Long Doorstep Poems
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Since childhood,
as alexithymia struck my soul.
I kept all my hopes a secret,
hidden in a bucket of unshared dreams.
I kept my soul sweet like marshmallows,
but life has finally caught up with me,
Like a fast car overtaking recklessly,
leaving me behind in the slow lane -
and I'm running out of fuel.
I'm a vehicle of flashbacks from flashlights,
fatigued from embracing the old,
preparing for freshly brewed emotions.
Yet they deprive me at every dawn,
as new beginnings are always challenging.
Suffocating in this silent selcouth slumber,
life tries to call my bluff, when it knows,
I am the master of my masquerade.
My soul pleads with fate to usher me with belief,
but I can see death at my doorstep,
creating intrusive insecurities like termites,
eating away at branches of my sanity,
feeding upon my ordained Orphic glory.
Emotions are an interior mechanism,
so many remain fooled by my exterior,
but I'm tired of searching for salvation.
You who claim to love me,
gift me a scented candle made with your hands,
so its sentimental scent can bring me peace.
Take me to a place without a name,
without a label,
without judgment -
without suffering.
Unchain me from jeapordising January jitters.
Free me from meandering in misty meadows,
which have misplaced me in foggy morning sunshine -
bring me clarity.
These are not random thoughts, random poems,
because my ink is tired from trying to find new metaphors,
to supplement an abundance of alliterations,
portraying humble happy horizons.
Love can be a false emotion,
when we yearn for reciprocal ravishing redamancy,
but when was love ever equal or even fair?
I have no resolutions, just to breathe with ease.
Sometimes love's presence made me feel aesthetic,
but sometimes a badly drawn self portrait.
You can stay or leave, but do come back,
hold on, but not too tight that it chains my wings.
When I ascend, please, miss me,
so my spirit flies back to you.
Can you not see the irony?
We accumulate many reasons to die,
but search for only one reason to live.
Ask yourself which oxymoron are you?
Dying to live or living to die?
*Alexithymia
A person's inability to recognise or describe ones own emotions
* Redamancy
a love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; the act of loving in return
Over a period of six years, I have observed three cats not my own. Though I have owned a cat before, I'm not considered a 'pet person'.
Nor have I been a pet owner long enough to lay any claim to 'pet wisdom'. Allow me to share about two of them referred to as Cat One, and Cat Two.
One day I noticed that Cat One was starring up a tree in my front yard. I observed from my front window and discovered the target of his watch.
There was a squirrel way up high, far and away from the reach of Cat One. She made at least two attempts at climbing the tree but decided it was no use.
I'm sure she knew better, but it seems her hopes were that the squirrel would either come down or somehow slip and fall. I could have told her, "Fat chance
of that happening". I don't know how long the stand-off had been going on, but I observed the episode for about ten minutes. Finally, I sensed the cat
began to say, "I'm going home; I've had enough of this". When Cat One had crossed the street, the squirrel came from the tree and ran down my fence.
Cat Two wasted no time starring at squirrels in trees too quick for him. His preference was mice. As did Cat One, Cat Two belonged to someone because
they did not appear to be stray cats. However, I'm not sure Cat Two was properly loved and fed because it was certain that his 'mice catching abilities'
came with a price tag. I say that because on at least two occasions after he caught a mouse he would purposely deposit him right near my doorstep where
I was sure to see it. It might just be 'their way', but I felt that Cat Two was saying to me, "Okay, I have done my job; now it is time for you to do your job
and feed me". Although I was never interested in making him my own, I was always happy to feed him. I have always appreciated and respected cats and
other pets and these observations of Cat One and Cat Two gave me an even higher regard for these quiet and fuzzy friends known as cats.
08102018PoetrySoupContest, Cat Poems, Tania Kitchin, 4P
The dirt path quietly calls my name, gently pushing me to take the fist step.
My backpack strapped firmly along the curve of my spine, holding the very things I need to survive.
