Long Deflowered Poems
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The Bishops bathe in Babylon
while Princes, prancing on the lawn,
watch Queen deflowered, pale and wan.
The King dares not defend her.
The Horsemen, holding broken reins
the Morning of the Hurricanes,
sigh “it’s no use, it’s all in vain,
the Saints will soon surrender”.
They wonder why they ever came,
they have No One whom they can blame,
they have no face, they have no name,
and even less, a gender.
The empty-handed Vagabonds
smoke stale cigars, stroke faded Blondes
while waiting at the walls beyond,
but kneel as Chaos enters.
They’re gazing through the window panes
in hopes that distant Hurricanes
will twist and break their iron chains
defying life’s tormentors.
The Fantom of the Opera frowns
as feeble minded Cleric-clowns
mouth hollow hurdy-gurdy sounds
when blessing doomed dissenters.
The Pirate wields a wooden leg,
with pupils dull and visage vague,
and if by chance he spreads the plague,
it really doesn’t matter.
His Princess, pale, no longer feigns,
foresees instead (down ancient lanes)
the coming of the Hurricanes -
the Stones stir, staring at her.
And Jackals scrape the river bed
as Savants soothe the underfed
and Crows, collecting scattered bread,
adorn, with crumbs, the platter.
The Jokers Wild and One Eyed Janes
weep, winding up in rundown trains
mid whispers of the Hurricanes,
and Priests refuse to christen.
They’re fleeing from the Leprechauns,
the cuckoo birds, the dying swans;
while pitching pennies into ponds
their eyes opaquely glisten.
The spectral Clocks with spindled spokes
remind the Mimes to tell the Folks
the time of day and other jokes,
yet No One looks to listen.
The Hunchbacks with contorted canes
galumph before the Hurricanes,
in melted sleet, in frozen rains,
in bruised and battered sandals.
Their Groans engulf the land of gulls,
the land of stones, the land of nulls,
and lurk between the blackened lulls,
for Nighttime brooks no candles.
Their prayers to Dogs and Nuns and Dukes,
(and other long forgotten Spooks)
are more than random crazed rebukes,
though taunting to the Vandals.
Continued in Part 2
Maybe i should become a toad,
And lurk in the british embassy.
Among the chairs and heart-broken files,
Sitting on millions of deflowered flies.
Then when they're boarding the plane
Will i hop and hop towards them.
And as they often do to me
Will they ignore and erect their attention.
And then will i climb the stairs,
And saunter till i get up there.
And beneath one of their shoes
will i shelter. That my safety can
in Joyful dreg abound. Then as
The plane takes off,will i be
elated,to behold Washington.
But what if he steps on me?
What if...? What will i do?
If i am a Jelly-Fish,
Glowing in pride beneath the sea.
And my existence is special,
To tamkalash and all disgusting folks?
Then will i swim from Nigeria,
To different parts of the world.
And as the dawn dawn will i
transform,when Washington is
Wrought in my sight.
But what if a wanderer wanders
to my path,coupled with his prey holder,
To withheld breath from me?
What if he catches me in his net?
What if...? What will i do?
Oh i know! I'll bid my worms.
Till i become an eagle.
And i'll soar and soar from
coast to coast,ridges to ridges,
Hills to hills,mountains to
mountains,valleys to valleys,
stream to stream and after
the long and streneous adventure.
Will i be elated by glittering roads,
flowered streets,virgin cars,
pleasant houses,gorgeous damsels,
diligent Juveniles,rigid electricity.
Boasting companies- Washington's regalias.
Then will i mount on a fig tree,
And transform to the real me.
And measure the beauty of the land,
With my heart,eyes and hands.
But what if as i soar in pride
My rival denies me of my stand?
What if her air blows pass me
And press breath out of my heathen draws?
Or if a egg-bellied littlun,
Fed with curry goats points his arrow
To make of me a fun?
What if he aim at me?
What if he aimed right?-
Heaven forbid!,stop thinking that way.
But what if?
What if....? What will i do?
But of onething i'm i sure,
And to my moistured heart is it pure.
That before the death of this year,
Loose the knot,i'll be there!
17:26:08:20:43
Because She Craved the Very Best
by Michael R. Burch
Because she craved the very best,
he took her East, he took her West;
he took her where there were no wars
and brought her bright bouquets of stars,
the blush and fragrances of roses,
the hush an evening sky imposes,
moonbeams pale and garlands rare,
and golden combs to match her hair,
a nightingale to sing all night,
white wings, to let her soul take flight ...
