Long Bushed Poems
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Pronounced side effect upon my dreams...
courtesy Fluoxetine hydrochloride
Fluoxetine Hcl (C17H18F3NO·HCl)
known as Selective Serotonin
Reuptake Inhibitor (SSRI),
especially prescribed to treat
depression, panic disorder,
and obsessive-compulsive disorder
the above symptoms
profoundly experienced by yours truly
said prescription medication
seriously impacts sleep (mine).
Debilitating panic attacks
wrought (particularly years gone by)
physiological displeasures chiefly constituting
vertigo, racing heart, nausea,
excessive perspiration, adrenaline
coursing thru body,
whereby Prozac (brand name regarding
aforementioned synthesized chemical)
ameliorated unbearable, unmanageable, untenable...
earth-shaking, devastating,
and crushing manifestations
disabling, exhausting, jackknifing... functionality
hijacking life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.
Essentially yours truly experiences
dilemma analogous to sleep deprivation,
cuz ofttimes upon arising,
I feel utterly tuckered out, exhausted, bushed...
thus zapped body, mind and spirit
ill suited to physical,
mental or spiritual endeavor
subsequently lovely bones (mine)
(pine to join grateful dead)
rather than feebly kickstart
lame effort to write, read or meditate.
Thus respecting Sir Isaac
Newton's first law of motion
a (human) body at rest
inertia keeps said entity at rest.
Interestingly enough as
daylight doth wax and wane
casting dark shadows upon urbane
countenance buzzfeeding hidden reservoir
exerting estimable energy
decreasing arduous strain
therefore purposefulness,
I seek renewable resource to imbue
garden variety generic
doubting thomas and ordain
him (i.e. me) with spontaneous
magnificent grandiloquent enlightenment
ala Orson Welles Citizen Kane
laughable comparison linkedin
with story extraordinaire quite insane
September 4th, 2020 insight one can gain
perchance even coaxing passable poem
from deep within Matthew Scott Harris' brain.
Get Out Of My Head Mister Chatterbox!
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" sexual exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia
finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
gook suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
As I lay upon the floor
Hubby at the bedroom door
Ready and steady
What girl could ask for more
A smile upon his face
A twinkle in his eye
Jogging on the spot
A shy man he is not
Preparing his pace
I give him the nod
I am ready now to go
and waiting for my beau
One
Two
Three
Go, go, go…
He pushes
He shoves
He thrusts
He shunts
I wiggle
I waggle
I jiggle
I twist
But still they resist
We collapse on the floor
exhausted and bushed
we shoved and we pushed
In the end we gave in
As I slowly stand up
All that thrusting and yanking
has really worn us out
So beside my open window
with one almighty shout
lifting up my arms
I throw my Spanx* pants out
I am free
I can fly...
For despite hubby's efforts
I could not get them on
Watching them fly high
we both burst into song
and now we love my wobbly bits
in Spanx they don't belong
The moral of this story
is to truly celebrate
those lovely
cuddly
wobbly bits
are part of you - don't ever hate
So
flaunt them
love them
shake them all about
Dress them in chiffon
and let them all hang out…
Written 11th August 2019
*Spanx Shapewear - That Will Make You Feel More Slender & Elegant
Contest Strand Select L
Sponsor Brian Strand
2nd Place
Unfaithful marital transgressions
self admitted indictment,
crime and punishment,
no longer think high lee
entailing no mister re: demeanors,
I searingly weathered
(George by bushed, albeit thankfully,
no unwanted child left behind),
nonetheless one unforgettable
indelible, execrable, and abominable
professedly owned his
civil warring battle of life
transgressions undeservedly heaped
(Uriah hit about that)
(carnal feral hormonally seething
gone astray nightwalks)
woven by basket of deplorable
emotionally painful selfish object lesson
forever etched upon mine psyche
(left by one bobbing sponge -
cheeses crust station of his life
within sea of human life now
affixes moniker re: mister crabs)
inflicted courtesy yours truly
said marital indiscretion (philandering)
one among many issues discussed,
during treatment plan earlier today
February eighteenth 2020
concerning complex edifice
regarding mein kampf
existential bleak house
(figuratively crowded cheek to jowl)
with and hard times
fraught with many
unattained great expectations
unwittingly accepts psychological fallout
(among kissing kith and kin,
a shellfish chicken and hen thing for sure),
despite years elapsed ex post facto
deploying, incorporating, narrating, signifying...
