Long Boned Poems
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ENOUGH!
I felt deaf from the ‘noise’ of information,
constantly butting, buzzing against my mantra of:
“The quieter you are… the more you… hear!”
At present, my lifestyle felt media manipulated:
tv, radio, newspaper, mobile, computer.. ad infinitum!
Besieged by endless emails, monopolizing mobiles,
beset by frenzied yaps from apps!
Enough is enough is….. ENOUGH,
I have to escape from the unrelenting hullabaloo.
Can the human brain endure so much information
and who am I, an individual thinker or group dancer?
However, relief sat just around the corner
as next morning I boarded the flight to Reykjavik.
A three-hour taxi journey with a taciturn islander,
people and communication diminishing by the mile
until finally a twig of a boat out to Ellidaey Island.
Boating and bobbing towards the uninhabited …hideaway,
an isolated jigsaw piece of land
off the southern coast of Iceland,
I appraise a small-boned building clinging to its side
with ‘RIDICULOUS’ scribbled all over it.
Someone had said Iceland was a niceland
where you could float free, peace and tranquillity!
But someone hadn’t warned me about…Mr Loneliness
Who was soon tapping me sharply on the shoulder.
So here I sit, three days into my week’s stay
in the island’s lodge, dubbed the world’s loneliest house,
where the only neighbours are passing ships and puffing puffins.
No internet, no tv, no electricity, no running nor strolling.. water
just remote, alone and contemplating my countenance
while wondering if God is lonely too!
Suddenly, clouds bump and bruise against each other
as they race away before the darkness snarls in.
Soon, night has sent in its stormtroopers
who land and splinter into shadow groups
while wind angrily sprints up to the house
bombing it with blockbuster punches.
Then rain happily joins in, machine-gunning the house
until the building begins to stagger and stumble.
I check my face and it is still in the same place
but I sit timorously trembling, tyrannised and terrified
while my eyes follow the house’s dimly lit path
as it wags its tail to the cliff’s edge
and jumps into the void of darkness.
But this poem is a broken wrist, with a twist,
as suddenly, my bones brittle and inside myself…..I faint!
What possibly could happen now?
But there it is..
the knock at the front door!
Ian Souter
The day that followed . . .
Blossomed blue, bright . . . beautiful
Clouds towering into the heavens
Wheeling white, wonderful . . . wordless
The clouds danced in the expanse
Rolling on a sea of silence
Sailing soft, supple . . . serene
Saw nothing
Cared nothing
Floated away
Alone . . . . . blind . . . . . marvelous
mute!
The trees . . .
The trees reveled in their own wild
E m o t I o n s
Old Man Walnut – a true heart-wood
Big boned brooded black
Dark, dangerous, defiant
Lady oak took red at the edges
A deep striking flame-red
Her heart a luscious lively living green
A gentlewoman of a long experience
Patient, Peaceful, persistent and powerful
Elms burst yellow – effulgent
Cried for attention
Demanded attention
Wind whistled wantonly through her leaves
Tall, tenacious, testy, temerarious
Some of the maples slurred
A bright primary red
Like harlots laughing, listening, languishing
Showed interest but cared for nothing
The Sweetgums stood aloof
Star-shaped leaves
Like bruises oozing deep purple
At first draft
S N
T A
O K
O E
D D
Abused . . . abandoned . . .
alone
Crape Myrtles cluster together
Gossiping busy-bodies
Bursting orange with outrageous desire
Watching, wanting, waiting, wanton
Modest were the Aspens
Slender and graceful
Giggling trees
But where they were
They were so many
They could afford to be
Modest, monomorphic, musical, memorable
The Pines and firs
Raising forth green among the colors
Unchanging
Unwilling to change
Criticizing by their contrast
every other change
The Woods
The woods
The chaotic woods
The heartless forest
And the trees . . .
. . . . .The boughs, leafs, limbs, roots
That whole glorious community
Simply went about its
Natural business
Another day in creation.
Live and Love Generously
He'd come west back in forty-nine,
three long years had passed since that time,
and still he mucked 'bout rivers cold,
with pan and shovel, seeking gold.
Fa away from Sutter's Mill,
he'd staked a claim below this hill,
a bit far from the beaten track,
the others said that brains he lacked.
But he continued at his task,
the well-known streams had gone bust fast,
so he'd chosen to go afar,
out here with cougars, grizzlly bars.
They saw honest work hurts no man,
so he shovelled dirt in the pan,
and when he found no golden gleam
methodically he moved up stream.
