Long Ducking Poems
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For the moment I merely watched him
Running back and forth in his home
I am patient you see
I am full of time plenty
I am the sly one in the darkness and I am hungry
So I waited, all day I waited,
All night I waited, I waited, waited, waited
And in the morning he came out of his house
I waited no more
I struck like a black bolt of lightning streaking down from the heavens
As if Death itself had ripped across space to sever everything with its scythe
I screamed down from heaven and struck
Only to find him leaping up and over me
To tumble in the air and land behind me
I landed in a crouch...
Peering around over my shoulder I gleamed at him
He for his sake I saw glaring back at me balefully with eyes and one hand beckoning me
I snarled
Spun around and lashed out with my whip as I did
He ducked it,
With the speed of sound my fist struck him
He blocked it
Out came my foot, and then the other
He evaded the first, and caught the second
I rolled and struck him across his face with the first
Again I landed on my feet
He staggered back and with a back flip he was ready once more...
He wiped his nose with one hand
Bade me come at him again with the other
A sly half grin on his lips
I charged this impudent fool
Changed direction, spun around
Out came my whip
Out came my foot
And he leaped over my whip
Flipped between my foot
And struck me twice with his own
light kicks to the face meant to shock me more than hurt me
We parted and circled each other
Looking for openings in the other's defenses
And there because I am patient I found it
A chink in his armour of skill and technique
He was mine
Again I rushed him in one smooth fluid motion
Twin kicks, the whip, my fists, and head butt, knees and elbows
In blinding fury, speed and in the space between thought it was over...
He retreated blocking the kicks,
Ducking the whip,
Avoiding the fists left then right
Catching the head butt in his hands
Countering the knees with his knees
The elbows with his elbows
And then...
He did the impossible
He
Defeated me
Rolling backwards he slammed my head into the wall,
Sliding from beneath my crumpling body with his feet
To stand ready inches from my limping body
I remember thinking then as my eyes closed to the world
"That's one damn tough hamster," I get out of the Kitty Clinic in two days
I want a rematch
It's when aristocracy begins to feel like a mid-uphill battle
It's when the armageddon features evil on both sides
and,
the good are speculating from the auditorium
It's when a 10year old is ducking depleted uranium in Benghazi
It's the bicentennial brainwash that is rapidly depopulating the black community,
It's the fake pastors leading the blind
It's the bloodshed in Raqqa that features berserk jihadists
It's the human traffickings increasing the traffic on the offramp to hell
It's that uno blunder that results in millions bearing a thunder
It's the bogeyman in a tuxedo you voted for stealing away dreams that he sold you.
It's when your future is decided in a one page boustrophedon
It's the bushveld your forefathers were massacred for that you don't have the papers to occupy that continues enriching the man you're working for
Another piece of land sold!
It can't be a rainbow nation with a camouflaged sincerity shaking hands with the devil that's pleading for your votes momentarily
It's another puppet in the whitehouse raising hell and forfeiting heaven.
I had to analyze it properly to see who the "holy bible" really benefits
It's the difference between a peacekeeper and a peacemaker,
It takes peace being present to keep it but little children are starving and homeless because of an American airstrike claiming to fight terrorism that they birthed
It's being an illegal human being because that's the true definition of an African American,
It's the young teenager popping xanax for a deadbeat euphoria
It's the disintegrated city of Mosul and obliterated future for millions of infants
When evil is an obligation they program your mind into denying intuition
It's all about control!
It's an Mk ultra anniversary
It's the disinclination to grant you freedom
Because you can't be free if you aren't a free thinker
It's the trend they sponsor that further demoralizes the black youth that you see your idols promoting
It's the creative freedom you lose once you become a marketing plan.
It's the literature they don't promote the reason you think this is too long to read that actually educates you
I'm offering you this disillusion to share with those in the same dungeon of thought you just escaped from after reading this.
Peace!
On one night,
is it because of a bewitched full moon?
while driving my rusty shaking junk car
I became Don Quixote de la Mancha
mounted on Rozinante holding a lance under the arm aslant,
and with a full gallop, dashing into the battle field, through the street where
the full moon was hanging thirty degree above the sky between forests eastward.
The trees standing both sides on the street
dyed by reddish-yellowish gray moonbeam in silhouette
were the windmill sails whirling their gigantic arms in air to assail me.
The red and green one-eyed giants
often met on the way eastward were the fat and ugly
demon-possessed skins of red wine that must have slain.
