Long Carrion Poems
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Homeward Path 11/08 Roger M. Landry
Wise men say, stay out of the fray,
And perhaps that is logical, and even soundly psychological.
They advise, do not go my son into the dark wood; you will only come to no good.
And I ask, if the road is less traveled, it will leave me baffled?
The trail in the forest tall could it leave me feeling forever small?
Alone, will I not even hear the sound of the stately tree’s fall?
In my craven travels, shall I perhaps see the pellucid pillars of heaven seven,
Or experience the depraved depths of perdition?
But, what if there is no one there to tell?
No singing angels, or laughing demons from hell.
Shall I be weary of my iconoclastic dreams?
Because, in my youth, I had magic visions of being the princely toad,
Of crossing elegantly the paved road to fame.
However, carrion birds now read, feed on my bloody entrails strewn along the lane.
Now, I only wake up in the fevered night, no princess to soothe my stifled screams.
Beaten and torn, shall I become the salacious stripper of old?
That, with nagging words, expresses my vulnerable, and sagging soul.
Like a lost muse, shall the tiger burning bright, in the forest of the night,
Become my one and only frightful and guiding light?
I can see quite far from the gritty solitude of a lofty mountain.
But, would rather sit with my smiling children by a bubbling fountain,
Have someone park my expensive car,
Or sip beer, with friends, in a quaint neighborhood bar.
Going on a shopping spree and wearing designer clothes,
I think, is superior than to society loathe.
To have opulent gold is better than writing poetry in poverty, wouldn’t you agree?
Or, would it be better if I contemplate my fate, eternally alone, under a frigid night star,
While I pluck loose strings on an out of tune guitar?
They say that if you favor the glacier-blue, the flavor will get inside of you.
Now that I have made enough bad choices, because of those niggling internal voices,
I am eternally lost, my mind unloosing in a wilderness of my own choosing.
Like a pharaoh, I know there is a divine treasure in my head,
But, I work and work, feel dead, and just can’t get out of bed.
The road has its own agenda, to which I know my heart must surrender,
Therefore, I shall curb my shameful wrath,
And trust that my soul knows its homeward path.
Form:
They had measured on close counts,
Before they began his dismount,
All flowers and scents were left behind,
It was only mud that came to mind,
He was a log of wood that had no use,
They were about to consign him as refuse,
They had measured on close counts,
And now had finished his dismount,
They all glumly looked at the innards of earth,
Dug apart so as to be his home and hearth,
They lowered him with care,
Some cried and other shed tears,
Such care they had never shown,
When he was alive full blown,
They left him but he could not,
In years that followed he thought,
And all thoughts were about and their's,
But he lay still there,
Not able to do much,
While lower insects ate him as such,
Twenty yards under the surface,
The earth weighed on him like a mace,
He had volumes to carry,
Every moment without delay or tarry,
In peace he had the quiet,
Under the forceful mud of his burial site,
He was largely unattended,
Only heard anniversary footsteps,
When his thought subject came tending,
There was lot of din,
As one day woke abruptly in,
He could hear the rattling and banging of hammer,
His peace was disturbed and began to stammer,
It was furious and fast,
He presumed it could not be just his nest,
But also his neighbors from first to last,
It was familiar yes very much so,
All the sound and racket on the go,
It was regular and incessant,
As if it was rain rampant,
Yes, clouds up there from above,
Were pouring over his grave,
They sounded angry and irate,
And were determined to drown all gates,
He felt secure under mud,
And there suddenly was a seeping thud,
It was really bad and water had come in tones,
His grave was all definitely drowned,
Now the water had bossed over the earth,
Pressing it hard for the inner most berth,
It was invading the twenty yards,
And approaching him fast,
And he thought will the dead also meet the flood,
The seeping thud was on the first drop,
That fell on his stomach,
He churned as eating insects scurried,
Soon train followed thud after thud,
And then it was a volley of scuds,
His cavity was being filled,
And bones getting viscid and humid,
A coolness spread through rotten carrion,
And went on to turn into a bath for the skeleton,
It bathed him till it was just soaking,
Was it he who had ascended to heaven,
Or the heavens came pouring down to meet him even.