She stabbed him with a poisoned sting
and as he lay there dying,
she screamed, "I wanted everything!"
and started crying.
Keywords/Tags: Rose, Roses, Flowers, Materialism, Possessions, Shallow, Shallowness, Greedy, Greediness, Desire, Lust, Craving, Cravings, Gift, Gifts, Gift-Giving, Ingratitude, Ungrateful, Ungratefulness, Pomp, Circumstance
What The Roses Don’t Say
by Michael R. Burch
Oblivious to love, the roses bloom
and never touch . . . They gather calm and still
to watch the busy insects swarm their leaves . . .
They sway, bemused . . . till rain falls with a chill
stark premonition: ice! . . . and then they twitch
in shock at every outrage . . . Soon they’ll blush
a paler scarlet, humbled in their beds,
for they’ll be naked; worse, their leaves will droop,
their petals quickly wither . . . Spindly thorns
are poor defense against the winter’s onslaught . . .
No, they are roses. Men should be afraid.
The Monarch’s Rose or The Hedgerow Rose
by Michael R. Burch
I lead you here to pluck this florid rose
still tethered to its post, a dreary mass
propped up to stiff attention, winsome-thorned
(what hand was ever daunted less to touch
such flame, in blatant disregard of all
but atavistic beauty)? Does this rose
not symbolize our love? But as I place
its emblem to your breast, how can this poem,
long centuries deflowered, not debase
all art, if merely genuine, but not
“original”? Love, how can reused words
though frailer than all petals, bent by air
to lovelier contortions, still persist,
defying even gravity? For here
beat Monarch’s wings: they rise on emptiness!
He'd return after decades
Spent in imagination. Month
spent in reality. He'd return to the
House of comedy,here,to crack
an heart-taking,wits-arresting,Emotions-
devouring,Land-quaking joke.
He'd return with a robust neck
Seasoned with weeping nerves.
The joke cracker,Let's hear.....
Before he return'd
The gym-ed rodents embroided
with pleasant 6-packs had
summoned a meeting-Impromptu-
Behing the large hall-Hall of fame!
They'd discuss'd-
"Welcome,ye family of pointed
teeths. We're here to announce the
pending return of the Jester. So,with
deep regards floating on apprehended stats.
Let's invade the large hall- Hall of fame.
And destroy his valuable documents.
Let's give room for hanky-panky. Let's
disorganize his hood...."
In succession of their meeting,
They'd prick the discussion by it hem.
And now after he'd return.
All we heard and will hear is;
"A Cracking news that's about
to break- It takes time before news
are broken here-. The federal territory
has been invaded by gyming rats
full of unpreceedented mights and stats.
We would like to elate your heart that
the palace is disorganized....."
And after that,
they'll deep their deflowered hand
Into the draining purse. One hundred
and fifty thousand dollars to buy insecticide
to eliminate
these terrorists-gyming rats.
After that they'll demolish the
Palace on accounts of the terrorists
providence. They'll tame their hearts,
They'll tame their wealths. They'll
tame their consciousness,patience,love
and mistake them for cleverness' Vice.
I've heard them talk of it.
I've seen it happened.
Rats now are braced with
heart pouncing powers. I haven't
heart of this before; Rats with
Bewitching 6-packs,luring hearts
Into corruption. Very soon,
They'll say,the terrorist have
consumed '1000000 dollars' before
His arrival. They'll say,yea,they'll
fashion a qoute from their glottis company;
"None can be underestimated,even rodents
are now terrorists."
Hmmm...... This Jesters!
17:28:08:15:16
(A lone voice whispers)
Will you
Come all
Yes,
Yea and dance
For
In the deepest woods
In that old
Woodland grove
Something stirs
An electric emotion
Consuming the very air
Can you feel
Its pulse
And all consuming
Power
Would you attend as
An invited guest
With me
And dance
Go wild
And let your mind and soul
Be held prisoner
As they are
Slowly deflowered
Beyond all worldly
Fears
As unknown spirits advance
Would you still attend
As a guest of mine
To visit my dark midnight
Winter Festival
To communicate
And bind with the
Deep divine
To be totally lost
And absorbed in its
Yellow ring
Of supernatural lights
Which will
Swirl all around us
As we breathe in
Its ancient dust
To watch and wonder
At the
Opening of hidden gateways
Above us
And below us
A spell to be cast in dark skies
By illuminated souls
Between time and space
As we prepare and stand
Hidden from
The mundane
Human race
To see a new brave world
Soon ours to summon
And command
Where
Nothing but goodness
And love will fill our old
Souls
For tonight
We will dance
With our pagan ancestors of old
It's our time of year
As we will
This supernatural festival
To arrive
To embrace maybe painful
Embers and emotions
Of Winter's long past
That may have survived
To then
Embrace old Mother Spring
The goddess of all living things
As she slowly awakes
And begins to gradually
Materialise
A flurry of cold memories
Hidden in mystical snow
To beguile
Will
You dance
Beyond wet
Tears for people
We always remember
Who have died
As we may cry
For tonight
On this pagan eve
We shall live forever
For we baptised
To be eternal
And will never
Die beyond
All who can truly see
As their reawakened
Souls
Cry out
Blessed Be
Copyright John Duffy
Mama you missed a part….
