Long Cacophonous Poems
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Ah... tis nothing greater than...
malfunctioning heater on brisk winter day!
Thee particular date being
December twenty eighth,
two thousand nineteen, I saith
the Jack of all trades
maintenance technician
Kevin Blank said he would notify
HVAC expert in good faith,
yet to compliment clangorous din...
I called upon the ghost of Marley's wraith.
Thus despite compressor issuing
cacophonous, deafening,
ear splitting noise
clattering din louder
than convention of reindeer -
doubled as all boys
(choir) followed by cavalcade
of santa claus, he employs,
the missus of course with equipoise,
and countless elves pressed
for service mending
broken brand new toys.
Why... yes twas during
recent brutal bitter cold spell
methought, yours truly got sent,
where absolute zero temperature
more frigid than hell
of course, I felt like human popsicle
management didn't give a lick,
no matter yours truly gave rebel yell
Billy me you, I immediately
yearned (some weeks back) for April
May, June... some tell
tale sign to alleviate pell mell
bone crushing polar vortex
preserved frozen awful
botox smile impossible mission to quell,
nor avoid frostbite
to deep freeze every cell
millenniums later despite
climate changed dystopian future
thawed out body reason to kvell.
Forsooth mindlessly jabbering away
jaw frenziedly attempting to convey
how this schlemiel,
would be war re: not game to foray
toward distant forbidding terrain
fifty shades of gray,
alien unrecognizable – nay
boor hood of the late Mister Rogers,
nonetheless expressed gratitude
confessed, I unconsciously did pray
while suspended animation did stay
slowing or stopping
of biological function
physiological capabilities
unpitted and preserved - yea.
Hence upon being
and getting woke
feeling like I slept forever
and a day - no joke
most certainly well rested
constitution I did evoke
intensely scrutinizing men
chilled wren, and women folk,
who appeared out of this world
mutated into Roanoke
smooth as glass skin cloak
against ultraviolet rays
causing skin cancer
their attenuated limbs strong as oak
versatile to prod and poke,
whereby superior petsmart
doggone noggin could invoke
telepathic communication
interestingly enough issuing smoke
signals, whenever danger present
and capable to disappear
as if doing breast stroke.
(***warning ungapatchka language ahead***)
Flush with rage the spouse will become allied
if reference made how she buzzfeeds disorder
altercation especially likely if divorce blurted
making me wish to experience (immediately)
bartered bride, when mine pointed finger doth
nonverbally chide markedly appalling untidy
predilection she blithely exhibits woeful scant
interest to maintain can-do spirit affecting plea
zing aesthetic humble abode ofttimes slacking
off cleaning trail of abomination, which talent
includes unwittingly cultivating qua primordial
soup possibly duplicating conditions when life
originated (bajillion years ago) on planet Earth
witnessed courtesy think gummy, groovy, gooey,
gloppy, (nippy, nap, noopy) protoplasmic slimy
oozing blob (starring Steve McQueen) amoeba
like swallowing small towns with names such as
Chester Springs, Downingtown, Phoenixville,
& Royersford hungering, hinting, and hankering
to hasten home hearing Harris harridan hooligan
hoopla conniption purportedly linked into order
issued courtesy board of health for hen pecking
wife to hustle & make house beautiful for Biden
(accompanied with hit parade) announcing (yea)
at long last Republican administration overhaul
which fête yours truly slated to host determined
(weeks ago), thus necessitating legally wedded
counterpart to apply elbow grease in tandem to
render spic & span where unsightly food scraps,
soiled clothes, scattered papers, et cetera strewn
helter skelter, the disarray the culmination of 4+
years occupying these digs in Schwenksville, Pa.