Flourishing lance to the right and left
while giving spurs to Rozinante again and again
to advance rapidly, I found myself in the middle
of enemy territory before becoming aware of it,
detouring annoying barricades, I was running through
the path between ramparts while ducking a shower of arrows,
came to the endless water front where disabled Rozinante fell.
When raging waves come and hit the breakwater
for the water cannot advance any further or is able to return,
the waves break up the hundreds and thousands of beads and
return to the bottomless water while flushing its silvery blue scales.
And when sprays of water that dived into the deepest sea
gush out from its bottom belching fire, it rises to the sky
and becomes a gigantic dragon and swallows the moon.
In the darkness where the dragon gathering dark clouds
after swallowing the moon the rain falls, the torrential rain
hits Mambrino’s helmet mercilessly.
Then, Don Quixote kneels to make the sign of the cross
while patting a breathless Rozinante lying on this desolated waterfront.
The cross he made falls on the sands,
the cross he made mourns while washing away in the water.
[Someday,
some may sing Don Quixote with the finest lute in hand.
Praise the gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha
with silvery voice in one accord, with unforgettably kind remarks:
the one who lived true life of knight is
Don Quixote de la Mancha
the knight of knights, the hero of heroes.]
NOTE: The Golf Road runs from east to west on north suburb of Chicago, and east (ends or starts) at Lake Michigan.
Dribbling
If someone continually gets knocked down
Eventually they will give up the ghost
If around every corner is more negativity
Which of us has lost the most?
Started to believe
More fool me
Be another page
In my sad history
Knock me back
I’m used to it
Should I care
Should I give a
If you had me and lost me
How much did you lose?
I never dreamt this for you
But then,
I never dreamt it for me,
Too
Never got beyond the opening gambits
The if's the that's
The why's and wherefore's
The dangled conversation
The fandangled expression
The ooh's the ah's
The more's the baa's
The ponderous the wonderful
The hip the snakey
The half asleep
The wide awakey
The shakers
The quakers
The jitterers
The poem makers
The right from wrongs
The singers the songs
The left from right
The right from not-so
You never understood
None of you
Never had a clue
Poem as
Cathartic expression
Class dismissed
End of lesson
I’ve told you a thousand times
Don’t exaggerate
And if you’re not early
Don’t be late
Mind your p’s and q’s
Your x y z’s and your w’s
Let it flow
Let it grow
Mind what’s going on
Down below
Every sperm is sacred
Monty Python taught us so
How long’s a rollercoaster
Compared to a sapling
If you think about
Why is money happening
Haven’t had this much fun
In years and years
Still wondering about sweetcorn
WTF? Ears, ears?
Just letting my mind
Cleanse itself
Nothing left
On the shelf
There’s an infinite number
Of poems to be written
If I call this one,
Will it be forgiven?
I’m here and now
Ducking and fighting
A paper bag
Doesn’t come when writing
There was an old poet called Neil
Who wrote something for the thrill
Everyone groaned
Some even moaned
At poor Neil Neil orange peel
Don’t worry
I’ll get me coat
Not wanted here
I won’t get the goat
There’s barely a day goes by
Without me trying to marry
Sigh with my
I wonder why
This butterfly
The poems cry
And if I’m high
Or do or die
I’ll fly
Aye
I’ll fly
Aye
For the end is nigh…
PS
There’s a reason for this coda
Nothing to do with odour
But I’m not going to tell you
Or give you a clue
The best poems are written
To make you think,
I think.
28.4.2022 9:06am
Jack had just escaped the local slammer
He’d struck the sheriff's car with a hammer.
He tried to look normal, in an aisle in Stop and Shop
But he wondered who might be an undercover cop.
Sally was unhappy, by the baked goods she would go
She wondered about her past, did other shoppers know?
An embarrassing movie, gone viral on the internet
She tried to look normal but was tormented with regret.
Harvey assured his family they could stay in the car
But his cart was getting full, with cakes and a chocolate bar
They were getting impatient, why was he taking so long?
His daughter had a date tonight, she felt this was so wrong.
Then the Stop and Shop robot got hacked, started racing too.
The hacker steered it after Jack, Jack thought someone knew.
Jack ran toward the exit, only to run into Harvey's cart
Harvey didn't like this and wouldn't let Jack restart.
I was looking for Mom, ducking around each cart
Finding that lady at the best of times is a real art
If I look in the dairy section, mom is by the beer and wine
If I'm in frozen foods, she's on the fresh fish line.
