Long Dangles Poems
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I sit there on that wooden bench, simply sitting. I am not waiting for someone, not for anything. Sunlight peeks through the leaves of the two oak trees whose branches are mingling above my head. It is pleasant to feel its warmth. There is no reason for me to be outside other than the cigarette resting between my middle and index fingers. I walked down three flights of stairs to simply sit and smoke and be judged by the occasional passersby. I lift the cigarette to my lips and place it there gently. It sort of dangles there as I light the lighter in one hand and cup the other around the flame to protect it from a nonexistent breeze in the dry Southern heat. I suck in, trying to puff, which is hard to do without a hand to steady the cigarette, but it is lit and that is what matters. I take a deep drag, deep into my lungs, deep into my soul, and I can feel the calm wash over me. The nicotine is my oxygen; I can’t breathe without it sometimes. I blow the smoke out, admiring its delicious taste and scent. I like to hold the slowly smoldering cigarette in my right hand and then smoke out of the left side of my mouth. The way I hold it makes me look like a nineteen-forties gangster. I like that. Sitting there, on my wooden bench, I react. I don’t moan in ecstasy and I don’t close my eyes in pleasure. I don’t take it for granted and I don’t have a habit. I just enjoy my cigarette, no more and no less than it ever should have been. As it slowly converts itself into smoke and ashes I think to myself that most people probably wonder why an eighteen year old in this day and age would choose to take up smoking. At least I assume that is what the occasional passerby must be thinking when they see me sitting here on this wooden bench, for no other reason than to smoke the cigarette in my hand right now. I wonder what I would say if any one of them ever bothered to ask me. Because I want to, I would reply before standing, putting out my cigarette, and walking away. I look down and see that if I took another drag I would be smoking the filter. So I stand, put out my cigarette, and walk away. I walk away from the sunlight, from the two oak trees, and that wooden bench. I walk away with my fingers smelling like nicotine and that makes me smile because I know that I will sit at that wooden bench tomorrow to do the same exact thing. I know because that is what I did yesterday.
Our story began behind bars with the broken,
Displaying our armor with truths left unspoken.
Through the gates each day, our counselor hats on,
Where pain wore a face, and hope felt long gone.
You, with your wisdom and counselor’s grace,
Me, burnt out but still showing my face.
We stitched up souls with words and care,
In a world where few even knew we were there.
"Eight and the gate" rang like a drum in our chest,
Till we traded our keys for a long-needed rest.
No longer confined, our world opened wide,
With pups at our heels and friends by our side.
Bella, a farting cutie with sass to spare,
Jack Dangles—cutest dude anywhere,
Ollie, judging all with a skeptical eye,
And mine, loyal, wild, barking at the sky.
We measured our days in tail wags and sparks,
And found light in our dogs when the world turned dark.
You’re my news anchor, my human rant,
My “yes you can” when I swear I can’t.
We share stories and snacks and fried calamari,
And laugh till we wheeze like a nursing home party.
You’re blue as the sky, I’m red underneath,
But we cry the same tears from sorrow and grief.
We talk of the world—no judgment, no shame,
Different opinions, but hearts just the same.
You bring the fire, and I bring the “me,
”?You rage at the news with raw clarity.
(You really should join that Trump-haters squad—
They’d give you a mic and a standing applaud.)
When the world gets too heavy, we know what to do—
Dogs, snacks, the news, and a cry or two.
You’ve saved me from drowning more than you know,
With sarcasm, love, and that fierce Jewish glow.
You check in with care that never feels fleeting—
Usually starting with, “Hey… what you eating?”
You’re braver than you’ll ever admit,
Still fighting each day with your sharp, clever wit.
You ache in the places that scream in the night,
But you rise. You stay. You still fight.
I’m twelve percent Jewish, I love to remind—
Which explains why I cry and complain all the time.
You yell “Borscht!”—I say, “What’s that mean
”You sigh, “Oh hush, just eat something green.”
