Long Beeline Poems
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Cruel fate nixed our sites set for buying a hoagie
Yours truly and the wife
tended to some errands,
which included going
to the Limerick,
Pennsylvania Citizens Bank
for me to rectify
an erroneous address
indicating I Matthew Harris
purportedly and presently domiciled at:
96 West Miner Street
(and whereinthehellis)
Coaldale, Pennsylvania
18218-1017
which address listed after viewing
online banking screen
indicating Good morning,
afternoon or evening,
then scrolling down
to sought after preference selecting
either checking or savings account
then clicking on View
Statements in Document Center
subsequently choosing
timeframe, account and type),
while the spouse
patiently waited in a hot car,
(slightly more comfortable
than a cat on a hot tin roof)
then going to ALDI'S, GIANT
(the latter place
to dump off paper for recycling
and making a beeline to purchase items
in the clearance section),
felt sorely disappointed,
when a series of unfortunate events
(even Lemony Snicket
would have been dumbfounded)
occurred when earlier today
and last least on the agenda
found me headed
at the Royersford, Pennsylvania Wawa
for what I envisioned being
a mouthwatering (yellow) "submarine"
or just "sub" the general term
for both the bread roll and sandwiches
made with it in both the USA
and other English speaking nations
and lastly Wawa
right there in Royersford
felt jinxed cause we
(hungry enough to eat a horse),
could not purchase
(what both of us imagined to be)
our delectable aforementioned sandwiches
which DID NOT
find me being thee unsung hero
(regarding a damsel in distress)
actually courtesy using the EBT
(electronic benefits transfer)
SNAP food card declined part of the sale,
nor could I access (withdraw) funds
using a recently issued debit card
farcical indicating expiration date,
when the spouse gave me a dour
facial recognition expression
(and she feigned pouting like a child),
cause her husband
could not head back to the house
at Pooh Corner
with aforementioned treasured commestible
already finding us salivating
like Pavlov's dog,
which dude (who looks like a lady,
with sweet emotion,
especially after washing
and drying my hair) came back
to the car empty handed.
Hurriedly enroute to her royal majesty
porcelain goddess throne
whereupon earlier today
March 28th, 2022,
after incomplete defecation
sitting pretty on pissoir,
I jiggled and wiggled posterior
(analogous to performing
the bum bared hustle)
until gasping for breath
though unable to shake loose
dangling dingleberry yours truly
nevertheless synchronously praise zing
a mostly functioning sphincter muscle.
Gross and smelly
as human excrement considered
expelling fecal matter comprises
important function, whereby any unspent
ingested material shunted
thru alimentary canal
then spewed courtesy sphincter vent.
**** lies zing constipation
and/or stubborn stuck drek
nothing to poo poo about,
cuz when bedeviled by
colorectal obstruction,
no matter emetics
applied with bonafide clout
without wasted doubt,
that malodorous, maleficent
malevolent malady
body electric doth flout
analogous to uranus
clogged with grout,
whereat no heroic
efforts break loose,
the severely obstructed bowel,
thus spurring determined,
desperate derriere plea
for proctologist sought
to relieve constipation
equipped with a special
"J" shaped, hooked,
and designed dowel
in an effort
to pry stoppage
if/when yours truly constipated
jamming up human cloaca,
where rock solid stubborn
immovable turd emits foul
gaseous emanations accompanied
with a$$ a nine growl
followed by red hot,
fiery excruciating spasms
shooting jagged pain
inducing yours truly to access,
the werewolf within howl,
where a preference for sciatica,
in place, but my ill luck
regarding aforementioned plight
merely naming said nerve pain
accursed affliction arises
analogous to parasite malefactor thieve
ving would be
equally unpleasant and offer
absolutely zero reprieve
along heinie kin cheeky jowl,
thence finding me
resorting to peeve
hush scream therapy,
which wrought nothing,
no pain did re: leave
me bummed out bum,
but veins snapping,
popping, and crackling,
utmost effort I forcefully heave
oye how aye did grieve
plus a bajillion
gallons of perspiration,
while lower gastrointestinal
agonizing torture didst cleave
entire abdominal
area please believe
without aforementioned crisis,
and feeble poem,
I could not achieve.
She here elbowed past me stomping, pausing not (although me whomping
With her wildly swinging handbag – five kilograms, if not more).
Cackling brusquely in a lather, that I should her baggage gather,
She then made a beeline rather straight through to the bathroom door.
