, glorious bloom of stone,
I, the ivory issue of marble elegance,
I, the bairn of a master ...
The Dead Pearl Diver.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the " ... And Now For Something Completely Different" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Brian's Choice Q, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
( This is about the sculpture "The Dead Pearl Diver" by Benjamin Paul Akers 1858, currently on display at The Portland Museum of Fine Art in Portland, ME ... this was a personal favorite of Nathaniel Hawthorne, and he wrote about it more than once. This is an incredible sculpture, especially in person )
Amazing what difference
riel (real) money (not Fake)
in the Citizens Bank checking account
(thank you social security disability -
monthly dollop transient
peaceful easy feeling doth make),
I savor bliss courtesy
cache buffer affords,
cuz psyche temporarily
ceases to quake
analogous with cerebral
colliding tectonic plates
invariably colliding crashing
racket noggin make
kith to unbearable, intolerable,
execrable, abominable ache
I ardently welcome Ragnarok,
(final destruction of the world -
conflict between the Aesir and
powers of Hel led by Loki —
called also Twilight
of the Gods).
As ye correctly
surmise and conclude
lack of legal tender
(think unpaid bills)
finds yours truly
agonizingly to brood
fearing absolute, when
zero moolah triggers
potential impending homelessness
of one garden variety generic
gluten free, NON
GMO poetic dude,
and the misses,
which I cannot exclude
(yoked for life,
though she does prepare
exquisitely scrumptious food
for myself and boyz
zen (Barry) in the hood
to save face going
incognito donning lewd
wig trumpetting van
nitty, while Beethoven
rolls over in no playful mood
Nadia even aroused by nude
lady, yea possibly
demeanor logically misconstrued,
cuz yours truly haint prude
nor sex addicted fiend,
oh by the way please excuse rude
or inapropro material (see
previous poem Irrelevant boyhood
arcane flotsam and jetsam...) trued
toward tipping point quasi crude,
especially... nah to embarrassed
best for reading between lines viewed
courtesy regular unleaded followers.
Words to the wise
advantageous to relish
(don't forget) condom
mint and exercise
unfettered joie de vivre
as priceless prize
letting giddiness rise
within corporeal essence
exuding worry free guise.
Sleepless, the body becomes
a mind map strung out on a bed,
color coded in degrees of pain.
Each movement sends an update,
a glowing patch of deepening red
or a lava line of heat solidifying
into a poker branding plunge
with a white hot X.
Staying still is only a temporary
reprieve, a lull for nerves to reset
and crank up for the next assault.
Inhabited space pressurizes
to send throbs pounding
on the walls of each weary cell
accompanied by waves
of relentless ache.
Thoughts clamber upwards
looking for a way out
but fall back into a dark
gravity, consumed by
that agonizingly slow countdown
when the next dose of oblivion
can be dribbled out of a pill
which, with any luck,
should get you through
until morning creeps across
your bed
with another installment.
Anti Establishmentarian - hashtags himself as antithetical
I stand, (albeit figuratively) athwart
current mainstream popular opinions concluded
(i.e. swirling) within
metaphorical eddies storied Senate high court
case in point constituting acquittal regarding
good and plenti jinxed
high crimes and misdemeanors
purportedly linkedin quid pro quo
president Donald John Trump,
whereby Republican partisan tipping point
ultimately decreed triumph
able, eager, ready, and willing to escort
kickstarting naysayers, rebel rousers,
and woebegone yawping zealots
(think Democrats) courtesy,
a fictional humanoid robot christened Gort
first debut appearance in 1951
20th Century Fox American science
fiction film The Day the Earth Stood Still.
Smug mugshot depicts
victorious commander in chief with jutting jaw
can now figuratively wring his hands
(more resembling puffed wheat bear paw)
whereat he reveals sharp glistening
barbed freighted, galvanized pointed claw
daring any elected official to follow scofflaw
(think Nancy Pelosi, who got hustled off -
her role as speaker of the House
security details immediately did withdraw
faster than greased lightning,
and/or Quick Draw Mcgraw
after she ripped Trump’s
State of the Union speech),
she definitely decreed guilty of fas paux
undoubtedly wincing how she got raw
end concerning high stakes Art of the Deal.
Drama under domed capital suddenly
(hello kitty) meow my
tectonically shifted analogous
to hydrogen bomb that fell out of sky
starring loose cannon shot
supremely above United States government law,
oh my dog I wanna die
versus enduring four more years,
one garden variety generic guy
who doth agonizingly decry
what will become of truth tellers forced to lie
thru their teeth...
er (yours truly) dentures, whereby
that will pose no deterrent for bluetooth to spy
every painstaking action cumulative data
nowhere off limits, yupper even
becoming American as apple pie
plus embedded into skein of ordinary house fly,
thus essentially fomenting grassroots
freedom fighting militia to stave off doom...
analogous as one after another protesters
dangle over the River Kwai.
This August 26th , 2018 rendition
regarding previous literary endeavor
Wick End Up Date, Snippet Sans...
...The Deadly Scourge
...One Obsessive/Compulsive Disorder
(Never abating infiltrating
writing material e'en superceding
the death of John McCain, where
Munster monster rears gnashing
undermining marriage with ambivalence.
