Long Battering Poems
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III.
It was near midnight when they came again,
four warriors armed all with flaming brands,
Myron bolted up from a fitful sleep,
and poured out bullets as the horses ran.
He managed to shoot one off of his horse,
but the trio screamed and charged in once more,
Harold said”They’re fools to keep charging in!”
But Myron though hard, and wasn’t so sure.
He called for all to cease firing
and listened close as if searching for proof,
then he heard soft thumps coming from above,
one of them had gotten up on the roof!
The charging men had been a distraction,
and Myron grabbed the shot-gun in a hurry,
fearing that they would set the roof aflame,
he opened fire with a hot fury.
A hole was blasted where he shot the brave,
the dead man rolled off and struck hard on the ground,
the charging warriors roared in anger,
so Harold shot another one of them down.
The survivors fled back towards their camp,
but no withdrawal did the Sioux men beat,
instead they took turns sniping at their foes,
to deny Myron and his family sleep.
Come Morning Myron looked out and saw perched high
sixteen warriors atop their steads,
with lances and rifles and tomahawks
preparing for the morning’s bloody deeds.
But what chilled Myron’s soul more than anything
was the small tree trunk that two riders held
by the branches, to batter down the door,
and visit upon them a living hell.
The others let loose a barrage of shots,
to try and suppress Myron waiting within,
he fired endlessly took down two more,
then leapt back as the riders bore down on him.
The battering tree smashed right through the door,
a slew of war-cries went up, loud and piercing
the shot-gun blasted, two more warriors fell,
the noise left all their heads and ears ringing.
Harold went down from a shot to the chest,
the doorway was a commotions of words,
but standing there clutching his aching head
was the muscled form of Diving Bird.
Myron leapt forwards and drew his pistol,
then jammed it straight into Diving Bird’s ear,
Roared,”If you value your War-chief’s life,
you will all stop, and ride straight out of here!”
The Indians outside froze when they saw them,
none understood the words that he did say
except for an old man, missing an eye,
who spurred forwards to attempt a parlay...
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
I
Anchored on a sun filtered shore
Upon rocks which lay the days of yore
In swirling pristine aquas of alluring calm
Let it serenade heal my bruised palm
To chronicle tales of my hearts longings
And memoirs of my gradual bondings
To enthral my thoughts in the expanse of time
Parading on the lowly impasse of my prime
To write poetry ,prose or mystery fiction
Titled love on a mission to submission
For winds of change will unravel the future
And the dust of defeat will cover the past
II
Invulnerable In dens of sublime realms
where embers of hope forever gleams
Sparked moments that never fade nor flicker
Down the coconut groves lining the ocean Vast
Departing the depths of calamity chosen
To savour the dews of my late night hours
And devour not the memorable endeavours
For beauty was with me in those moments
One Inevitably engulfed in avid desires
An adherent of the much awaited messiah
With amalgam of glee and humility
And simple life of truth and sincerity
III
Traversing the blissful cavalcade holds
I contemplate in dissonant folds
Harrowing scenes from the sunset vives
I linger in my skimming crimson skies
Seemingly, my life plied on out worn roads
Embalmed by these hands in worded codes
In tongues of my fore fathers decent
I will lounge in their culture with no lament
Like those who came before me
Who fought oppressors from over the sea
and their legends enshrined in echoing songs
Of "murmurs of pleasures, pains, and wrongs"
IV
Whereon mindful of the lot i ought to do
Arrayed within scenes from over the hue
Gradually with hasty steps into depths unexplored
And withdraws, into chambers of happiness and scenes adored
To let the crest of my turning tossing mind detach from fearful odds
And my blessed struggling kind flee from the twilight of the earthly gods
So my heart and soul finally infuse with the fluidity of my course
Down the avenues of my maturity
Down the patterns of my progress
Down the depths of my humility
Down the tangled maze of my life I confess...
..In swirling moon beams of alluring calm
A faith in doubt amid a battering qualm
Under clouds which housed the days of yore
On this shell and plastic littered shore.
Should I go or should I stay
Should I run or should I walk
Should I open my door or should I close my door
Should I bloom or should I close my buds
Should I eat or should I starve
should I live or should I die
Should I laugh or should I cry
should I weep or should I mourn
Winter is still knocking on my door
And Spring is waiting in limbo.
I once dreamt of having a lovely Spring
To roll on the grass and inhale the sweet aroma
swirling in the wind from fresh blooming flowers
And climb on top of the hill and listen to
chirping birds dancing in the trees
While I reminisce the splendor of my youth
But this woeful nightmare kept lingering on.
