Long Besieges Poems
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I saw in her eyes the sallowness of festered love.
My drum had beaten to the resonance of celebration,
Of the deeds of love evaluation.
Her art bemuses me, especially when spoken and
Sketched to the rhythms of assayed hollowness –
Mottled balances echo silently on withered spots,
And the words she cherishes lie way below frontiers of enchantment.
How short my éclat reigned!
And my blood congealed!
Do I lay prostrate to hypoxia?
If I could borrow a leaf from her, I trust it would be the leaf of Love.
And on the edge of skewered times, I would lend the fit of
Pyrokinesis, cauterizing the inclement weather of her deception.
There’s that culture shock which love carries.
It kills and maims, yet lays crusts of veneer on one’s
Premeditated ego, pointing skyward like the finial of
Root-pannelled structure of breathless architecture.
My heart aches to the illusion of several months borne
Through the whim of my angel.
I wake on the brim of her nose.
Her eyes are grey and distant.
Rust besieges her hair with sliced threads of extended harvests.
I level up to her art with a hamster tied to the loose
Slivers of bamboo elements – with a repast so heartlessly
Soured by the sun.
I lean beneath her iron door, long loosened by the courage
Of assembled art.
My heart bleeds.
She lied to me.
As slimy as the mucilage of the okra,
I have shed genuine light of her hidden treasure.
And on a dark, vengeful night on the corridors of April,
Saturn, spinning her icy rings, revealed much.
And her love, deep and garish, traces peregrinations of
A hunter’s search through wooded paths, rain-drenched and musty.
From the shebeen to the sacristy.
The village church bell peals to the beat of my heart – a heart so deceived.
The gloom, structured in gossamer, binds me, haunts me.
Red banners of camwood yield to the moist of invaded space,
Tenebrous, and soused with the tears of a fallen roof.
Flaking tongues of prurient monsters lick my toes in noisy flicks....
God, where have I been?
12/06/2020 03:41 PM.
Imagine a long and winding line
all the way to Jabip
upon the handle of small grocery cart
envision mine white knuckle grip,
as the misses commandeers
moseying up and down every single aisle,
whereby an electrocardiogram
would indicate spiky sinusoidal blip.
I experience social anxiety
and feel like screaming aloud,
particularly when series
of unfortunate events
finds your truly
within onrushing madding crowd.
Unfortunately courtesy divine comedy
one erstwhile indiscriminately
cast out obsolete player
creator endowed him
with his trademark shaky spear.
One hapless generic garden variety guy
plagued with panic attacks
accursed lifetime providence
hellacious interminable suffering
until permanent escape
quasi vacation deliverance regarding...,
when grim reaper doth
cometh and taketh me away.
Oh savior enshroud impotent mortal man
at long last terminating suffering
welcoming me into portal
I willingly surrender
and welcome release...
beckoning death be not proud.
Impossible mission to describe
how fast paced life in general
generates utter confusion
analogous to floundering trout
besieges mine mental redoubt
mental helter skelter all about
as if mine entire body electric
forced, kickstarted, subjugated...
to perform (yes folks) hokey pokey
mental gears and cogs
snapping, crackling, popping
inside tumbler like noggin
purportedly linkedin hashtagged
with schizoid personality disorder.
Onset of emotional paralysis
stops me dead in my figurative track
metaphorically wishing me to skuttle
back into hermetically sealed manhole
invisible among interleaved bract
where within mine secret cubby hole
I play knick knack paddywhack...
to idle away leisure time
as well as solve crossword puzzles
meditate (on the gift of a watermelon pickle)
while listening to natural soundtrack,
and self hypnotize courtesy biofeedback.
In you lies the timeless bittersweet dichotomy of divinity
The darkness and the light breed in you, their delicate fleshly host
God...God is in your eyes...
In that divine light gleaming from the black hollows of your pupils
God is in your smile; that tender grin illuminated just for me...
