Long Defunct Poems
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“The Great Riddle”
Humanism became a new religion
in a world where romancing gods
at war sanctifying acts of violence
for their own levels of commandments,
became defunct, monotheism at odds
walked inside the vessels of mortal existence
there also,
inside the great
I am,
an image
lives
and speaks
the sacriligious poet
writing and speaking
listening to others
all the words gone wrong
considering rehoming
after death,
there are many houses...there,
what should gods
and warring religions
matter then?
Inside
the great
I am,
heresies romancing apostates
perilous poets and
all consuming clerics
all made
from the one
image of a man
living life
from the confusing words,
read, written and spoken
sleeping together
uncomfortably
like warring lovers
blanketed under harsh covers
of different books
seeking something sweet
riddles to be answered
by judges after their death
when all do meet
standing around
the communal fire
burning all their books
peace came
to be
upon them
no longer
did they
speak in riddles
a common knowledge
all words transparent
one voice heard
its beating heart succinct,
yet terribly misunderstood,
eventually felt
held
in hands
after death
the Reborn,
eventually
understood
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"Out of the eater came something to eat,
and out of the strong came something sweet."
Obdurate goat tangles rough knotted rope
Stuck beside shadowy friend, Silky Oak
Hedonistic prisoner capricorn, cheap trope
Ethics remain riddle, morals mere joke
Towered timber utters truth in its creak
Canopy clapping hands crush recollection
Billion fingered Silky Oak, silver limbs oblique
Obscure overlooked sins, a whispered detection
Keeps capricorn unkempt, tethered to trunk
Smooth curled horns apply keratin to bark
Scaffold of decency rubbed back, defunct
Gloss of molestation, shamed oblivion hark
Hefty hormonal avenger of societial conform
Ediface eroded by wiles of willful exhibition
Tortoiseshell taupe noxious horned capricorn
Weapon wield deposit encircles oak, dark depiction
Mirror denies texture, mirthful obstreperous ignores
Shine diminishes structure, erect neck narrow
Malnourished foliage, goat's gritty diet implore
Capricorn's carnal gyrations abate, restore marrow
Fractured cracked tenacity, tree's foreboding scream
Matchstick snap collages goatman gonzo in debris
Collapsed capricorn of devilish demeanour obscene
Scruple niggard gruesome morbid marauder buried
22nd August 2021
Written for Contest : This Or That Volume 6.
Tethered To A Moment
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
Purely Fictional Poem
Robin Hood, 2020
Out of Sherwood Forest,
here me come!
To run for President,
I am the one.
A brazen thief, to sweep
your 401k's clean!
And overburden worker
birds with high taxes,
after all...
I am the King of Mean!
.
With hatred shall you see the
feathers of other birds of a
different color.
I have pitted some of you who
fly....
Writing "BIRDISM"across the
skies and blame my fellow runner.
Victimhood, yes, may it be our
rallying cry!
.
Of course, the poor will never
see the money!
It's only for govermental
workers in fine offices,cushy
and plenty sunny.
I know how to squeeze your
bleeding hearts,
In order to conjure up hatred for
your fellow birds with any money!
Beware, then, my deadly,poison
political, razor sharp arrows!
Lest you fall,like millions of other,
unaware, braindead sparrows!
"You were created to form your
own nest."
That's the lies my opponent crows!
The gall~why he reads from a
defunct book, the Bible, no less.
But I say, pass all your freedoms,
and all seeds over to me.
The sweat of your brow belongs
to humanity, not to thee!
One bird, one vote!
R. Hood
July 31,2019
3:30 pm PST
Form:
Eroding names
on long-faced headstones.
Graves marooned
in a patch of the past
while 2019 blares unseeing
around the forgotten lot.
An old-fangled America
tucked between gas station and strip mall,
a small deposit
of once horse-drawn bones.