narcissistic, opportunistic, and phlegmatic
self incriminating doom
visualize deus ex machina
betrayal rendered adopted smugness
invariably set in motion domino effect,
whereby emotional alienation
devastation, humiliation, maturation, suppuration
(yoking impossible mission
to shuck off penitence, the price to pay),
thus rightfully, truthfully, and veritably...
ably, readily, and willingly
allowing, enabling, and providing
incomplete resolution, (hence iresolution)
thwarting rancor thy deux daughters
(livingsocial many time zones distant)
embark quest to guide their own
metaphorical maiden voyaging ships of state
countless transpired hours
at counseling facility, where poetic papa
aired and mulled over bothersome
anguish to complete requisite treatment plan
to receive psychiatric appointment
next (and last) Tuesday of February 2020.
Alternately titled: Get out of my head mister chatterbox!
While inside me noggin legions
of monstrous demons abhor
protest being force fed
arcane and obscure
assaying into religious dogma
hence mind chatter goes full bore
thus crafting poem quite a difficult chore,
one lightweight bag of bones
basketcase weave gotta deplore,
nevertheless mine tincup rattled
courtesy garden variety eyesore
athwart slip stream
of space/time continuum
twenty two minus
seven years and fourscore
orbitz around black hole sun
scattering cremains galore
camouflage ashes colored like hoar.
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" sexual exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia
finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
gook suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
We forced her into menopause well ahead of her time.
Mother Nature’s prematurely changing and we’ll regret our crime.
We cut off her tresses that once bushed across her land,
polluted her oceans and soiled her golden sand.
Moody and unpredictable her volcanic eruptions flows,
fed a daily diet of plastics, pesticides and GMO’s.
We sweated out her edges and turned her temples gray,
while her hot flashes melt the glaciers that dissolve more each day.
Her skin is dry and arid as she blazes across her earth,
destroying crops and animal life, unyielding, no longer giving birth.
We ravaged her Amazon where green algae and flora once flourished,
only two days shipping while populations starve and many undernourished.
Waken with a splitting headache as earthquakes and tornados roar,
we have become her burden with our excessive cries for more.
Gas emissions have choked her and left her in a daze.
The damage is done, too late before we change our ways.
She is like a bridge as our weight has caused her back to bend
with greed, corruption and the unconscionable conscience of men.
How will humanity survive when Mother Nature has no more to give,
what will become of our children, where will they have to live?
This is a time of urgency, but we have been fore warned.
Her end is rapidly approaching, for “hell has no fury like a woman scorned”.
Get out of my head mister chatterbox!
Ransacking treasure trove
of maximum headroom.
To remedy a fate worse than death
or orange hair oaf becoming
forty seventh president
or contracting one
of several viral diseases named pox
permeate heavy shut tight door
with numerous deadbolts
and sophisticated locks
and impossible mission to out fox
analogous to roach infestation,
who favor nesting within custom made
Roper men's shoes brand name Docks.
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" sexual exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Das scribe's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia
finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned
in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
gook suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
Called many a name
Sexual gem she is
Pussy galore
Man's bliss
Pouted lips
She's shaved
She's bushed
She blushes
She's juiced
Sent from Heaven
With Heavenly scent's
Touched
Kissed
Blessed
Sensed
Groomed, well cut
Shorn or long
Curly
Straight
Shapes adorn
Welcomed by many
Man, Woman and Toy
In their own way
She oozes her joy
Dampened and pulsing
Flesh pinked walls
Pierced, tattooed
She enthralls
Aroused through touch
Warmed and moist
This She Creation
Voiced.