The sun was up, it was near noon,
the heat of it could cause a swoon,
he though it time to stop for lunch,
but kept going, he had a hunch.
So he shoveled in some more dirt,
with stream water began to work,
mud washed away, and he did find
six flakes that brightly yellow shined.
Like that all thought of food was gone,
the prospector dug on and on,
he did not tire, he did not flag,
thirty flakes soon in his poke bag.
When the sun started getting low
he took his shovel, gear to stow,
planning to head back to his camp,
when from the woods out stepped a tramp.
His clothes were rough, his face unshaven,
he features vicious, young of ago,
a hardened man, raw-boned and tall,
held a revolver, cap-and-ball.
“All that gold that you found today...
take that poke bag, toss it this way--”
Then silenced by a mighty blow,
the shovel had been swiftly thrown!
The 49er, frantically,
has struck and knocked out half his teeth!
The tramp fell right there to the ground,
as prospector's boot heel rained down.
First came a sickening cry,
then muffled screams as the tramp died,
the 49er soon collapsed,
his panicked breath still coming fast.
He took the time to wipe back tears,
his reason burning through the fear,
he had been well within his rights,
but still...he'd killed a man this night.
He rolled the corpse into the flow,
the current took it far below.
Tossed all that night, he couldn't sleep,
thinking on life, twas so damn cheap.
That one would kill you for a rock...
but in the end, when he took stock,
when did life not bring with it pain?
He would stay and defend his claim.
"The Syballine"
Behind closed eyelids
the curtains of the mind
open to silent applause
Sun screens are slick and applied
shining bright Ultra Violet
a violent Light
all over a body
of work, unseen
words written
tattooed black
on smooth satin alabaster
beneath piercing opalescent lasers
frosty green
burning the tithed pages
of a rosy crucifixion
cast aside, palms raised
and speaking in secret tongues
whispering necromantic Psalms
fed open-handed to wailing seabirds
carrying songs of majesty
slow winged, powerful and heavy
towards a pregnant
waxing beguiling witches'
Black Sabbath moon
this doesn’t stop the burn
bare legs stretch open
a story being born
and somewhere
magnetised
nude feet
walk towards
the naked
Syballine
standing still
within the shallow
fire opal ocean
arms lifting
conjuring new powers
not humble,
in fierce supplication
raised upwards
now to pearly clouds
there beneath the
Too Soon,
a dawning golden orb,
stands Blue Sky
holding the Sun
her back
is turned
see the spine
fine boned
joints like a ladder
your fingers
like lightening
trace their course
silky seduction
they play her
tight strung
held in your arms
caressed like a cello
bow steaming
her keys turned
ignition
forgotten kisses
carried on the
slender shoulders
of life -
now see
the Sun rising
lips ripe
heart bleeding
black wings unfolding
fallen, no longer disguising
she turns
Journeying from the Deep
Expelled from the shallows
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"And no one sings me lullabies
And no one makes me close my eyes
So I throw the windows wide
And call to you across the sky"
"And no one showed us to the land
And no one knows the where's or why's
But something stirs and something tries
And starts to climb towards the light"
"Overhead the albatross
Hangs motionless upon the air
And deep beneath the rolling waves
In labyrinths of coral caves
An echo of a distant time
Comes willowing across the sand
And everything is green and submarine..."
Two guys at the corner of Fifth and Grant,
were looking pretty far down on their luck.
Because their beat-up old station wagon,
just got T-boned by a Ford pickup truck.
The light was green for that station wagon,
but that truck just slammed right into their car.
After they all got out and walked about,
looked like that truck driver came from the bar.
That station wagon was a mangled mess,
one guy had some blood oozing from his head.
I said to myself, it could have been worse,
thank Heaven nobody’s bad hurt, or dead.
The cop showed up a few minutes later,
asked them what the heck was going on here.
The truck driver said, Billy Bob old friend,
those boys there smell like they was drinking beer.
The cop hemmed and hawed then cleared his throat,
he said you know it looks perfectly clear.
I see what you’re saying is true, Judge Brown,
these boys will be locked up for fifty years.
So, they hauled those guys to the county jail,
told them that they don’t need any phone call.
Cause if they want to get out of this mess,
the best thing was to confess to it all.
The sheriff wrote it all out on paper,
said that it was going to be all right.
He told them, sign your name here on this line,
then you might be out by tomorrow night.
The next morning, they went to the courtroom,
their lawyer was the judge’s son-in-law.
Billy Bob showed the judge their confession,
the biggest case this county ever saw.
There was murder, rape, theft, and robbery,
with a whole lot of other crimes thrown in.