You’re my friend beyond what words can explain—
Through doctor reports and every bloodstain.
If life’s a long walk with no real map,
I’m glad it’s with you—nap by nap.
We’re still here. We’re still us.
Still wrapped in dog fur, still raising a fuss,
Partners in crime—chaos, a must.
The Lie
I am an insect waiting to be squashed!
I stare hard at the ground
as if fascinated, enthralled by it
while, above, eyes of cold-cobalt
wait to gouge and burrow out
any self-belief that might still remain.
“WELL?”
It always starts with that unsettling word.
Ironic as ‘well’ it certainly is not.
“COME ON!! I haven’t got all day!”
The next sharpened remark; his checkmate,
and the denouement usual swiftly follows.
I try to speak but my weighted words
require a wheelbarrow to carry them out.
I am snagged, on the jag, of repeated criticism
which over the years has shrunken me;
diluting my beleaguered confidence.
Most of my childhood years I understood
and welcomed the fluctuations of emotion
however the grammar and punctuation
of every day skirmishes of family life:
the questions marks, the exclamations, the..... ellipses
were rules, restrictions that became impossible to follow.
So here, once again, stands my father’s temper
attempting to confront nay dominate me.
At this point, if my body had consented,
I would have galloped over the nearest horizon
however all my moving parts had gathered together,
loitering, on a corner, spreading rumours and gossip
that had rendered me rigid and immobile!
My only escape, my bolt for freedom, lies… in the lie.
Yes, an untruth, that had lain in the top shelf
of my mind for many troubled days,
fermenting in its own insidious juices.
Now sliding treacherously from the corner of my mouth,
this worded assassin, homes ruthlessly on its target
…my firework of a father.
Suddenly his face tightens, a thought frightens,
his rigid body a jolt of electricity,
as disbelief snakes its way into his thinking.
His anger reddens, his reasoning darkens
and his fists…..boulder.
But the lie has lain down beside him
fabricating disappointment, bewilderment, distrust
deep into the windows of his eyes.. then...much deeper.
Gradually I turn the key in the ignition of my pride
carefully closing my hands, knitting my fingers,
creating a statement of both prayer and defiance.
Later a thought dangles in a corner of my mind,
a consideration, a contemplation of how far the lie
will layer down into my father’s subconscious
before he understands that the lie is a…
Trojan horse carrying … the truth!
Ian Souter
"CROCK" DOSSENBERG McHENRY
WITH " SATAN'S WHISPER" BAMM DANGLES
WITH TRY TO OUT WREST
BLONDIE HANNLE VIOSSOLLE'
IN A SIX MAN TAG
" REDBONE" MADDOX MUMBLE
"JINGLE DEZ" GLASTON WHITE
&
" THE HAVNNACITY" MUSCLEMAN
VERSES
"SHEIK" FATIMAH ATATURK
" THE ONE WHO IS" OBADIAH GALSTROM
&
" HOTEI" KURUSHIMI ARAHANT
THE MAIN EVENT
THE WORLD'S HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP
WILL BE ON THE LINE
AS TWO CONTENDERS BATTLE
FOR THE VACATE UNIFIED CROWN
REPRESENTING
NEW CANADA WORLD OF WRESTLING
BRAZILIAN ALL PRO WRESTLING
REGION JAPAN WRESTLING
U.S. NATIONAL TERRITORY PRO WRESTLING COMPANY
MEXICO PRO AND SOUTH AFRICAN COMPANY
FORMER ALL PRO WRESTLING COUNCIL CHAMPION
" IRON CLASP" RENO RHELMN
VERSES
REPRESENTING
ALL CHINA PRO WRESTLING
NATION JAPAN INTERNATIONAL WRESTLING INC.
RUSSIA PRO ENTERTAINMENT
(COMBINED) CANADA & GERMAN ALLIANCE OF WRESTLING CO.