Bathrobe clad and I mouth gaping, a liquidesque and turgid score –
Heard I come from ‘hind said door.
Faculties mine then regaining, to the muffled sounds of straining,
Luggage lugged I by the armful ‘til it half covered the floor.
Having purged demons internal, emerged she with a stench infernal,
And disturbed wife’s rest nocturnal – sensed she had her mother’s spoor –
Thus awakened, hair disheveled, she exclaim-ed, “Oh my Lor-”
(At which point she saw Lenore).
Here, dear reader, I’ll acknowledge that I met my wife in college.
We did wed with an alacrity that left our families sore.
With them mostly, we’ve fence-mended, olive branches we’ve extended,
And with all have soreness ended, with th’exception of Lenore –
Impromptu Vegas nuptials ours ne’er pardoned she us for.
Forgiveness? She’d said, “Nevermore.”
Subsequently, every meeting, whether days in length or fleeting
Ever marred was by the vitriol that from her mouth did pour.
Our presence thus disdaining, we content were then remaining
Distant from her foul complaining – contact with her we forswore.
No truck had we had with her for nigh on twelve years, maybe more –
Hence the shock of her at door.
Standing there in hallway fuming, scent of ordure ‘round perfuming,
An entitled air assuming, my wife’s mother took the floor.
She in voice like squealy quacking, peppered with some phlegmy hacking,
Every dulcet tone it lacking, sounding like a wounded boar,
Claimed she an Ikean sofa that her ample rearguard bore –
“I’ve come to visit,” croaked Lenore.
Looked I to my wife in query (bad side hers on of being leery),
Wincing at what could be sheer emoted outrage and furore,
Said wife, “What drugs are you taking that would lead you then to making
The mistake you are mistaking in appearing at our door?
What dark, unholy, nasty, wretched reason came you for,
That you so defile our door?”
HURRICANE HATTIE
It came like a thief
After midnight
Stealthily
Unawares
Mischievously
Spitefully
Desperately
Determined
With preconceived plans
Across the Caribbean Sea
Suddenly turning west
Making a beeline
To British Honduras
In Central America
It foiled expectations
That it would arrive
At seven the next morning
And
Instead
Made a surprise visit
Six hours earlier
And
Like the Gestapo
The KGB
The Secret Police
Attacked
While people were
Least prepared
Snoozing
Snoring
Dreaming
Of better things.
Discriminating
It attacked
Belize
Ignoring neighboring
Guatemala
Honduras
Mexico
As if
Remotely controlled
By some
Vengeful fanatic
At 150 miles per hour
And more
It
Clobbered
Battered
Hammered
Pounded
The coastline
Of
The Jewel
People still ’memba
How in ’61
It wrecked havoc
In Dangriga
Belize City
San Pedro
Cay Caulker
Among others
As it
Thumped
Hit
Broke
Lifted
Pushed
Carried
Dumped
Submerged
Their valuables
And
Like a Repo Man
Dispossess them
Of their
Treasured belongings
Within the
Make-belief safety
Of its eye
Poor people
Thinking it was over
Sought their fortunes
On the beaches
In the shops
In others’ property
When Hattie
On a round trip ticket
Came back hurriedly
And with
More gusto
Lashed out
As a category five
Storm
Typhoon
Hurricane
To teach them a lesson
In
Tort
Honesty
Respect
And dignity.
In the end
One third of the coast
Was devastated
One third
Damaged
And
Another third
Standing
With 264 dead
And millions
Of dollars lost
The place lay wasted
Spoiled
Thorn
Flooded
Damaged
Wounded
Smashed
Muddied
Polluted
As
Debris
Corpses
Belongings
And victims
Wallowed in its wake.
As it distanced itself
From
Its handiwork
And Observed
With a smirk
Its power
To
Subdue
Man
Woman and child
It grinned
In satisfaction
At its exploits
And its supernatural supremacy
To shape destiny
And vanquish the vulnerable
I feel if you want to steal my limelight
then you had best learn to rhyme tight,
and double up your rhyme with each line
like mine so that I might feel the fright,
decline and beeline from your sight.
Live your life in the shadows
far away from the meadows
and only move slightly so
your world doesnt crumble.
Just sit in your bubble and wallow
and mumble afraid to rumble
this phenom for the trouble.
You've the chance of a bumble bee
that's been detached from its stinger and wings,
whinging in pain towards the fat lady that sings.
