Long Bulling Poems
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They taunt me one then the other
Push me—hurt pride—scattered books
Crying? Go cry to your mother
laughing with smug contemptuous looks
Dark musty locker room, stripping for gym
Shouting, snapping towels at each other’s rear
Vice principle comes by looking grim
His volcano erupts—we’re silent with fear
Growing into a body odd and disgusting
Face oily and breaking out
Cursed with tormented lusting
I give up—What’s this about?
My mother asks me over dinner that night
How was your first day of junior high?
Not wanting to upset her, I keep it light
It was even better than I hoped, I lie
6/4/22
Tick tock says the clock
Time to
Walk, talk,
exact
pain or gain
says the clock
Pray you don't fall prey
slack mouth lacks
Wanting no seizing
From season to season
No reason for ridicule
A reason for a silence
Resilience, shame
Tamed fame, no frame
Fascinating
Pain; Playing victim
All time while
medicine to heal
Ease on you
Gain; Territory expands
Gratitude and love
Yield bountifulness
Walk; In others
Others walk
So in you
Clothes covers scars
Lay your bed
So you lay on it
Talk; To others
Others talk
So to you
Respect is
To be
Reciprocated
Prey; Begging for attention
To be valuable
Discriminating
Unaware of self
Uniqueness
Slacking; Unused brain
Speaking
clones
laziness
Instead
Observing
Flapping
flutter's you
Lacking; Self confidence
Discipline
Brings denials
Attaining
Acquiring
Restricted
Wanting; Instant gratification
Losing focus
Settling for anything
Granted desires
Seizing; Always consistent
Taking without
Reciprocating
Updated version
Of snatcher
Swiftly
snitches get stitches
Season; goes around
Comes around giving
What you gave
Relentlessly
Unapologetic-ally
Reason; for living
Decision to make
Consequences
You see clear
Before
Action
Reaction
Ridicule; Bulling the bull
Ought
Take by horn
A worthwhile
Ride
Love don't cracks
Ego does
Pride
Sacrifice
Power
Silence; smooth in action
Fast
soundless in nature
Powerful
Creation
Liberation
Hesitation
Resilience; Attitude say all
Gratitude
Gateway
Misfortune
Gave
Up
Shame; Indifference
passableness
Gain
Pains
Mindset matters
Time reviews
Tamed; trained
easier to control
Master no craft
Slave to others
self motivations
Survival mood
Fame; Without integrity
notability
Important
Dishonest
Division
Seekers
Frame; Physically portraying
Building
Lies
Manipulating
Minds
CLONES
Do as I say
actions matters
Fascinating; Alluring contents
Preys are so lovely
Be aware
Devourer
Insatiable
Bird eats ants
Ants eats birds
Live or die
Talk to inspire
Walk to heal
Says the clock.
would what that be junior? senior? sophomore?
since this brother in law rarely emails,
ye may scrunch countenance puzzled,
or on verge of emitting flatulence,
that if a ripper got let loose (by Jack),
would possibly find ja propelled,
thru Edgar Allan Poe's churchly
sepulchral tintinnabulation
(where for greater effect
yukon envision imagistic ravenous bats
in belfry resonating air,
or perhaps blasted back
to the House of the rising sun),
BUT...gnome hatter,
no win tent may starkly appear
explaining inexplicable reasonable rhyme,
why aye dash communique
minus virtual trumpeting blare
(sorry, but in the interest
of belated birthday cheer,
without computer generated imagery)
rendered hoop fully readable,
sans black and white Scottish matted pixels
constituting beloved appellation
unsure how to address ye perfectly clear
while sitting atop padded office chair,
pondering as already writ,
how to acknowledge thee, whither with dear...
meanwhile, this scribe experiences
comfortably numb derriere,
now scrambling, resorting, and toying
to fetch acceptable, catchy light hearted endear
mint, that seems tolerably acceptable
(of course) with flair
acutely perceptive, though NOT overboard with glare
ring obeisance, NOR USE ALL CAPS
TO SCREAM so ye kin hear
soap hull ease excuse this incurable
Harris scribe with thinning heir
yes...oye gevalt, infantile regression finds me
burrowed in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania lair
still emotionally inchoate, though grown a mere
speck within the flotsam and jetsam near
to boyhood Collegeville abode NOT saved by a prayer
re: home companion bachelor Norwegian farmer
replaced instead by vinyl city
all in the name of progress
which (once a pawn a time)
open farmland did dis app pear
so...a gam bulling gambit
to avoid moseying down Level Road...
may NOT seem *****
for insufferable sadness
with eyes bursting with many a tear...