Every unsolved case the sheriff had faced,
was listed in the charges against them.
The judge slammed his gavel on the desktop,
said haul these boys off to the calaboose.
What say we go down and have a few rounds,
cause this one calls for a couple of brews.
Now ain’t that just the way life seems to go,
some days it don’t pay to get out of bed.
You’ll be cruising along, singing your song,
with the warm sun shining down on your head.
Then the day starts to turn cold and dreary,
though that is not what the weatherman said.
Some dirty bird flies by and drops his pie,
now your day has turned all nasty instead.
Is this the weekend, by the way?
(I always think it’s Saturday!)
Load the kids up in the car –
country club (I hit the spa:
hand the kids to gay Adolphe –
calisthenics, crazy golf).
I spoil myself – it helps the stress –
the kids are having fun (I guess).
Fox News Tom Cruise
No Jews designer shoes.
Rufe’s so square, a diplodocus:
the kids will always be my focus.
Everybody needs a break
(we’re human too, for goodness’ sake).
We just do the normal things:
cabin in Borrego Springs,
week in Vegas, see the shows,
birthday dinner (Kiriko’s):
never noodles, only sushi
(table used by John Belushi) –
private beach in old La Jolla
(Rufe knows someone, bigshot lawyer):
cocktail bar, upholstered loungers
(razor wire keeps out the scroungers).
Juan’s the poolboy. My help’s Auxi
(Juanito’s neat, and Auxi’s mousey).
Wears my cast-offs, lives on chilli –
keeps her pay from getting silly.
Neither’s legal – which is good:
they stay grateful, like they should.
Minimum wage would tie a noose to it:
anyhow, they’re plenty used to it.
She breastfeeds, Juanito hustles
(fine-boned body, high-toned muscles).
He’s moonlighting, pumping gas
in San Diego, humping ass.
Rufe’s no idea what good taste is.
Parties with them friends of his.
I can’t stand them business folks –
Steaks and beers and dirty jokes.
I won’t go to meets or meals
if I can’t wear my strapless heels
and backless dress (Yves St Lauren)
it’s not about impressing men
(who cares what they think?) – it’s the wives
it matters what a woman drives
who fixed her hair. What’s Satan’s curse?
To show up toting last month’s purse.
"The Repeat of Fate"
Deep buried in a dead forest
I hadn’t heard of before,
Wycoller lies in ruins, barren
no trees nor foliage remain,
no tenant can be found,
but here I am
like a ghost glued
fast as a succubus to its walls
rain like poetry falls hard
the wind stinging the loveless hymn’s
continuous tin-hitting torrent to breathe
and it fills its chanting monkish boned gutters
with pages of leaves, rivulets cascade
burning like copper-coloured tears
like rusty blood the signature stains
down and over and through
its windows’ broken panes
pink-eyed writing stories, still life,
falling like laced crimson snowflakes
melting to sleet the messy sludge
sliding down its unchaste whitewashed sides
to be scraped away the scarlet lye
and underneath the nails that pierce
the sharp words tightly furled
like Rochester waits
torn on his wuthering
cliffs of heath;
which one am I?
which word?
which name?
the repeat of fate?
Unsaved by the Wildfell grace,
a small but loud device
runs with its unthinking heartless mouth.
On Pendle
a daughter seals her
mother’s fate;
too soon
it is opened,
the closed Malkin gate
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“Jennet Device, Daughter of Elizabeth Device, late wife of John Device, of the Forrest of Pendle aforesaid widow, confesseth and saith, that her said mother is a witch, and that this shee knoweth to be true; for, that shee had seens her spirit sundrie times come unto her said mother in her owne house, called Malking-Tower, in the likenesse of a browne dogge, which shee called Ball; and at one time amongst others, the said Ball did aske this examinates mother what she would have him to doe; and this examinates mother answered, that she would have the said Ball to helpe her to kill John Robinson of Barley, alias Swyer: by helpe of which said Ball, the said swyer was killed by witch-craft accordingly; and that this examinates mother continued a witch for these three or foure yeares last past.”
lye/lie.
I want to be the morning kiss on your cheek
I want to be the sunlight at your feet
Feels like a moment ago and all of last night
When we talked until midnight
Through the cobblestone streets
You looked into me and shined on my soul
Underneath the gazebo
Now I see
You are the clearest vision I know
Is it wrong to say this is so?
It's just I've been doing my best
To make sense of the rest
I realize I'm not so sure how it will go
The waves will crash, the garden will grow
The future is ours if we say so.
