Long Blunt Poems
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I also feel blasé today February 19th, 2024
Linkedin to being lax,
and shirking house cleaning tasks,
which negligence cost us
(yours truly and the missus)
a golden opportunity
to relocate to Hillcrest Village
in Boyertown, Pennsylvania
another HUD subsidized property
under the aegis of Grosse and Quade,
one of the larger residential
property management firms
in the Delaware Valley.
Physical unwellness
(insync with racing heart) arose
because Kathleen Bergen
the new property manager
here at 2 Highland Manor
voiced absolute zero positive feedback,
upon taking lock, stock, and barrel
of appalling living conditions,
her blistering vocalization
(from wuthering heights)
translated as a foregone conclusion
against our hopes
pinned on moving into
two bedroom apartment
referenced above topmost lines.
Said plummeted disappointment
(courtesy blunt admission
out the mouth of
(humpty dumpty sat on a wall)
frumpty recent hire
identified in a previous poem
as new warden)
verbosely predicated upon
gross appearance of living space
immediately dashed cautious optimism
citing unkempt state
within no crater than
moonwalking unit b44,
whereby we wished to skadaddle
far away from obligation
to be mindful of rules and regulations
codified within a binding lease.
Unlikely home ownership
will ever come to pass,
nor the lesser prospect
to rent more spacious domicile
larger than a one bedroom apartment,
no bigger than a bread box
den me and the missus,
(a hen pecking spouse)
might befriend Bugs Bunny,
who might guarantee
adequate sized rabbit hole
constituting large enough wonderland
receiving stamp of approval
courtesy Alice in Chains
subsidized lodging money back
plus additional warren tee
granted by Mister Michael Fox,
who took me back to the future,
when the pace of life
plodded along at leisurely rhythm.
Only within outer limits
realm of twilight zone,
where dark shadows
inch along edge of night
(while two thumbs and index finger
belonging to separate good sports
grab hold the furcula
(or wishbone) structure
formed by the ventral fusion
of the right and left clavicles
and the median interclavicle
silently mouth invocation)
holds at bay, the inexplicable phenomena
moored, harbored, and docked
awaiting lucky recipient,
whose merrythought bestowed
upon he/she, they/them.
He is cranking up the old rusty engine again, but all that work is in vain, sweat is running from his anxious face and grease is spilling all over the place. There he goes again with his tool bag and greasy overall lying flat on his back underneath the truck, pulling screw, by screw from the belly of the old truck.
Monday comes at a price, and he has to pay a painful sacrifice, fix it or dump it he has no choice but to squeeze Monday into his chest. The old truck is draining the life out of his pocket. It's just the other day he fixed it. He replaced the engine with a second hand one that he imported from Finland. It worked quite well for the first few days but soon it starts to die away.
He pulls down the whole thing and drain the oil out of it, the heaven doesn’t know what this man is about, thirty different parts staring in his face and the oil and water is dripping all over the place.
The Engine block, and the Cylinder Head has sucked out the pressure out of the living dead; the piston, crank shaft, camshaft, and Timing belt are not in place, and it causes the vehicle to wobble and shake. Examine the engine valves and combustion chamber carefully; there is a hole in the oil pan and a blunt on the connecting rod.
The intake manifold and Exhaust manifold has something in common and can heat up your face and plant bitterness into your grave. The spark plugs, piston ring and flywheels are out of place, and you have to tighten them, or you will end in an unpleasant place.
Look at the head gasket, cylinder liner and crank case, they are shifting around, and the distributor ring is hanging on the ground; the cylinder head cover, the rubber grommet and camshaft pulley are out of line, and you have got to replace the oil filter, water pump, and oil pan drain bolt.
The turbocharger and supercharger are defected, and you must replace the timing belt, drive pulley and the starter motor before the engine fail. You need a brand-new truck to satisfy the daughter she will never come back in that truck with you unless you do what you have to do.