Mom was on her cell talking about an old classmate
She said out loud - "She was in that movie - not at all great"
Sally being paranoid, started yelling at my mom:
"Won't you all forget my past!" I couldn't keep her calm.
Harvey's daughter came in, she was really mad
Ran into Harvey confronting Jack, yelled "what kind of Dad?"
Jack looked around: the robot eyes shone green
Jack toppled the canned peas trying to escape the scene.
I pushed Sally to another aisle, but there was Harvey and Jack -
Plus that hacked robot, approaching as if it was on attack
Jack said "OK, I give up, it was just a cop car, I was drunk."
Sally pulled away from my chokehold, said "your mom's a skunk!"
The frantic employees converged, I said it wasn't my fault
Sally pointed to me, said I was guilty of assault
Jack thought Sally meant him, said he hit a car, not a man
I figured I better shop elsewhere, but Mom had another plan:
She wasn't going to leave, she had so many coupons to cash in
Then real cops came rushing, it seemed I couldn't win.
And somewhere a hacker is laughing, he can't stop
Telling his pals about his fun in Stop and Shop.
What If There Was No Tomorrow? - The Polar Ice ‘Cap’
- this time it’s burnt and curled upon a new head. The
sweet smoke of his sugarloaf effigy black as night,
surrounded by a material red trim, below Parliament houses
blows political greed into fiery smouldering smithereens –
then it floated and landed after years, drifting, onto
the crown of a man: a business man portraying
wealth and class; here it sat above suit and below sun. The
American dream swirled with scotch and the tip of a bowler,
only for the same piece (restyled of coursed) to later sell for
pounds to make the pupils of any impoverished person pop:
his Hamburg with a knowing dent in back, how it span and
spun from black to grey and back again around Hill’s peak
to be dyed again and tilted just so. Now it’s pillbox pink and a knitted
O of a name/shape-sake that covers her head where her husband
had a target upon his. Watermelon-pink colour dye actually: the very
same fruit palette of brain cradled in her hands at high speed.
This latest star attraction of Burgdorf’s no doubt was, decades
prior, nothing but a mix of lifeless green and sludge brown from
grass and cud - metallic dead daises ducking over No Man’s
Land. A Brodie: styled on a not-yet-pulled pin grenade atop
beads of sparkling sweat, dripping slipping salt where now
a pedal controlled sewing machine stabs and pins sequins into
veils that hide brides with (it must be said) the same success
that protected Fawkes’ Plot or Churchill’s reputation or
Jackie’s husband and the slaughtered soldiers’ skulls - but
still the accessories twist into fascinators fancy enough for
mothers to weep below, only to find the box dish or bow
to be knocked akilter during the traditional bouquet mad
dash - then up – up – up! into the air before landing anew,
refreshed as a Gatsby or Hijab, perhaps a Trilby or Zucchetto;
better yet, the Boater or Sailor we’ll need when the hat that covers
all our heads smoulders and peaks when next dented and melted: a
loose grenade we can’t be veiled from, nor refashioned nor restyled
when the next season’s must have
will be a copper and bolt
protective Diving Mask
for the drowning tomorrow
from The Polar Ice 'Cap'.
When I grew up there was no such thing
as microwave or t.v dinner's they hadn't
even been inverted yet
Come 6 o'clock we had to gather round the
dinning room table for evening meals and
parentally enforced family time to talk about
our day
To feast on such culinary delight's mother
used to burn as home made chips frozen
fish finger's and a choice of either tinned
baked beans or spaghetti hoops
Then when we're finally finished Dad would
go into the living room switch on the t.v
and watch the news
After that he would read his paper in order
to switch off and we would then get to watch
whatever was on 1 of the oh so many other
4 t.v channels
Only 1 singular t.v in the house shared
between our entire family permanently fixed
in the lounge.
And 1 singular telephone in the corner or
if you had one an entrance hallway
Both of which we're actually luxury's not
necessity dependant on if you could afford
to the bill and licence or electricity
And we weren't poor what we we're as
children was a little something called
happy and we'll adjusted
Which got me thinking about just how
different and far removed that time
was to current present day
Using the age old means of comparing
Apple's for Apple's regarding different
childhood's
To me growing up as a child what an
apple was or meant was bobbing or
ducking for at halloween , keeps the
doctor away and at it's best when it's
covered in sticky toffee candy
Fast forward to today the only Apple a
child knows comes in i - pad , pod , phone ,
watch or 4 in 1 form they carry about there
person constantly for companionship so
much so they can barely take the time to
talk or barely loook up
The same type of Apple that God warned
Eve all about not to try and eat for fear of
being kicked out
Because once you do there is no chance
of ever going back or a return to Eden
It's a place that only exists and can be
accessed by means of logging into Window's
or typing it into a search engine to look up ,
how exactly do you spell that is it
Bib-lol
Or by drinking how ever much Cider it
takes in order to pass out or forget
Reality is the new nightmare
So how do you like them Apple's now
My self-awareness is clear.
