Long Convulses Poems
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A puddle tremors
beneath the tyre's basso hum—
the firmament sunk
to pewter.
The carrier rattles: lentils, peas,
metal worrying bone.
A pulse conducts him forward.
Delivered: Client 11.
Returned: Client 34.
Address not located: Client 66.
Wet asphalt exhales iron.
An elder’s hand
alights upon the parcel—
warmth threading apprehension.
Peppermint breath,
a fissured laugh.
He smiles, tasting
the ghost of something kept.
Past encampments—
blankets breathing with damp.
Protein bars nested
like provisional vows.
Gloves saturated. Knees ossified.
The city persists.
Then—
the pavement shears.
Snap.
Night fractures.
Blood unfurls, intimate, undeniable.
Gravity exacts its claim.
The phone convulses.
Where is my order?
How long?
“Hospital,” he says.
“Leg fractured. Haemorrhaging”
Urgent: Client 12.
Order incomplete: Client 47.
The device keeps cadence
with his heart.
Hospital fluorescence.
Ferric tang on the tongue.
Antiseptic’s reprimand.
Even supine, he inventories the load.
The system does not abate.
Then—
his father’s voice, unaccelerated:
“Son,
have you remembered to nourish yourself
while sustaining the appetites of others?”
He reclines.
Pain metronomic. Motion unceasing.
Something within him
finally granted
repose.
How easily you return,
Within this mind's hindsight,
Never knowing how the swelling,
Gaping hole of your absence,
Weighs me down heavily,
With the confusion of your presence
In my dreams...
I crave substance,
Though well be my visions and tastes,
Vibrant...real be this cruel shape before me,
With voice like readying thunder,
And eyes plotting my defeat,
Ready to touch and redeem my soul
See how long control has fled from me,
As every fiber of my being convulses
With a grief none shall ever feel
And only hear of...
You can tell me to wake up,
To face reality,
To cope with the passionate eruption of these killer dreams...
But I will not hear you,
Or any being who dares to force me out of this trance--no,
I will not hear you
When the thunder claps
And my soul writhes against your grasp
You can scream at me,
Call me a fool with no substance,
You can shake me with the quaking ire
Of your controlled authority,
Though I will stay here,
Like unbreathable air
With monomaniac devotion
My future became threadbare then,
Lost in the desire of my eager grasp
The force of hot feelings flowing against ancient, chilled iceburgs
We once were untouched,
Ummovable,
Yet free
And once I tasted your fire,
Freedom has become all but a dream...
Abandoned! Assaulting winds thrash flailing limbs,
denuding boughs of golden dress;
gone the gaiety of glowing beginnings
when springtime sun seduced soft soil,
fondling slight buds of green, foreplay in fecund fields.
Forlorn, like a vacant house,
dark windows blankly stare despair,
the fissured dream convulses;
Whistling winds, keening,
“Gone away, gone away . . .”
Where do dreams go when they die,
After the romantic sighs, after the broken-hearted cry?
Does a haven await perished aspiration?
Or is abandoned hope sour fodder
for rodents and insects pilfering?
Gather the wasted twigs, the windswept straw,
feathered soft with anguish breast plucked raw;
interweave new hope to resurrect cadaverous old.
Truth states roses bloom in desert sand;
believe.
Copyright 11-19-2019
A digit grazes the scarred timber,
Rain hammers cadences no soul can limber,
A dog yawns, ventral flanks agleam, blood-warmed,
The rhythm coils beneath decrepit chairs,
It lingers where audacity desists.
Vapor spirals from a fissured chalice rim,
A glance cleaves rooms, precise, austere, and grim,
Footfalls arrest mid-stride, corridors dim,
The rhythm throbs within suspended hush,
And fractures silence into crush.
Sun shatters vitreous panes to glittering shards,
Shadows bow like cadavers, beneath guards,
Leaves tremble, winged ordnance of belief,
A bee alights, ponderous, rupturing bloom,
The rhythm burrows, roots in tenebrous gloom.
Children’s shoes percuss the stone—floorboards scream,
Laughter fractures, denting tongue and tooth and dream,
Wind lacerates a scarf—a violent gleam,
The rhythm enumerates the bruises latent,
It reckons the weight unbidden, corrodent.
Respiration escalates, arrests, then cascades with iron grace,
Ink bleeds, veins across the open page’s face,
RHYTHM pulsates inside the unclaimed void of space,
It excavates body, mind, and skeletal frame alike,
And leaves us denuded where all pulses strike.
Even silence convulses.
Image of Diablo giphy by Blizzard Entertainment.
Dante's Inferno
An overcast sky blotches a caring Sun's sympathetic warmness, diffusing confidences of a blissful morn,
Consolidates a desolate soul, filled only in despair of inflated apprehensive pupils,
Notwithstanding, it is sensed with comprehensive estrangement, dwarfs enthusiastic esteem,
Downcast eyes overshadow the mood as trepidation overwhelm their fleeting days of an annular golden ring,
Forsaken wretched souls wrought into mounds of snowdrifts that only salt can melt their obvious affliction,
Inescapable captives within their daily cell of contemplation of fading yesteryears,
Initiating challenging footsteps digresses for the abandoned in the anticipatory abyss,
Fabled truths circumvent the scenery provocations of unwanted expectedness,
Traverse consumption on stomach binges, compiled with the void that stems from within, convulses during this time,
The wayward life of a destitute heart pulsates the same as a blizzard in June,
They fester in the realm of an endless December, a masterpiece frozenly framed depicting the hellish interpretation that is to be Dante's Inferno.
