Long Antecedents Poems
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'Twas a dark and stormy night! (OK! So I'm being a tad histrionic!)
The Earl of Pence was lounging by the fire sipping his gin and tonic.
Lightning flashed and thunder roared sending shivers down his spine!
Even his hound, Lord Percival, was so upset that he began to whine!
'Twas well-known thereabouts that phantoms haunted the earl's castle,
And on such frightful nights they were bound to cause spooky hassle!
Nefarious deeds had occurred within Penceford Castle walls in the past,
And were replayed in 'spirited' form leaving generations of earls aghast!
A shriek from the bowels of the castle sent the dog into howling fits,
And brought the earl bounding to his feet, scaring him out of his wits!
The blood-curdling screams were from a former Earl of Pence who in 1642,
Was hung by this thumbs in the dungeon for a fair maiden that he slew!
Suddenly, the ancient organ in the hall began playing eerie chords.
Heard on the floor above was rowdy dancing by ladies, knights and lords!
Ghastly emanations from the past paraded through the terrified earl's room,
Antecedents all, leering and grinning predicting the anxious earl's doom!
Lord Percival sensing trouble long before for the door had bolted!
The storm subsided and the apparitions faded leaving the earl quite jolted!
The earl felt a bony hand upon his shoulder that took away his final breath.
'Twas his valet who offered a gin and tonic to the earl who now lay in death!
Entry for Tania Kitchin's "One Night in A Haunted Manor" Contest
(8 January 2019)
Coruscating gravitas
imbibed algebraic
cerebral tranches
to spark
alacrity defiant
material manducation
deployed tangibly
phlegmatic
whilst
begetting manifest
miraculous meteoric
innovative impulses
when
penetrating bailiwicks
of tongue-contortion
cerebrum
eidetic retention
straddling juncture’s
poised gateway
as
baton weaving
catalyst triumphant
for
pumped ensemble
virtuoso visionaries
who
taproot trajectories
cocoon emerging
brainchild unfettered
obsessing
magazine mandarins
artistic
archetypal Monet
lavish lavender
lily pond
with
balsamic brushstrokes
galvanising
similar maven
budding Einsteins
blazing trails
of
original contrivance
boosting beneficial
health domain
of
wellspring weal
integrating impactful
slants
gearshift gargantuan
narcissistic nadir
repetitive
regurgitations rampant
abjured by
polymath prodigious
whose
appalachian peak
of antecedents
an avalanche
tintinnabulation
enunciated showpiece
heralds harvesting
gilt-edged prodigy
in fields
belletrist
nimble-fingered
experiential
Being rejected by his humans
As if that wasn’t bad enough
Forced into s life of beggary
Homeless and having to live rough
Mr Whiskey’s a cat of distinctiom
A cat of manners and breeding
Even without access to antecedents
There available for our reading.
A cat of intellectual depth
Easy for all to see
Obviously holding at leat
A First Class Masters Degree.
He sits for hours in the garden
To thr casual glance asleep
But in all reality he’s thinking
Thoughts both esoteric and deep.
Just recently he’s decided
By methods he knows best
With flying colours we’ve passed
The decent human beings test.
As a result we’ve been appointed
To the household of this worthy cat
And in the way of things these days
Life doesn’t get much better than that
the bottom lines scripted peripheries in a mirror
a headline toppled and reversed time and place
left became right and wrong pretended its centre
denuded illusions spoke in forked shiny tongues
lingua franca became subversive and spun yarns
and the spike of a spindle put wool over her eyes
prologues anticipated an apocalyptic message
hindsight firmly foreclosed unhinged shutters
framed in warped memories she recollected
blinds and veiled faces curtained in rags
holes and apertures appeared in the lore
essence void of existence smudged in tears
she relived captions and small printed subtexts
post-scripted antecedents and false premises
edited reminders and pasted virtuous contrasts
until meaning blocked out the pain of denial
a book mark covered in dust had refused to fade
and sealed approval onto questions and doubts
22nd June 2020
Lord, set me a table in Byzantium:
not the rose-colored queen of the Bosphorus,
not the city of jeweled liturgies,
but the drain where the scourings of empire collect.
