Long Cheap Poems
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Outside a quaint town in fair Vermont,
by my family’s vacation home,
is a small field with fences and sign,
in the warm month’s it’s a place to go.
They have a flea market on weekends,
rows of tents pitched under mountains green,
for most people it is just old junk,
but it is fascinating to me.
There’s a tent that’s selling goat-milk soap,
I did not know that that was a thing,
the man behind it smells of hippie,
but not too much, since he’s still selling.
Next to him are magazines that
were new back in my grandfather's time,
postcards from before the depression,
so many that it boggles my mind.
Across from that, old iron housewares
from a century that is long past,
rough-hewn evoke memories
of a wholesome time that couldn’t last.
Besides that place, hand-turned wooden bowls,
from a shop the next county over,
their pretty, yes, with natural lines,
but at that price, I will say, “No sir!”
Then there’s the tent with all the old books,
dangerous place for men like myself,
it’s foretold I’ll pick up old novels,
but which ones? I can never foretell.
A guy is selling old comics books,
another is hawking baseball cards,
gaudy women’s clothes are over there,
near cheap tools and pieces of old cars.
There’s the guy with army-navy stuff,
yellowed manuals from World War II,
and more knives than you could ever need,
yet I still walk away with a few.
Of course there is the hot dog vendor,
with cheap prices you don’t find these days,
then a tent with essential oils,
I just roll my eyes and stay away.
Buy cheap bandanas for the nephews,
little guys will think that they’re so neat,
the I meander back to my car,
let the wheels take the stress off my feet.
When words stop
Words, words sunken Japanese warships
in the bay of Palau where yellow jellyfish do not sting
and the US military plans to make a base on the moon
and bomb the world to smithereens
I`m watching too much TV and fed useless information
I don`t need. Trying to make sense of this;
war is the loser nature is peace.
Until the war that is cyclical destroy everything this
is needed to win Concord.
In the meantime, economic wars are manufacturing useless
inventions and underpaid garment workers
cheap food and obese people. This lasts till a new hot
battle begins and those who want peace are traitors because
they know there are no winners it is an illusion we have not
been able to understand, like religion and Santa Claus.
When the human voice disappears
when wolves no longer howl in the valley, then battered
Nature will slowly take over, and peace will reign.
they drilled holes
and made long whining tunnels beneath
the surface.
they gathered all the plastics they could from around the world.
when they installed the fans in the tunnel
i still couldn't understand what this new way of
recycling meant to a world that
need to learn new things.
they burned and melted plastic in the hole
the smoke would be forced to a tunnel by
way of fans, the smoke would be mixed with calcium and magnesium
to create a stone material.
once the plastic stones were cooled
sonme would be pulverized to make material
that could be used to create a plasticky type of cement.
the world might welcome these new processes
to create new types of stones that
can be made into large sheets
and used to create cheap new homes, that are stone and fabricated for
being used.
Four thirty in the morning
When i ponder everything,
The clock is ticking loudly and
Memories I cling.
Yes the words they flow
In the darkness of the night
Thinking what went wrong and
Contemplating what is right.
Hope to get some sleep soon and
try to keep some faith
The seventh was yesterday and
Now it is the eighth.
The past is not the present and
the now is not tomorrow
Times not right for any plight so
need not any sorrow.
Soon I'll be in dream land,
To snatch about two hours and
that cheap chrono clock-
The night time it devours...
Not true- it's just perception
Preparing now to rest,
I imagine I'll be going on...
A fantasy quest.
I imagine that he's here and
watching everything
I imagine that he's happy
Good dreams that he will bring.
I imagine his supremacy
Imagination perks
Imagining his miracles and
All the greatest works.
Though if i can't think and
Nor could not assume
I'd know that our creator
Always has some room....
For me...
To wonder...
and
I wonder all the time..
My Great Wonder
All- he is and
I ponder purity and
Think of all of his.
I imagine he'd collect me
If i was to ever fall
Until then I have faith in him
To tear down any wall.
Sacrifice myself-
To the one whom is divine
For I know that he has me and
I know that he is mine.
I imagine he'd agree
To everything that's right,
I think about his presence
and I know that he is light.