You never told me;
You groomed me mama.
You taught me to walk and talk like a lady:
And that I did.
But Mama you forgot,
Mama you skipped a part.
Mama, through your eyes;
I saw myself accomplished
A willed woman ready and mastered to conquer the world:
You groomed me to love the ones in my life
And I will receive the best in turn.
And that I did
But mama your words were of short.
Mama you skipped a part.
Mama, you told me…..
You told me to be of a strong heart.
To get up where men had stomped me down;
And Mama I did
I got up and fought when I was weak.
But Mama my strength is now void.
Mama you skipped a part.
Mama, you told me to guard my principles’…
I did, but Mama why can a man be so cruel.
Mama I guarded myself;
But with one flick of a page;
I was robbed.
I was robbed by a man whose woes perceived my doom.
Mama you forgot ;
Mama, you skipped a part.
Mama, you told me to love myself.
I did, but how do I do so now.
When my feathers have been plucked right up to the stem;
Mama I can never fly again with a broken wing.
Mama I can never have a stride like that of a queen.
Mama, you forgot.
Mama you skipped a part.
Mama, I am a broken angel.
Mama, I am now incomplete.
Mama, I am now walking with a crooked heel.
Mama, I cannot conquer the world anymore.
Mama, you skipped a part.
Mama, how do I unveil myself from the shame of being devoured?
Devoured by a man I know not.
But a man whose barbarism I will remember for the rest of my days.
Mama, you forgot to tell me there would be such
Mama, it slipped your mind to inform me how to deal with it.
Mam, you did not,
You did not teach me to get up form such demeanoring savageness.
Mama being raped, Mama deflowered.
Mama where did I go wrong...???
Mama you forgot.
Mama, you skipped a part...........
"If I could turn you on,
if I could drive you out of your wretched mind,
if I could tell you
I would let you know."
R. D. Laing
Ronald Laing
was a troubled psychotherapist
and a notoriously terrible non-dad
who heard dark voices in double-binding schizophrenia.
Knots of contradictory negative emotions,
needs,
troubling demands and troubled expectations
non-verbally underlying attachments,
sensed relationships
between two people
and within families,
and other,
larger
eco-politically Stated, and officious, Voices.
I need you
to want to be with me
not because I need you
to care for me
and about us.
I do not need you (society, Earth)
to want to be with me
because I need you
to care for me
and about us;
regeneratively double-bonded.
Laing could not see
these two "not"s
as both/and resiliently knotted
at peace with each other's harmonic in-between strains;
The geometrics
of and in-between not-not
can equal a positive.
His solution was inclusive rebellion.
I wonder what mine will be,
has been.
I hope for a 2020 revolution
revisioning not-not
health-wealth
sexual-sensory
natural-spiritual
left/west-right/east hemispheric
yang-yin
strength-flow
outside-inside
precessive-recessive (B. Fuller)
outgoing-incoming
ex/preformed cognition-informative emotion
not yet/still polypathic-polyphonic
holonic integrity-holy synergy
ecological prime relationship-theological compassion
(+)polynomial + (-,-)polynomial = +/-,- Win/Win ZeroZone,
multicultural
Integrally co-redemptive bicameral 20-20 re-creations,
left-brain secularly metric
and right-brain sacredly mindful
Every sacred day and night
psychotherapeutic choice is more resilient
when right-brain integral attachment rooted
rather than left-brain detachment deflowered.
As the day dusked yesterday,
The deflowered sun shone down
with those eyes of a goldfish
'KATH’, got a light; 'EER’ lit a room;
And ‘AH’ illumined the night
No sound of a thing in your presence.
No bullet whirr, no horn blares
Not even the tick tock of the clock.
And thoughts of how good it is
To smell life and to sniff an ambush
on a friend
Newly met under an unsolicited
climate, crowned it all.
