Long Bustled Poems
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while soaring the heavenly heights
many hours ago
every major metropolis appeared
about a million miles below
the rarefied atmosphere
ideal composition beckoned angels,
who bustled, hustled, and jostled elbow
(which bedlam, flimflam, and mayhem
intimated Hells Bells)
wing trying (heavens to Betsy) to flag attention,
and snag coveted soundcloud Netherland Award
cap ping bulging port folio,
which hubbub charged crackled, popped,
snapped amidst light emitting diodes
with a snazzy aura, charisma
harp pulling, piping, and chiefly
paying praise (CI years post haste)
to William Henry Perkin
whose credit able karma
(and unwitting) claim to fame didst glow
purple, which jumpstarted incandescent halo
couture culture club, via constant comet inflow
of Plasmodia vaguely resembling microscopic red Jello
illuminating swath of dusky
shutter flying sky sustaining
self contained feedback instagram loop know
wing lee broadcasting mauveine staccato low
to the groundswell of chemists dyeing, Googling,
and gratefully huzzahing insinuating
killing, kindling kissing
malaria goodbye, an outlook
(nee a once in a lifetime moe
mint - je nais sais quoi) win out loud
respectably sedulous honoree, a no
bill sine qua non bit player aniline
(to conclude this short poem) about his oh
penning accidental discovery kickstarting pro
noun est contribution to the fashion industry.
The last time I had seen this particular cousin of mine, I was still in college and he had a head full of hair. In between, there had been three funerals, two weddings and four births in our Trojan royalty of a family. I had been a university graduate for a year, and the prospect for a job, a decent one at that, had started to grow dimmer by the day. He asked, “Will you tutor my daughter?” “Yes!” I said. And we set out immediately. He, on his bike and I, on my motorcycle following him. We took a right turn at the famous landmark of the statue of demoness Putana, sitting on the grass with her bosom out and legs spread forward. He introduced me to his wife and daughter. Telling them to stand side by side, he told me, “She's only eleven, but look at her! Already equal in length and width to her mother, who is no delicate petal herself. Do you think you can teach her GK?”
The universe wasn't made with dissent. Plus, the chicken samosas were really delicious. I tried on a grin while the overachieving pre-teen bustled around the room showing me her accolades for painting, singing, studying. As I left he pointed at a tree, “Do you know what tree is that?”
“Bael?” I answered thoughtfully.
“Apple. That's an apple tree.”
“Oh! Does it bear fruits?”
“Not in this climate!” He laughed out loud.
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Date: 30 / 11 / 2016
Contest: James Tate
Sponsor: Space Cadet
>>>
cavorted about as elfin brides
under a saffron maple tree^^^^
Dressed in prism-hued layers
of chiffon in ethereal shimmers
and delicate silken gossamers
They having their group wedding in the fall
And fairy folk bustled about all round
as flimsy and flighty as they could be
while henna leaves fell upon the brides,
>>>>> in ceremonial nuptial
An autumn's breezy ritual>>>Branches denuded
Yet autumn's august>>>
in honey fallen maple leaves as well
>>>>Playing hide'n' seek
with browny brownie grooms
also camouflaged in the heap...>>>
( beautiful quote 7)
As his car entered the station he made his way up to the street
An important meeting was this occasion with some of the elite
Crowds bustled up on the street everybody heading somewhere
There was one man who was incomplete just laying over there
Not one second did he hesitate as he walked towards his way
This was one of his traits from principles that would not sway
Some did stop to stare in usually putting a smile on their face
They didn't really care for none of them had this man's grace
As he got up on his feet and began walking towards the square
Thank you the one would repeat and looking such the odd pair
And right through the square they walked up to the next block
That big meeting was to be there as on the door he would knock
Together the two went inside as later the two would emerge
Like a smile that he's trying to hide as all of your insides urge
As on the train they both went to the place he had spoke about
Each really like an angel sent in fighting this epic homeless bout
Inside The Mysterious Enigmatic Fragmentary...
Mortal Mind Of Matthew Scott Harris
ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Seedy gobbledygook ergot
visibly argot bubbled, burbled, bustled...forth
yea...give garbled, jangled, warbled shoutout
if ye doth render
mug gadabout totally confounding,
this unfettered voluminous confection
ruff lee in toto as sample
doggone freelance gargon
sublime red rover - misaligned with
twenty first century time
emerging, fishtailing, kvetching,
slithering, whipsawing
during springtime
thaw - oozing out primordial slime,
schlepping aboard bissel mishuga train
while kibitizing with longfellow
ghost hosts Bartleby,
thee Herman Hermits,
and Stray Cats caterwauling
scrivener circumlocution showtime
evidences troubadour prima facie
tremendous struggle rustling rational rapport,
ruminating, citing his dismal schooltime
track record muddled, and hence
questing to cobble a rhyme
distilling, harvesting, and
leaching (out pulpy, knotty,
Max Headroom Ancien regime
filmy... gray matter) in realtime,
while strains of Ragtime echo
from late nineteenth century
tin pan alley, nsync, linkedin
cubist, dadaist, existentialist...
mine poetic melange jerry rigs
flashes random discordant phrases
kickstarting hotmail...faintly
analogous to processing quicklime
mucking with abstract alphabetic
mire ranks as playtime
forging whimsical tactical trippy thoughts,
nursing eternal idealistic Earthly peacetime,
worrying away looming mortality,
noshing post death as pastime,
welcomes input and alien abduction – ME,
mine "FAKE" existence, sans charade,
facade, masquerade onetime pantomime,
no second act allowed, nor
revising questionable tour de force
I claim NO pièce de résistance, nor overtime,
asper waning game
of thrown away Life
approaches nighttime haven
soon...forever rest in peace
surrendering requisite burnt offerings,
sans (cremated ashes) - meantime
fete grateful dead
scythe lent hoodlums on warpath
to incite bedlam
postprandial mealtime prayer final -
deathly hallowed gleeful grimace
witnessing successful electroshock therapy
of yours truly emotionally frozen
decades long comatose state
thankfully oblivious, when impending
curtain call signals finis!