I am alone. I shiver. I move on.
I lift my eyes from the ground and remind myself I am strong.
The weight on my back brings comfort.
The weight on my soul brings pain.
Another step up the mountain. Another step toward my salvation.
Another step toward my freedom.
I climb. I listen. I climb. I look. I climb. I remember. I climb. I forget.
The sky above holds puffs of clouds safely in it's arms
I wonder if I will be so lucky to feel the same.
I feel wild. I feel free. I feel fierce.
I pray my god will protect me and teach me all I must learn along the way.
I miss my babies back home; their silhouettes shadow my every step.
My silhouette? Incomplete and cracked.
I climb. I smile. I climb. I laugh. I climb. I cry. I climb. I sob.
The birds above float rapidly by; chirping their praise to one another
I wonder if I will be so lucky to hear the same.
I feel alone. I feel tired. I feel pride.
I pray my god will take mercy on my soul and forgive me for the pain I have caused.
I miss the comfort of my home; it's smells and sounds wrap themselves around me.
My smells and sounds? Foreign and alive.
I climb. I ache. I climb. I hurt. I climb. I reject. I climb. I accept.
The trees sway peacefully in the breeze; lulling themselves to sleep
I wonder if I will be so lucky to do the same.
I feel lost. I feel broken. I feel hope.
I pray my god will shine the light of the sun on my path and the power of the moon on my camp.
I miss the life I once dreamed of; it's colorful and icy facade melts into opaque puddles at my feet.
My facade? Melts into nothing.
I climb. I grasp. I climb. I beg. I climb. I exhale. I climb. I surrender.
The mountain stands tall and proud before me; confident in its strength and ability.
I wonder if I will be so lucky to believe the same.
I feel raw. I feel forgiveness. I feel peace.
I pray my god will guide me down the mountain and gently lay me upon the doorstep of my home.
I miss the girl I hoped to become; her image never traveling far from my thoughts.
My image? Combines with hers to become whole.
I climb. I question. I climb. I atone. I climb. I greet. I climb. I arrive.
in the language of personal amplification
you'd think it was all a scam
to make you drop your guard
and play patty cakes with Evil
job 3 was to rearrange your molecules
into an actual you
capable of withstanding
the outcomes you generate
from a lack of detail
where science is not to be found
there is no other description that fits
praise the panoramic vista
just around the corner
it's all about the pivot points
so fat chance
among the exploding galaxies
minus the swashbuckling pistoleros and
armchair Romeos and
prisoners of doom and
fairytale living sacrifices
victory is not always a given
you have known this for years
when the paparazzi scribblers
were the Freedom Brigade
where your body parts
take on a life of their own
and deductions don't necessarily
insure your survival
and the mystery remains
job 4 is to better organize thoughts
the game of influence
is the game of influence of judgment
and in sum job 5 is to look at our expectations
and their reliance upon
the letters of the alphabet
separate inputs perceived as one
is an angel
allow me to present you
with the keys to the code
two eyeball pictures perceived as one
within the freedom to inquire
the fanatics want to stop time
that is all there is to it
in which case
a mild dose of persistence never hurts
vision is numbers is evidence
we suffer the memory of past volitions
many of them not our own
we have been engineered to be throttled
yah I took the long way home
much to the disgust
of every entity in the Universe
the list of culprits is long
you have been reading it
no surprise relief on the horizon
police could show up on my doorstep
at any suspecting instant
but the obvious comes easily to me
when I am uninhabited
that's what you get when
you stop trying to be appetizing
for those who cannot tolerate self mockery
there is a train load of pity
to add to the weight on your arms
when in doubt go for the learning
do for the learning
be for the learning
rampant imagination may be
a low grade ore
but the nuggets will blow your head to atoms
enjoy your nodule of security then
keep in mind it can quickly vaporize
in a new modality of immediacy
a traveling mosaic of instants
the next one looking back on the last
(to be continued)
From "Theater of Utter Charm"
Available on Amazon
You pop my heart so heavily to the rhythm of
“like a prayer”from Madonna.