Upon being told "get the place in ship shape order"
she went ballistic like bupkis fired out me gluteus
maximus, (whereat I couldn't help but think ICBM)
yea, an incongruous thought as she rattled vitriolic,
colorful expletives coarse language enough would
make sailor blush shutting his yapper uttering before
he even uttered "shiver me timbers," hence clatter
and din created cacophonous noise as my fair lady
affected one woman siege warfare as pots and pans
flew pell mell thru air while I took refuge in fallout
shelter unused since total mortal kombat destroyed
major swath of webbed wide world, global debacle
our dear leader triggered (when in pensive mood) he
lobbed weapons of mass destruction after being axed
to "go back home" meaning his mother planet Uranus.
Sounds of morning, fluid undertones, yet cacophonous;
Rhythmic rustling of nearby trees form the baseline for tropical chaos.
Each added layer draws me further into distraction.
I hear the shadowy neighbors breaking their silence,
Attendant to their morning chores.
A distant train chimes in, noisily announcing its slithering passage.
Sounds of morning vie for my attention.
New, hypnotic rhythms spiral close, retreat and then surround me,
to further crystalize direction for the day.
Can I break into the layers of deepening trance to realize the quiet peace
of enlightenment just beneath the busyness and violent distraction?
Pairs of red chested robins, lyrical cardinals, yellow flittering finches
each visit the backyard feeder in their turn,
While the brackish pigeons, bullish bluejays and sulking squirrels
noisily muscle their way in to feed among the bird-tossed seeds,
now scattered haphazardly on the ground.
Beneath it all there is Silence.
Stillness quietly directs peaceful calmness
to the center of swirling time.
"Just another dream." I smile.
Next door, loud frenzied dogs and deep tinkling chimes
add their voices to the concert of morning.
Busyness abounds, directing all attention outward.
While the Silence of enlightenment, like a stoic sentinel,
erectly stands, patiently waiting.
"They also serve who stand and wait."
Copious mirages pass through the early hours,
rising with the stifling heat, and yet,
Beneath it all I am drawn to Silence.
Yearning for Peace, order, calmness: where joy and childlike wonder
view the world through eyes of young divinity and matured praise.
I realize each moment is precious as it passes.
But I know there is only Now. There is only Here.
As I am here I am everywhere.
And so, I observe as the concert rages on about me.
It is enough to view the contrast within the borders of crystal sanity.
"Just another dream." I smile.
A marble Buddha sits atop a comforting splashing fountain.
It's waters of life spray the arid air with relief.
I wonder what He's thinking, behind his Mona Lisa smile.
What do His closed eyes watch so intently?
Will I ever break through the noise of embodiment
to reach His supreme level of attainment,
And walk beside Him on His jeweled crystal pathway in the sky?
"O! Just another dream." I smile.
Where once verdant rolling highlands...
Spanned into infinite vista
far as these myopic eyes can see
now yellowing Whitmanesque
leaves of grass encompass field of vision.
Nary a dark dreadnaught cloud in sight,
nor unbeknownst if/when threatening storm
looms on horizon slaking parched land
delivering precipitation quenching thirsty terra firma.
I too experience vicarious dehydration
during bonafide dry spell
constituting theoretical string
hoop fully curtails weather beaten
flora and fauna
conceding blindingly bright
cloudless summer days
across disc (sky)
to amply liquidate shriveling assets.
Unbeknownst when spate of rainlessness,
(i.e. I pray for moderate soaking precipitation)
thwarting immediate indications
meteorologically signalling onset
regarding definition of drought.
Nothing more humbling
than cacophonous thunderstorm
nsync with jagged bolts of lightning
accompanying drenching downpour
analogous to downed wall of water
cascading from upper atmosphere
intermittently pelting landscape
albeit immediately, magically, quixotically...
transforming parched land (Highland Manor)
into profuse lusciousness
harkening Edenic denouement.
Impossible mission (this simple bumpkin)
(one local Schwenksville yokel)
(Civil War union soldier incarnate)
to forecast today/tonight
eventide of June twenty fifth
two thousand and twenty,
when Zeus will doctor
animals and plants courtesy
of requisite life source
also known as H2O,
comprising above mentioned
two hydrogen atoms
and one oxygen atom.