Early/mid afternoon May 22nd, 2020...
Raindrops percolate Perkiomen Valley watershed
pleasant reprieve versus quite warm temperatures
yesterday found yours truly averse attempting re:
ding outside, the secluded alcove visible looking
thru single bedroom window here, once upon time
former Schwenksville Elementary School, now re:
purposed Highland Manor apartment alphanumeric
unit B44, 2day precipitation lightly palpitating terra
firma quenching thirsty flora and fauna donning viz
age fifty plus shades of lush green meteorological
regular phenomena offsets prospect where drought
would deprive biota requisite liquid nourishment
speculation June, July, and August promise triple
digits essentially forcing creature comfort ala air
conditioning as climate control to weather extreme
hot temperatures linkedin with global warming, a
grim prospect lately tempered courtesy coronavirus
COVID-19 inexplicably temporarily giving respite
the Earth atmosphere purportedly less toxic since
countless manifold modes of industrial production
lockdown subjected since employees in quarantine
to thwart contagion infecting adjacent areas, thus
impacting transportation hub, no substantial traffic
most rerouted thru information superhighway data
bits and bytes sent to and fro, hither and yon, until
"green light" signalled for businesses to reorient
themselves to alternate paradigm, hoop fully more
eco friendly less dependent upon fossil fuels, where
greenhouse gases deplete ozone layer compromising
delicate balance offset severely trending toward by
Yoda - star wars pitched battles witnessing galactic
empires armed 2 teeth with supersonic weapons mass
destruction spelling demise of human civilization
think brinkmanship whereby within eyeblink en-
tire realm encompassing eastern, western, northern
southern, brethren and cistern multifarious legacies
snuffed out without a trace extinguishing gamut of
living things great and small, perchance world wide
web overtaken with radiation resistant critters, an
unrecognizable changing of the guard when no pry
mates abled (Cain not) wrest control against giant
size carnivorous entities deliciously feast carrion
until nothing but lovely bleached (bomb shelled)
bones scattered across the pock marked terrestrial
landscape - mush room 4 opportunistic organisms.
"The Queen's Slippers - Part 2"
There goes my heart
with bags packed
no turning back
or final wave
seated hooded next to huntsman
innocent, gauche, temperamental
There will come a time
to save,
but save oneself
on this dark road,
one must -
There will come a time
to talk,
but walk the talk
on this dark road by oneself
‘tis the True Lesson,
to Win-Win,
one must.
A gold wedding ring
A delicate diamante crucifix
An open heart
Some words inscribed
Latin to remember
casually tossed aside
Sterling Silver
broken in seconds
That is the past
Life now beckons.
Lost. Much later. Lost.
A Soothsayer sees –
A Soothsayer knows.
A Soothsayer has walked
the same Road.
Bluebird's and Cuckoo's nests
glittery material things
carrots dangled by withered carrion minds;
True wealth are the hidden maps
buried in the Lost Forrest of Time.
There is an owl it perches
on my heart
digs it’s talons in like
nine inch nails piercing
it softly hoots, too diabolical
for screeching
The Owl slowly turns it’s eyes
towards the Reader
a silent voyeur trespassing on the kill,
it digs it’s talons in sharper
blood flows claret stained
drop by drop
into the Poison Chalice, again,
blood flows warm and free
it’s pumping with life yet, see?
Soon, too soon it will come
tomorrows are never guaranteed.
Above it’s right talon a sterling silver anklet
it holds life in balance, still,
Warm with life
Cold with death
The fine line drawn between
Imperious over lifeblood’s flow
Inscribed, in font Gothic,
The Owl’s name is POE
Gently, the writer places the hood over POE’s eyes and kisses the top of his head. Our writer, dear reader, brings out her Queen’s Slippers. Hearts are in her mind, she’s playing “NO TRUMPS”.