To Love and Only Love
To Everything, All means
I know that you'll be there-
In my very dreams.
So I have a rest now and
Nothing seems at stake
As he has the whole world in his hands and
Memories we'll make.
Matriarch mastermind manipulated minions
rang their hells bells signifying
damned to traverse highway to hell
dirty deeds done dirt cheap
(names changed fo' malady to remain anonymous,
cuz they got thunderstruck
with psychological trauma).
Preface:
Upon bitterly cold dawning hours of January 2000,
the Harns family (not actual name of real persons
constituting yours truly
mine wife and at that time
deux darling very young daughters)
desperately sought place to live.
Neon Swat Team (an independent realtor) politely
informed us (meaning myself and the missus), our
family lease would not be renewable.
The reason without a rhyme?
Ever since events initially laid forth as poem,
I delightfully witnessed birth of daughter
number two February 4th, 1999, (whose existence this
papa helped beget approximately nine months prior),
now twenty two plus years passed rendering contractual
non-binding obligation null and void - whew.
Even though then barely tipping scales at less than ten
pounds of flesh, (this bundle of sugar, spice and everything
nice, especially when adorned in pink bows inclusive),
she warranted unlawful occupancy capacity subsequently
exceeding one plus bedroom apartment in Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania.
Body quasi poetic/prosaic
minimally couched, sunk, tabled...
within wordy mosaic:
We reckoned to live temporarily at premises vacated by
mother in law from hell (since recent death of her husband,
whose after life settled him in Willoughby) domicile situated
at 1148 Tree Green Lane (a cozy and lazy keystone chic
urban outfitted hamlet tucked into totally tubular foothills of
Venn Palley, Pennsylvania), a nook of quaintness plum
perfect where rivers Ratford Upon Savon converged.
Dawn hurls
Bird song greeting;
Morning light
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy daze
Drowsy feel;
Wobbly feet
~~~~~~~~~
Mind groggy
Feeble feet glide;
Cold water aftershock
~~~~~~~~~
Black bird tryst
Window ledge concert;
Dawn psalmist
~~~~~~~~~
Bamboo pines sway
Rustle in the wind;
Breezy escapades
~~~~~~~~~
Listen now
Wind chimes amuse;
Random strains curl
~~~~~~~~~
Sit here still
Waiting impulse;
Words unfurl meaning
~~~~~~~~~
Burma votes
Perhaps for change;
People live hop
~~~~~~~~~
Signs tell
Deep dark story;
Massacres surreal
~~~~~~~~~
Wars show up
People die;
Fate is cruel
~~~~~~~~~
Some say
Talk is cheap;
Life is cheaper
~~~~~~~~~
Paradoxical
Man the beast,
Unveil the saint then
~~~~~~~~~
One by one
Lost like the others;
Even hope despairs
~~~~~~~~~
Voice clear
Choice steers;
War my dear
~~~~~~~~~
Beauty sighs
Truth cries;
Killing time
~~~~~~~~~
Faith hopes
Hope clings;
Love attends
~~~~~~~~~
Frolic here
Beyond despair;
Hope awaits wit
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
09 November 2015
Singapore
Merit was always the gold medalist
Then came the shrewd unconcerned capitalist
Who endeared and sold to many the cheap thrill
At jaw-dropping prices reserved only for mastery and skill
And I agree with Solomon that princes could walk on foot
While vagabonds ride horses and busk in great loot
Are there cheap persons with lofty personalities
Are there cheap personalities exuded by lofty entities
Hasn't time and chance robbed us of entitlement
And haven't you more than once taken back sentiments
For the winds of change blow to prove every man wrong
Though once we may seem right but not very long
It's no incentive to shun perfection be it as it may
For it is the beauty when time comes for you to hold sway
Bear you diligence and with it the purity of heart
That time may offer chance for you to play a part
For God judges a heart's motives and intents
And to Him they rise as either stenches or scents
In time and chance a man of skill shall stand before kings
To the houses of nobility shall be his bearings
And their every work shall be the emblem of the age
Remaining as pride and memory kept in tutelage
Descending the honour to children who claim equal citizenship
By that alone even claiming half kinship
K. Muitherero.
Spare a thought this Christmas for those suffering in Ukraine
While you are enjoying the festive season Russia inflicts more pain
Huddled around makeshift fires with no where to escape the chill
The evil Russians fire missiles and drones that are designed to kill.