The wind is blowing softly, and the trees are shaking violently, the weather is fine, but his emotion is out of line, the sun is peeping beyond the hill and nature is sending him a bunch of daffodils look carefully into the sky and you will see shades of Monday passing by.
July 25th, 1996 tied the Gordian knot,...
(I spent noose cents)
begot deux daughters, the major events
both since flew cuckoo's nest,
the eldest angry at papa for offense
sieve behavior fatherly bond
forever sundered permanent rents
unforgiving progeny vents
bile, explosive vitriol whence...
Aye yen for bachelorhood every
now and again doth mildly abate
after saying "I do...,"
when axed by justice of peace
nearly two dozen years wedded
bull hissing, rest assured
I will abbreviate
encapsulate, fulminate, narrate...
and forthrightly admit,
yours truly oft times
yearned to abdicate
spousal unbridled warfare and injustice
reason enough to abnegate
null and void husbandry role
ex post facto finding thyself
questioning pledging troth even
Frosty the snowman would abominate
to say "screw this -
marriage nut for me"
bolt in a huff boot (dang)
ne'er did absquatulate
altercations that adhere
to rule of physics
and tended to accelerate
as muzzled, neigh saying saddled
former groom did
lament and accentuate
his physical needs,
she did not accommodate,
cuz this solitary soul
(with good n plenti horse sense),
never did fully acculturate
with female species,
one whose blunt cold front
seemed to accumulate growing
gripe list bestowed courtesy this mate
tit for tat wrathful pitiless,
(not so cherry) feedback unmatched
within annotated coupled courtship of fools,
this scrivener with steely
iron maiden breastplate,
nonetheless did rack up and accumulate
battle scars hitting bullseye,
since donned with
corrective vision spectacles
hen pecking, needling termagant
untameable shrew did acerate
(worse fate than death -
validated by grim reaper)
avowed covenant thru torturous years
exponentially punishing innocent soul
(slightly biased) did acervate
popping one after
another over the counter acetylsalicylate,
no ampule adequate
to relieve permanent suffering,
thus lifetime electric shock treatment,
nsync quaffing prescription
kool aid battery acidulate
ineffective to activate
palliative, and restore
liberty (yeah) sense and sensibility
subsequently providing freedom
against further wifely scourges
whereby Doctor Phil Ander
refused to adjudicate,
perhaps understandable why I advocate
selfless mercy killing (euthanasia)
for this urbane country bumpkin.
she cowers in the corner
when he comes home the
mere clomp of the boots
make their way to the room
wherein she is hiding her
breathing rapidly increasing
her heart thumping louder
than his footsteps growing
closer while she tries to
work out her next move she
is pulled out from under
the bed by her ankles what
happens next you imagine
in your worst terror if you
can picture a glass bottle
being forcefully thrown
point-blank at a plane of
brand-new asphalt smashing
splintering all over the place
cutting slicing hurting
maiming everything in its
path the shards never to be
removed but instead to inflame
infect to etch permanent
physical scars in her skin to
mirror to echo the emotional
the mental scars vibrating
maddening throughout her
body the cycle continues
day after day week after
week year after year the
whole while making any
possible memory of what
he was before it all began
when she swore herself to
him when they smiled
together when the proverbial
demons were nowhere to
be seen yet now they are
all that she sees without a
free moment to breathe
anything but fear sadness
blood still caked on the side
of her cheek she slides
quicker quicker quicker
into the red the darker the
color as the pain explodes
in her brain as each day’s
torment torture brings
what she never thought
possible a new surprise of
momentously malicious
proportions until she breaks
like the glass he broke a
hundred thousand times
she closes her eyes grips
whatever is heavy blunt
sharp killing device with
both hands comes crashing
down hard swift powerful
with every bit of strength
that she has inside her that
she has kept pent up inside
the whole while she has been
beaten beaten beaten for
years now always covering
up her wounds sharing not
a second of her story to
anyone always lying to her
best friends her family now
all ending all wrapping up
the story when his head
smashed like glass spattered
gushing flowing a maroon
pool all over the floor she
drops the instrument of her
freedom from him her freedom
from all the pain she lifts her
head she does not cry a
tear for all her tears have been
cried out she leaves the room
in silence a silence so sweet
it sings a million new melodies
which illustrate the possibility of
a new beginning.