We went back to my house,
our hands not holding
but lively nerves under our clothes
still slow groping the unseen.
The moon raced ahead of us
like a thirsty dog.
Mama wet her knickers earlier today
and she yelled at everyone
for she did not see it coming.
It made me think;
I pushed down the saturated images
with fresh quicksand.
When we latch-keyed in
the empty house begged us to come together,
it leached through dry walls
and made the Hummel figures
hide their cherubic faces.
The porch light danced
in the center of a moth fandango,
our ears were listening to the road,
our shadows acting out
before we could stop them.
Evening heat and coyote calls
trembled knees
as we
pledged and drank-in
that catcalling evening.
When they all showed up
I was laying on the bed
cocooned in an afterglow
that would not stop itching.
Mama bustled around the house
like a Nile queen
singing her ***** little songs
that only hoot owls heeded.
Dad sipped a late cold one
and remembered with a grunt
that tomorrow was still only Wednesday.
Sis flopped into an armchair
wishing she were dead or far, far away.
By then the moon had got so big
that I thought it might turn us all
into a story told
between old astronauts.
I yelled for less noise
but by then the house was silent.
Alone, there I stood by the bench in the park.
On a leash by my side, my protective young hound.
In the distance I heard the echo of whispers;
As a dark hooded figure approached in a cloak.
She stopped and looked at me this beautiful maiden.
Rose like lips smiled gently, against skin bright and fair.
She took down her hood, released hair long and fair;
I offered my hand and on bench did we park.
We looked at the stars appearing so maiden;
As we talked of our youths and her company I did hound.
Then the moon cast its shadows and darkness did cloak;
Whilst trees bustled, rustling, the night timely whispers.
As we cuddled up close, to get warm friendly whispers;
It grew colder, I gave my jacket and said it wasn't fair.
So we got up to leave and she bunched up her cloak;
We walked to the car to the place I did park.
In the back did we place my faithful friend hound,
And we drove into the night on our journey so maiden.
We drove and we drove till the dawn arrived maiden.
To the rustling chorus of natures whispers;
And a fox searching for breakfast did stalk and did hound;
Saw chickens, roosters and hens such a fair!
In burrowed field did monstrous combine park,
Whilst autumn leaves rained tumbling natures cloak.
We went to my home and and we hung up the cloak.
Then I partook a chance to kiss the hand of my maiden.
While we spoke of the night at the park.
We enfolded ourselves to bodily whispers;
And I nestled amongst all of hair fair;
But when in heat of moment the barks of my hound.
A knock on wall from angry neighbors, please shut up the hound.
So I fed him, watered and let him outside; around me her cloak.
Then returned to my angel so beautifully fair,
Her skin looked so radiant my heavenly maiden;
That I caressed it so longingly, with gentle whispers,
Then stopped and remembered the leash in the park.
Then cursing the hound; I tell the dear maiden.
Dressed quickly, coats, cloak; and I love you whispers.
She tells me not fair, and we go to the park!!!
My dream included a solidified me.
I was hard like an oak from stern to stem.
My favorite tall tree had nothing on me.
Immobile, I felt the wind in my hair.
My limbs were lithe, light, and bare.
A lumberjack cut a bit of me down,
Gave my branches a soak,
Tamed me into a table and chair,
I was oak solid, folks.
Bustled into the back of a van,
Delivered to religious fan,
A solidified me, made into something useful.
We pray every Sunday, and on weekdays too.
Part of me in the forest, worshipping with birds.
The other part in a kitchen, with a couple of nerds.
My dream included a solidified me.
I was as solid as I will ever be.
A dense dusk slots
in-between two tall buildings.
Just moments ago
the busy road was in full flight
now it growls low like a wounded beast
we hardly can hear it.
When dark descends like this
dragging an intangible gravity of loss
down upon us
we all get folded inwards.
Just moments ago the city
bustled along
blinking like a pinball machine
now only an electric fizz
offer us its neon-lit sight.
This eventide was crushing
it rolled up the dying day before it.
I take your hand in mine
lead you to a room behind a room
where people drink red wine and recite poetry
about the light and the dark.
Your lips look bruised
as if the crumpling daylight
had painted them
this muted shade of sorrow.
A gauzy haze rises from the flickering gas light,
revealing the face of a blushing coquette.
Stepping through time in voluminous dress, bustled and bowed,
a petite silhouette.
She offers her hand to the handsome uniformed, callow cadet.
She moves with eloquence, poise and grace;
He, smitten by her charming demeanor, peaceful, porcelain, angelic face.
Flustered at first, heart pounding accepting his advances,
a gentle kiss and lingering embraces.
The afternoon brought festivities of equestrian competition.
Young cadets, eager to advance, entered to raise their rank and position;
His prowess boasted by the charm of his lady admirer's recognition.
She arrives in a brimmed bonnet, settling in her seat, vying for clear view;
Awaiting her chivalrous cavalier,
preparing, taking position, for the race to ensue.
A shot is fired, she sees him from afar,
waving his silk flag of gold, green and blue.
Gallant and proud, spurring his steady steed without yield.
Thunderous hooves in a cloud of dust, neck and neck as he rounds the field;
Pursing only, the love of his lady, and winning the coveted, golden shield.
February 6, 2017 For Stepping Through Time Contest, February 22, 2017