Long Barge in Poems
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Man of death
As dawn broke one day
No knock at the door
Cause he knew his way
He broke in
And a life ceased to be
It was her world
He did barge in
Her soul mate
Painfully met his fate
The hands of death
Pierced her heart
And out took a breath
A bleeding cry went far
Tore her whole apart
Aloud his name she called
“Come back my sole soul
In the world of mine
You are installed.
You are walking away
That early
And pieces of you and me
You are keeping at my bay."
Words of ache
Roared their way out
In vain.
Silence of death is around
Undefeatable and mighty
Will always death be
And everything here after is empty
Pieces of her
The blank inside
They fill
Into her heart
They put life
Her night they light
On her mouth
Laughter will gain place
Into her eyes
Love will shine
Hope will wipe grief out
And make her embrace life.
Walk with me to the end of the street and greet all the people that you meet, take off your diamond ring and toss it the air and set a hat beneath it to catch it, and then you make a wish and catch the diamond ring; when you are done, have a tiny glass of white rum and have some musical fun.
Detour to the upper lane and walk around the curb, turn left, then right then left again, then turn right of center, and run with all the energy you have before the avalanche touch down, walk with me to the end of the street and I will give you everything you need.
Morning comes and I rushed through the door and I found the multitude streaming down the road; the crowd was so thick, and everyone was carrying a golden dish and walking harmoniously to the musical serenade.I couldn’t find a spot to barge in so I took a short-cut on the roof and walked half of the journey without shoes. The element was so strong and I could feel a strong power walking all over the land.
I soar to the sky and watch the universe dies and thick fog covers the earth and hope sinks into the ground and not a trace of residue on the earth could
be found but I kept running and running until I cover the entire ground.
Walk with me to the end of the street, it is where destiny meets.
I have this inkling feeling each time before i break
a tightness in my chest, i swallow air
and each time i want to discard every piece of you i own
but i forget, forget, forget
i close it off, i just don’t think about it
and silently i let you barge in on my space
and ask for more
all you do is ask for more
then good days turn into bad days
and all my good poetry turns into bad poetry
now i’m standing in the shower thinking over my day
you didn’t do anything but disappoint me
i didn’t get a lot of birthday wishes this year
nor did my grandma send me the right book
but i wasn’t upset, cause there was always you
not anymore, i guess
at least not the way i want it
you make a point of walking over me and then wiping your feet
and i make a point of breaking down and crying like a little kid
and i don’t know how to say that i want to go alone
since you’ll follow me anywhere
but i need you to stop being attached
attached to me, your punching bag
Sun’s soulful smile swells boundlessly
while the sky mirrors the clear blue sea.
Seashore blends with the ebbs’ rolling voices
Sifting, swaying to and fro
as beach-goers barge in.
Humid air blows gently around
On white dunes with parasol mounts
Picnics with lots of fun abound
Excursionists are hard to count.
ice cream and cold drinks
available everywhere…
hot season’s specials
April 1, 2022 1.54pm
(Forms: Crystalline- Kimo- Quatrain- haiku)
www.howmanysyllables.com: (8,9) 17-(10,7,6)23- (8,8,8,8)32- (5,7,5)17
For A Combination of Forms Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Licia, A Mysterious Mind
A mysterious mind
You often do find
Is cluttered with all kinds of clowns
In your ear they speak
Quite often with cheek
And tell of your ups and your downs
Driving you mad
By being so bad
But without them, where would you be?
Those voices you hear
Are your friends my dear
Though controlling them can be deadly
Wishing to tell
How they give you hell
The run around with their demands
Every now and then
They rule your pen
Just to prove you obey their commands
It isn’t as though
They say hello
They just barge in, take over the roost
Where they get their prose
Only heaven knows
But the soup gets its comedic boost
Bawdy they be
Extremely naughty
Yet they have the knack with the crowd
With their crazy antics
Mind bending tricks
The reader’s soon laughing out loud
So please let them stay
Don’t chase them away
For the loss will not only be yours
Live and let live
So sister forgive
Those voices that this world adores
DISCLAIMER: This piece, dear readers, is in no way, shape, or form intended to be a scholarly treatise. So, please bear that in mind and refrain from reporting me to the SPCA or any other animal activist group.
When it's time for some critters to multiply,
The name change to me's where the mess is.
Some simply add "s", such as "lions", at the end,
Or "es" if they want "lionesses".
But for others that same simple rule won't apply,
And though Latin seems stilted, outdated, passé,
Not content with a modest "s" or "es",
With malicious intent they go straight for the "i"
When augmentizing their numbers today.
A few practical ones, such as "deer", "moose", et al,
Don't require any change when they double,
And just when we think we can start to relax,
Some radical rascals, like the "rhino" and "hippo",
Barge in and cause even more trouble.
In my humble opinion, they compound the confusion
By allowing for three ending options for choosin'.
A "hippo" will happily dress in the simplest "s"
When its ranks he is casually swelling.