A haze of traffic emissions
half-hides the secreted,
the tucked away, the half seen,
yet,
there are whispers on mossy mounds,
mouth-lost echoes
of forked-over farmers,
matrons of dispersed parishes,
tanners still reeking of
raw mule skins
An olden daze leans toward us,
tilts into our future,
slides discreetly sideways 'round
a ‘Wendy's’ car-park.
A biker filling his tank;
beneath his dew rag.
voices sweat into his skin,
he shudders in the warm sunlight,
thinks about a cold soda long defunct.
A cloudy memory follows a teenager,
toward a newly opened store,
but it won’t live long.
Nothing around here survives
longer than the bygones.
written on 8th April 2012.
All by myself, alone, I softly chant your name,
Own up for our defunct weeping bond and I take the blame.
It was our love very pure and not lusty lure,
Unsure, kaput and insecure I thirstily quest for love’s cure……
Cannot truly imagine that I let you go,
But for us to be happy I did so,
I own up and take the blame,
To silently blow off our love’s flame…..
My heart I am sure you did not know,
Was tattered and torn from the time I let you go,
Ours was a bond carefree and Boehme,
I Own up for our broken weeping bond and take the blame.
I wish our bonds could have fondly stayed on,
Woven intertwined with emotions, enameled with love’s lacquerers firmly bound.
But I still take the blame,
And not dampen loves flickering flame with a sense of shame……
Till our laden guilt we overcame….
Too late for me as this body I had lit and set aflame.
From above as my body burned,
Saw her woefully drunken self as she wailed in lament and yearned.
...and with a sip, the saddened lass,
Drained the half full, half empty glass.
As scorched sorrow burned her brain,
She drained the dregs that did remain.
There in the bottom, she saw her world,
Amid the amber liquid swirls, somewhat twirled but largely unfurled
but to amend her fate
it is now too late,
i take the blame.
i take the blame …………
.....
These thoughts we frame and title
hang now from long defunct dendrites,
made branchless by the passé and pointless
now all strung-up upon threadbare strings.
Ones or twice the hanged are molested
by magpies seeking baubles for their nests,
yet most go unrobbed and remain as still as death,
or they twist in chill uncaring winds.
These thoughts shaped to mind-images,
collected together in empty galleries,
these works nibbled at; edited by blind mice
who then hurriedly hide from sight
the slipshod carpentry of our words.
These portraits of spent passions
may still be gazed upon
by the idle few, who beyond all reason
choose to elect a passing cloud
to admire or decry,
plucking out that feathery fragment,
as if it were the real feature
of the faceless and yet untold.
It was summer time, a time for planting and reaping
and when it came to my dad well he could make that garden sing
He spent hours nurturing his plum tomatoes, while I his offspring
could only admire his patience, dedication and caring from afar.
An immigrant of Italy he knew everything there was to know
about big fat juicy tomatoes. He knew they needed time to grow,
and I knew there was a little humor to be had here, in toe.
"Dad, how long will it be before we see our first tomato?" I asked
" Oh not for a while" he answered, then the sun suddenly flashed
Time for a little fun in the sun I thought, off to the store I went
came back with a big fat tomato. I hung it on the plant with some
twine then called him over with an eager voice
"Look dad we got our first tomato, isn't it great ! " I exclaimed
he investigated with a grin, soon my lie had been defunct, defamed
that was a summer when it rained and rained and rained,
we got lots of tomatoes that year, and most of them we canned.
What I never will forget, is the love in my father's eyes,
every time he smiled like that, I was always left with a feeling,
that I had just won the gold prize.