(gulp) tis best to veer
away from topic uh viz er rated razed homestead,
and mainly wish ye another birth year!
adieu...from math tha hue
Another Senseless Killing...
IOWA CITY, Iowa
(killingly, jarringly inexplicable,
horribly, gruesomely, and forlornly),
the found exhumed decayed corpse
belonging to young
vibrant coed twenty year old
college student Mollie Tibbetts
perhaps a spurned, snubbed,
or scorned love seriously gone wrong,
she who disappeared
from her small hometown
in central Iowa sad swan song
now plays, where every
last drop of sorrow rung,
now weeping family, friends,
relatives, et cetera subjected wrack
with lifelong emotional pain,
which searing inescapable
grief twill unrelentingly track
ferociously, fiercely, and figuratively,
doth disallow recourse
to duck away
from heart wrenching quack
king unbearably, terribly, and scathingly
will fully bill leave ably
beak homing a folly,
mockery, and travesty,
sans time heals
all wounds (truly "FAKE"),
nonetheless psyche riving tragic
(irrevocable loss) doth pack,
a punch greater then any
all star olympic pugilist
straight to the ab
domain of opponent, where
rumor mongers mill and blab
how this, that, or
another potential suspect,...
whence tissues dab
corners of crying eyes,
an endless stream
of tears merge with gab
bulling utter dis belief
questioning the supposed all
mighty, or at a loss
to do nothing but bawl (at Baal)
into the fox sized rabbit hole
trying with futility
to block (even crawl
ling into every
rabbit hole) no bastion
against implacable
maddening crowded
house alive with murderous frenzy,
and a dialect (non
tickling) gentle Iowan drawl,
while once again this
affected soddenly wet soul
cannot process any (defying) logic,
asper the impossibly steep toll
the purposelessness killing,
a lovely gal (same age
as my youngest daughter),
whose missed presence,
(albeit her - slain
Mollie Tibbetts – permanent absence)
now created an expansive
infinite black sink hole.
Creating avatars in political and law reality,
contracts and controlling stability.
Modus vivendi where the money flows,
oceans of spirit fears in tows.
Irresponsible silence of motions,
honored sheep’s and their devotions.
Munchausen’s syndrome via comic book,
kindly bulling with every look.
Home at causes, churches and cult,
never able to see the own insult.
Insisting on taking over and fixing things,
manipulated moments for the kings.
Being aloof with natures flawless bound,
no key for the self chain can be found.
Pride in the unfathomable meek,
pointing fingers to the seeming weak.
Motivation all about themselves,
to shine in opportunities like sparkling elf’s.
Taking care of this the millionth time,
when the world needs them in that golden frame.
Justified by abusing others because of it,
stories of the leading role in every bit.
In control to the freakish point,
if not involved so bitter anoint.
The masters and puppeteers put them in charge,
then everybody loves a hero at large.
Father is a stump grinder,?
a heavy planter. Shovel fingers?
bulling through onions and leeks.?
Truck-hands lashed to maroon suspenders.?
Head in the dirt, a blue exhaust?
trailing from grub-working teeth,?
hefting clumps and yellow ***-ends,?
raising clammy clay blooms.?
?
Mother is a house,?
most of it closed.?
Sometimes an upper window opens.?
net-curtains fly out of gray eyes.?
A girl-ghost locked in a bottle,?
?
She lifts me up on a dangle?
of faith to her bedroom.?
A mahogany night-dresser?
tucks away her dreams.?