The Gods are displeased with mankind's reprobate nature
Born evil, corrupt and permeate with anger
Uncultured and lack manners, shameless but full of pride
Stealing and deceiving one other in broad daylight.
Why should they halt this cold Winter to appease man's sinful nature?
To spread out their nasty bodies under his fresh Spring buds
Romancing on our beautiful beaches
And spewing vomit from last night's hangover.
The Gods are furious at mankind diabolic behavior
A disposition that has captivities the culture and has
provoked and haunt his friends and neighbors
We have been Kidnapped by strangers and surrounded by hostility
Extortioners threatening to call the officer if we don't deliver
Everyone wants something but don't want to do anything.
I must expel this negative energy from around me
and replace it with refreshing and productive energy
This toxic energy spreading like cancer
and causing suffering, pain and agony.
I must find a place that is balanced with love and harmony.
Big trucks wandering up and down the street but going nowhere
The mail van moving around but dropping off no mail
Food trucks traveling around in circle but delivering no food
Just cold air battering the trees and drying up the Blossom.
I must escape his prolonged and dreadful Winter
That has failed to warm my humble heart
A Winter that has stirred up so much anger
And have the people flattered and scattered
Mocked and scorned by their neighbors
While Spring is still waiting in limbo.
A war without gun send the people on the run.
A war without gun thats the best thing that the world could have done.No guns, no bullets,no knives
Just the virus is making them pay the price.
Airplanes are grounded, schools are closed
And the army is on the look out.Big guns in hand
And the military getting ready to sing their song
Big guns but no bullets they parade around the street
With guns pointed in the air, there is nothing to fear.
A strange mood is sweeping through the air
that is causing people to fear, you can feel it
But you cannot touch it, it creates a mystical mood
and it leaves everyone confused.Something dangerous is
hapening that leaves everyone panicking, the sun is getting hotter and the frantic mood is burning up the place.Something just is not feeling right especially when
You have made so much sacrifice, man can hardly come
To terms with himself, heaven has finally make him bend.Humility burns like fire in his soul he has to stand up and be bold and open the next chapter before he grow old.Mankind racing against time look for everything that is divine.The music has finally toned down
and everyone is listening to a different sound.
They are buying out the store and food is ration more and more.The cars are lined up in the street getting ready for the final decree, everything will soon be
lock down and the real impact will be felt all over the land.Man will drop like mice in the streets and he has to
Play to his own heart beat.The weak, the old and the innocent will have to face their own consquences.
And when the day is done, victory will be on the run.
The world will wake up to a new song when this battering is done.Say sorry when you can say sorry.
Say sorry and you don"t have to worry.Powerless guns whose point is blunt bacame silent as corono rip through the place.Vinigar and salt will help to calm the storm.
Vinigar and sugar will sooth your liver.Garlic and spice
Has everything that is right.School children tumbling dowdown the street cannot understand the motion that is in their hand.Time is closing in and everyone will have to pay for their sins.Get up and go.You are fighting a war
Without gun and victory is on the run.
The Punching Bag - Through the Eyes of a Child
Each day the pattern was the same,
for all Dad’s shortcomings, my Mom got the blame.
WHACK! He cursed her for all his lost dreams…
WHACK! For missed opportunities, and failed schemes.
WHACK! Dad would hit his punching bag again,
to release all his pent-up frustration and pain.
When he felt inadequate and couldn’t cope with life,
he resorted to battering Mom, his “beloved” wife.
Of course, it was always her fault that things were bad;
so he made her suffer for all the troubles he had.
Inflicting her with insults, black-eyes, concussions, and cuts,
he claimed that she deserved them because she was like all sluts.
Craftily he played on her bully-enforced meekness,
getting down on his knees to beg for her forgiveness.
Moods swinging like a pendulum from night to day,
his promises were empty - he would never change his vile ways.
Predictably, he continued to torment her as he pleased,
degrading and abusing her…he never ceased.
He figured low self-esteem would prevent Mom from leaving;
and that she was a nobody, he really had her believing.
He was oh so convinced that needed audacity she lacked,
to ever think of opposing him, or of fighting him back.
Besides, with no family around, no job, and no dough,
he smugly concluded that she had no place else to go.
God knows she was weary of existing in this hell on earth;
and I was tired of seeing her endure all that unbearable hurt.
I had had enough of being terrified by that despicable monster,
who had ruined her and made our lives an utter disaster.
After convincing Mom that inevitably I’d suffer the same fate,
one night, we finally escaped to a shelter before it was too late.
