Long Axe Poems
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'It takes one to know one', so they do state,
but that won't take you far,
as we're never told exactly who these 'they' are.
'It's not what you know, it's who you know',
so the saying goes,
but the devil is in the details,
and I say, 'It's what you know about whom you know,'
which really goes to show,
whomsoever holds the power prevails.
'You have to give them what they want', so it is said,
but that only adds to my pique,
as I know not those 'them' of whom they speak.
Some may say 'I have an axe to grind',
but that's neither here nor there,
as I take issue with; 'they', 'who' and 'them' unknown,
yes it's my cross to bear.
One-liner
of doom...
"I'm leaving you"
Mercy!
The poor fellow
must've died
a thousand deaths
right then...
"Whack! Whack! Whack!"
goes an axe
straight through
his confused heart.
Ouch!
A devastating impact.
Numb to the bone
as he stands,
directly facing her,
in arrested astonishment;
listening...
as she narrates
the end
of everything.
Too numb
to utter so much as
a word.
He stands there
as if
frozen in time,
growing...
increasingly deaf
with disbelief;
too stunned
to plead...
"Baby, please, don't do this!"
Or cry out
an anguished "Now, wait a minute!"
On her breath,
the fetid stench of death;
d e a t h
of gargantuan dreams
dreamt together.
Their panorama
of bright tomorrows
suddenly look
blacker than charcoal.
He listens
as she's speaking
but doesn't comprehend
the words
forking into him
like flashes of lightning.
Hopelessly lost in
"How did it come to this?"
A sucker-punch
that landed
with speed so blinding
he couldn't see it!
Unbearable pain
that writes itself
across his crimson face
His defeated spirit,
a bark of a tree
withstanding blows
from an axe.
C. Cure T. Clarence
Been making, (sans
daily) regular appearance
in the news oval
hate gambling arrogance
vis a vis spewing,
shouting, and scathing rabidly
foaming explosive clap
trap in ascendance,
asserting how incredibly
tremendous collusion between
CIA, FBI and media
(must warrants revocation,
hence heroic intervention,
and emergency dis
Pence sing balance
of security fabled
clearances Aesop - Asap)
hounds engaged "brilliance"
in (community) chance
of making an very
usual fool of himself,
viz the "FAKE"
trumpeting dapper Don
expostulating the latest ploy,
raging against the machine
i.e. entire popular culture
will get their comeuppance
being so freely outspoken,
a disgraceful unconstitutional defiance
which oh press
sieve act of deviance
spluttered, thus an extreme
measure to clamp down
on all news outlets,
and immediate disappearance
all the while poor
Melania stoically, objectionably
and lamentably stands
right alongside him,
(nonetheless nonverbally
metaphorically exhibiting
vitriolic livid rage)
as he rancorously spouts
(ala VERY) convincing impression
of la va reenactment qua,
Krakatoa volcanic disturbance
lambasting utter disgraceful disservice
(foxy Dis Putin
commercial stations construe, conspire,
conjure egregious collusion
outlets asper dominance
a pugilistic ringside fan loathsomely
(re: scowling non verbally),
wherein pejorative spectators whether
(moral less minority, and/or
majority whips lashing) weather being
Its ludicrous in wales today, ideology holds the maddest
Sway.' A twenty mile an hour plan, for every motoring
Woman and Man.? And every bus? and taxi too? A lunacy
A type of zoo.' Thats how i view this stupidity, and it can't
Remain..' Twixt you and me' just like a joke, its really bad
Thats plain, which be shared, cause its too sad.' Some scum
That float
Ideas and division, have slashed and torn, the soul and fabric
With savage inscisons.' almost un-human, its nearly there'
Cold as ice, devoid of care, Wales needs more optimisam
Less oppression, more hope; and not such blandness and
Nonsense revision, with inverted tropes' baboons i say could
do no
Worse, than your so called leaders all davos re-vh-ersed.!
She was the kind of mother
who should have raised axe murderers and serial killers.