Blunt.
It's ugly and painful. To call it enlightening, is putting it lightly.
Honestly though, it's relieving, intriguing, and totally necessary.
Character building, and damn near life-saving.
They say "seeing is believing"... But what about these feelings?
The temporary, non-factual, and oh so ing deceiving.
I prefer to walk this life in honesty. Real, raw, and owning responsibility.
Without concern for the possibility of living "lonely".
My truth.
Your truth.
THE truth.
I struggle to grasp how it's so hard to direct all my best efforts...
ANot for you, not for him, or for any of them. But for me. And at least for now, only me...
Like clockwork. One, two, three.
The bad decision making.
I always have been, I am now, and always will be, my own worst enemy.
Some will say that they "admire" my ability.
My ability to rep nothing more, and nothing less... Then just me.
Inside I'm laughing.
It's almost really ing funny!
With a head clouded thick and smokey and a heart I seem to keep on freezing.
Painful realities,
I continue to keep on stuffing.
Like it's all okay. Right here, right now...
see in my eyes that my lips are saying it.
Again.
Sell off another piece of my soul & commence to feeling nothing.
Turns out with all this ducking and dodging of reality, I myself am being robbed of the real me.
The chick they so ignorantly pretend to be "admiring".
It's gotten to the point of what I deem as wasteful & petty, being sold short...
Ultimately starving your life, my life, and this bag Society, of true, legit beauty.
The crimes of passion that fuel within me.
The answers remain exposed. Ever so transparently.
As I once said, my self-awareness is more than a blessing.
Granting the ability to understand what blatantly lay before me.
Allowing my swollen eyes to see ever so clearly.
Observing, the chaos and defeat.
hear me say, although I'd prefer to scream....
No matter the faulty choices, or the seemingly impossible hopes and dreams...
I can be my own muse, my own Mentor, I will be just me. My own home team.
Completely denying the hopelessness that the greatest of evil strives to feed within me
There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent
To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on
My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads,
following the same schedule
as the other…identical
She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The weed interrupted,
“Didn’t…don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort
This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,
“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”
Perplexed she climbed upon its back
and flew, holding onto
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…
Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray
She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
marmalade miseries
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up
When it appeared, hopping happily
Jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy
Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me
"And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…"
As we approached the ice bergs our ship seemed tiny
they towered high above us as we crept into the bay
we could see the Eskimo's and their sleigh's waiting
now we would complete the next few legs with them
Our goal is to reach and set up camp at the North Pole
loading our supplies onto the sleigh's and getting on
soon we were speeding along, the ground very bumpy
clinging on, ducking branches as they whip back and forth
A wonder world of pristine white and hues of various blues
only broken up by the line of trees glinting brightly green
large ravines off to the side, one slip and you would be gone
to a cold icy grave buried forever in this lost icy world of snow
Onwards over the harsh landscape, we need to reach camp
before its dark, to unpack what's needed for overnight stay
light a campfire settle and feed the husky's waiting patiently
cook and eat our food as we share a few beers and some jokes
All too soon its dawn, temperature is -20% we have to break
things free from the ice, before we can eat and pack up
husky's are linked up and ready, what a din they are making
so excited to get going, this is now the final stage before the pole
We fly down barely noticeable trails that twist and wind slurry
left behind us, half a days travel left not too far to go now
some we leave the tree line behind, in front nothing but snow
ice bergs so big you could lose a couple of houses inside them
At last we see the buildings ahead and people pouring out
they will return to their own lands until it is time to relieve us
six months we will be here recording data about weather
and other things, watching polar bears and noting their habits
All this just for some insight and some data that will get buried
as for us well we have the open space, the freezing cold
each other to help past the long nights, day is only 6 hours
18 hours of dark, and fearsome storms that will be our lot
Cut off now until spring returns and the reindeer return
they have wintered far to the south now coming back
they will give birth here on the icy plains of endless snow
and we will return to so called civillization until next year