Anorexia nervosa absent bulimia
nadir of onset schizoid behavior,
which agonizingly slow suicide
self starvation maelstrom within
psyche of self prepubescent lad
(particularly devastating
immediate family members)
emaciation pitted existential
ghastly revulsion unseen,
wuthering heights wrung death
knell annihilating fragile entity
christened Matthew Scott Harris
obvious preemtory imprimatur
yieldeing covalent bond to die starkly
horrified kith and kin helpless
Zorro slashed signature profound
perilous depressive psychological gouge.
Now at about two plus score years
attaining centenarian rank perfect 20/20
hindsight supreme advantage swift under
currents alluded drowning, when das
scribe juiced started to nibble puberty,
whence devastating emotional crisis
tripped, trilled, and tricked chronological
clock theorizing numerous educated
guesses within mindful middle progeny,
and sole son (of Boyce and late Harriet Harris),
why I willfully hurtled flesh at light speed
down abyss toward death. Literal and
physical lightness manifested within
nooks and crannies prior to full blown
symptoms to eliminate sustenance
drawing curtain on brief residence be
fore high noon of life. Metamorphosis
from boyhood into man found solace
attempting to keep at bay natural cycle,
which trans formation grieved me
pining nostalgic childhood’s end
(one fraught with romanticism)
vengefully interpreted attempt to halt
deadly tracks intervention of mother,
whose nursing experience helped fend
passive attempt promulgated silent...
After undergoing all kinds of known tortures
a prisoner closed his eyes with a heart-lending cry.
The torturer who witnesses the dying prisoner
was so frustrated because he couldn’t induce
any wanted information from the prisoner.
He kicked the dead man by the side with anger and mumbled,
“This persistent SOB, died so agonizingly, didn’t leave
a piece of information I was looking for!”
Then, the corpse opened his eyes,
staring at the torturer, wearing a sardonic smile and said scornfully,
“Don’t you know? A dead man won’t feel pain!”
The torturer shocked, couldn’t speak for a moment,
then gathered himself and said,
“I hope you didn’t forget that you have
a wife and children.”
The corpse closed his eyes sad and painfully.
There a drop of tear clearer than the early morning dew
welled up and stood in his eye became red as ruby
mixed with blood stain.
As long term aspiring
gurgling (stream of consciousness)
paperback writer, there doth appear
an imponderable quandary
most likely experienced
by fellow neophyte authors,
one pesky bugbear
that just dawned, (within the mind
of this former tony
MainLiner) crystal clear,
i would bet mine
bottom dollar and declare
unequivocally established writers
mentally tussled (or still do),
how to accrue “Art of the book writing deal”
contract subsequently endear
an increasing number of people,
that definitely feel drawn
to thy unique flavonoid flair
with words this scrivener displays,
where oft times decrypting
(mine block chain) dost jam
at least one cerebral cog and gear
no matter how far away from me,
this mind can telepathically hear,
colorful epithets, thus
seriously considering donning,
summoning, and trumpeting
his swiftly tailored,
harried styled interlinear
difficult to interpret ma Bella cos
mean mien, thus ready
(lock, stock and barrel)
to ship me on a one way junketeer
attired in a combination
all force he zen,
(and Caesar) knitwear
and (thrift special red tag sale) leisurewear
oh...preferably gender neutral,
or specifically frilly pink menswear
which could be either
day or nightwear
yet absolutely non gaudily
outlandish most unlike
thine convoluted other worldly
unfairly punishing stentorian
verb hose noun sense sic cull
idiomatic ling goo whist tricks
driven by a harsh grammatical taskmaster,
(nonetheless one
gentle non-slavish overseer)
summoning positive
feedback to reap peer
burgeoning my popularity,
yet without being *****
yule us, yes...of course retaining rear
penchant inventively steer
ring an unsuspecting reeder
agonizingly testing their
pay shunts, perhaps inducing her/him
to race out the door like a a mad person
clad with (impeach 45) underwear
calling for men/women in white coats
to lock up Matthew Scott Harris
possibly commuting his
long runonsentence tea
ching fellow inmates without ten year!
Sweetly breathing springtime,
exhilarating;
singing songsters sublime,
communicating.
Winter damage mended,
tantalizingly;
snowstorms, snowflakes ended,
agonizingly.
Flowers blooming pretty,
appreciated;
growing fragrant airy,
invigorated.
Springtime beauty delight,
unfathomable;
dancing, whirling nephrite,
imaginable.
_________________________
February 15, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/Springtime Beauty
Copyright Protected, ID 18-9947-00-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, 88 Syllables
sponsor, Joseph May
Third Place
The shadows seem to shift in the breeze
And the trees begin to dance
My frantic footsteps pound pavement
As the first drops begin to fall
I find shelter at the bus stop
Looking out into the gray world
Rain fills my ears in a rhythmic pattern
I'm frustrated but at peace
Traffic lights shimmer on street corner sidewalks
There's a distant crash of thunder
Followed by a flash of light in the clouds
And the bus shelter rattles
The world is both familiar and alien
I'm surrounded by thousands
But I could also be the last person alive
With my solemn expression
Minutes tick by agonizingly slow
But eventually the thunderstorm passes by
And the rain meanders to a sprinkle
Leaving a glistening world of ghost lights
The blushing sun finally peeks out
And a beautiful rainbow blossoms
Over the horizon in stark contrast to the gray
Perhaps a love more profound than I've ever known
People begin to appear as if awakening from hibernation
And my gray world explodes with light and exuberance
As if my melancholy experience was but a dream
With courage I step out of the shelter
A single droplet drops onto the tip of my nose
But it's enough to paint a smile on my lips
The world of gray is finally gone
And in my heart I know I have become fearless