Harsh, bitter, angry, with six touches of meanness
and a horrible sounding whipping belt that she loved to snap
However, she raised two unhappy children who became notoriously successful.
After they escaped at eighteen, never to return.
Realizing life is different outside the house on Wilmore Drive.
Understanding that all people are not bitter, angry, depressed and mentally ill.
Their mother’s angry techniques of discipline, inflicted with diabolical glee
Was never inflicted upon any of their children,
Two girls and three boys who never knew their grandmother
or endured parenting skills that rivaled those of Mommy Dearest.
The moon is punched into the sky,
half hidden.
Under this mid-summer half- moon
a tree is carved from a block of wood;
this tree effigy is of course rootless, infertile.
It is the height of Barbie, or Ken, as shapely,
as slender, and easily held in a hand,
as the ax of civilization is held in the hand
as it swings...
The moon knows I am looking for its mystery, what is left of its mystery in this 21st century.
How I cannot see the robots roaming
its surface, and where two space explorers
stepped, long ago; how I can only see it is an ancient spirit- less decor' of the celestial
sphere. I stand looking up, at the moon,
it always catches the eye...
What mystery is this?...a frisky spider dance
A tarantula perched upon your humble shoulder
As chance would have it this fine morning bright
The drunken executioner comes staggering by
From a nights merriment and party in the pub
A weapon rests on his not so sober shoulder
From medieval times till now
A bowed head is a temptation
For a man with an axe
Just in time to save the day he swings
With axe as giant as himself
And with power much larger than the sin
Stumbling blind with eyes still closed
He tries again and misses...Well not exactly
The spider jumps away quite quickly
But not much is left upon the shoulders
Of the man who once was the owner
Of something he needs for thinking
Being humble is unique you see
As the head rolls down the street
And with it his history
Max her thirsty axe accompanied her into every battle.
Enemies cut down, sliced up upon approach.
She fought for birthright, castle, subjects and cattle.
They could keep her mother’s silly wedding broach.
Her name was HyMcintha the Gore. Her game? Bloody war.
Reputation proceeded her and her mighty magic axe.
She would fly into a battle with her dragon Fire More.
Fire More would take the left plank along with her axe, Max.
Her fiery hair flaming, her cheeks steady, excited and true.
An admirable, formidable opponent, her enemies would flee.
When they saw her coming at them, they would turn terrified blue.
Gave them no mercy, was blood thirsty as a human could be.
Is she not a Goddess? Some asked, watching her fight.
With her blazing blue eyes and her tummy so happy and tight.
Some suspected her to be Mars daughter; she had such an inner light!
Whoever she was, she came swiftly out of the darkest dankest night.
HyMcintha the Gore would be talked about until the end of time.
This blood-thirsty woman who always got out of line.
I loved her to death. She was a favorite great aunt of mine.
She was marvelously gallant, a hero, strength personified and so fine!
Do you have any axe murderers in your family
No? How totally boring is that!
They add a little spice when telling your story
More interesting than your household cat
How about a bigamist or a felon of some note
That would be a total blast!
But before you climb up on your mighty high horse
Better thoroughly check out your past
Just having a little fun so don't send me letters
When reviewing this sweet little gem
Every once in a while I go off on these tangents
Soon be back on the track once again
Do you have any axe murderers in your family
If you have to answer yes to the above
I solemnly promise to keep it our little secret
And end with good wishes and love
© Jack Ellison 2012
Zest sparks a fest
Yield what works best
eXplore fine jest
Word a fond glow
Verse sanguine show
Urge primes sure flow
Touch a sure art
Seed a sure part
Rouse a good heart
Quest in sure time
Peace knows what rhymes
Opt for clear chimes
Note passion play,
Move what you say
Live well each day
Keep voice on wit
Joy keeps fine fit
Ink bit by bit
Health hurls fond keep
Grace feeds things deep
Feel thought and creed
Etch a fond stay
Deed a strong say
Charm words each day
Be all you can
Ask for a plan
Leon Enriquez
13 March 2015
Singapore