NEW FEDERATION OF WRESTLING ORGANIZATION
PRO LEAGUE OF MEXICO
BRAZIL WRESTLING ASSOCIATION
MUSIC CITY ALL STAR TITLE CHAMPION
TELEVISION WRESTLING NORTH CITY CHAMPION
" FLAMBOYANT" FLANK BRISTON
Written: March 08, 2025
************************
The silence keeps us apart—
quivering quietly near the cusp of dawn,
when hushed voices disappear.
It can be both tumultuous and challenging—
dark, dynamic, and daunting,
all at one breath.
Only the windows to the souls glimmer,
mirroring our reflections,
unveiling secrets often overlooked,
a striking scene,
painted in gentle pastel hues —
Intense passion drives us,
fracturing our spirits within.
My heart, once haunted and burdened,
by painful hints of deceit.
Now it dangles divinely from a tree.
Worn and weary,
the tearful, wine-tinted wails linger,
lost in the luxurious,
lusciously dark.
As his crimson-coated souvenirs
spill into disarray.
As I step boldly toward my true self—
I feel the beginning of a reshuffling
emerging from a past, steeped in silence —
I embark on an exhilarating journey,
one that shines as a starry night sky.
Standing before the mirror,
I experience a profound alteration
reconnecting with my sparkling plexus,
of the resplendent stardust within me,
I feel the tides of self-doubt gently receding.
This harmonious melody—
brings to light the hidden strength inside,
allowing me to find solace and peace.
Behold this remarkable wave,
of determination washing over me.
I stand resolute in the face of distress,
shake off gloom heavy grip,
and let pass of the burdens
of anxiety and self-doubt.
I gather my fractured thoughts,
as they scatter across the ground,
and pick them up with care,
grasping the precious insights
that send shivers of excitement through me.
Witness my whimsical mend,
as I become something epic,
allowing my potential to flourish,
nurtured by the legacy of my roots.
Their steadfast support
resonates deep within my soul,
instilling in me courage and resilience,
my needs exceed my expectations.
In honor of the victories
that comes from my success,
and newfound freedom,
I celebrate the journey of
the weary traveler who has
carefully chronicled my life's stories;
my strength has blossomed beautifully.
Now is the utopian moment for me
to seize control of my destiny.
Written: April 09, 2025,
*************
I will be faithful and reveal to you the facts,
You are mine in life and as soul, subtract.
Because when I die, all fables will be seen,
Your aesthetic gaze will murder my spleen!
If every star dims away or expires,
I should start to gaze at a blazing fire.
And accept the complete dark sublime,
However, this may require a bit of time.
Your love transcends my ability to repay,
I wish you abundant happiness, I pray.
So, while we're living, let's pursue love,
Then, even posthumously, life may shove.
A silk ladder is extending across the vine,
That one dangles precariously over the line.
The tragic blend of your entrance and exit,
Love you in a holistic manner, with no limit.
She walks as beautifully as the night,
With pristine expanses and twinkling skies.
And all that is finest in dark and bright,
Connected to her appearance and eyes;
Such squashed by the gentle light,
Which paradise to lavish day denies.
I'll enumerate the forms I love you,
I love you to the depths, scope, and view.
When I feel adrift, my spirit can cope,
For the sake of being an ideal scope.
Concealed from all, love is a hidden flame,
A delicate but piercing wound frame.
an inherently wretched state of happiness,
a raging pain that does not induce savviness.
This is the eremite's never-ending wanderlust,
Yours is the April-to-April love, modernist.
I began to twirl long after you had gone,
Your excited fingers point me to the drawn.
The shimmering, one vast claiming heart,
Esquire, who is both charming and smart.
I am reliable; I will express to you what I mean,
In both life and after death, you're my queen.
Since all the truth will be unveiled once I die,
Then, your two exquisite eyes will make me sigh.
Nothing in this broad cosmos is single,
In a shared spirit, all us gather and mingle.