*** Note: Thank God, nothing like this ever happened to me. But this piece is dedicated to those many women and their children who are victims of domestic violence.
08-31-2015
Contest: Through the Eyes of a Child
Sponsor:
Placement: 2nd
They channelized the news
the quick zapped flash of fact undeniably
taking the opportunity by storm
by the contortions of varsity
they proclaimed so devoutly
the new acceptable norm
of an already butchered normality
And who with applause
with the legalized blurb
of an unhealthful profanity
the television population
kept their provocation alive
hidden behind doors
as death walked among them
merely to survive
hearing the empty rattle of dooms day call
the trumpets fuselage had deceived them all
Oh bitter masquerade in the taste of paper
the hand molded slap
clogs the gutter with rubber
buffoons in charge of social dementia
and the sneaking suspicion
of every person
has them walking with death
as death walks among them
Untimely unexpected this demand for survival
a battering ram of glibly emergency
and save your lives arrival
comes suddenly
inconsistent confusion splutters on the TV
when the all-purpose hype
has cathode-ray clowns to feed fears delivery
then freedom of choice becomes an infection of liberty
The made-up-make-up media mass
belching the flatulent garbage of its printed press
apply their corporate hegemony assets
to techniques in management of human risks
collectively bankrupt up to your eyes in it
improving the performance of gathering your debts
and the sneaking suspicion
of every person
has them walking with death
while life walks among them
Ah but paranoia that destroyer of reason
comes sweating in its countless number of millions
and swears itself by egos vanity
who's truth will be true to plausible deniability
yesterdays insanity will teach the children
life may survive with added security
danger playtime warning isolated detachment
fear, fear, fear, is the message from them
jabbed in the arm of mandatory vaccination
And that sneaking suspicion
in the eyes of every person
ushers in a future of more uncertain
walking with yet another apparition of death
and so many other scarey phantoms
to choose from
while the liberty of choice
becomes the disease of freedom
Ideally yours truly prefers
a she/her who never got prosecuted for a felon,
yet who most deaf fin knit lee
possesses sound blinding killer instincts
think miracle worker Anne Sullivan
signifying rendering phenomenal success
with one female named re: amazing Helen
exhibiting discerning admirable qualities
constituting intelligent witty male
despite his/him sports haunch size of a melon.
I gently beckon inspiration
for dalliance with mother tongue
English Language, each
singular lettered manifestation
familiar to yours truly symbolized
by panoply, sans twenty six letters,
whereby this patient wordsmith
luxuriates, when writer's block
yields sudden gush,
nee burst of creativity
dissolving impenetrable wall
mental log jammed impasse,
discourages literary ambitions
dashed exerted forcefulness
'pon cerebral terra incognita
counterproductive grip locks
figurative drawbridge begetting
utmost frustration allowing egress
and ingress constituting obstructed surge
temporarily disabling free and clear
transmission between damned fount
barricading abundant bajillion ideas
silent at loggerheads clangor and din
analogous between unswerving enemies
prepared to fight till the death,
exhausting mental energy expended
attempting armistice with futile results,
hence quixotic oft repeated
time tested metaphor
i.e. deliberate pressure foisted
upon seat of aging cerebral matter
inadvertently coloring fist sized organ
at least fifty shades of gray,
versus unexpurgated brainstorming
linkedin with unfettered restraint
breeds favorable prodigious ideas
jotted/ typed stream of consciousness fashion
modus operandi favorable to engender
receptive access, asper (gas) excellent see
i.e. entrance untrammeled leeway
with minimal clash of opposing
titanic invisible entities
thus, aye abandon battering ram
to experience positive outcome
giving good n plenti profuse flood
unstoppable geyser spewing
plethora of appealing material
to arrange into cogent affinity,
energy, magnanimity and synchronicity!
Dueling Americans
love drawing blood from a distance
Crossing swords with their dogma guns ...
a test of mettle:
Who will bow first
to the pressure building in their lungs
Bipedal zip-lip back-to-back walkers,
bivalve mollusk closed-minded talkers
Fifty paces then turn...
make a quick trigger decision
Taste the iron-cooper burn,
mortician diagnosis: it's a dead mute condition
Mouths kept shut to the mounting evidence,
metal defense always gives the final argument
Bicameral battles in a dark, backroom alley
Congressional blood feud,
never count the bullet-riddled body bag tally
Some wink, nod and non-verbal say
there’s no need to do a single gun violence study
Their lead belly reasoning
is that sidearm pals are a goodfella’s best buddy
In a courtyard bar hall fight,
the fastest finger can make the call dead to rights
Trigger hand-to-trigger hand combat;
getting pistol whipped on Capitol Hill,
give the fact-deficient citizens voter brain concussion
Create a comatose public forum —
put a cap in any crazy talk
of having calm, common sense gun-control discussion
American deer hunters
barrel tell the Bambi does to keep their mouths closed
Silence of the clams
Shut the trap-doors, shutter the transparency window
Money talks ... silence of the clams
No one to legislate protect the little lambs,
what happened to the mighty pen battering rams?