I’m a tribes man born and raised,
Please don't tell me how to spend my days!
Coming in with your western views,
Don't Because that's not the life I choose.
I'm a man I was raised to hunt,
But your killing my culture to be blunt.
Taking the animals away from us,
Trying to make our lives adjust.
To be more like you,
Can't you see we don't want to!
I know you think it's wrong what we do,
But to be fair it's not up to you!
You're coming on to my land,
Taking what you want can,
Don't you see the effects it has on my clan!
You're leaving us with nothing to do,
So you think we should bow down to you!
Take the jobs you've created,
With our land which you've updated!
Which basically means you turned into a tourist trap,
Selling us with the gift wrap!
We've turned into circus men,
People paying to see us as and when!
You telling us to perform our traditions,
In order to get commission,
We no longer do it for us,
We do it for the shuttle bus!
Can't you see,
You're the one who did this to me?
You're the one that's turned my clan to alcohol,
You're the one that's turned my clan to money,
You're the one whose destroyed our traditions,
You're the ones who've destroyed our visions.
Why can't you see that your not superior,
We're not inferior,
We're just different from you,
And taking that away from us is not up to you.
We don't want to be the same as the rest of the world, please try and not making us unfurl.
I cant speak for everyone as we see westerners as rich,
Many people would love to switch!
Have food on the table and water at their beck and call,
But those people they don't speak for us all.
Why don't you ask us what we desire,
Instead of changing us and giving us what you think we require.
You're not us, you've never actually lived like us,
So how do you know what works for us and what needs to adjust?
Lack of communication and lack of consideration, too much dictation and not enough beneficial donation, which would form the foundation, we would get to keep our location with a bit of negotiation and less adaptation equals less agitation. Maybe we need some more education and sanitation but with our invitation , and your observation by living in this population we can come to transformation that suits everyone and we will be a happy African nation!
EVOL UT I ON ... NO 1 TU LOVE
(The Eden Agenda III)
I have loved most everyone, yet so few have loved me back.
So much good I have done, but suspicions aroused, they attack.
How I so long to drown my sorrows and drown in a tank of arrack.
Is it that they are taken aback, or is it ‘true love’ they truly lack?
How can one with so much love get so little love back?
As long as I have lived, I’ve lived to love so long as I’ve loved to live.
But how can I live for long in a world that does not love to give? ….nor has love enough to give?
Surely I must grieve.
…Or perhaps I shall evolve to no longer believe in all that I perceive.
Therein lies the urge for the surge of my dirge.
Rejected of love, subjected to hate - now dejected with life.
So sensitive that my soul is sliced by the blunt end of a knife.
To whom shall I turn for bandage for these emotional scars?
Even in moments of desperation I’ve looked up to the stars
For out there [I’ve been told] is that which is the Sea of Tranquility,
All I have here is a Dead Sea - in which to drown with my vulnerability.
My shadow refuses to be seen with me - it’s nowhere to be seen at high noon,
Come setting of the Sun, it runs further from me - and stretches out for the Moon.
Why do I not shine such that the Sun beams …and perhaps even squints?
Why do the vultures retch? ….and away from my carcass, the hyena sprints?
I have looked up to the raindrops from heaven - simply yearning to be kissed,
But even they, with accursed stealth - my sad lips they missed.
Who shall cut me a slice of love?
Please apportion a portion.
Who will pour me a cup of warmth?
Please don’t ration the passion.
My spirit is broken, the Spirits have spoken…
The daemons mean to take my life as a token.