(Lovejoy-Burton/Feb 2018)
1. In Australia, the Joker in the Queen's Slipper brand of playing cards depicts a Kookaburra, a bird native to Australia with a call that famously resembles human laughter. In Australian games of 500, the Joker is often referred to colloquially as "The Bird"
2. "Do You Love Me", Nick Cave
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZGPB4463mM
3. "The Day the World Went Away", NIN
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtmI6j3R-Y0
The rain keeps coming,
Masking tears of despair, and rivers of agony
Seem in no hurry to crest
In this orb that is my world, I stand in frozen animation
As I listen to the venom of tangled tongues and crooked lips
Then hear the critique of the man in the street
I stop to analyze and find that nothing is said, just a horde
Of ghastly lies
My heart grows heavy, and my chest tightens.
As anger builds, my lungs feel the fire of the now forsaking
Breath, the pain is real,
And I contemplate my fate
In this world of mine
The sun is sad and the moon weeps,
And the walls inch closer.
As my neck plays a melody of twisting knots, my shoulders
Feel as if stomped by the passion of a flamenco dance.
As my temples lament the torment of this harrowing crescendo.
From a place called malice and rage, hate and contempt
Send bouquets,
But in the glory of this floral splendor, lies deceit,
The bewitching fragrance of the day.
And serpents of a human Ilk, their minds filled with disdain and
Spite, come to feed upon my life,
As their minions nibble,
I question my sanity
In this world of mine
Is the theatre of suffering,
Where shadows of rage cloak, a dominion of corruption,
And evil keeps a watchful eye,
And vultures with hearts bitter and cold, stalk,
As if waiting for a carrion to be born, that a feast may begin.
And in this presence of immorality,
Void is the integrity of soul.
As I listen to the wind, I hear the voice of purpose,
And in the verses of the night, Is the message of the day
And the lessons taught,
Are real
In this world of mine
As this deluge of decadence baths a candid soul,
I strive to be freed, from the afflictions
Of being.
And amid the craving for contentment, I beg,
For deliverance,
And rest my fate at the foot of the mountain, for there
Lies truth.
In my meditation, eager I am to see behind the light
And reconnect with the presence within,
For it is there that I hear the sunshine in your voice,
And see the laughter in your eyes.
It is there that courage is present, and I am fraught with the
Effervescence of your smile,
And your face is vibrant
And passion enriches me,
And I, am reborn
In this world of mine
Earl S. Jackson
July 2014
Copyright © 2014 Earl S. Jackson, all rights reserved.
("" In order for the light to shine so brightly,
the darkness must be present"" -Francis Bacon)
Crossing That Siberian Desert Of Lost Souls
No joy, no peace, on that darken horrendous stroll
crossing that Siberian desert of lost souls
blazing sun hit by invisible arrows shot
wherein the weak die, left as carrion to rot
so many blinded by illusions that world sends
eyes shut, never seeing what world's ill wind portends!
Mankind swims in a world that its hopes slowly burns.
Rolling the dice as Fate and Death take wicked turns.
Once as a youth such an innocent soul was I
racing forward deluded thinking I could fly
until in too deep, heart cried out from burning heat
and the ill wind's angry flames licking my bare feet
Please a refuge, I pray Lord a refuge please send
Oasis, that this wilting body I may mend!
Mankind swims in a world that its hopes slowly burns.
Rolling the dice as Fate and Death take wicked turns.
As sky then chased away that fiery red-hot sun
ahead an oasis, quickly onward I run
away from lost and blinded journey through this hell
away from lingering doubts I could never quell
away from this world and its insidious pains
away from deep darkness and its decaying stains!
This soul left that black-world wherein hope slowly burns.
No dice, Fate and Death taking no more wicked turns.
Robert J. Lindley, 12 -21- 21
Rhyme, ( Truth That Darkness May Not Prevail )
Notes:
(1.) Inspiration and thanks given, for this poem was received from a comment made to my poem , titled, "I Looked To Heaven That Christmas Night"
Commented on 12/20/2021 5:43:00 PM by Jeannie Amos
("Not everyone makes it out of the Siberian desert of lost souls. Make the best of your blessing."
Thusly - I got this to stir my composing. - ** "" Siberian desert of lost souls. ""**
*******
(2.) Inspiring quotes from famous,
artists/thinkers/ philosophers/poets
(A.)
