Long Deafeningly Poems
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Savvy scientists scoff at the soul:
Can't poke it, prod it, pinch it, probe it
~ and clearly can't claim to contemplate...
an empirical, egg-headed, experimental
all-enveloping ecstasy of erudite exactitude
elegantly and eloquently embossed, embedded
~ in its entropy of effervescing exegesis.
Whereas
I know of no one -- nowhere -- nasty or normal
knock-kneed, neck-naped, nose-gnarled
neuron-nitpicked or nucleic-acid-nested
Who
denies indubitably or dubiously, definitely
or deafeningly--deranged, demented,
debauched or denatured -- the sacred
sanctuary unsullied, where sits, serene and
silent, the small, still sound of said soul
swilling, swelling, seeking, sailing, soaring---
sensitively, sensorily, yea sentimentally---
til he sees, then sighs, then seizes
so surreptitiously the serum of sentience
Within!
Entry in "An Inner Knowing, an Absolute Feeling, My Mystical Soul
Self Poetry Contest," sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
Write me a poem, urged the Lover
As I slipped into bed with him,
Fearing the tremors of the night
As heavy rain poured outside,
Bidding thunder to growl its boisterous song
Compelling lightning to dance in ungraceful ways!
Why should I, asked I in a detached tone
While keeping my eyes glued to the bedsheets
Why should I? Would you even care to read
If I wrote for you?
Why should I not, asked the Lover in a dangerous tone
Can you not see the genuineness of my intentions
Reflected in the expression of my eyes?
Can you not hear the laments of my heart
In my deep and profound voice?
Can you not feel the booming beats of my heart
As it somersaults each time I merely think of you?
I lifted my eyes and let them plunge in the expanse of his
Pray, how I am to write for him
If I did so, my heart would be left bared and defenseless
If I did so, my feelings would be exposed and disrobed
If I did so, the shield protecting my vulnerability
Would be thrown off, broken into millions of pieces
And I would be left unsteady and unguarded!
But the expanse of the Lover's eyes pulled me closer
In these I could see how stars birth
In these I could see what lies beyond the veil of the universe
In these I could see my meaning
In these my pulsating annoyances felt soothed
In these I chose to plunge, even if I can swim not
And soon, I was no more in control of myself,
Barely conscious that outside, the rain poured harsher
While thunder sang still more deafeningly
And lightning danced, caring not if anyone was watching it!
When he turned over to sleep
I got out of bed, opened my diary
And wrote a poem for him!
16 October 2017
No rocket surgeon,
nor brain scientist called upon
but only Rudolf the red nose reindeer
solicited as psychological mentor
yes...undoubtedly countless
decades removed since *****
(not very gay at all!)
bodily changing phenomena
from thine angst riddled
biological metamorphosis allows me to peer
with greater theft of mine precious youth stolen,
via piercing overbear
ring mailer daemons,
when mine tender age did near
cusp whence onset of puberty
clapped development tight as if by
a doppelganger mutineer
warp and weft of mine lifetime tapestry
mine acute perception doth lear
as threads got tightly woven
into mine casual knitwear
though pubescent phase
wrought with oppressive foresight
interwoven with jeer
ring bullying hmm...maybe thine ability
to distill self actualization
extant among interlinear
teenage stage viewable
during my youthful days, but clouded over asper
mine more vivid perspective here
from this present moment
ha...amusing insight from present perch
devoid of adolescent glare
sire re: brill grade
do lobes gleam freer,
now with insight aye ear
rate at such pitch 'ere
perfect hindsight aye declare,
yet as a much younger self
when I hapt to be a boy, acuity seemed oblivious
to perceive via sight and sound
what social cues visceral, (visual,
and audiological) seems crystal clear
revisiting non verbal
awkward teenage mutant
ninja turtle memories, that now deafeningly blare
at the threshold of ear
splitting decibels, how hard of hearing human
(nada so) subtle in retrospect, I am aware
interpersonal nuances clear as the tune
Doris Day Que será, será
did voice, a catchy air.