Only pimped-out politician whores
working for Daddy Rich Uncle Sam
Sound byting their tongues from shore-to-shore,
lip-synching parrot style on video cam
Silence of the clams ... money talks,
pearl handles guard the robber barons’ bank vaults
Money talks ... silence of the clams
In a gun-toting realm,
the baddest hip-slingers dragon walk
Breathing fire from the barrel,
yellow-taped pavements outlined in chalk
Dueling Americans
are always bullet quick on the ballot draw,
targeting all real challengers from a rifle scope distance
Gun spray silent, smoking scarlet wisps
of violent intentions fired at any radical vocal resistance
I was always late
For you
And I never rushed,
never thinking I had
to
Time stalked me like
a wasp
I floated through
life as if on a
cloud
Thin air masking my
mistakes
I was as elusive as
life gets
Time meant nothing
And I'm sorry for
this
I'm so sorry for
this
I met you on a
corner
Bitter weather
battering your
cheeks
Blue eyes sparkling
under a mass of dark
hair
You had waited an
eternity there
We drank coffee on a
bench
Mapping out the
stars until dawn
seeped in
As all thoughts
provoked a certain
clarity
You decided it would
only ever be me
Always me
And I'm not sorry
I was late to the
airport
Flying to Naples, no
more planes for days
It had been years
since you'd seen
your family
So I watched as
frost lay like
icing over your
dream
We played with
silence like a toy
for two weeks
And I'm sorry for
this
The day of your
parting
An hour of snow lay
around your feet
A car skidded, you
landed on the bonnet
I should of been
there
I was at home
reading an article
As your heart beat
for the last time at
the hospital
I should of been
holding your hand,
telling you I loved
you
So I missed your
departure too
And I am sorry
So sorry
Time is muffled
Churches like
conveyer belts for
the living and dead
As babies join this
world, people leave
it
The hurse shot to
the church like a
police car
I imagined it having
flashing blue lights
Saying he's dead,
he's dead
And I am too
I was late for your
funeral
I'm not sorry for
this
It was something I
couldn't bare to do
But, we're you aware
The later I was
The longer I had you
You always calling
Where are you
Where are you
The longer you were
in this world
Even if I wasn't
next to you
The longer I loved
you
The longer I knew
you
The later I was
The longer you were
in this life
Not rushing out of
it
The longer I had you
And I'm not sorry
for this
I'll never be sorry
for this
In a swirling mist inside my mind
Five tombs containing comatose swans
labeled Kindness, Caring, Courage, Love and Joy
Sweet nectar of my soul
Five weathered tombstones lie side by side
Marking where my goodness, the swans, have gone to rest
Five ravens croak nearby
still very much alive
Their names are Contempt, Indifference, Cowardice, Hate and Sorrow
My poison, the ravens, running rampant
Counterparts to those goodly tombstones
Wreaking havoc upon those goodly tombstones
The ravens reign
One thing keeping the ravens back
A lone sparrowhawk called Hope battering the toxins back
keeping them at bay with a defiant scream
Trying to achieve a goal that can't be reached
Wanting to find love from within a sealed mist that cannot be cracked
the foolish creature wanting the ability to love when my loving swan has already been locked up in a tomb
I stumble through a mist
Unable to see what is around me
The mind's eye unfocused and unseeing
I sense a light, and I wish to reach it
Yet the light is high upon a mountain's peak to my right
Millions of miles away with my way blocked by a barrier of my own making a barrier I cannot budge
To my left a darkness pulses poison oozing
My feet readily moving
I will be there in a few steps
A bird of prey bars my way
To my right where the swans are, There is an unreachable paradise
To my left where the ravens are, An easily reached hell with just one obstacle
Both obstacles are born of my soul
I stand still at the crossroad
My seesaw of Good and Evil, Right and Wrong
Constantly tipping Left and Right
I have frozen all emotions
My personal time suspended
Waiting for someone I do not know
The reign of the ravens has begun
The ravens may hold dominance
But full control they do not, and will not have
As long as the sparrowhawk lives