Long Bludgeon Poems
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We tried to hide and could have died.
But we only heard the faint cry
Of the wind whistling aloud
As the devastation passes by.
From the darkness, we heard cries,
weeping voices of the night storm
Crashing through invisible barriers
That head the names of our heroes.
The storm uprooted old trees.
Bludgeon tool unable to rule.
Fearful plow into the houses.
Crumpling like an ancient scrawl
Night storm is an ancient journeyman,
Come on a visit to the isles each year.
To enact revenge on the jealous land
The divulged appetite has no fear.
The hunted died, and the storm's gone.
an evil force, crawl back into its silent shell
Planning a surprise for the next horizon
With whispers of awakening hell.
Awe & shock bowlers in the dock our warlock & glock “the Judge”
Rapscallion & stallion with a gold medallion on a sinking galleon
Our burly oracle with each follicle so curly a rock wouldn’t budge
In the 90’s dungeon our classy curmudgeon brassy bludgeon
Can’t begrudge won’t nudge or fudge never a drudge trudge
Truncheon dining on hurly burly Courtenay & Curtly luncheon
Call to arms more like baobabs than palms it is “the Judge”
Robin big breast disarms with charms Test bowlers flogging
Logging in to his noggin not one for jogging just silky slogging
Speedsters scary & lairy others wary time for our hairy chest fairy
Strike hogging quest while the others just dobbins doing bobbins
Pacemen lobbing but no fobbing iron will still run robbing Robin
Smith no hobnobbing or gobbing but not a whiff of a riff of what if
Believers in his jobbing levers will go biff in any tiff the pith of Smith
Made from sterner stuff but always a learner on a bunsen burner
Did bewitch but off the pitch a hitch.. life after cricket not as rich
Strife was rife and as things got rough couldn’t scratch that itch
Baobabbed wizard mocked Windies blizzard grabbed it by the gizzard
Calling card hit the ball so hard seems that BATman was really Robin
Not just some county squire but maybe the ultimate Hampshire Sire
Hall of fame name can’t smudge hats doff to a one off “the Judge”
They say you don’t need one for self-defense,
that this no longer is the ‘Wild West,’
and we should leave such things to the police,
just sit and wait for them, that would be best.
But when seconds count, sitting and waiting
will leave a person well and truly screwed,
and oh, by the way, the courts say that they
have no obligation to protect you.
Some would rather you die then fire back,
they had so little respect for the one
you’ve a natural right to defend your life,
so don’t you ever give up your guns.
They say don’t worry about your family,
it is no longer your job to protect them,
delegate that duty off to the state,
which you should know is your greatest of friends.
And though that friend might not be there the night
you have to watch your own daughter be raped,
it’s better you don’t kill that ‘troubled soul,’
it’s much more ‘moral’ to let him escape.
They would explain away his felony,
use his sad upbringing as a bludgeon,
only you can defend those close to you,
so for God’s sake, don’t give up your guns.
They say you will never need such weapons
just to go out into the woods for deer,
as if the threat of antlered cervids is
the type of threat that free people should fear.
They expect us to forget the lessons
learned back in seventeen seventy-six;
that the state is necessary evil,
and can become too corrupt to be fixed.
Though the mere thought of such a circumstance
does not strike any sane person as fun,
the option must always be in our hands,
so we can’t ever give up our guns.
They will laugh and say in the modern day
that such notions no longer will work,
militaries have become too advanced,
it’s big machines that will cause all the hurt.
But I think of Vietnam and Iraq,
the great trouble that 'mere' guns did cause,
and those were people united for evil,
not for liberty and the rule of law.
Imagine what true patriots can do,
and the British, they have seen it done,
we must always be armed and ready,
so you can never give up your guns...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Life is a bastard son, prodding the fertile horizon
poking into places tender, tearing the expanse of dawn
he taunts, rude and bellicose, so full of himself
spewing into the weakest streams, a wet dream.
With platitudes he prances, son of a fearsome father
promising eternity, singing a lover's song of praise.
Light bearer, holder of the golden scalpel, night cutter
leaving glare where softness once held sway.
May the abyss, the gentle dark, the yin forgive you..son.
From the pear-shaped loins of sister Eve, you have burst
washed in the waters of she, a caul of white adorned,
pray, stay your hand, do not bludgeon your better half.
Existence, endless, fleeting, meld and join this randy pair
for universes swing between this bastard and his dreams.
Dedicated to my muse Brenda Atry
please read her "Black Diamond Night"
Written: November 06, 2023
___________________________________________
A swarm of herring gulls amassed
Nexus Nautilus nabbed by zealous winds,
whitening the black soil
we hold spears in our hands.
blood-stained thorns on the side
sullen squawks a skirmishing sporophyte,
dubious, grayish rumors must be buried
drave in a drizzle, drape to deities.