And it's still not too bad when "es" is added
To "rhinoceros", but watch out for the spelling.
Many haughty ones vie for the more formal "i",
And just when you're sure that's the last to apply,
Comes some miscreant English major whiz
To remind us, in singular, the rhinoceros "is",
But when speaking in plurals, it's equally par
To mention, in passing, the hippopotamus "are".
That's why crittercal math has me somewhat downhearted,
And I wish I could say that some reason I've found
Why some go to such trouble when it comes time to double,
While others are bound to just circle around
And end up right back where they were when they started.
I was not living in the world of expectation,
the expectation so great as to frustrate by word disillusionment.
I am not that young or naïve
to be affected by a word disillusionment;
then, why does the word disillusionment
suddenly barge in my way and harass me in this belated time?
I think
may it be the weight of sadness
getting heavier as age advances.
The greater reason than sadness,
however, is not able to bear its weight
but diminishing strength in direct proportion
with growing age to weight of sadness;
nonetheless,
if the course of water is the same as before
there shouldn’t be much difference between disillusionment
and sadness because if you place these two words on the flowing water
and let them go, who knows, in some day, they may reach a great water
named oblivion.
My home is neon-friend to the idiocy degree.
I am sure when people barge in, they think me mad.
Which suits me fine
For there will be less barging.
They need to stay on their side of the river.
If I need them, I will pick up the phone and call.
If they need me, they had better think hard about it.
For my phone is off unless I want to make a call, which is seldom.
Many homes are feuillemort. Dull orange, dull brown, duller yellow.
This is not my home.
My home lights up like New Year's Eve's Madison Square Garden.
My home is neon-friendly to the idiocy degree.
I could not live here if it were any other way.
I could not live anywhere if I could not take my neons with me.
I certainly could not live in an old folk's home.
I consider them social clubs for the non-private ones.
Some work to escape loneliness
Others drink to forget
A few take a more measured route
On a slower journey
Towards a tranquil place
Called sleep.
I myself like to sleep
Anywhere. Anytime.
Is OK by me.
But just when I feel warm
And comfortable
Sleeping my life away
Nighttime slips away
And grudgingly allows morning
To barge in
As always, uninvited and unwelcome.
Sitting on the edge of my bed
Legs dangling to nowhere
I shiver in the early stillness
Feeling alone and vulnerable.
Paralyzed, I beg for more time
Please a little more time is all I ask
To gather strength
To face another day
But all I hear is the ticking of a clock
Reckoning each spent minute.
Not sure of how my day will begin
Or how it will end
I pause to collect my thoughts
And a smile creases my face
Because I know a secret
That I jealously guard.
No matter what happens today
One thing is certain
When the sun goes down
And nighttime descends upon the world
Sleep will tiptoe back to me
Holding me close to breasts
As she always does.
Gazing, at its own reflection is the Magpie.
A magic bird, a mystical creature, with a soul
and the power to see things, the power of scrying.
It sees a tomb in ancient Egypt. It sees death.
A soul locked within a glorious bronze mirror,
Cleopatra and her Maid in a bond unbroken.
Time passes in silence as deep as the unbroken
promise of endless wisdom, gifted by the Magpie.
whose caws the Maid hears, within the depths of the mirror,
calls to the Queen, her Cleopatra, to her soul.
Magpie speaks to She on the Eastern Barge in the afterlife of death,
and to her Maid entombed. The sacred bird so near scrys.
The Magpie sits within oasis staring into the pool. It scrys
for all this time, its vigil, its protection, never broken.
Even when the sarcophagus is carried to the necropolis of the dead,
without, unknown, the bird speaks wisely through reflection, her Magpie.
Entombed, his Queen and her Maid, their bodies but not their souls,
Queen, Maid and Magpie, each cast a last gaze, alive within the mirror.
The Vows of Innocence, the Maid bespeaks the mirror.
Pleas to the Swallower of Shades, both Queen and Maid have scried
to The Burning One, and claim no lie, upon their soul.
As the light dims within the Maids eyes, in tomb unbroken,
she sees the life of her Queen and their Magpie
pass fast upon the brass, last breath of life and dying.
Oh, too soon the end, moans the Maid, I am dying.
Her life's reflection moves bronzed upon the mirror.
She screams, "My Queen," but hears only the caw of Magpie.
All around her other servants succumb and cry, whilst she sits scrying,
and the Magpie flies above in life entombed, eternity, unbroken.
As she beseeches all the Gods to save her soul.
The Magpie's spirit self moves within the mirror's soul.
He swoops gathering Cleopatra's essence, past the dying,
and brings her to the Maids side unbroken.
In afterlife upon the Eastern Barge they join the mirrored
whole, for he, the bird of magic, Magpie, has called and scried
it so. Part light of life, part dark of death, the Magpie.
The essence of each entwine united within this eternal mirror
for the Magpie cannot bear their deaths. He will protect and forever scry
in life the mirror sits unbroken a stolen bauble, and in it they dwell with the Magpie.