Long Cadaverous Poems
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(Idea engendered from Lombok earthquake: Indonesia)
Nary a chink of illumination pierces thru
thick cavernous rock solid chamber home
to this crepuscular anchorite,
who spent untold countless chunks of time
holed up deep underground
initially to escape deadly blight,
that afflicted vast swaths of
twenty first century
long fostered civilization,
the post apocalyptic scattered remnants
forced into subterranean redoubts
reliant on stowed away tallow
uber wax to forge poorly guided
niggardly flickering burning candlelight
where quotidian ritual entails doth dight
this Jainist Joplin ascetic, who
already donned the mantle,
sans adjustment to darkened eyesight
imposing keen aural habituation
to discern, and distinguish any fright
full scurrying, skittering,
slithering, unseen presence
triggering thine nostril to sneeze,
which nasal (gesundheit) claxon
serves to scarify shadowy silhouetted height
giving infinitesimal pause,
thence worry free insight
since my judicious jumbled
juxtaposed metaphorical jacklight
philosophies, viz Jainism, Jesuit,
and Judeo-Christian allows
no cavil, indiscriminate killing,
nor *****sapien superiority
toward multitudinous life forms instilled
into former existence as good Samson Knight,
now effectivel embedded,
entombed, and interred
within bowels of the Earth
hum canticle refrains
softly enunciating such psalms
to eternal night.
*Image of Dr Mikhail Tyaglyy
AUDIO version for the vision impaired.
Dr Mikhail Tyaglyy
Go, young man,
and conciliate cravings,
menacing palls the cherished
realm. Shelves are left barren
for frantic looks, as aisles
reload a virtuous plunge of
cobwebbed books, decaying
prints accolades of vice barren
save one issue ...
record stamped BUNKER.
Youths immersed
in causality and confidence,
protest keeps step as discord
spreads outward.
Mein Kampf now theirs,
whimsical misfits and loose
ends, melee erupts as age and
gender are trivial.
Young Romanis heed,
while zeal enlivens heels
as a body passes by,
in lieu of a gurney --
a wheelbarrow suffices.
Cadaverous festers,
for the emboldened few,
dare pierce opacity,
glimmers flit defiant palls,
as capricious spells
law books are easily tainted,
usurpers once blind,
struggles timorously
in their judicial robes.
If e'er survivors
from off the streets,
perchance a hearing,
they'll hear an echoing
in the silent courtroom,
'tis the calm ere the
storm, calamity on
trial, as justice for the
dead is made more dead
than death itself.
50s long gone bigotry kept
Santayana periods of disorder
a bedlam of societies rise
aphoristically said,
"Those who cannot remember
the past,
is condemned to repeat it".
~~a floor lies hope, shift ends, dustpan waits a couple more years.
2022 July 29
*1st Place*
Dr. Mikhail Tyaglyy
~~Joe Maverick: Judged 2022 July 31
A bottom land
where green is thread through
with a trailing mud.
A late fruited decay seeps and smears
these low meadow pasture.
Pot-bellied dewdrops hang,
strung upon spawny strings.
Here toadstools labor to open
upon cadaverous stems.
Tractor ruts have churned
a common lea into
sully and mire.
Waders squelch, stirring
drenched odors.
A slick grass slopes
here into oily shallows.
Beyond, the Ohio river shimmers bright
as it swiftly flows onward
delivering journeys
taken between moon and sun.
If you stand here splay-footed
and boot rooted,
you may catch a Great Blue Heron,
ascending,
its wings catching fire
within first shafts of golden light.
An illumination of a destination
reached by this marshy dock
of backwater day-peep.
He grinned broadly from the corner
a percussive serrated smile,
cadaverous lips displaying
a rakish scarecrow style.
His emaciated figure chattered
suspended precariously from a hook;
I was completely startled
by his penetrating look.
His wink was disconcerting,
those vacant eyes held wide;
I wouldn’t call him cheeky
though he displayed a gangly pride.
One arm extended slightly
as if inviting my embrace;
it might feel a little morbid
held against that hollow face.
Gothic trends might call him charming
though his apparel seems unique,
one would only see it hanging
in a nudist colony boutique.
One dance was all he wanted
waltzing the orthopedic floor,
that physician’s skeletal dummy
I just couldn’t make myself ignore.
July 31, 2026
Skeletons Poetry Contest
Seth Pina, Sponsor
The dilapidated Victorian
mansion stood as a monolith
of terror amidst the suffocating,
spectral fog.
A tall, skeletal silhouette
materialized from the swirling
mist, his hollow eyes burning
with madness.
In his trembling, cadaverous
arms, he bore the lifeless,
porcelain body of his unfaithful
spouse.
The ancient floorboards
groaned with a sickening,
rhythmic creaking under his
heavy, deliberate footsteps.
Billowing curtains of gray
spiderwebs brushed against
his pallid face like the fingers
of ghosts.
Swarms of chittering,
chitinous bugs erupted from
the decaying wallpaper,
feeding on the stagnant
atmosphere.
A sudden, agonizing shrill
screaming echoed through
the rafters, through no living
throat had opened.
He carried his grisly burden
past shattered mirrors that
fractured their twisted,
macabre reflections.
The heavy front door
shrieked on rusted hinges,
exhaling a cold plume of
graveyard dampness.
Outside, the tangled,
overgrown garden was
completely swallowed by a
thick, undulating blanket of
mist.
He marched toward a
desolate, forgotten corner
where the earth choked on
briars and thorns.
With a rusted spade, he
violently ruptured the soil,
preparing a nameless,
unmarked grave.