You flare the stars at night
gleaming towards darkside.
You flame the solar sphere; before you,
I became ichor.
You wade your way into heaven;
you're a goddess.
Night with your scarlet lips,
is untamed.
A fluid from your cup is juicy
for it sends me
to cloud nine
dreaming of us in a canvass of artwork
made by rosy poetry
in a setting of dramatic show:
I, Suleiman
You, Ada
playing in Atlantics.
I come with a song,
make from it a dulcet medley
reciting how I found mathematics
at the doorstep to your heart;
my discovery of indices
sorting pleasures beneath your apartment
In a dark red light,
flaky as a clinker.
Woman, you must have thought the instruments
to twang at night
into something that crawls to the paw of the gale
knifing my ears.
call it an act of love
because at your feet
music ends and kick off.
My discovery of you is a quicklime
melding sacred love with holy kisses
over burnt and baked lies
without a draft of smoke
forming cloudburst of rue.
Allow me from your city stare
at roses crashing beneath your waist
affection that goest before your thighs
hallowed by thy bosom
into the gates of confession.
Allow me to snog thee gently
feeding on thy hipped blonde
to your gratification
lounging my spearhead along your riverside
to stir, montarily, moaning
like the touch of flowers.
Tonight woman,
I bring you a song.
Like the sun, crawling to buzz the horizon
I reveal to you the lips of a man
wearing the colour of red for the
eyes.
Do not go up
swinging between the stars
for I without you is tradegies of baked pictures.
Excel Chinagorom Michael
Lucy Locket lived amidst Lakeland Hills, where jay serenaded morning;
Like plum rainbows celebrate sunshine, with never any silent warning.
Lucy was merely twenty years old, like a peach rose, dusted with dew;
And she was also a dutiful teacher, unveiling what children never knew.
Lucy liked to sew and to garden, like green nature, roving everywhere,
Recalling lavish, sunset skies we used to view, in the colors of vanity fair.
Kitty Fisher was Lucy's best friend, amidst many, for she was popular;
Like finches are popular in floriated summer, creating gladness, ocular.
Fancy emerald nature wore fun, fantasy makeup, in its faceted colors;
And unfaltering family flattered fall with visits, beloved like no others.
Kitty lived in the house of very ordinary, like cherry redbirds singing;
Where silver moments comprised golden hours, jeweled time ringing.
Summer snapdragons grew quite lovely, on her sparkling street of sun;
And scarlet maples smiled colors, until the smoky season left, sudden.
Nepalese neighbors narrated tales of sweet nation, at mulberry night,
When nectarous, naval oranges hung ripely, under moon, satiny white.
Purple ranunculus blooms resembled roses, when sunrise echoed dusk;
And 'Marimo Moss Balls' played water polo, while jasmine trailed musk.
Giant water lilies ruled placid lakes, giving rise to titanic, pink blooms;
As golden sun and calm moon vie for dominion, inside separate rooms.
Lucy and Kitty went to a lecture, in a lavish, lavender evening of larks.
The lively, literary topic was much enjoyed, like the sun's dying sparks.
Afterwards, Kitty and Lucy parted, each to their own welcoming home;
Like a green bird of turquoise skies, oft makes its nostalgic way, alone.
Later, Lucy discovered her pocket was missing, its location so unknown,
Like red streaks of gold time, ever fleeing, past a blue, marble milestone.
Next day dawned golden, and Lucy's pocket, she found on her doorstep.
Golden coins were tied to its ribbon. And at Kitty's note, her heart leapt!
For it was Lucy's sparkling, glad birthday, as devoted friends remember;
And Kitty had made it one of her best, like hued leaf nights of November.
'Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fisher found it;
Not a penny was there in it,
Only ribbon round it.'