Ironic, how approximately
three quarters (seventy five sense)
engulfs planet Earth,
yet many environments
suffer inadequate deluges,
more so now with climate change
(global warming) increasing temperature
across oblate spheroid
compromising habitable places,
yet methinks coronavirus (COVID-19)
gave mother nature
much needed reprieve
cleansing heavily polluted urban areas
courtesy partial lockdown and restraint,
whereby *****sapiens
deterred, jackknifed, prohibited...
spewing noxious forth fossil fuel byproducts
encouraging, mustering,
plying, telecommuting, zooming
avast array of activities
augmented by virtual reality
technology supplanting mass transit,
thus diminishing deadly toxins
absorbed by all creatures
great and small.
I was a planetary climatologist, who studied climate variability and change,
Like sweet variability of stunning, green tulips, in lavish garden rearranged.
Studying the said effects on the biosphere, absorbed so many daily hours,
Like industrious days of fragrant, amber honey, after tumbling into flowers.
My labors impacted energy usage, along with food production and health,
And the survival of endangered species, like golden rays of natural wealth.
Faddish flowers fascinated friends, who flattered them, at my broad fence,
Under fleecy, lemony clouds, fast moving, and orange sun, grown intense.
Famished, feasible family feasted, in lavish flowering fragrance of Fridays,
When fugitive, frosty stars flickered, winking at green garden bonsai trees.
I lived in the house of emerald echoes, in vivid memory of nature's sound,
From birdsong to crickets to evening wind, and brook of babbling renown.
Sachets swept away a sudden sadness, as robins sought another summer,
On my street of starry-eyed forget me nots, like a tune with no drummer.
Nobody knew latest neighborhood news, like my nearest friends next door,
Like chameleon sun, crisscrossing teal sky, wholly ignorant of 'nevermore.'
Pink birds were living high, and red butterflies viewed a world, ultraviolet;
And yellow bees went about their sweet labors, since queen bee desired it.
Strawberry clouds sailed around the world, for clouds ever love adventure,
As dogwoods barked in summer's dog days, during a gold noon surrender.
As I was walking home one day, the sun vanished as skies turned ominous.
There was a lightning flash just before the thunder, loud and cacophonous!
Suddenly, I saw a male face in the clouds, that was bellowing and enraged,
Like blizzard winds through naked trees, howling at a lush year that's aged.
Taken aback, like butterflies in gusts, I had come face to face with thunder-
The mighty, furious face of the storm, and I was filled with sudden wonder!
Then came the silver rains, sideways slanting, at the dead end of drought;
And I raced home like all uneasy nature, in the successive hours of doubt.
Scintillating sun had returned next day, after banishing the tangerine mist,
As benevolent nature was no more angry, its tale ending in an orange twist!
And there are not enough cubicles and grey paneling that
sugar rock candy lights won’t cut
the sapling eye from its still decline into Abyss.
And there are not enough sad thoughts wars rapes to gratify inward hatreds which never walk the feather but mobilize the thousand marching whales across an entire worlds sandy interior.
across every turtle egg.
If there are secrets below us we are too many
too numerously traveling
a cacophonous tandem that secrets could survive our drumming lull.
Surely we have broken all our secrets with our song.
I hear only ever what anyone always forever has known.
I have no doubt anymore.
There is only sand below.
No. The saddest days are behind in mouths of our trekking bedded with pruned flowers who wilted passing along the snaking vine of history which coils and dies as mast and pointed finger at every moment we recall our saddest days.
But these days are not polished aged silvers of goals and just conquering, but like a sword waved through crowds at night where the tallest fell in heads and became mountainous cultures of sporadic hands where finally at this moment cresting backwards
we see our ladder in dawn
and it is blood.
Every possible minute from every now onwards.