God is in your heartbeat,
That exquisite metronome against my ear
God’s breath is yours,
His hair blends into your mane of watered silk…
The black halo I combed with my fingertips
God is the way I felt when I was with you –
As if you were an extension of me
My own soul made manifest in golden-skinned humanity
God is the blood that flushes your cheeks with a rosy glow
That current of life that keeps your heart alive
God is you…
But then, Satan is too…
Satan is the blackened smoking ruins of your trust
Satan is the baleful glare that furrows your brow
Satan’s breath whistles through your insults,
Those verbal barbs perfectly aimed to wound and maim
And scald
Satan is your grasping fingers around my throat
He is the glass you raised above my fragile skull
He is the widening gulf between our hearts…
The hellfire chasm that belches at my feet
Satan is the illness that besieges you,
Oozing worm-like through your veins
Leaching away the precious life that sustains you,
And by association, me
But most of all Satan is my heart that you broke,
The shrine to you that you ripped from my chest,
That you spat and trod and pissed all over
That you ground into a bloody mess beneath your shoe
Satan squats on that dying mess
Your coal-black demon lord…
He wars with the God in you
With the love you are forsaking
He squats and he spits and he wars and he laughs…
Knowing it is only a matter of time
Before your cruelty becomes the proverbial straw
That breaks the camel’s back
And I forget the God that you were…
And see only the devil that you have become.
This generic creek king mortal mwm
(who generally river ears the bay sea gully feels ire ate
asper propensity plundering positive human qualities
tested to the max), bait
ting virtue with rapacious opprobrious
malicious lugubriousness, and hatred create
head via the violent wickedness yawping zealously
oceans of tears that in un date
every nook and cranny of society, wrenching,
whip-sawing, and hammering extirpate
ting, the delicate nuances that anthropological fate
bequeathed to *****sapiens
species and genus undermining great
ness brought forth by artistic, democratic,
and graphic accomplishments with HATE
diluting the virtuous unification treatises
agonizingly tried to insulate
basic rights, whence erosion, corrosion,
and abrasion with goliath gangrenous monstrosities of late
subtract at frightful pace, the very survival of mankind and doth mate
absolute evil that percolates into the body electric,
where bloody fiendish genies prosper upending immunity
fostering broods that deign devious strategies in Nate
to destroy any salient sliver via BuzzFeed ding fifty shades of a gray pate
outwitting tentative grasp upon survival
barely fending off lashing off faux kings who e quate
might with right, and bring out the big guns
which blitzkrieg magazines fire at greased lightening speed rate
this battle whereby competing credos, ethos,
and grand Poobah grinds by force state
mints that all most obey lest Das Capital life will not tolerate
nasty, short and brutish torture engendering wailing ululate
diminish in a vain attempt to escape the maws of madness
where the grim reaper doth patiently wait.
God directs us toward His mission-work through His command
While He ushers us by His prudent hand…
In obeying His mandate of sovereign demand
For our commitment to stand while building lives in the promised land.
God directs us toward His mission-work through His light
While He revives us by His powerful might…
In declaring His Gospel with supplication plight
For our salvation to glow along soulwinning delight.
God directs us toward His mission-work through His favour
While He besieges us by His compassionate savour…
In sharing His love of kindness’ fervour
For our testimony to shine midst holy endeavour.
God directs us toward His mission-work through His wisdom
While He teaches us by His truthful freedom…
In learning from His Word about righteousness’ kingdom
For our Bible study to advance scriptural Christendom.
God directs us toward His mission-work through His instruction
While He guides us by His prudent action…
In fulfilling His desire for the Great Commission’s function
For our faith to produce fruits of joyful church-participation.
God directs us toward His mission-work through His fellowship
While He meets us by His friendly partnership…
In staying in His will of gracious leadership
For our worship to show gladness in faithful stewardship.
God directs us toward His mission-work through His blessing
While He satisfies us by His bountiful enforcing…
In enjoying His provisions around prayerful* fencing
For our service to support diligent giving-offering increasing.
*Acts 6:4 But we will give ourselves continually to prayer, and to the ministry of the word.
I chanced on him on my track to school
He was baronial and majestic as ever
Clothed in his outfit and elongated tunic
Clenching in his hand a printed work
The nugatory schoolboy in me promptly surfaced
As I proceeded towards his enclave vacillatingly
Intuited as if I was going to memorize my recitation
Was seized with an obstreperous panic
In his impeccable demeanor gently my face tapped
Unbridled my tongue and my odd reluctance unleashed
Stormed: "come on boy I won't your ears pull
Nor your butts with quivering hands spank"
"Spill the beans,voice what your spirit vexes"
This life uttered I diggs in prostrating me
Mankind's animosity does all over prevail
Besieges our souls and minds assails
He drew a lengthy whistling sigh as if to vindicate
The diagnosis of a proscribed insurrection
Instead gladden yourself to overhaul yours
And ahead your home with your broom sanitize
As a bonus for his judicious counsel
I offered escorting him to his fount
And for a while substitute his compliant cane
The road was brimmy with hollows and vehiculer conjested
"I have,asserted he,operated this road for decades
He has never stabbed me in the back nor beguiled
Subjected his grass,pebbles and panels to slave for me
Please,reconcile with yours,it is waxing harsher ! "
I can feel the freezing fright and fear rattling in the marrow of my bones;
It immerses me.
