Long Crawling with Poems
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"An Equitable Assassin Trying to be Nice"
...he
slides the coldies
across the table,
the beer, American
not as sharp,
but slides down
quick, smoothly
clean
cold
crisp
he thinks,
lips ripe
for kissing
the prints warm
the motive missing
somewhere lost in the hallelujahs
Jacob’s Ladder
crawling with
footprints
hands, fingers
and lips
all over glass walls
Snow White
doesn’t sleep
at all, but ...
cool as a block of ice,
history melting
all over the place
a cold case
trying to be tidy
trying to be nice
an equitable
assassin
out of place
trying to be nice
cool as a block of ice
history melting
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
I find myself
In a dark room
Strapped to a bed
The light turns on
The large TV comes on
A smiling image
Of Satan fills the TV
He is dressed
In a conservative business suit
Looks like he came
Out of a corporate
board meeting
surrounded by demonic aides
who constantly shove papers
at him
He looks up from his lap top
And smiles
A deadly so insincere smile
His voice booms out
Welcome to Hell
My satanic slaves
I am Satan
Your new master
Each of you
Has been sentenced
To an eternity of torture
And the punishment
Must fit the crime
So, for you
Mr. Jake Cosmos Aller
Failed aspiring poet
And novelist
Your torture
Is to be strapped
To that bed
Unable to move
As you are filled
With the need
To piss and
But you cannot move
And your skin
Is crawling with bugs
And itchy
as Hell so to speak
and you are so sleepy
but you cannot sleep
the TV will play
endless repeats
Of some of the worst TV
and movie shows
ever produced
Starting with my favorite
A Series of Unfortunate Events
Featuring your favor annoying little girl
Carmetta! Singing for you forever
As you are the ultimate cake sniffer
Welcome to Hell
My once precious flower,
Your fragrance has plateau:
The beetles lurking in the dark,
and crawling with the thrust
of the wind when it’s light
are mischievous, and they have
no love within their hearts.
Enveloping the essence of
your core, and your once flourishing
inner beauty; they have uncovered
your shining passion of lost light,
which was once a beacon of hope,
thus, your once lovable soul—they
now consume!
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
© Joseph S. Spence, Sr., (Epulaeryu Master) 10/15/08
All Rights Reserved, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA
Senior Advisor, to Founder of Motivational Strips
Ambassador De Literature
Noble Star of Literature 2018
Living Legend of the 21st Century
Pentasiv B World Friendship Poetry Featured Poet 2019
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine;
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.
~~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~
The veterans
JD Vance and Tim Waltz have in common
they have served and can call themselves
veterans, which has a sacred meaning
They joined to serve and defend America's
values of freedom and democracy
We know that for the two above, it was
about further education, to join but too long
and get out when the going got tough
Still, they are veterans who served.
I think of the men from the many small towns
unknown by most people, they joined and
was sent to Vietnam, fighting a war in
the name for freedom and democracy
they believed in what was said
When a platoon whose order is to take a hill
crawling with snakes and booby traps
they knew what terror was, black shadows
coming up from the earth, killing them
They were heroes fighting a wrong war
The survivors are veterans if they
are lucky to receive a small pension
when they are aged and dressed up
in old uniforms
we are proud of them, know what the
scarify is to die when the people in
Washington needs people who believe
in the defense of America, values call
to arms
Red Oak menstruates in the heat of summer
Beech and maples stand back from her labor
Moonlight lifts her skirt
Wind drifts through her leaves
She stomps in circles only the owls divine
Piper of voles
She checks the many holes up and down her body
Shivers
An ancient skin crawling with leafhoppers and katydids
Pinches herself of replications
Like a plate glass window shattered from above
She rains green acorns
Thousands of bitter thumbtacks dropped to the forest floor
Seeds claw to their tiny graves
How they cry night and day
During a month of rain sun and the twist of Earth’s belly!
Mother! Mother!
Until
More than enough
For a feast of all the creatures
The remaining settle
Stars
Born from the mud and sky of colliding galaxies
Woman and God.
Dark Night – City Streets
A dark night on city streets
soft yellow glare of streetlights
outlining slow creepy things.
Scents of cooling kitchens
and boiling excitement
tickled the deepening thrill.
A rising tremor of frightful glee
slinking through the streets
mocking the shadows lies.
City streets crawling with anticipation
window shades peeked through
doors held ajar in preparation,
For they would come – as always
on this, their night, utter again
the monsters mantra – Trick or Treat.
Flow in wicked waves of want
seek the lowly sustenance
of the sticky sweet tribute.
Short, weary legs of demons
tire easily - and slowly
retreat to comfort of warm lairs.