Give me a rough wooden bench
and a goblet of thick southern wine
that smacks of honey and dust
in a tavern on some twisted lane away from the sea,
where a plump dancing girl of uncertain antecedents
clicks the reptilian scales of her castanets,
her gaze weighing my limbs like dubious florins,
while a one-eyed Cappadocian in the corner
thoughtfully fingers his knife.
Lord, I don’t ask for much,
only a fate I can handle.
Carried by the storks of autumn,
furried charges scattered 'round;
buried by the squirrels that brought 'em
underneath the leaf strewn ground.
The antecedents tall and stately
reach as if to praise the clouds
as leaves like feathers drop sedately -
their fingers stitch a quilted shroud.
Brothers-sisters, hither-yon;
the embryos, both nature's feast
and children of a spring day dawn.
While through Earth's breast their roots release
to start anew a truth foretold,
new life will sprout among the old.
written April 14, 2020
inspired by John Lawless's Last Acorn contest (not entered)
(mixed meter)
'Twas a dark and stormy night! (OK - so I'm being a tad histrionic!)
The Earl of Pence was lounging by the fire sipping his gin and tonic.
Lightning flashed and thunder roared sending shivers down his spine.
Even his hound, Lord Percival, was so upset that he began to whine!
'Twas well-known thereabouts that phantoms haunted the earl's castle,
And on such frightful nights they were bound to cause a spooky hassle.
Nefarious deeds had occurred within Penceshire Castle walls in the past,
And were replayed in 'spirited' form leaving generations of earls aghast!
A shriek from the bowels of the castle sent the dog into howling fits,
And brought the earl bounding to his feet, scaring him out of his wits!
The blood-curdling screams were from a former Earl of Pence who in 1642,
Was hung by his thumbs in the dungeon for a fair maiden that he slew!
Suddenly, the ancient organ in the hall began playing eerie chords.
Heard on the floor above was rowdy dancing by ladies, knights and lords.
Ghastly emanations from the past paraded through the terrified earl's room,
Antecedents all, leering and grinning and predicting the anxious earl's doom!
Lord Percival sensing trouble long before, across the moat had bolted!
The storm subsided and the apparitions faded leaving the earl quite jolted!
He felt a bony hand upon his shoulder that took away his final breath.
'Twas his valet who offered a gin and tonic to the earl who now lay in death!
Graciousness forms
the apparel of the meek,
tempered in blistering
hues of aura crafted
with the breath of
exhaustion sinking
deep into the soul
of the soulless,
there it wanders
with eyes open wide,
a pop of life silenced
by its surroundings,
forsaken lands filled
with despotic nature,
crucified
their interior along
with their exterior,
proceeding cautiously
as it gravitates
toward the center,
connecting humble
origins placing
the palm of its heart onto
forced separation,
the wind wraps
around creating
sanctuary healing
the wounded descent
of sacrifice,
predetermined
by its antecedents,
a child born
through ashes into
the world's callous
ever ruling
appeal.
Dream-Blisters
by Odin Roark
“…Like the glow of star-dispelling lights
rising,
saturating air
from 5th Ave
to Trump Towers,
to the Bronx,
atop the bridges glinting brazen shouts.
“Hurt and pain guised as success,
a purulent throb of discharge,
woulda
coulda
shoulda
now,
like always,
decorative wounds,
cover-ups
flung high over and through,
settling seasonally in Pennsylvania
2nd homes, where farm animals
gaze from fields
at repeated history,
learned celebration,
attainment’s price.
“So it goes.
“Rising,
spreading,
oozing dream-blisters,
festering from forever frictions.
Id and ego,
smooth and calloused,
reduced to screams and laughter.
"Have and have not antecedents
surviving now as virus,
knowing not of antidote,
immunity prevention
long ago ignored for addiction.”
“Why is that Mother?”
“Like the book says, sweetheart…
see here the illustration
barnyard animal-looking humans
all dressed in party finery
wondering what
to do now.”
“Why are they wondering?”
“Mr. Orwell told the story long ago.
Another writer addressed it again
a bit different,
but with the same warning."
“Is that what they’re wondering about…warning?”
“Yes, dear.”
She caresses her daughter’s forehead
“Some things take a long time to learn.”
“But we do learn them…right?”
“Sleep warm, daughter.”