Glancing at my watch I dash outside,
whatever the motive behind this constant pressure,
mindful of a less than gorgeous sky,
chill-induced pitfalls lay ahead,
to do list stuck on kitchen back door frame,
browsed upon for one more final check,
life-long navy tote bag now in hand,
smart phone stuffed quite awkwardly inside
a pale cream pocket,
reckless as the day would soon reveal,
in retrospect my concentration failed me,
winter black ice patch wanton downfall,
to worsen matters aforementioned IPhone
slipped right out,
spinning, wobbling, shuddering, dervish that I am,
but somehow I regained that vital balance,
albeit by margins close and nothing else,
IPhone screen split on impact,
this harsh splintered thud said
as much if not much more,
I should have seen this incident a mile off,
weatherwise a knowledgeable boffin’s futile lapse,
at least I wasn’t injured which must count,
but now the usual steps, the usual burden,
Care line calls, insurance, excess payment,
damaged item pouch, defunct SIM card,
the moral of this piece is pay attention,
otherwise you’ll foot a hefty bill,
and further tangled consequence at that,
perhaps a spell in overcrowded wards
The briny tears have dried
The sounding knells are stilled
The grieving crowd, dispersed
The parting pain, allayed
Benumbed lie the dead
Beneath the marble vaults
Bereft of power and prowess
Benighted and beaten.
The sun shall never cast its glorious rays
The stars shall never their brilliance shed
The breeze never shall bring tidings new
The showers shall no more drench them through
A thoughtful friend sometimes seen around
A fervent prayer at times chanted aloud
A plaited wreath, rarely laid over
A trite rite, randomly carried out
There’s none left to mourn or weep
Nor anyone to sing, sigh or sob
Leaving the dead to rot in the closure of graves
To life’s alluring charms, the dear depart.
Cold as clay the dead lie so still
To be feasted on by maggots and the worms
Life with all its glory – defunct
Its fever and fret too – extinct.
How in vain we run after wealth
The power and position we deem so great
Shall come to naught within Time’s gloomy vault
Yet we run and yet we straggle behind.
In vain ends our travail for might
Inglorious is our quest after fame
Transient turn the riches, we garner
Short lived is their gleam and glitter.
Oh Lord! Lead us not into illusory charms
Deliver us of our avarice to hoard
For all that is born and made
‘Must consign to death and come to dust.’
Placed Third
March. 1. 2022
'G'. Give me a New Poem- Any Form
Poetry Contest
Subject- Death
Sponsor- Constance La France
Dear Fellow Poets, One and All
As a lover and defender of freedom my whole life, I feel duty-bound to inform you, just in case you missed it, that the unthinkable has now happened.
Russia shelled the Zaporizhzhia Nuclear Power Plant in Ukraine early this morning. (Source: Associated Press, 1:45 a.m., March 03, 2022).
The plant is actually on fire now.
Should Zaporizhzhia explode, much of Europe will be exposed to deadly radiation.
Zaporizhzhia is the largest nuclear power plant in all of Europe. It is much, much larger than the one in Chernobyl which killed so many in 1986, including David Freydin's father in Kursk, 337 miles away. (David, a Chicago-area attorney, was a student of mine, 1992-1995, at Yeshivas Brisk Academy High School in Chicago, now defunct).
Make no mistake, my dear friends: Mr. Putin will be coming after everyone on this planet, esp. in Europe and the USA next -- if we don't stop him cold NOW.
I urge all of you residing in the USA to email President Biden, your two Senators in Washington, and your Representative. You can google email President Biden for example, and you will get a user-friendly site on which you can email him. Same with the others
Ask them to get off of the sidelines and start leading the fight for freedom. The Ukrainians cannot and must not be left to fend off Russia alone! America must do her part, must take the lead.
It is time for America to employ the most powerful army in the world to defeat Russia, end the threat of nuclear war, and hopefully, silence the monster named Putin forever.
Please Keep your emails as brief as possible, and to the point. Make sure to include the nuclear threat of Zaporizhzhia, the need to lead the fight for freedom by defeating Russia militarily, and the imperative to save thousands - if not millions - of lives all over the world, including those of the legislators in Washington D.C.
Remember, Europe and America are next for Putin and Russia.
Thank you, and God bless. (Any questions on how to contact America's leaders, please soup mail me). Faith and Strength, Gershon