Russia hopes by taking out their power grid that they will give in
But its made them more determined not to yield to Vlad Putin
They're melting snow for water it's what they're having to do
And if we didn't live in a civilised world it could easily be me or you.
Women and girls are sexually assaulted at the point of a gun
Their families are forced to watch while these dogs have their fun
Another report a girl watched her friend raped and shot in the head
They didn't want any witnesses and made sure that she was dead.
Mass graves have been discovered with bodies tied and bound
With many showing signs of torture investigators have found
Russia claims only military targets have been hit but of course its lies
Anything that comes out of Putins mouth should come as no surprise.
Iran is supplying Putin with missiles and other cheap hardware
Putins rants about nuclear weapons I don't think he would dare
The axis of evil has now changed its now Nth Korea, Russia and Iran
They're all a bunch of cowards and they'd never fight man to man.
The Patriot missile system Ukraine needs and I urge the US to supply
Because if they don't Russian bombers will fly and many more will die
The war has already escalated because weapons we are supplying
And only by doing so will it prevent the death toll in Ukraine from rising.
Written on 13th December 2022
I have supported Ukraine since February by writing poems about what is happening there and trying to bring to light atrocities that have been committed by the Russian army against the Ukrainian people and have at no time written anything negative about some brave Russian people who opposed Putin and many who have been imprisoned for making a stand.
Scary people are everywhere.
Weaving through backbones of rain-soaked roads.
Taillights burning A holes in my balding white walls.
Scary people in endless grocery store lines.
Carts filled with poison Pop-Tarts and cheap headache wine.
Dirty-faced children that never smile-
I try and stay clear of their scariness.
But they constipate every venomous aisle.
Scary people at the doctor's office.
A room filled with sick impatience.
A scary piss-faced receptionist knows all our secrets.
Scary doctor ladling out a scary diagnosis.
Followed by a compassionless prognosis.
There is no cure for the affliction of indifference
and the good Doctor knows it.
Scary leaders with scary scripts.
Outdaring other scary leader power pricks.
and their endless scary power trip tricks...
Nonchalantly sending a million scared kids into an early death...
With one scary stroke of a scary green ink pen.
Scary billionaires orchestrating our scary futures.
Tampering with our food supply and stratosphere.
Talking down to a mass of bleating ignorance.
The only time people aren't scary
is when they're hunched over a stone.
Silently saying goodbyes in a salty rain.
Playing taps atop a black umbrella afternoon.
i don’t often come to these corners
where in shadows the past lies
memories taken from the shelves
dust them off, each one a different root
with connections to the same tree
never a residing within what if
nor some vision of a just resignation
labyrinths of now-faded possibilities
replacing them to the shelf, silent detritus
i have always been able to walk away
the part of me i keep hidden in the depths
of Dante’s delusions of hell
swept all the muses into a corner
took them out and murdered them all
one by one, choking the breath from me
leaving only emptiness within
a katabasis, the defeat was inevitable
Summer is now fading
and the seasons provide the only shelter
from the hecatomb that mirrors tu quoque
where the bleeding Parthian shots live
under the watchful eyes of Cerberus
hearing your voice
as i walk from the shadows
the philogyny survives, but you are cursed
it is the only root to survive
her major was the Greeks, never asked why
her poetry, the dilettante in romantics
walked away from hepcats and Greek gods
what is the difference i ask sub rosa
remorse is a cheap mask
romantic poets are known for their infidelity
and carefully crafted gods
pretty words that flow as lava
a detrition that wears the skin vulnerable
exposes the heart to cruelty
never asked why or believed love is blind
rather dumb and deaf
Greek gods
are the trash of failed imaginations
you should feel at home with mythomaniacs
i prefer a different reality and Valhalla
i have no thin wall between love and hate
i constructed another Great Wall of China
an impenetrable bitterness
FF/97