Installation of sentry fences
Sisyphean stones
anchor down using seal and string
flaws in the swings used by blacksmiths
Unborn burning bullion bludgeon
Savage sunless swords embryonic
Edgeless, with no reflections.
Each peak over the Edenic Steppes is sprayed,
using torn paper candles as bait
climbing scaffolds with lumber rungs
pounding of leather-heavy boots
darkened, grimacing features
Flocks failing feathers or flight.
Our hold slips on windswept
Windswept updrafts carry us away
as offspring of the royal family.
warrant humaneness
It's all surgeon bludgeon
equanimity stratagem
unfazed by quibbles
coarse aqueous colander
a memory pillow
bled to venture
perplexed spuriousness
throb growingly cognizant
numbness wooziness
clock is striking
likewise we should
If we can force the lock
falasity proven by speculum
verdict of acquittal
Written: February 16, 2022
1st place contest winner
A Strand (1075) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived. ( Poem inspired by Poet Brian Strand Form)
This Body
Those on the bottom can see but can’t act,
Those on the top can act, but can’t see,
O Lord, please free me from this body of Death, America.
Dear Lord, How am I to stay composed, as the very fabric of justice decomposes from
beneath me?
My footsteps are weighted down by the sounds of my ancestors screaming for my freedom, as
they realized that their deliverance was only in the life to come?
Am I to wait until the life to come?
Like some passive animal, always turning by backside to be flogged by the excruciating
hypocrisy of white supremacy,
You ask me to hold to your precepts, you ask me to hold to your law of love,
And yet for me it is like Atlas, bearing the weight of my oppressor’s ignorance, all the
while attempting to free them from their codependency on my subjugation,
Even for those who see, their loss is still their gain, Privilege,
But for me, loss is the sound of riotous rage burning the streets of Chicago,
And yet my Lord,
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things unseen,
I must believe, even as my circumstances bludgeon me from the inside out,
I must believe that you have a plan.
We need not loans, but a redefinition of what it means to prosper?
Can you grant us at least this my lord?
A vision of repentance in which top and bottom begin to fade away beneath the sound of
righteous equality?
If we can just touch the hem of your garment?
If we can just touch the hem of your garment, then we shall be healed.
And this body will know the sublime language of harmony.
Lord God, do not free me from this body of death, America.
For in my freedom, my brethren will still suffer.
Rather, free this body from its insanity.
So that we all may sleep and dream soundly.
Form:
Hook, reel in, gaff and bludgeon;
no need to hurry it’s only a fish,
but I wonder
does that little brain
in that big head, think?
Does it know this gagging sky
as its gills
franticly suck in an invisible death,
does it acknowledge
the burning rays of the sun
as it scorches its glittering scales?
Does this still wriggling fish
discern or calculate
the amount of drowning air
it can withstand
as it is hauled into a choking death?
Can I afford
to think upon it, empathize.
Consider that we once
came out of the water,
should I measure my own pain
the way this fish might
while I fish for an excuse
and indefinitely, and with much pleasure
cast another line?
Can you feel the real deal hoodoo or juju hex
One sex tech conquest & manifest wrecks perplex
Flex your cerebral cortex protest against the new Rex
Hullabaloo of voodoo we must contest & vex
Vain inane randy Deejays handy on dandy sandy decks
A bane.. vloggers..joggers & bloggers texts & trend treks
Reign of hooray Henry’s forays with oversized unwise specs
Disdain from plain Jane “ex” glowering while devouring Tex Mex
Train..campaign for brawn not brain.. divulging bulging necks & pecs
The lot have got an absurd follow the word of the herd complex
Flecks of lies flutter & splutter in the utter nutter echo chamber gutter that is “X”
Never ending..mind bending curmudgeon bludgeon chorus of Tyrannosaurus Techs!
Ashes
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…
How many times have we heard this?
on TV, in a play, in a movie…
Have you ever read it in the bible?
The very book of life!
He that made all things,
you, me and the trees,
is the true creator.
Sadly the high in chair,
stare into the dark willingly.
They are using You.
Those in the seat of power.
They speak Your precious word,
to bludgeon others into their own belief.
Not the truth at all,
But a miss-happen, miss-shapen, explosion,
of warped possibilities all gone wrong,
culminating in a virus that closed down,
the whole world!
Now we watch as our friends pass.
Now we take note,
if not too late;
that people are worth more than money,
that hurting others is a bad thing,
that killing unborn babies is a sin,
and murder is murder…
regardless of reason.
We need to bow are heads,
and know that our prayers…
are desperate.
This will pass, stay inside, God is real...