Nearing the finish line in less than a minutes time,
sliding from the peak and unable to climb,
beaten down in shock by my sublime
and superbly well crafted rhyme.
You can repeatedly attempt to try to call my bluff
but you cannot sit in my seat or out do my stuff
because I'll treat you rough and smack the puff
out of your cheeks thus causing you to fluff
words you seek, weak without enough.
I'm the Trim Reaper, I creep,
I'll push you down until you creek,
and become to weak,
to move or even speak,
I'll allow your slow retreat,
as the tears begin to leak,
I'll beat out the next beat
as I beat and defeat on repeat.
Kings fumble their crown
in a blink of the eye,
and fall down earth bound
from way up in the sky,
because they cannot thrive,
not while I am alive,
best to give up then hide
and silence crying eyes.
Musk it you must as the dusk hides the dust,
because you can't muster up or adjust
and prove that you've got enough groove
to remove me when you're busted with no thrust
to remove me or leave me stationed to rust.
Trust me I'll turn your talent crusty abruptly
then move heaven and hell above me.
My desire will not tire as the fire transpires up high,
all eyes on me to see the majestic Phoenix rise.
A presence out of this world like the Phoenix lights,
this sentence wields the last words seen in this write.
At the end of the elated visit
Around the mind moving marble mausoleum -Taj Mahal
I was unconvinced to leave and got a place to sit
As excited to enjoy the environment, withal
It was the inside on the right, near the main entrance
Just before the famous ‘visitors bench’
from where visitors pose, with faces full of romance
As a monumental memory, though the fire won’t quench
I was seated at a comfortable distance
To watch this mankind’s magnificent marble marvel
My mind churned the charm, inch by inch
With visitors from the entire globe, lining after a long travel
Of all colors, gathering was the crowd of tourist
With dressing styles that were, to this land, new
My emotions of excitement, I could not resist
Their expression of ecstatic too, none knew
Flocking was also the beeline of photographers
With the face of everyone, full of excitement
Earnestly everyone was immersed, as none bothers
None can forget in life, this joyful moment
Distracted my ‘dream-like-reality’ was an eagle
He was flying low, short rounds over the main dome
Over his unusual behavior, into me, I did giggle
He returned after two short rounds, as it was awesome
He now flied directly to the Finial – Islamic moon symbol atop
He sat over the Finial, as if he came to chat with me
A new relationship between us began to develop
I enormously enjoyed this ecstatic and wondered to watch the game
Joy or grief never lasts for longer
As he could not sit there comfortably
As the edges seems sharper and stronger
My friend was forced to fly away, inevitably
This play of this eagle, perhaps I only noticed
Perhaps only towards me, He sat to chat
Taj as universal ‘symbol of love’ is highly placed
The joy of watching the eagle too, a tantalizing treat!
(Copyrights reserved by the Author)
Bolstered by faith in the path of ethical karma
Indeed, I am grateful for my parents guidance.
Imparting and intercepting a pragmatic dogma.
Do graceful deeds or such will Deity reliance.
Spirituality is a means of achieving mental tranquility.
In place of admonishing compliance, cultivate trust.
Sincerity is comparable to a yearning for faith in divinity.
Religion is a system of holy books that tends to thrust.
Only with insight, I grasp how to do proper deeds
In the vicinity of oughts, givens, and plight sermons
Making me a "polite person" in other peoples minds
Hoping to target heaven by valuable fine actions.
My self-motivation restrained my capability.
It's all exhilarating to uncover the finest route.
It may elicit widespread anxiety and uncertainty.
Hell's ferocity will bind one to remain celibate.
While challenging the status quo of religion.
There is a constant desire for truth amid Deity.
When I was in anguish, I wanted reconciliation.
Attempting to cross the contradictory topography.
Now that via my Faiths avail, I am all paradise.
Ardent deal man's religious faith in helpful actions.
I have given life with true love sealed as a prize.
Granted their ability to taste heaven attractions.
I am now all heaven, thanks to god generosity.
A large deal of man's beliefs is seen in deeds.
I have offered life as a prize for a sense of loyalty.
They had given the power to savor heaven's seeds.
Spirituality provides the claims that traditions claim.
That is the idea that my heart strives for in the story.
To adore God, that I have vowed to the Lords name.
I put my trust in God's forgiveness, famous mercy.