Let ‘Caution’ throw me to the wind, I pray;
Havoc, please invite me out to play.
Misery, won’t you hold my hand ….everyday?
Loneliness won’t you be my friend? …Please stay.
Oh, how I feel so low, so lifeless. But then, who cares?
Just another life less….
….another life less
…just another lifeless.
The evolution of my life, I’ve looked at from back to front:
……no 1 tu love.
The creation of my life, I’ve looked, from on high to low:
…….Love from above.
(The Fg 81.5.8)
Telling "White Lies"
My mother got born November
thirteenth, nineteen hundred thirty five
within poverty stricken household
of Canarsie, Brooklyn, the youngest
(most mollycoddled) of four siblings,
experienced grinding poverty, no
matter maternal grandfather (Moishe
Kuritsky), a tailor he lacked drive
(and felt neutral about stitching
together gainful employment)
to support his family two parents +
remainder offspring, he helped sire
lacked positive role models, none the
less gumption taught her to strive
at tender age livid with rage to escape
caricature living poor, thus sought
employment when/wherever sheik hood
if necessary fibbed to survive
plus rash of healthy nurturing, and
absolute zero constraints, perhaps five
or thereabout years old attested
much later, suspected her papa did jive
with unspeakable improper behavior
(nobody dare discuss taboo issues),
yet intuition awoke within immoral
conclusion Harriet Kuritsky did arrive,
and perhaps resorted to stretching
the truth (fibbing a "white lie") the only
recourse available plied sweet innocence
knowing little or nothing about birds
feathering their nest, nor little about
buzzfeeding activity in beehive
naivete flirtatious coyness advantage worked,
I bet young thang did connive
and probably never did contemplate,
deliberate, generate and wrongdoing,
where mother of necessity spurred
angelic demureness strategy to contrive
securing bare necessities, hence fast
forward, when unsolicited advice given
to this sole son, or either sibling, (an older
& younger sister) tactics upbringing did deprive
ma mum of positive role models, hence
only blueprint to acquire essential needs
serendipitous series of unfortunate events
before Lemony Snicket did derive
school of hard knocks, (I do believe
formerly called Abraham Lincoln High)
rather than impugn, judge, revile, et cetera
kernels/nuggets of wisdom memory did revive
within my mind for rhyme, nor reason
blunt honesty, not always best policy
despite ten commandments
to husbands with many a wive.
Life lesson learned meant blurred line
between mendacity and truth
courtesy upbringing mommy dearest
if repeatedly drummed into me noggin
brutal honesty will bring nothing but bupkis,
or if you prefer the Yiddish spelling bobkes.
It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, but who's elated about greeting thorns when picking roses from a bush or picking lemons from a tree? I observed from the start that I'd never seen a lemon tree so guarded with most of its lemons in deep and difficult to reach areas behind its new growth of limbs. It was as if the tree in 'Tartspeech'* said to me, "You are free to have and consume my lemons if you can endure the munitions of my thorns".
At the time that my wife was offered fresh lemons by a friend, I did not extrapolate the assigned mission by my wife, and prior to my first approach I had not considered the resistance I would confront nor the pain I would have to overcome. After all, some things are instinctive and routine, not necessitating calculations and strategies. I had no thoughts of the combative nature of the lemon tree until I attempted to extract its lemons. One look at the pointed thorns gave me pause and forced a distraction to count the cost of extraction. I then proceeded cautiously lest I should bleed excessively.
Also at the time, I did not count the number of my pricks, but my best guess would be 10 or less, one of which grew noticeable blood. None, however, triggered a retrenchment or convinced me to quit. I did count the lemons upon arriving home, and they totaled 82 as I recall. A nice crate of lemons for less than 10 pricks. I'd say, not a bad tradeoff.
On these early winter mornings, I have green tea and a mixture of the lemon's juices with a spoon of honey, also given by our friend. It's then that I take a different kind of pause and realize the worth of it all.