"MAGIK"
True Power arrives when
Magik is delivered,
felt and seen
in the cracked and lonely,
the lost hearts broken, that believe
true power
two as one
A quill is the first token
Mirror potent conductor
transfers spells through
open windows reflection
Manifestation
Mirrors seen through
Open windows reflection
Only some see true Magik
The others dream
The others dream
Only some see true Magik
Open windows reflection
Seen through Mirrors
Manifestation
Life’s a Harry Heller show
Dark wolves become
soft paws protecting
not suffering
Hermine walks away
from eternal black heart
trapped in forever black-holed sun
Magik
Manifestation
Two reflections
Conquering as One
Only some see true Magik
The others dream
Love is the key
Manifesting
A quill is the first token
Where the quill and verse of spell arrive
through which windows and mirrors
and the hands in which hearts are held survive
Only true Magik
WILL
tell
Only some see true Magik
The others dream
So mote it be.
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
“BELIEVE”
"No Light, No Light"/Florence and the Machine
https://youtu.be/HGH-4jQZRcc
“The new is always at our doorstep when we feel most lost.”
“While the Dark Night of the Soul is a process of death, the Spiritual Awakening Process is the rebirth.”
“It is only when we are truly alone, without someone else to lean on, left with our own inner solitude that we can undergo a process of change. The introspection that is needed to bring out the light that has dwindled down to ash and reignite the fire of our being. So let the darkness shape you, let it reform you, let it cradle you and birth you into a new life. Let the spark flame again, in the darkness is where you will find it.”
"Big God"/Florence and the Machine
https://youtu.be/_kIrRooQwuk
“You necessarily have to be lost, before you’re found.”
"Moderation"/Florence and the Machine
https://youtu.be/ScxZwXH09Ws
“Enlightenment arrives like a thief in the middle of the dark night of the soul.”
Branches of beans wave most predominantly in stormy weather but heavily prevalent are the many climbing chimps whose antics please the spotted cloud and cause a clap in the sky. But half a cup of mildew in a snow covered dome is neither a doorstep nor is it a milked out heifer in a four poster bed. Recline no reaches. Reach no radiuses'. And surely then a bean pole could adequately carry over forty-six washing baskets full to the brim, nineteen plates of roast dinner, ten puddings and a very large crystal chandelier. How rather marvellous. And how talented too. Recreation receiving rather real room radii. And the ratio of a dandelion could be said to be equal to a sponge in orbit. Wow. Mere waste of a tongue to be taking a meal off an iron suitcase. With or without gravy it is quite irrelevant to savour such a lead. But beading on a skirting board can often be very amusing and comical as it tells the best jokes to rugs and doesn't like the carpet as it gets very dirty very quickly. All rise then. Make sure you glide around the floors in the house. Levitate if you can to avoid foot sweat on fabric and wood but mot on marble. Here the sweat is procreating playing poker. Large high belted heavyweights. Piccolo putty in a jellied eel frame talks with great seasoning to a bull via a wireless hookless contraption that cannot be seen by aerial prowlers. Nor cannot it be photographed. But photographers put painted pain plums onto paper. Always see within the tight fitting frying pan for the handle is not to be adjusted at this time. Make way for the herds of pancakes are clamouring together to catch a glimpse of the latest spawned factory product. When hair is not a hare. That is too natural and wild plus it is very clever too. Cleverness is unwelcome in steel framed prison planets and areas of true freedom and safety are yet to be exact and as yet have not been to a zoo. Multifunctional zoo on wheels racing against a circus, a football game, a badminton match and an opera. Produce no pollen from a hypocritical hippo whose hidden house halves then heaves. But ni leaves. For they are only for the waiting skirts and shirts with heels and glasses chinking in a bystanders glance at a freeform rabbit dance. Haha mealworm arriving. Hahah plate of combustible prawns. Xxxxx morphology Z z z z z
Form:
Arriving from unknown somewhere
He set up clinic in the market square
Declared he could cure any disease
Using herbal drugs of plants and trees
Townsfolk being credulous
Soon to his shop began to rush
Diabetics, rheumatics, asthmatics flooded
None over his degree brooded
A few weeks later, afloat was this rumor
He cures for he rightly detects the humor
Realizing that every client is a prospective fan
He talked in technical terms even with laymen
He would expose his victims to numerous medical terms
Also trade-names, contents, firms, diseases and germs
Just to exhibit erudition and sound philosophy
Without occasion he embarked on learned topics
Often dwelt on sedatives and epilepsy
Or discoursed at length on tumor and biopsy
Then in a torrent of rodomontade would relate
Histories of cases cured with specific names and date
Discourses full of references to Ayurvedic treatises
Madhav, Charak, Susrut and other varieties
To prove his point he recited aloud original excerpts
As a result ,he soon won the epithet: "expert of experts"
"Discourteous ingrates! They even do not thank
Though I give 'em new life" exclaimed the mountebank.