Love confines me and teaches me to care;
You are the culprit, and you allow me to share.
Helping me cope, you offer me hope,
my dreams and aspirations began to slope.
Life fills each season without a reason.
a hollow life migrates with every season.
‘Turn swords into ploughshares and nightmares to dreams’
I have not one plough and no shares in the market
Insomnia has taken over my nights the rest is illusion
Ambitions are exhausted and hope has no yearning
Freedom dangles on the rope of puppet-less strings
Vacuum reflects an echo of silent ear bursting rasping
Dissonance oozes from cacophony’s apathetic rattle
The heavy clanger of other’s fraudulent forge melts disowned blood
Into ice in my veins as a purulent mind oozes vile battles' cries
Muted by trench feet scraping bottomless mind-fields and apathy
‘Pull yourself out of catatonia’s core-less pits’
But there is no kernel of truth and fruits of desire have rotted
To the acrid stench of a Self carefully lost on broken branches
Snapped composure looms over a well-trodden treacherous path
Carved into an involuntary hermit’s cave by a cliff edged road side
It is grave in the cavern in which vacant vagrants jumble their bones
Disconnect their last possession and wilfully trade skulls and bones
‘This too shall pass and so many others have been stuck in the rot’
And yet suffocation in some muddy sludge is sinking
Slowly and excruciatingly tempting to join forces of evil
A dark rusty anchor floats high on the unreachable ceiling
Time I have endless measures of but the world is upside down
I am out of the picture that has faded memories for the future
Dislodged and dismembered I am a powerful union of nothing
‘Change your perspective and find solace where it is hidden’
So he who is I from the distance finally lets go of unwarranted grip
Descends as far from the surface as possible beyond expectations
And finds footing of the shackles where the ploughshare should be
The spikes pierce my soles and my soul ostensibly drowned in sorrow
At least there is pain and some place in between scars to feel emotions
That tentatively nurture rescue apparently beyond impossible salvation
‘Your advice seemed hollow but there is some loving space left inside my shell’
29th November 2019
By a mysterious twinkle in an all perceiving eye
A form energetic gentle breathing
The grand consummation of design
Ignited by universal dreaming
Enchanted stars into their life giving
The dance conceptual
The ballet between
Principals masculine and feminine
These consorts of the living
Entwined into harmony
To write themselves on creations symphony
Express the form of universal diversity
A sun rising over mountains earth
Forest beneath a conclave of animals
The still waters first expectant rush
Sounds the cosmos fulcrum of birth
There formed the human footprint of infinite sand
Perceptions eternal touch
The spell of ages awakened
And one born into many physical forms
One into many
And as a thread now dangles loose
Disconnected from purpose of cause
Wanders a sea tumultuous
No belief in compass direction lost
Clamoring rudderless the thousand names of God
Pleading a million prayers to suffering must
A walk to the end of identity
This now scattered life of dust
Still searching the obvious for the sacred
Concocting explanations of conscious
Nit picking the tassels of paradises expected faults
The miracles of nothing more than dirt
So fallen to nightmare century
The enemy human devours humanity
And by oath swears itself
Be born of unknown divinity
In thousands generation of quintessence spark
A futures riddle plays diffident mark
But to confound the constant
And miss the perfect impulse of life
The willing blindness brings to darkness
All the blessings of light
Impetuous resolution of a fickle noose
To its own slavery has brought us
From spirits truth distracted
By bubble gum boredom infected
And to the cohorts of fear
Became so entrusted
What but death scares the child
Who alone in innocence could revive
These dull collective eyes
To the promised garden of eternal love
Enchanted stars kissed into their life giving
The dance between conceptual
The ballet of a circle
Feminine and masculine principals
Purpose and cause perfect the impulse of life
To be absent the miraculous
Such would be a true cause for concern
One born into multitudinous of form
Tuesday by the bay,
Garden tour dazzles;
Wonder now portrays,
Profound joy dangles.