Each point along stretches back marking the infinite fence of beginnings lamely ticked from the chain which links them. Such that as time leans in the depth of reflection, in the understanding of casual existence, of tragedy, everyday comedy — the noon will bite its appearance, and we will miss our lunch.
Dry and sour throats work along this real thing.
Where there was once water and loss
Is the leftward image of death in decline.
We are not so caring as to want for our lives.
For as long as we want others, and acquire others, and drift from others — who were once familiars — only to drift back and want again, and not be in haste of charging this social pattern with contempt of experience;
Of laughing at us,
Doubting our depths,
Then there is hope.
If not, then we shall continue.
But we will not have our sadness.
We will dry our tears from each other
And mask the body to wed from time.
This tomb is a forever we would not escape.
It is a death amidst the sand.
The river awaits.
Santa Clauses were to be molten and reshaped into Holy Cross bunnies
on a mega 3D printer but then the app somehow went wrong
Chocolate trickled and trifled and mixed with fake season’s greetings
King Kong and Godzilla leaped off the assembly line with
Witches on lolly pop brooms and then the whole show went viral
Mephistopheles aliens with marshmallow ears danced merrily
Suddenly truffle snakes in seductive icing sugar bikinis tested tempted
cotton sugar candy apples as big as paradise vowed and allowed
They all swirled swished and tumbled to cacophonous tunes that had
to be labelled as retro and neo-modern-classical rap-sorties
At the exit of malfunctioning malls the Easter display went a tad pear-shaped
as soon as the rabbits slipped out of their hats and mounted the chickens
The mistress and master of ceremonial clangour had at problem at hand
and some egg on their faces thus they squirted and squinted
They pondered and squandered with no solution untouched for the task
how to make more profits and be politically correct just the same
‘Megalomania’ and ‘Mega-High-Money’ the respective CEO’s of ‘Turn water into
wine’ and the start-up ‘Chocolate Merry Go Round for the Soul’
Could not fail in this venture as not to have their heathen bonuses
dissolved into cocoa mousse splash
After meetings and brain storms pilot studies and polls they decided to craft
a whole new religion (the Independent Unseasonal Reformed Epiphanists)
Fortunately the United Philistines of Consumption were too busy to notice that
the newly created faithful were simply rehashing an old dogma of money
What a shame that those lovely chocolate coins have gone out of fashion and
That Buddhists would not want their spiritual model to melt under the fig tree
09th April 2018 Written for the contest Easter 2018
Prior To Commencing Poem, I Dreamt Contretemps Escalating fusillade...
Galvanized hotheaded idealists (jaded
locals - kindled moderates) nursed
oppressive proletarian quavering riot
spearheading triumphant utopian voice...
whether contrived right here and now,
or purportedly fragmented remnant
occuring during REM sleep
beside the point, asper conjuring atypical
bent arising within mindscape,
sans garden variety *****sapien.
he laments instantaneously forgetting
intricate webbed tapestry comprising
unconscious manifestations nearly every time
reluctantly opening eyes,
whereat realistic landscape within noggin
vanishes without any trace
try as I might to induce recall
asper impressive world within
hydroelectric powered illusory windmills,
despite non cacophonous disruption
i.e. natural awakening processes,
yet for the life of me
after effect bruited
within entire body electric,
hence envisions some contrivance
mebbe mental construct
prior to awakening
to captcha essential details.
Ah...mother lode of ore ridge and hill
elusive material could perhaps yield
adequate money order to pay one bill
alleviating penurious state, so I can chill
without succumbing L'chaim going downhill
fast, especially since monthly social security
taken in toto with more'n
one bitter medication prescription pill
(father's little helper) eases panic/anxiety attacks
plaguing yours truly since...reciting
storybook rhyme 'bout Jack and Jill
argh, how an overdose quite tempting
escaping once and for all where little doth fulfill
me, cuz thankfully individual choice of freewill,
not banned by pro life fanatics,
imagining to wrest free millstone
formerly revolutionary war gristmill
sitting idle (billy me) bidding one final goodwill
to deux daring daughters,
ditto same number twisted sisters mentally ill
papa and bro respectively
understandably justifiably, emotionally deserted
detached baby boomer whole existence a standstill
overly cautious livingsocial,
what...repeating mundanity till...
death, a tragi/comic relief.