011220PoSoupCtest, Favourite Poem from January 2020, Julia Ward *Vocabulary.com Dictionary. As an adjective, tart describes a sour taste, like lemon. Website, Blurtit: Yooti Bhansali answered. ...The word is also used to denote a manner of speech that is especially bitter or blunt in the way it is spoken as well as the connotation of the spoken comment. ....
During a thunderstorm at the midnight hour
I wrote you a letter that I'll never send
I wrote it when I was alone
so unless I give it to you
those words will always be mine
I might not keep them
but they are valuable
because I thought them
I wrote them and said them and read them
I said that I've see you around town
and I hope things are looking up for you
I said that I hope you're getting the help that you need
and I said nice things about your family
because they are such lovely people
and I said that you are too, really
I tried to keep it nice
but then I got brutal and blunt
and said that you can't heal on your own
because you keep your addiction so close
I said that you keep your addiction in first place
which keeps you from handling reality
because it throws off your perspective and light of life
and in my letter I told you how I waited on a guitar player at the cafe today
and he said that his favorite audience has become the young and the old
because of the way they take interest and inquire
and I didn't say this in my letter, but I wish that you would enjoy an audience like that
because that is a wholesome audience
I said that your thoughts, mistakes, and feelings are worth acknowledging
because they are honest and real
and they provide perspective and help you prosper
I was very frank when I said that you've been blessed
with talents and charm
and it was really harsh when I said that it's selfish
to keep them all to yourself
because you have a gift to connect with people and help them grow
and I said that you have so much potential
but you're trashing it
and good things aren't supposed to go to waste
I'm thinking that the thunder storm will fuel my poem
because the wind blows my curtains around
like I saw on Mickey Mouse once when I was little
while the rain hits my deck like a hundreds of marbles
dumped from an economy sized coffee can
and the lightning stabs and cracks flashes in the black humid breeze
several seconds before the thunder barrels at the silence I like for writing
but my lyrics are so raw that they don't need fuel
because I have the ruthless heart of an objective friend
who believes in you
because good things
aren't
supposed
to go
to waste
Yet it ended up out of our control
This was years & months & months & years ago
Right before Samhain in the weeks just prior to Yule
'Cause never have I ever fallen in love
Never my heart with false hope I'll ever bug
Its gotta be naturally & over time, you know
Never have I ever let someone see me shine or glow
I'll never let someone in that far for them to even know
I can't remember the second I felt it 'cause the emotion smacked me in my heart like a ton of bricks I can't remember falling "head over heels" or when I caught those particular "feels"
Nor can I remember that split second I decided 'yes,' but I know I Immediately felt superhumanly blessed for it to have been miraculously you
For decades & decades - it seemed we were on a mission, too
Red rose, red rose, your red rose
An overwhelming, calming sense of serendipitous desire to know ALL of you
I wanted to write another chapter within our memories•we've•created•book
I get choked-up re-living how our awkward relationship came about
But still I've never allowed myself the pain of ever falling in love
(If I'm being brutally blunt & true)
The closest I've ever began to fall in love
Was when I got the unique pleasure of getting to be with you in real life
So if there is ONE thing I want you to know
Its that I suck at securing & explaining - but I'm master at proving it with show
Actions mean more than words 'cause words are just something you heard with your ears
And showing doesn't come naturally without fears
There's lots of small things I don't believe you even took notice that I did
'Cause most of the time I just felt like it was expected
But there were so many things - after they took you away, that I really needed to say to you
But towards the end, I felt like everything I said you had somehow stopped believing were true
But that makes no sense, considering our whole life it was only you talking with me that I ever got solace, comfort, or relief
You gave me no reason to ever try and play you for a fool
Even back when we were youngins - still going to school as we grew
As kids you were my highlight many, many days
And if you weren't online, my inspiration dwindled to even wanna try & play
'Cause you were my person when we gamed, too
And nobody else felt the same way as you...