Our first visit here
As monsoon rain wets;
Yet we feel good cheer
Greeting our mindset.
Stroll these spacious grounds,
Eco-friendly space;
Feel earthy surrounds
In timely embrace.
Take the audio trip
As the tram ride springs;
Glimpse a new-found grip
As a message flings.
There is a pulse here
In the atmosphere;
Vibrant garden steers
An amazing sphere.
My love and I feel
The swirl of fond fest:
A vital zest heals
Trials in journey quest.
This green agenda
Tells of plant foliage;
Flora and fauna
In sculptured passage.
A garden city
Comes alive right here:
Elegant beauty,
Poise and prize appears.
There is a deep soul
That waits for each man
To feel once more whole
As eyes search and scan.
Curious eyes caress
Walkway paths and trees;
Slow time can address,
Inner child set free.
The magic of awe
When wonder fills mood;
Watch nature now thaw
A grandeur that's good.
Round and round we go,
Mix and mingle sights;
Loiter with calm flow,
Reach a core delight.
Time once upon yore,
Babylon in myth:
Hanging gardens bore
That fabled fond wreath.
Now within our glimpse,
A touch most telling:
Gardens once a dream,
A sanctuary springs.
True worth speaks tons here,
A tribute to zest;
Earthly presence cheers
The radiance of quest.
Our sojourn tells more
In visual impact;
Primal pulse galore,
Indulge wit and tact.
A certain charm calms,
Mind and heart feel glow;
A firm healing balm
Streams a pretty show.
Curious eyes now spy,
Blooms and colours tint;
Flowers speak and sigh,
Rare and myriad mints.
Variety adds spice
To sensorial sights;
These gardens feel nice,
Craft and work surprise.
Words can only hint
What feasting eyes see;
Experience fine tints
Come to seed beauty.
A picture tells more
Than mere words can say;
Let gardens bring store,
Touch you on the way.
Now our weary feet
Falter with fatigue;
Leave for other streets,
Bear glimpse of magic.
Leon Enriquez
06 January 2015
Singapore
Mired in muck. Appendageless.
Sinking in shadowy whispers.
Surviving is senseless.
Eternity is a marathon with no bathrooms, no water, no finish.
I pray for light, Satan pulls the shades
No hope, no truth, no tomorrow.
I need a friend to throw me a lifeline
But they are all busy avoiding the muck.
Spinning on their cotton candy bridges.
They spew their words gilded with silk and honey
Dripping from forked tongues.
It's not until the subtle meanings catch the wind and scatter that the honey turns dark,
And thick, and makes their teeth black and their hearts dull.
I wait for the splash as another like me has had her life's bridge eaten by the acid of jealousy and fear.
She screams, "THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE!"
And the muck bubbles and shifts exultant
As it silences her cries and extinguishes her fire.
Laughter falls like shards of glass from above,
Because they know the truth but never speak it.
An unwritten oath that all jail keepers vow.
Lock the truth away like a bird in a cage until its colors fade, its feathers fall, and music is only a memory.
A man dangles from a swinging cord
Halfway between the mockers and the muck.
His white collar hurts our eyes
Smooth words of redemption that almost awaken my sleeping emotions.
But then the cord breaks, and faced with the truth of our existence
The man flees back to the bridge
Our heads his stepping stones as he escapes to the sterility above.
His collar stays white,
His hands clean.
His memory is short -- he doesn't even remember why he came.
Or who sent him. He is the lucky one.
Memory haunts me. I long to forget:
How to love
How to hurt
How to breathe.
My cocoon of woe promises no future flight
It's a straight jacket of hate
And my prayers just bounce off the padded walls.
I need a knight; I get only night.
I need a hand; I get a slap.
I need understanding; I get overstepping.
I know three things:
1. Nothing will ever be the same.
2. I will never trust again.
3. You cannot will a heart to stop beating.
Sleep is my only friend, death my only goal.
That is the truth that will set me free.