“Hope is being able to see there is light despite all of the darkness.”
-- Desmond Tutu
(B.)
“Differences are not intended to separate, to alienate. We are different precisely in order to realize our need of one another.”
-- Desmond Tutu
(C.)
"Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness."
-- Carl Jung.
Revelations about Dad’s infamous midnight lectures...
woke up courtesy therapy
Especially during past session
on May eighth
two thousand twenty one
between the hours of five and
six o'clock post meridiem.
Between three and four score years ago
the following poetic ill winds did blow
yours truly felt like carrion
repurposed courtesy black crow
decimated to bajillion pieces
analogous to deaf eat, viz bitter foe
where within bared mine soul
telltale toxin did glow
yes dear reader cumulative wrath – hello
synopsis I invite thee to know
why self esteem within me so low
lackluster love life accentuated
cuz yours truly
never kissed under mistletoe
Dreadful homelife upon
exiting early adolescence
no bed of roses parental
wrath did commence
me (especially after
graduating bottom 1%)
scorned as among lowlife
versus being among
productive vested gents
I withstood blistering, mortifying
withering howling offense
yours truly uttered nary a peep.
I dreaded every malevolent utterance
when father requested he speak
not about some choice topic dejure
brought a twinkle to my eye,
but that all to familiar monologue
finding me standing like stone wall
hearing, tuning out with equally
predictable trademark demurely meek
pose with hands crossed against
chest of the then easily intimidated guy
despite feeling effects of utter ennui
and fatigue attempted to stand tall
against the tsunami verbal typhoon
itching to drown out said battle creek
when asked capisce? comprende? farshtayst?
looked blankly at floor well nigh
or pretended to stare at something extreme
fascinating on the kitchen wall
for he may as well asked if I understand
in an unfamiliar language such as Greek
most likely getting successful results
yammering away at common house fly
possibly seething inside (p’raps
equally swatted) ready to lash out into a brawl
held back by fear plus
in comparison to me pop –
just a itty bitty pipsqueak,
who felt onrushing and overpowering
desire to collapse and cry
compounded by growing urge
to urinate from that natural urethral call
spoke nada word, nor gave hint
of hearing from loathsome blather that did reek
like decomposition of fetid of dead
living entity that began to putrefy
which offal to mine ears, tugged impetus
under warm blankets to crawl!
3.
Wrapped close, in implacable, bitter embrace,
The winter grips the land and holds it immobile,
A cat upon its mouse.
Stripped bare, glazed with stony ice
Ashudder beneath a slatecloud sky
That drops its snow in a hush of crowding dimness,
A white leaden mantle
Lain over empty fields, piling 'round trunks of skeletal trees
Standing soberly, waving bony branches in the frozen air
The twilight days light a world now comatose,
Drawn in against the cold and huddled like
Some invalid giant shorn of all his strength,
Lying stretched half slain across the firmament
Gazing into nothing with distant blank stare
As scattered carrion birds wheel against a wan canvas,
Waiting.
Those two in their little house circle 'round as well,
Moving without purpose through the events of their lives
As the cold outside seeps into the rooms
Invading their thoughts
Making them tremble
Shaken in the blindness of their desperation,
Though the fire blazes orange-warm in the hearth,
Defending this inside space from the day's deep gloom,
Autumnal sorrows have collected in the silence,
Worn their hearts weary with cares;
Thus the spirit's wounds have festered and widened,
Filling with the poison of despair.
Soft sparks the glow the fire makes in his tired eyes,
Reflecting wild fears that her love is lost;
They dance in his mind, stabbing with a pain
That knows no cure.
Long the time he just looks at her,
This life that chose to be with him always,
He sees that
Whatever
The hurt that came between,
He cannot bear she leave him
Condemned to go on without her,
Alone.
Her thoughts for him are much the same,
Though she says it not.
Yet when at last he reaches out across the table
To take her hand in his,
She looks up, and for one long moment
They two become the lone human pair
In all of space and time,
In one another's moist crystalline gaze
They read a deep sweet tale
In a language without words.