As bloated black eyes remained
promptly nudging on her fancy face
The blink of her eyes lasted on her
glance like a mirror
Reflecting how lucky Africa could be
To breathe this crevice of word out
in an ancient city
For pleasure, treasure and tender…
And how good it is to every ear…
Those cheeks in the dark that
dazzled joy and sorrow betwixt…
Is these all a happenstance…? I felt
the drip! Drip!! Drip!!!
Of the succulent drizzling rain, whilst
seated under the shade of the home
of sanctity
And the thought that someone has
to helm the hound of your name for
real, dawned on me. At night I
dreamt without sleeping; sleepless
thoughts of insomnia ravaged me,
yet my intellect hatched; and
became a slither of beauties of
mangoes, pineapples and roses
likened to you.
Yet how good to prick the secret fruit
to speak and felt her cajoling voice.
In my muffled thoughts, I slew my
intentions in cold blood and rolled
the inconveniences of those
moments in a raffia mat and hid
them in a secret blanket.
The cool weather speaks gale and
blew its wind from the north. I
shivered beneath my ribs, yet
unnoticed to her. I stood and smiled
in espionage and intrigue.
Whilst enduring the stark misery of
the chilled weather. It was over and
out, yet her name blots my thoughts
until cock crow…
This is PG-13! While googling, I accidentally bumped into something I wrote seven years ago. Only vaguely remember it. No one on the site where I posted it commented. Expect nothing less here. :)
School-Daze Dreaming
From the patio I watched her
Silhouette behind the shade
The allurement of Diana
Quivered in eleventh grade
Through a warm wind I still shivered
From those curves of treachery
While she reveled in my weakness
At her sin's abilities
That she'd beckon one so lonely
Drifting as a single cloud
Her wicked school girl chastity
Like a paragon to proud
As her image was uncovered
When the shades were opened wide
Through my rigidness I pondered
Should libido be my guide
For my own demented ego
Born of promises so pure
Could not wallow any longer
In a place this insecure
So, I harnessed my stiletto
Unrequited for too long
Turned my back on absolution
Let the sheath fulfill the prong
As emotions overwhelmed me
And my hands unleashed her breasts
Squeezing demons from her bosom
Til myself became possessed
And her muzzled screams of horror
Through her separated knees
Where the warm, red blood was oozing
From her now deflowered tease
The tintinnabulation
Signals class is at its end
I awaken from my stupor
With contempt I say, "Dismissed"
Quickly, students flee the doorway
Save one girl of seventeen
And I stare in vexed amazement
At the object of my dream
From her desk, thighs barely parted
First a smile and then a wink
And her steam contorts my vision
To a pedestal of pink
.....
A reluctant sun expresses its last light
As the golden moon becomes a thief once more
Landing on her mound of Venus late that night
Carries us on tides to Aphrodite's shore
Here she comes like shaft of the sun, walking,
As sullen eyes and widened mouth feast –
Dubbed the slayer of love; the goddess of lust – all stalking
Libidinously like a fun starved beast
Beauty so hypnotic, enslaving whoever looked twice
Ensnared kings, drunks, gamblers and sorcerers
Ducked in her den as hankering pleasure floats itchy eyes –
Loyal lovers of lusts and murderer of murderers
Oh! That glance, that peep, that squinty stare
Stolen and tattooed in intrinsic view
They yearned and ogled the sorely rare
Beautiful seductress, damning all affluence in lieu
Of love; that cliché of emotional agony!
“Oh Madina! Come live in my gallery of thought”
All wooed – Could she be the protégé of Cleopatra’s progeny?
One kiss, one touch and one night they sought
Dressed in Roman negligee – escorted by colourful butterflies
Her footstep is melodious like sounds of hymns from David’s harp;
Distrait eyes unveils her body in pendulous sighs
Her covetous peers gathered careless ears - and would carp
Tales of her flirty beauty probing the voguish classic
Being, they burst the rumor bag! ‘Is it true she once killed death
With her breath - and her smile once deflowered a monastic’, -
Isn’t she the con-lover? Ah, her kinds are dearth!
Madina! Madina!! Madina!!! Watch out…
They awed as her poised step made a blooper
And fell off lurching zigzag the stairs – a feeble shout
That revealed her mask of beauty broke the order
Gleeful mockeries basked the puzzled spectators…
Her long hair had eclipsed herself from a polished glass
And toed face-down overwhelmingly at the feet of waiting fornicators
Broken bones and bruises dissolved her beauty; - all snubbed the lass