Always eager to spar against allopathy
At the slightest provocation he would lecture on allopathic hazards
Or would lament on untidy hospitals and unhygienic wards
Boldly averring: "To hide anything from patients is a deadly sin"
Within no time he became a celebrity
His tricks worked and brought him publicity
After a year DHO came to see him in person
And sought his counsel for his sick son
A minister's car at his doorstep halted
Just to enhance libido and weakness treated
He gave the minister powerful mercury dust
Which triggered his vigor and inflamed his lust
Then to CM's ears reached his fragrant fame
Who called him secretly telling him not to declare name
MPs in turn heard of this rare phenomenon
And turned up to consult him one by one
Director drug control came to seek his advice
For chronic dysentery and perennial bronchitis
At length PM had to send him his compliments
For service to nation and" particular "patients
The whole world acknowledged him as master of his craft
But a person knew his truth in his own staff
His compounder knew his master was a fake
But he swallowed the secret for heaven's sake
folks, there is a brand spanking new
kind of idiot
that walks amongst us &
no,
s/he is not a ****ing zombie---
some film mustered creature who
erupts from the dead like some
fictional biblical ********
to wreak havoc on the rest of us
who deserve to suffer at the hands of
something that thanks to
Romero, O’Bannon, P.Jackson & the
Halperin brothers, we have to
endure.
the idiot in question of course is the
rich individual who has taken the time,
effort & moola to create anti-zombie
fortresses in the US, to protect
themselves from the
“zombie apocalypse”---
a special example of american
stupidity,
which because of the few random events
in the recent past, where morons
full of bath salts & meth have
gone on to a career in
munching on the face of their
fellow
delicious-looking, human,
has plagued the minds of those who
have nothing better to do &
nothing more to worry about
than the impossible attack from
a work of fiction.
while not much different than the
rich christians who go to such great
lengths as giving money to senators
who will push the further armament of
Israel, as well as always supporting
any kind of instigation brought on by
the good ol’ US of A, in the
middle east, with the hope that it will
bring about their “armageddon” a
little sooner,
these fanatics doing their damndest to
fend off zombies
(rising from the dead & for some reason
showing up on said idiot’s doorstep)
have gone the extra mile to invest in
what are often referred to as
“modern day castles.”
ranging from $600,000 (drop in
the bucket) to $12 million (steep, but ya
know we are talking about zombies here
people)
these dwellings o’ the delusional
bear such amenities as fully
fledged moats surrounding the premises,
underground missile silo bunkerdom,
personal air strips, panic rooms, safe cores,
helicopter landing pads, sniper towers &
even windows rumored to fend off
missiles as well (because apparently
zombies choose from a wide range of
violent killing methods) &
to add to the hilarity (hopelessness) of
it all, now they are being put on the
market for whatever reason…
maybe said rich imbecile has had a
bad string of financial luck, maybe they
are moving on to better & brighter
anti-zombie apocalypse compounds, or
maybe,
just maybe,
they have come to their senses?