Man's want
Men dream
To be taken in
Release their stream
In many positions
Her posture sweet
All loving partners she will greet
Passions shared, loving spree
This delightful flower
Between the V
.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love.php
Dixon Bullinger braced himself against
another frozen blast of winter wind,
riding through the front range to Denver
where his family was a-waiting.
It was morning on Christmas Eve,
and he was a long time overdue,
but Boss McChord had paid him double
to rescue horses from being consumed.
They’d taken out a problem bear
and had a drink to celebrate,
he’d exchanged good wishes with the boys,
then had set about upon his way.
He rounded a corner in a craggy gorge,
and there he saw a stunning sight:
Santa Claus sat on an empty sleigh,
brooding sadly amidst the white.
Dix rode up, and doffed his hat,
saying,”Father Christmas! What are the odds!
May I ask why you are sitting here though,
‘tis the skies that you usually trod?”
Santa then sadly shook his head,
said,”My boy, you don’t understand.
I stopped for a rest and was robbed blind
by a gang of five masked men!
“They took my sack and with it
all the gifts for the boys and girl.
if I cannot somehow get it back,
there’ll be no presents for the world.”
Dix frowned deeply at the thought,
a coldness creeping into him.
Christmas may have been more than gifts,
but try telling that to the kids!
He said,”If you’ll ride with a fool cowpoke,
I’ll gladly help you find the fiends.
A Christmas with no gifts to give…
that’s not something this world needs.
“I have some skill at tracking, see,
from months chasing stray cows.
If you point me the way they went,
we’ll lick these bandits, and how!”
Santa nodded and pointed off
to a narrow slot canyon,
“That’s the way they all took off,
when the foul deed was done.
“If you start along tracking them,
I will follow as soon as I can.
My reindeer are bushed from today’s work,
Donner is nearly all done in.
“But once they’ve had a breather,
I’ll fly them up into the air.
If you leave a trail for me to follow,
I’ll catch up and meet you there!”
Dixon nodded and removed
his brand new, red, silk scarf.
He cut off a piece and then said,
“This here is bright as any spark.”
With that he took to the trail,
riding down that rocky cleft,
to save Christmas for the little ones
he’d undue this savage theft…
CONTINUES IN PART II.
She sits on a stone on top of the mountain gazing at universe around her, a cascade of mountain stands in front of her and the trees between the mountain stand like brave soldiers going to battle.
Everything was big and vast and the image of a woman pops out of the cloud holding a baby and looking at the world; layers and layers of Mountain stood firm and honor her with dignity from the ground.
The mystical clouds in the skies continue to drift by and the people at the gate created a commotion over a man that stole his lovers identify.
He was driving her car and he hangs out at the bar, and maxed out her credit card. The brawl went from the gate and ended in the lane, fist and stick, punches and bruises land two contenders in the hospital bed.
Their broken jaw and broken nose spilt blood in the bed and the doctor had to perform an emergency operation. She saw it all in living colors from the mountain. Her mind is sharp and she can predict a situation before it happens.
Her journey began in the African jungle more than thirty years ago, when a tiny observation of a single blade of grass led her to discover some mountain horse.
Their eyes were like blazing fire and they had long feet that could leap over a six meter barrier, they had the mannerism of an unfulfilled wife and the countenance were like a manipulating man but they were far being human.
Their thick white hair stood firmly like razor in their back and their feet sounded like an army marching around the track, their movements are swift, their precisions are sharp and if you observe them in the dark, you will discover the secret to caves.
Their bodies are laden with symbols and their eyes are sharp as eagles; she spends hours talking with them while she bushed their hair and oil their curious bodies .
The sage you see on top of the mountain is not a run over, she has knowledge and wits and the spirit of a fearless warrior.
The mountain sage is waiting for you, if you count from one to three your dreams will come true.