There is a star for every
shattered dream
every time a person breaks
a star is added to the endless canvas
of the sky
and as I stand
Breathe
and stare at those fond memories
above me-
I collapse with the weight of it all
false resolve became my downfall
for all of those
broken hearts I tried not to see
tears that never returned to the
earth – to shower knowledge upon the future
what I have learned shall
never be shared
scattered dreams on an infinite sky
beckon to me as I gaze at their glory
if I leave to join the stars
will you look for me?
when I, too, join those memories
and am
scattered across the sky
I don’t wish to hurt you
in my leaving
but staying will only cause more pain
here on the ground I
can’t fix you
but in the sky I
can be your guiding light
when I join the stars
don’t search for what’s left
of me on earth
look up for the memories I hold
the scars that will forever be mine
now as I lie in a
field of stars
I can recall the feeling of joy
and once again I
am comforted by the warm glow of the dreams around me
smile at me, would you?
for I am lost
among bittersweet memories
contradict me
when I lie to your face
feigning ignorance of myself
sitting in the field of memories
I claimed as my secret base
the haze washes over me
as I wait in
a cacophonous silence
in the glow of the stars
I hold tightly to my identity
as dreams sweep
across my consciousness
and I stand and run
-towards you,
I think-
towards nothing, I believe
now I run for eternity
hiding from the pain of love
fearing the sting of loss
and I stare at the earth
below me
to seek you out
and I find your heart
now patched up,
newly healed from
the wounds I inflicted
and I reach out to you
but I am not there
the memories are my refuge
I have been banished from my earth
my scars are forever mine
and you can’t quite recall
the stupid, reckless youth
who ran into the stars
-retreated into memories-
bearing the mutilations of reality
If rain poured
in susurrating sounds
of unshed tears,
will ungrateful dialects
change their insincere
expressions of speech,
or will this unheard
voice forever be
lost as echoes within
glass walls,
where lilac-feathered
letters of farewell
written in red diamonds,
illustrate illusive
narratives of an onyx heart
haunted by
holographic
harmonies,
in glitters of retro line art~
to graphically craft
cacophonous chronicles of
unexpressed trauma,
engrossed in cursive candor,
while this quivering quill remains
dipped in purple
pansies and primrose poetry,
glorifying indigo intuitions
that bleed in
blue-black and burgundy
But, I still keep
surfing in sizzling silence
towards saffron-streaked
sunsets resembling
the wisteria warmth
of your embellished embrace,
awakening from lucid
dreams of sparkling
silhouettes of us,
when I was uncontrollably
lost in your
pillow-shaped eyes,
counting silver stars hanging
on long lashes with lilac dust,
forgetting the times
I was caught in the
riveting rhythm of
lemonade lies.
For in your
amorous arms,
every qualitative question
within incomplete
puzzles of life and loss,
unravels appealing answers
with carnation compassion,
upon corners of
crumpled pages,
where initials of
your flowery
name is a
timeless token,
of love that still exists~
in this woeful world
of hate from heinous hyenas.
But these starry stones
of turquoise trust
shall be the
clandestine clemency
that holds this
unwritten tale of survival.
For, I am unapologetically poetic~
rewriting fuschia future
on pastel colored
paper parachutes,
letting go of twisted
tones cloaked with
jealous January winds at dawn,
as cinnamon gold sequined
skies reflect magic within
misty mirrors,
to begin again
as April crawls back,
knocking on the
laser-lavender portal
adorned with teal-cerulean
wings of our whimsical fairyland…