2019 December 26
*5th Place*
Your best December poem
~~John Hamilton: Judged 2019 December 26
Glide of Falcon broken, channel smoothed
Transmission snap equals idle start
Dysfunctional gypsy destitute
Tricky situation screams for bird to depart
Tear away from failure with a free heart
Feathers propell her across the Caribbean
Flotsam washed up on shore Cottesloe
Beak weapon a compass to onyx oblivion
Binoculars barely detect tiny Como below
Jacobs Well regular fades beside posh Calypso
Ukelele strum seductively ruffles her plumage
Zephyr lift of anonymity instantly relaxes
Foreign terminus lures with image elusive
Sandy sanctum camps where regret collapses
Wigwams woven from Falcon's broken axis
Spit roast sizzles sin, black chunks blown away dust
Foil wrapped worry falls apart, ceases to matter
Scaffold stands bold though basic, vehicle rust
Drives psyche to triumph taut sail regatta
Egg whip pillow sips cocktails in Coolangatta
Gigantuan coast plays host to plumage patched
Bandaged beak hushed satiated dulcet
Fishnet fascination fetched her finest catch
Predator snatches status over physical impulses
Prey clamped in cabaret calibre talons convulses
23rd May
Bird can stay
I murmur like a rivulet through the
hitch of your hands, where the canyons
carve their parched longing into your fingers—
where silences sublimate like cera,
pooling beneath your glissando touch.
Your tremolo breath convulses rough and low
like sibilant submersion in water—
spilling, sinking, staining everything it meets.
I watch the estuary of your gaze split my horizon—
watch you hush abysmal eyes into
celestially arched surrender.
There is no stillness between starlight,
only the pull of mighty magnitudes,
fuses lit beneath the ribs,
pulses and throbs teaching the air
how to cleave—how to…
sforzando!
Love, here, is neither reserved nor reticent—
it is lightning bottled in glass—
hellfire burning beneath the tide—
language that deconstructs
even as it is uttered.
I step forward—some faltering cadence,
some submitting ascension—placing my hands into your fire,
not to be consumed, but to remember
how stars revel and rain.
Anxiety—
it grips my heart.
Tightens
its hold
on my chest.
It squeezes…
and squeezes.
I can’t breathe.
It’s like my lungs
stopped working.
I breathe faster—
and faster—
and get
less
and less
oxygen.
The less oxygen I get
the faster I breathe.
But the faster I breathe—
the less oxygen I get.
It’s an endless circle
that won’t stop.
My mind runs millions of miles an hour.
It never stops—
it keeps going—
speeding up
faster
and faster—
racing toward a finish line
too far
for my eyes
to see.
I cry out for it to stop.
No one hears my cries.
They just walk past—
consumed
by their own
mental battles.
I beg for everything to pause.
It never stops.
It never pauses.
I spiral into a panic attack.
My hands shake so bad
I can’t control them.
My ears ring—
drowning out the world
that has suffocated me.
My legs refuse to work.
I just want to scream…
But when I try—
Nothing comes out.
Tears roll down my face.
I can’t stop them.
My body convulses from the attack.
I lay on the ground, unmoving—
yet still shaking.
Crying
for it
to stop.
It hurts.
Everything
just hurts
so bad.
I can’t control the pain.
I lay there,
stuck in limbo—
trapped
between
the air
and the floor.
Finally…
after the struggle…
I can breathe again.
But it doesn’t make me feel better.
’Cause I know
I’ll go through the same routine again—
tomorrow.
And the day after that.
Because anxiety
never stops.
The cycle
never ends.
Live music leaves me enthralled
as thuds of a drum, the intricate fondling from saxophone notes blast these veins
until intoxicated head convulses
when euphoric tunes pump in unabated--
jazz, R&B, wild soul, and rocking pop ignite
primal ectasy in the flesh...raw!
Pulse beat raised at 110, my torso gyring in motions uncontrolled--
the cortisol of anticipation surging through an adrenaline high;
cool the song- whips , oh more feverish my body trip!...just there,
Philip Bailey whams a falsetto
higher than high in climactic lifts,
my whole body possessed without Reasons on Fantasy's electric stage:
Another grasp of dismembered reality lures, where smokey thirst begs
for more notes...
this moment a cool fever of a thrill from a live concert rushes on,
where an elevated zing drugs my soul!
A relay of moods dribbles on and on
when euphoric tunes kick in:
Jazz, R& B, slow funk, wild pop
igniting primal ecstasy, in the flesh...raw!
Live music leaves me breathless
as thuds of a drum, the intricate fondling
from saxophones blast these veins...
until intoxicated head convulses,
Pulse beat raised at 110, my torso
gyring in motions unknown—
the cortisol of anticipation surging
adrenaline doses gushing...just then,
Philip Bailey whams a falsetto,
higher than high in a climatic lift;
my whole body possessed without Reasons
on Fantasy’s electric stage—
Another grasp of dismembering reality lures
where smoky thirst begs for more notes;
an elevated zing which drugs my soul …
yet, nights ask for more live concerts.
4/17/2019
For Anthony Slausin: Your Amphetamine Contest
----------
Earth, Wind and Fire Live Performance
Manila, 2009
Lead Singer: Philip Bailey/ Songs: Reasons, Fantasy
Sample video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1FN6X_86NY