The damp earth gasped as
he flung her treacherous
form into the dark, yawning chasm.
He whispered a final,
venomous malediction into
the open pit before
shoveling the dirt back.
The restless phantom of the
woman suddenly materialized,
her spectral jaws unhinging in
silent fury.
Clouds of nocturnal insects
swarmed the mound,
sealing the unholy site with a
writhing carpet.
The towering man smiled a
wicked, jagged smile,
believing the secrets were
finally buried deep.
Yet, the mansion's windows
tattered violently as the house
itself absorbed her vengeful,
trapped spirit.
The oppressive fog
thickened, trapping the
murderer inside his own
self- made, claustrophobic
purgatory.
Now, the endless creaking
of the floorboards carries
the eternal weight of his
undone crime.
Alabaster annoyance
Blatantly breathes bulbous brightness
Cadaverous comedy caring
Daintily during delicate delivery
Exciting elderly enigma.
Furious fiery feeler
Gregariously greets
High-handed hustler
Ignoring imaginative immediates
Jauntily jeering judiciously.
Kangaroo kisses kibitzes
Leaving luxurious loners
Merrily masticating mincemeat.
Never-do-wells needing knowledge
Ostentatiously officiate on orange orangutans.
Precariously polite Pomeranians
Quietly quiz querulous quoters
Reposing rapidly ruining
Still sassy strenuous strikers
Turning toward Tuesday tournaments.
Understandably unprecedented underlings
Vindicate vicious vagrants
While wishing waxy widows would
‘xpect ‘xciting ‘xacting ‘xtras.
Youngish yellow yowls yipping
Zipping zany zebras’ zealous zero zone.
Attributed To Concerned parents
of Traumatized Refugee
Dear Fred and Mary Anne MacLeod Trump...
Posthumous belated tattered letter fragment
recently discovered (liberally sprinkled with
hyperbole (presumed for greater audacious
zealousness), sans accidentally acquired
by yours truly.
Miscellaneous personal item highly valued
when thwarted from auctioneer, whose gently
persuasion collectible merchandise requisitioned,
thence keepsake property perfunctory mandatorily forfeited.
Due compensation from sole male heir (me),
whose long since (resting in eternal
peace) papa suffered degradation,
humiliation and understandable lamentation
as a kid living in Flatbush.
Authorities and expert legal scholars
pieced together what probably comprised
a lengthy epistle rivaling the Epic of
Gilgamesh).
Recollection recounted torturous,
malicious, and flagitious mean spiritedness
visited upon the ambitious, cadaverous, and
timorous body electric high-jinxed introverted male,
whose abstemious, conscientious, and nutritious
dietary regime, could not forestall rigor mortis.
A postscript (purportedly penned prior to
once philosophical pensive poet's papa's passing)
stated that said personage felt bitterness,
disharmonious envious self loathing.
That grownup man known as mine father,
though once upon a time, said recently
anonymous deceased old fogey ironically
registered as an atrocious, cantankerous,
and egregious deplorable high school student.
Also, the author of what constitutes partial
opprobrious litany attests during his
idolatrous, notorious, and semiconscious
Arab zombie school daze.
Cantankerous cancers found my blood letting from the slit,
Is it avarice of me to desire the love begetting of Lazarus?
Enjoying life cadaverous like forgetting the want to live,
Is it glamorous for me to die while God desires I live?
Forgo the solid ground,
My feet dangled off the edge of a jagged cliff.
I fought the howl of squalid sin,
I caught the wind sending back the fire of my padded spliff.
Below I spotted a town,
My feet angled to squish what I saw down to the earth’s crusty skin.
Got calls asking where I’ve been.
Like,
“Just,
Just been wondering.”
Yeah yeah.
Yeah,
I guess you’ve just been wondering?
Could’ve made it better before I made it end,
Would’ve,
Should’ve,
But I wouldn’t have liked to make amends.
A couple foot of rope set up to further suspend,
Just to be an easy way out for whoever he is?
I misunderstood a friend on what is perpetuity,
I just want to live forever,
Instead I pretend to breathe on incongruity.
And as I descend upon,
I felt alive again when I grew dizzy.
I felt alive,
In my life,
I felt alive as I grew dizzy.
In sun and in rain,
Toils of broken soles and blistered palms.
And the journey, tedious, ends in the dank
Leaves of a breathless forest; so rancid the undergrowth,
Hissing signals of danger in the darkest foliage of mankind.
I cringed alone.
So unkempt this unholy place, where the sun is
Mocked; so ungraceful, yet so glorious.
So cautious these woods, where the panthers,
At noon, watch with the keenest of eyes, silent.
Cadaverous each leaning wood, and misleading,
Every thorny path and track . . .
I have journeyed,
And so precious my journey that I seek life among
The living, and have thus toiled until I gathered and
Garnered the speckled pages of the apothecary’s creed.
Now the leaves in the cauldron boil, squeezed!
The content stored for squirting life into the living.
They impregnate both water and soil
with their surrendering
as we do.
After the wilt
cadaverous blooms rattle their bones,
the desiccation a scaffolding,
the skeletal hollows a refrain
of a beauty more everlasting.
The wilting but a pouring prologue
to that last stand.
Sunlight feeds them
sunlight eats them,
shadows dream them
unto death, but it is a death
more beautiful than the sunlight
or any shade,
and when the dark green sludge comes
the reek is not of them,
but of our idea of life & death.
In that last silent exposure
the dead offer up their perfection
uncaring of any discerning eye.