bloodied fingers madly claw
caskets hermetically sealed
bullet riddled bodies crazily didst draw
triggered bloodshed tsunami,
where logic insists there must be a flaw
precious priceless proud loved ones demise
festers "stunned disbelief" to gnaw
perhaps shell shocked next of kin
utter primal wails resemble distorted hee haw
lifeless loved ones alive just moments ago,
these special darlings (dozen plus youth)
premature death deprived
never delight one or more in-law
whereat deceased brides and grooms
denied pledging troth
from permanently stilled jaw,
while bereaved
inconsolably cry deafeningly, drenching
cloths cupping raw cheeks,
a cruel prank sans burden thrust upon a maw
(whose womb once housed
forever lifeless son or daughter),
rigor mortis out buzzfeeds Stihl chain saw
shrieking, how,
this "NON FAKE" living nightmare
cast an excruciating pall,
whence diabolic demons lear
into the opened seam,
where under a sheltering sky Gaia doth hear
the deafening lament against
a cool, calm and collected
frenzied maniac whose flare
ring nostrils adrip with rage
exchanged slugs of lead for dear
lee departed souls,
where dark clouds may never clear
as the living suffer horrendous psychic hemorrhage
agonizingly bid their own
flesh and blood affixed atop a bier.
Form:
In darkness deep, where shadows creep,
I find myself, lost and weak.
No air to breathe, no light to see,
A suffocating world surrounding me.
In barren lands, where hope has died,
Hopeless tears within me reside.
No air to breathe, no solace near,
Just whispers of sorrow so deafeningly clear.
Silent screams echo in the night,
Lost in a void, devoid of sight.
No air to breathe, no escape found,
A drowning soul forever bound.
Abyssal depths consume my soul,
Seeping sadness taking its toll.
No air to breathe, no respite in sight,
A soul struggling, losing the fight.
But through the chaos, a flicker ignites,
A glimpse of hope amidst the darkest of nights.
A ray of light, piercing the despair,
A promise of restoration, my soul to repair.
No longer suffocating, a gasp I take,
Revitalized, my spirit shall awake.
With every breath, life's sweetness I receive,
No air to breathe, but now, I truly believe.
For in the depths, where shadows lie,
There exists a strength that cannot die.
No air to breathe, yet I shall go on,
Embracing the darkness, until the light is dawned.
I feel the need to say a real loud poem,
A poem full of WAILS!! HOWLS!! and YELPS!!
It doesn’t need to be about anything at all,
But if it is then I guess that that helps.
AAAARR!! Now that feels better,
BOOM!! THRASH!! BAP!! WHAM!! and BAM!!!
Just like in the comics of old there’s a VRAP!! SMACK!! ZAP!!
Then a CRUNCH!! and a BIFF!! and a SLAM!!
Actually, in the comics of old, it was profoundly loud,
With all the yelling and fighting.
Those words were in yellow, in bright red shiny stars.
It was all so thrillingly exciting.
With a KABOOM!! and a THUD!! the hero saved the damsel.
Then a POP!! and a sudden KABANG!!
The hero was muscle bound, long hair and strong jaw.
Always one man against a whole gang.
Imagine writing poems where words can be invented,
Just block letters with two exclamations.
BONK!! or WHACK!! followed by WHUMF!! or PHOOMPH!!
Even your words are your own creations.
Written 19th march 2016 but never for any contest..... Till now :)
Written: December 28, 2023
______________________________________
flounder in fictional field
—squeals and squeaks
Whimpers and growls
Sylphic swaying,
of flames spewing,
inwardly throbbing
of my nostril
lobotomized cosmic orbs.
scent of cinnamon
and coral on a rosary
interlaced of aurulent rimes.
Shrouded your burgundy &
coniferous ravines
loop of vitality
& unbearable redemption
in spanning eons,
ineffable wonder cradled
by melodic hums and buzzes
of lazy heat
and whistles of pitches
of endless hymns
echoes of choral chants
sung by soloists.
black ravens croaking,
like peals of doom
dewy allelomorphs
with waft-aloft wings
angels of ethereal whisper
of thunder,
that rang deafeningly
through the crevices,
of anodal motion
scurrilous loci
modeled as diploid.