Something melts,
And something breaks
In that moment when she gently folds
Her delicate fingers over his,
Looking down again with a schoolgirl smile
Spreading irresistible over her face.
Outside, in the blackness of the star-shot night,
Ice cracks;
Waters run clear beneath the snow.
Jogging on the roadside,
With my friends at my side.
He moves every inch with us...
I almost forget we were four.
Seeing him as one; we discuss
Along the line to the very core
Before I knew he was a stranger,
He has turned out a humble words exchanger.
"What's your name?"
He asked diligently.
"What's your aim?"
I replied bluntly.
I know you feel dismayed.
Notwithstanding, I am for peace.
So; be unafraid,
Set aside your earpiece
And give ears to me,
My words with a straight face.
Pasting all the copied pleasant words
Into my ears like songs of birds
Pleasing to the heart every dawn of the day,
Hardly could I get away from his voice culture
Painting itself raw on the blank vacant space of my mind
Loom up with the best attar of roses.
Allover me again and again till my withered flowers grow kind.
Considering him a different vulture
Not to feed on carrion and fly away
Coming up roses with bared teeth for another tease...
But I sensed he would love it a game
Or see me behind the times--
Telling him I will think well of it
So that he won't see it as endgame.
Though, the well-intentioned untruth, I've a heart-stirring permit
Of one's own free will beyond wildest dreams
And set a match to my pun
As we smile and stun
Through the narrow hole of my ears,
His running thought beautifies the flowering moment.
Through the shady words in cool paints,
Filling the widened path to hold my breath.
Where sunny days hid afar in our accoutrements,
The hot weather foaming to worm the family birth...
If we won't only do it for fun and disappear
Between the thin lines of complaints.
Someone I never think of,
Is now the reason I uncontrollably laugh.
For the silent moment easily pictures,
His unrelenting acts decently packaged which bathe me
Romantically thinking of our future,
Praying and working to make it be
The richly blessed one absorbed in friendship.
Down the line against all hardships.
Yet, for all these
I never let go of laughter
Whenever I remember
The awesome pictures of all the tease
You planted into my head
And the zeal of beads around my waist well thread.
In which I film
You as the humble stranger
Who purposefully endanger
Peace of love into my dream
I sit and pause, looking at the sky blue ceiling above me. White vapour cotton wool clouds
gently float like water lilies on an upside down pond. My humble seat, an igneous rock
from the Devonian period. A glaciation past has moulded this comfort to rest this weary
climber. I am in fortunate delight as this skyscraper of old can turn nasty with nature.
These marvels can unite and lure unsuspected hikers, and draw them into a weather world
they have never known. The gulley's and faces of this quite wonderful Munro hide
challenges and dangers for all who dare climb. Many have been lost as they become
disorientated, as natures weather closes in.
The ascent route to the summit on a day like today is quite wonderful. The beauty of the
glens, with their sporadic mix of andesite and basaltic lava mountains, rival many a range
on our fine planet. Many colours explode on the surrounding canvas. Greens and beige's,
greys mingling with red granite masses. Screes are in evidence, a sign of the range ageing
as natures seasons take their toll. Plant life carpets the slopes, where grasses of sorts
mingle with the purple and white heather. Ferns from a prehistoric age fan out catching
the breeze, like Sea´ ferns´ in the ocean.
As i climbed, at various intervals i would close my eyes and listen to the calls of the
wild. The sporadic bleating of sheep, as if echoing through the glens. Crows and their
hooded cousins fly sorties looking for carrion of such. Suddenly they scatter, as royalty
makes a welcomed appearance. As majestic as the King of the mountains can be, a Golden
Eagle glides on the thermals. His subjects looking on from a distance, for fear of
angering him. Rabbits, lizards and even sheep and lambs, bow down in whatever chambers of
safety allows them. As graceful as he arrived, he leaves. Slowly but slowly, the lookouts
of the species declare their haven a safe zone.
This climb has certainly given me a thirst, as the thinned mountain air leaves me tired.
Nearby a small stream offers a weary climber a much needed tonic. This pure fresh
translucent chemical substance quenches my crave, with a gentle splash over my sun beaten
face, i feel refreshed to a point.
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