Either way I keep on moving
Stepping into peace
Alone is a serenity I know
Loneliness comes and goes
Like an autumn tree
Bare boned and fragile
Is the tree sad when it loses its leaves?
The tree knows it's beauty
Spring arrives in all its splendor
As the sun and earth and warmth feed.
I choose to be like a tree
That is the beauty of life's offering
Changes come and go
Without holding on or in
I step outside and watch in this unfolding
I'm not here to define you
I am here to come alive with you
Fear and worry and blame have no place here
We meet in the center of time and space
Where newness blossoms
And truth speaks
Like a slow burning flame
You warm my heart
Tempered and burning
Do I make your heart skip a beat?
Do I inspire your mind to take a leap?
You are a beautiful offering
So awake, and unafraid
Your eyes look into me without running away
I will only see beauty reflected back at me
For once I was broken, a slave to my suffering
And now I am free to decide, what a blessing
Are you Ready to live out ALL of your dreams
With me?
I sense you can see what I see?
I care not to push it , press it or pry
I could do 3 years and still get by.
When the time is right
We will light up the night with our strength
And this world will know our names
Sweet passion that we play
When we give TRUTH center stage
When love is not holding its purely unfolding
And giving our greatness to everything
hello bartender , please serve me a shot
for what i have done i wish i forgot
i lied to my parents and went to smoke weed
stole money from a friend , when i was lead by my greed
i mugged little kids , i sent them home with tears
i was under age , and went to drink beers
i vandalized a house,shattered all its glass
then went to its yard and burned all the grass
i went to a party , and forged an ID
i drank tequila,whiskey and scotch but i never felt free
i wanted even more , so i turned to marijuana
i took my sister's cat and fed it to my piranha
i took to much and went to a bar stoned
i met this drunk chick , and there she got boned
i felt so guilty , so i drank so I'd forget
but I'm forced to live and for my sins i felt regret
my family is religious , i always let them down
when I'm looked at by my parents , I'm always met with a frown
so i thought , "do what I want" both ways I'm going to hell
i went to drug dealers , but didn't feel well
i bet on dog fights , i won and made a killing
but it didn't feel right , as the dogs blood was spilling
i drank and smoked weed , both at one time
by this instance , i was at the top of my prime
it was only a matter of time , till i would commit a crime
i really felt like a low life slime
but finally i hit the lowest of the low
as low as any person would go
when i was mugging a kid , his mother attacked
i threw her on the floor , and her head got cracked
the boy waited for her to wake , but she never awoke
for that boy's mom , in front of him she crocked
i ran away and didn't get caught
i should have been locked away and left to rot
i wanted to confess, so that's why I'm here
i feel that my end is coming near
thanks for listening my good man
i will go turn my self in that's my plan
so god help me be a better guy
so there would be no more screaming, and no one would cry
Confessions to a bartender contest
(ps this did not happen , i made it up)
Dusk marks stygian depths of this eldritch eve quay grim specter beneath the moon's silvery sheath surf cleaves with a hiss as the banshees keen weave lure to the thicket where shadows deceive yet beckoning thy breast beat.
Chains of ghostly twilight night's tapestry entwine if thou doth believe in such things so they say but leave unsaid many torrents pages gleam.
Cries rend the still air as the murder takes flight knot a feast for the lone but a bouquet for the blight groan from the depths where the dead invite soil splits yielding to the revenant's might.
Eyes petrified on the unhinged portal align not with the stars but plucks them to place upon the earth their nova as railroad spikes.
The cadaverous stir with a clockwork's mock life stalking then seizing in the frenzy of strife macabre feast laid bare by the scythe flesh stripped to bone swifter times the end of the knife.
A ghastly veil descends on our fate malign but the white rabbit hops by forgot the time.
More hands breach the earth as we share a glance darkling tide engulfs the crypts in its dance bare beak boned and maliciously advance craving the sweet succor of mortal for the footfall gets a chance.
Sinew snaps beneath the crows feigned design as the clocktower booms now its our moment to shine.
We thought it all the same indeed all the same virtue the sustenance we seek to claim desiccating avenues in our ravenous game plucking orbs and muffled cries our fame.
Muffled by the water's choke the seams come undone banquet of minds as we delve within eyesight burst forth trailing viscous kin guts unfurl our spiraling sin as a whole we dig in so that their demise begins corpulent scribe pens as we extinguish his line pier to peer the husks a feast so refined flavor so pure it ensnares the mind in time he chronicled a myth intertwined a servant's hand if memory serves me kind.