I can feel the vexing uncertainty shrouding me like a black cloud;
It swallows me.
I can feel the baleful worry surrounding me like a pack of ravenous wolves;
It encircles me.
I can feel the awful dread welling and swelling up in me like a violent maelstrom;
It envelops me.
I can feel the cumbersome woe strangling me like a constricting python;
It entangles me.
I can feel the taxing stress crashing and breaking like tsunami waves on the shores of my mind;
It besets me.
I can feel the agonizing anguish beating my beleaguered soul to a bloody pulp;
It besieges me.
I can feel the terrible torment fomenting an emotional breakdown and upheaval;
It encompasses me.
I can feel the perplexing pain plaguing my heart with rancorous delight;
It inundates me.
I can feel the damnable distress torture every fiber of my being;
It binds me.
But I can also feel the wondrous spirit of Hope rising inside me like a spring of faith;
It strengthens me.
*Written for my dad who is now battling kidney cancer. All thoughts, prayers, good
vibes and well-wishes are sincerely appreciated. Thank you ~Chan
The ink of your red heart
Sips the flowers,
Besieges the olive
In the iris of the eyes,
Flirts the tunes
Hugs the minarets,
And complains to the night
The sighs of sadness,
And you are a dream
Asleep in its silence
Under the eyelids …
Has the evening glow of passion
Found no sleep
Under your eyelashes,
And have not been wounded the eyelashes
By the tears of rain-laden clouds?
Who are you?
I will ask the rhyme
About you, and the arts,
And the demon of sorrows,
Are you a lost letter?
In the lexicon of the centuries?
Or are you the beginning
For the revolution of madness?
Your imagination is a cloud
In the darkness of the eyes
And your soul is a talisman
Jailed in my ring…
And my compassionate boat
Don’t ask me who I am?
Nor suppose my silence is jest,
I am the silent call
And a sigh in the last tunes,
And a silver tear
On your cheek
Flows in rapture…
My planet is premonitions
And my world is doubts,
And my whisper is poems
Their title …is none,
And my kiss is sacred,
Granddaughter of the boughes…
So who am I?
And who will I be?
My story is a legend
Inscribed in silence…
Our hands are tied, Death
Since you dawned on us this New Year . . .
Shapely bottles of champagnes have shone
And have broken to fragments with the ululation
Of firecrackers that warmed cold and dark wintry skies.
Now, aphonia sets in from unending lamentations.
Headlines, buried by the chilly bones of winter,
Are barren of good tidings.
A chionophile besieges the rim of a sedulous Yuletide
Grieving by oneiric alleys . . .
I speak of the Friedhof of haunting grimness behind
The curtains of howling winds;
Chants that frequent the disease of frightened melodies, stained
With the aged banality of youthful death;
And the purlieu of cremated souls and consolidated ashes.
Daggers are drawn to paint skulls on canvas slit by the
Whispering tongues of fire
Candles burn their tallow gently on the skin of cancer,
A stinkaroo that stinks with rage.
We do not know how else to turn the calendar.
The edges brim with hostile, burning blood,
Frozen with bits of hate and servile penetralia.
New Year hangs the singed sigil of death
On the bosom of fattened scrolls.
The hearts of our once invisible heroes grow weary fighting a relentless demon.
God make it stop!
They sacrifice all with little to save souls from the consuming darkness surrounding them.
God make it stop!
How many faces of those gasping for life’s last breath will be burned into their memories?
God make it stop!
How many hands will go lifeless in theirs because of a viral monster that yet goes unanswered?
God make it stop!
How often must they gaze into already tear-soaked faces and be the bearers of even worse news?
God make it stop!
How many times will they totally collapse from exhaustion from working extra shifts and hours?
God make it stop!
How many more tears will fall behind their masks for those they could not pull back from death?
God make it stop!
They yearn for a whisper of hope to dull the ventilators symphony of despair and desperation.
God make it stop!
They search for the rainbow beyond a dark ominous cloud that now besieges all humanity.
God make it stop!