Interpreting Poetry (mine)
Similar to scrutinizing
an abstract painting,
this author begetting
obscure words dumbfounding
readers, he eludes
(no shade tree fore rest)
clear cut discerning,
yet oft times his words
garner reviews raving
esoteric word choice,
how mind boggling
to this logophile despite
more than one reading
brow (sir) furrowed -
cognitive region scrunching,
no matter intent concentration
utter futility attempting
bedeviled comprehension, whether
literary master (me? ha...
not yet), among pantheon partying,
but nonetheless birthing
present day profoundly thought provoking,
undoubtedly tirelessly expending
mental energy eventually exhausting
effort in futility understanding,
asper mine stymied
linkedin attention getting
(then just as quickly losing)
registering resignation defeat alluding
to challenge physical prowess daunting
engagement well matched savvy sparring
partner, or possibly life
and death battling
against unwittingly aggressive brutal questing
archenemy, sans toward all living
species wretched nemesis ultimately deciding
mortality tacitly accepted proffering
transient longevity refusing
to compromise, haggle, negotiate,
et cetera casting
deadened demise of victor or villain
all thru civilization starring
as unopposable tour
de force quietly biding
end date, versus indiscriminately snatching
hero, heroine, coward,
et cetera requiring
impossible ransom while donning
mask of Melpomene
(Tragedy), or trumpeting
Thalia (Comedy), no exit stage door left
only joie de vivre
until last second ticking
unbeknownst unexpected, and uninviting
deathly hallows ringtone alarming
anonymous (oh Henry)
words worth struggling
to hash meaningfulness, viz
finite existence germinating
since birth, yet
terminal realization pressing
with greater frequency when aging,
and deafeningly ear splitting
amplitude bite the bullet clamoring
to tread welcome matt acquiescing
unavoidable phase of dying
devoid of any bargain, but requiring
unconditionally punishingly suffering
silent non binding
resolution, no exemption decrying
unfair contractual obligation, nor unionizing
worth a fig yore of
speech as cosmic arbiter
blithely doth shear - pruning,
without rhyme nor reason meeting
identical fate toward everyone
even posthumous destiny yours truly awaiting.
Case in point comprises emotional state of euphoria
would deafeningly, definitely, deliciously get
frenziedly expelled from stadium. Roe ting for
“our boys” packing every last seat in the bleachers
all manner of humankind would (during lulls)
Instagram, Kindle, Messenger, Outlook, Quicken,
Snapchat, Twitter. Santander, Verizon,Wells Fargo
might be sponsors for major competitive challenge.
Zero tolerance imposes winning at all costs versus
grievous miserable rapacious violent yawping
linkedin loss outcome of sporting events. Under
stand able home team owns an advantage (true
for rival players on their turf) predicated on avid
loyal fans boosting morale from family members,
friends, neighbors, et cetera. The ear splitting
roaring cheering hoopla emanating from spectators
(housed in relatively close proximity to handsomely
paid putting Pontius Pilate and bad ass Brutus brutes
rolled into one mean human fighting machine.
This previous comment meant as an honorable
kickstarter, hyperbolic endearment. My humblest apology
if said statement misinterpreted as a NON off fence sieve
strong moderate slight against any creed, race, religion,
et cetera. I merely sought an analogously effective
impact asper these hypothetical Popeye muscle
bulging arms length professional athletes plush residences
lodged in general metropolitan area to rubber baby
buggy bumper screaming banshee spectators. A
winning score affiliated with bruising, cutthroat,
dynamo...fierce-some giant, heaving, indomitably
jinxed, “killer” macho no nonsense, outlandish packed
quintessentially robust searing troopers translates
into utter screaming, quaking outrageous merciless
krazy individuals generating ecstatic cacophony
THE DAILY PARSER Vol. 1, No. 26 — Late Edition — Price: One Silent Letter
ENGLISH CHARGED WITH CONTRADICTION, CENTURIES OF SILENCE
Detective Baffled as Language Refuses to Explain Itself; Shrimp Also Involved
By Our Grammar Correspondent
A thousand-year investigation into the English language reached a breaking point last night when officers from the Department of Linguistic Homicide opened a formal inquiry into "chronic, unprovoked contradiction" and "generational silence with no documented cause."
The primary suspect, English, could not be reached for comment. Sources say this is typical.
Among those brought in for questioning:
the letter K, present in the word "knife" for centuries without once making a sound;
a shrimp identifying as both "jumbo" and “shrimp”;
and a duplicate of itself calling itself "Original Copy," which, when asked to clarify, would only say "yes."
IN THIS ISSUE:
— Full interrogation transcript, pg. 2
— Psychologist called in after suspects stonewall detective for six hours, pg. 4
— Detective faces press, admits "no comment" himself, pg. 6
Weather: Deafeningly silent, with a chance of bittersweet showers.