Placed First on the contest
written May 7, 2021
All Yours(Jun 8) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Purple Chakra
She wears in dreams and enchantment our mad hatter’s hat
cloaked in violet desire and so called co-incidence of purple
Just a few blossoms Jacaranda from the doom of rock bottom
I spelt the word ‘love’ with the petals in between roses and colour
the wannabe hippie of times long gone by on a path yet unknown
A rehab from drink and from madness confinement in mind
body soul removed from temptation inpatient impatient solitude
‘So strange this beautiful woman here before your arrival she
formed a small purple heart on the manicured lawn. You would
like her she’s Tanya Michelle bright and emotional calls herself Tai.’
A visitor truly unknown pitched a few days after un-thought of no
sense no connection no intention no blossoms of meaning or reason
a fairy tale story frog princess prince sensation out of the purple
‘You must be Tai I am Kai I suppose we have something in common’
a beeline from nowhere how I knew I not know may the Universe tell
synchronicity spelt out from the winds gravitation pulled in together
Now we dance to the moon and swim with the tides scent the fragrance
sing to the tune of fortuitous fortune paint purple mad sanity in words
rainbows melting pastels poetry in motion poet trees’ hot temperance
Just one word had been spelt one heart in the garden of freedom
two seeds released rising high in the air in miraculous sparkling
waters dust from the ashes volcano erupted meaningful madness
We travel together ever since wear hats purple hair flowers dreams and
infusion have been flying ‘Taikaiwe’ on infinite eternity from that
momentous moment enshrined in the blossoms
Written on the 21st June 2016-06-20
From Kai Michael to Tai Michelle
For contest: Something Seemingly Insignificant
And Unexpected Changed My Life
We drove to Lakeland to have lunch with Damien and Trista
(our eldest grandson and his fiancé) we love to see them as often as we can
but this lunch was a special one…to discuss their wedding plans.
Driving home I thought about the night we stopped at a cabin on the Skykomish river.
How one part of the river flowed directly to the Pacific…making a beeline to the west
While another part veered off toward our cabin
creating little waterfalls…before joining with the rest.
I remember watching this river…studying it for a while…
and I swear…when the two groups of water came back together I could see both waters smile.
I remember wondering…the more I watched this raging river flow
where did each drop of water join the river…
and where will each drop go.
Will some continue on forever…following the drops who’ve come before
Will some decide they’ve gone far enough…and make their home upon the shore.
After visiting Trista and Damien I thought how a family is like a river…
how together, in the beginning, all the members flow…
How we know where everyone begins…but we have no idea where they will go.
How we don’t control Damien and Trista’s flow of water…
understanding when they’re fully grown…
there’s a good chance they will veer off in a direction all their own
But we also know if we fill our river with love
when they do choose a direction of their own…
there is a good chance from wherever they flow
they will find their way back home.
For waters filled with love that once flowed together
love to see each other as often as they can…
Even if it’s only for a lunch…to discuss some wedding plans.
And I can tell you from experience…when the waters reconnect
even if only for a little while…
It only takes a moment before
you can see both waters smile.
PERENNIAL FLOWERS JUST FOR ME
far below the canopy, the speckled hawk soars —
whoa! he’s hardly in my space but so close.
my toes jam up in my gray Bob’s as I descend
the cracking driveway, and my eyes ascend
toward the clouds, hard to see through the oaks.
my eyes roller-coast back to the pavement
or I jeopardize my life, firsthand knowledge gained
when shoes roll over pebbles and stick debris
quite humbly spurring me to a knee. i reach
my destination. i look at my well dressed yard,
the ground worked hard. the red mulch compliments
our home and the reticent retaining wall
keeps are summertime willow felicitous. — what
i came out to see, the perennial flowers just for me,
a husband’s love. the purple coneflowers and
delicate daisies a simple offering, a favor asked
before his job took him overseas and i visited
the grands. here his little bit of leaven forms
a lump in my grateful heart. my thighs pump
as i climb our renowned hill, ready to give praise,
and enjoying the clumps of hay protecting hibiscus buds,
when the buzz of an invisible bee chases me
the rest of the way. not a fan, i shun the stranger,
slam the door, readily make a beeline to my honey.
“I love the flowers. Nice job!”
The bee he says, gave me a bit of exercise.
Now why’d he have to go and say that.
Men and children have a habit of speaking from the heart,
not always what you want to hear,
but the sweet flowers in my eyes dance for a while
and i love that man.
8/3/2019