Window shades are straightened
doors closed and locked
streetlight shadows calmed
As monsters – cleaned and preened,
hugged and nuzzled in their nests
sleep, and dream, of Halloween.
10/24/2015
The unmistakable sound smacks of
church bells in purgatory -- our family
has burnt the last candles in the damp basement
crawling with mice.
Neighbors offer their flashlight, under the thunderous explosions above
rocking the building.
Toddlers cry and dogs bark, older women reminisce WWII's horrors
which they survived, and will survive again.
It's morning again, militias bring hot bread and
milk for the new-born hurried from hospital that fell to Russian missile,
intercepted. Last night here,
death was intercepted again, prolonging the Russian misery.
The air-raid sirens are now music to ear, their scratching noise filling the air
with epic serenity.
The sirens haven't robbed me of my
human potential.
Bang another explosion
I flinch back downstairs again
My heartbeats in my toes
It’s only a half past 7.
May God grant His grace to those who wish me harm
and shield me from masked smiles.
I moved forward on my own to turn solitude
into a relentless companion.
I offer respect and affection to corrupted beings,
to sealed vaults crawling with unstable secrets.
I cross this chaotic dimension on autopilot,
guided by a force beyond calculation.
I find myself compelled to destroy anyone who stains
my dreams, my dignity, or my values.
When pain cuts through me, even Lucifer tightens,
fearing what I might be driven to do.
If my hand reaches toward you, the other stays armed,
ready for the final response should you aim for my arm.
I place no trust in humanity.
`
Parched and dry, this barren field stretches,
I wander, head hung low,
staring at the emptiness eclipsing my thoughts
Brittle blades of grass disappear beneath
my worn out sneakers,
black and white crushing beige
in slow fashioned footprints of blistered dust
“My sanity for some cool water”
When upon my shoulders, reddened by solar intensity,
wet from exerted energy, comes a breeze
as if Autumn has come to claim her colors,
to gather her brown and sepia landscape,
pull the lifeless trees, with little leaf
from the chalk textured ground taking it
where it would suit another, for this is my luck
"Take my shade I beg not, for it is merely a branch”
Like fingers of a silken web’s reach,
a soft caress of skin is not understood, though very pleasant
Nature finds me a shiver, a small comfort in this arid place
once crawling with snakes of assorted length, now
green as if lush has just been defined
with sweet air and pomegranate skies featuring a glow,
pristine shades of which I’ve never seen, heavenly
“To whom might I thank for such a gift?”
When before me stands, my eyes saturated and lost
slowly focus on beauty, winged loveliness now smiling within my own
personal oasis, which quickly forms in my heart
An angel, a goddess, extends a hand to me?
My cracked and weathered palm touches, smooth, gentle
her hand as she lifts me, I am weightless, floating
to her, my breath leaves me as I wonder, is this my end?
“If this beauty shall be my final curtain, let it be dropped slowly”
A voice of velvet speaks, as I fade in and out of reality,
now steadied by her touch and the sweet scent of lavender and lime
“I have come to you as a verse, for poetry is thy keeper,
thy words have been heard,” lyrical this voice sings
melodic and harmonious, a rhythm to the beat of my heart,
the race of my pulse, the love of my life, my muse, my all
“Eternal to you I shall write, for your beauty fuels my pen”
Who said:
"You don't realise what you've got, till it's gone."
In your absence I despise silence,
when you're gone loneliness visits,
but his friendship, I do not desire.
An empty scent circulates in the room.
Air is cold and crisp, all is black and white
with sad songs on repeat.
I find no peace listening to the rain since
you left me in the darkness of the eclipse.
Phone keeps ringing, but its not your name
flashing on display - I prefer a blank screen.
Not one voice seems to appease,
nor give me peace from this disease -
when you disappear like Houdini.
Yet your ghost lingers in the backdrop.
A candle quivers, dripping in tears of wax.
I don't blame your heart for its change,
but why so stubborn in bitter muteness.
Without you my soul resides in an empty trunk,
defaced with green moss, crawling with beetles.
Sanity is dripping like a leaking bottle of crimson water.
I remember when you were a wounded bird,
bleeding on a path to no where, unable to fly,
crying endlessly, yearning for your nest -
but now you have flown so far away.
Sometimes there is no patience in time,
especially when one closes their mind.
Without a chance to clarify confusion,
all is lost in ignorant translation.
Once, I had a million pieces of affection,
wedged between my soul, heart and mind,
but in your eyes they were rejected as unworthy.
Once what you loved, is now your enemy.
Today, I am the twin of sorrow,
tomorrow your twin will be regret
and you'll be crying when you're forgotten.
Simple Musing (fictional poem)
Silent One
20 November 2020
The quote is a line from the song "Big Yellow Taxi" by Joni Mitchell from the album Ladies of the Canyon (1970).