She has closets, drawers?
where lovers doze.?
She whispers, less they all awaken.?
?
Outside, father crashes through turnips.?
Mother bleeds bitter-root?
from nub bitten fingernails.?
She pushes her child into rooms?
called 'buried-lost, buried-found'.?
The dead are everything –?
she copes not with the living.?
?
Later I listen to father grunt over her,?
as he spades a blinded moon?
between her broken fences.
Notice nice noise
Verbal verse voice
Thrill thoughtful think
List laughing links
Belief bakes bread
Rich rapture raids
Fresh fragrance fair
Dream daring dare
Line lively lines
Vouch vibrant vines
Fling fable form
Nice naughty norm
See sensuous sights
Live lovely light
Write wonder works
Juice jumping jerk
List lovely looks
Buy blooming book
Mull moving make
Trust toilsome take
Play pines pure proof
Truth telling truth
Cite clever crook
Bring baking book
Empty each eat
Finder's fond feat
Gain gracious greed
Flatter force feed
Sign special say
Dreary dream day
Mime mellows mime
Time telling time
Charm cunning choice
Values verse voice
Play precious poise
Numb bulling noise
Leon Enriquez
01 July 2014
Singapore
Tuning the radio
Everyone stay tuned
Constant drawing attention
Nothing but void, empty sounds
Yelling words without reasoning
Some times what you see can be deceiving
An attacker is a hater
Leaving the victim in distress
Talk! Talk!! Talk!!!
Talkative, feed the brain
Before you open your mouth
Saying things unaware of, cost a lot
Story! Story!! Story!!!
Story-line, how the things goes
A lion showing love, is still a lion
Awareness your acts, my reaction
Aware that you need attention
Without detection, dilute facts
Spiting on the less, thy prey
Portraying to be their KING
Self gratification over all
The songs tuned, while radioing
Came face to face with a lion
Lion ruining into skeeter
Unaware of reaping others Lion's nature
Not unknowing some lion are breeds of love
Others furiously, relentlessly
Wrath unbearable, roared the lions
Hunting the hunters for it's story
Hypocrisy he posses, ignorant followers
Times changes all but never changes
From ages to ages, stage by stage
Ranges war, hunters can't wedge
Coming face to face, multiple lions
Right in the dark, at the night he birthed
Feeding his prey, Bulling and blackmailing
Even amidst the silence of a lion.
Claiming to be the king of the kingdom
When the next of kin, is worthy and ready
How long do this endure, roaring furiously
A hunted lion, by the packs of hyenas
Unaware of another lions, within thy territory
What a history, about to emerged
For it's the lion's feasts, wording weapons
With pen filling every void, noises
From the packs of dogs, Don't leads
They back and follow with love
Unaware of the destruction, endangering lives
Embarking on, mission impossible, penned
Assassinating the lion right at it's den
But they never find a lion, rather a monkey
To dance with in the dark, nuisance the agendas
Wake up, justice is here... The lions don't bark
I roar knowledge, dedication to liberate.
Father is a stump grinder,
a heavy planter. Shovel fingers
bulling through onions and leeks.
Truck-hands lashed to maroon suspenders.
Head in the dirt, a blue exhaust
trailing from grub-working teeth,
hefting clumps and yellow ***-ends,
raising clammy clay blooms.
Mother is a house,
most of it closed.
Sometimes an upper window opens.
net-curtains fly out of gray eyes.
A girl-ghost
not yet locked in a bottle,
waves above my head.
She lifts me up on a rope
of sunshine, to her bedroom.
A mahogany night-dresser
tucks away secret hugs.
She has closets, drawers
where lovers doze.
She whispers, less we all awaken.
Outside father crashes through turnips.
Mother bleeds moss
from nub bitten fingernails.
She pushes a child into rooms
called buried-lost, buried-found.
The dead are everything –
she copes not with the living.
She is a draining board.
I am a basin.
Mother scrubs with red knuckles,
until I pour and curl
by her porcelain sink.
Later I listen to father grunt over her,
as he spades
a reluctant moon
between broken roots.