Long Dully Poems
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Argh... dog dam mutt
(boot exhausted tending Milan Collie)
If only father time could... but
yea right Matthew Scott cut
your losses, accompanied
with sinking feeling in gut
ready to vent off steam
start fire next time and burn
(billy me I merrily Joel King),
down house i.e. mancave hut...,
in tot, while yours truly emulates
one among many talking heads
with tongue doth jut
out mouth making nasty facial feature
at reflection nut
tin much else
except, perhaps try to put
gear into overdrive any
remembered magmatic
lava lee fragments
to pull this mad man
out of figurative rut
nothing gainsaid verbally taunting self
with expletive epithet
more colorful than tut...tut... tut.
Chalk permanent heart wrenching
pinteresting kindling horrifying
devastating loss regarding
opus magnus extremely cross
at yours truly, nope no ace
in the hole, hence best bet to
down bottle of tranquilizers
with swig flask of booze to brace
transcending after life netherland,
where angels plucking harps
magically can exorcise
Manhattan goose stepping
quite pheasant hunched mountebank
Norte worthy dame
giving bankable chase
courtesy cloistered chaste
siren of Titan (on the
order of Mrs. Doubtfire)
hoop fully abducts me than
willingly, meticulously,
and compliantly doth erase
every vestige of writings.
Thoroughly cooked duck, dogged
dully dilly dallying gent
realized errors of
his ways, where bent
crooked right hand pinky the chief
hankering provocateur leant
admission (for one adult) cogent
tam o shanter donning Brit with scent
tum mental affectation unable to console
yours truly, who feeble
effort non poetic event
merely hoped to muster
even lame to assuage
smoldering ire, wherever
sense and sensibility went.
Bully me you, I exemplified archetypal scapegoat
Even as old curmudgeon, aye pucker
and raspily suction toothless mouth
drawing reminiscent guffaws affecting
attempt impersonating plumber
(think unclogging toilet)
please support your local bummer
back in the day one
long haired pencil neck geeks palled
around with another
hirsute nerd - Roger Kummerer,
(who both of us graduated Methacton
High School class of 1977),
and yours truly readily
admitting, alluding, and attesting
without shadow of doubt
representing the dumber
than rocks of said beastie boys
bandits, donning particolored pachyderm
gabardine garb getup trumpeting,
especially as Mummer
on each New Year's Day
with bare ass tuchus
excellently imitating courtesy said orifice
(as chief motormouth) sound
of combo motorboat hummer.
Ah... the joys of amazingly aging gracefully
happily recalling never being beat into pulp dully
imagining dimming sense and sensibility
before (appearing gratefully dead)
lifeless body dumped into gully
nonetheless all the while fully
maintaining conscious, and forcefully
summoning forth latent powers gleefully
choking living daylights masterfully
delivering just desserts upon Tom Viglione,
whose plaintive laments truthfully
resonate as blessed music
to ears unaccustomed hearing pitifully
sounding long overdue comeuppance
forever disbelieving wrongfully
perpetrated injustice witnessed impossible mission
fueling an ordinarily meek lad
only in his dreams, he envisions zestfully.
Pugnacious thuggish hooligans... although
decades long since elapsed, whereby hoodlums
jockeyed to rain one after another verbal blow
threatening introverted diminutive boy
who, no surprise did eventually,
albeit (stuntedly) grow
(as an aside resembled anorexic
Santa Claus ho... ho... ho...)
still wracked, impacted, affected...,
this punster, he haint Joe
King, but upholds valuable humor less or mo'
feebly, lamely, and quirkily aspires toward po'
whit tree linkedin with infusing,
(no matter ex post facto)
freeing mine unsung hero.
I was gratefully listening
to a theologian musician
repeat a rabbinic tradition
of four levels of resonant soul:
individual (egosystemic),
communal (local),
social (cultural, national identity)
global (Earth,ecosystemic).
A mature musician,
like a wise theologian,
sees these four soul identities
as circular
double-binding octaves,
mutually informing up
and down,
in
and out.
As EarthMother's original staging womb
organically recreates
using the fractal language of DNA inscription,
prediction,
predication,
to recreate yet another individual soul,
as BrahmanEarth outside soul
is to AtmanEgo inside spirit
of dynamic resonance,
preferring regeneration as positive
as more power-indwelling
than degeneration as negative.
So, it was jarring
when this musical theologian
referred to human bodies
as machines,
rather than organisms.
Machines seem to be left-brain dominant
power reductions
as compared with
Left with Right-balancing organisms.
For robotic machines,
punishing or rewarding communities,
leviathan bureaucratic
autocratic societies,
lifeless planetary spheres,
power is either on or off,
energy is positive or negative.
For living organisms,
individual through holonically Earth-wombed,
power is both regenerative
and degenerative,
positive and negative;
Not digitally governed by our either/or switch
but analogically healed, developed
and wounded, decomposing
with both/and holistic interdependent consciousness.
Human nature
sounds like a robotic analogy
and hopelessly predictable,
dully rational
as a LeftBrain dominant machine.
Humane nature/spirits
feel organically metaphoric
polyphonic
polypathically rounded
theo/eco-logical music composed
and decomposed,
marvelously trans-rational
as left with right hemispheric balance,
rhythm, communal
pitch, cultural
resonance, EarthWomb global
Soul,
ZeroZone regenerative
more powerful than degenerative,
Yet organic cycles
and recycles,
purpose
and repurposes of life
decomposing death
require both
to recreate
recompose
recologize
recognize
theologize
musical soul
as powerful
resonant
both-thought/and-felt structure.
But, when we started singing together
I knew
for sure
he, as we,
feels more and better
as metaphoric musicians
than analogical machines.
In the silence of snow
The great towers of silver
Dully reach skyward, glow
Languish on the darkening
Horizon like winter storms
Silent spires rise into a sky, darkly
Were sharp thorns of branches sway
As shades pass like angry swarms
Haunting ghostly streets
Blanketed, by pure white snow
Only marked by singular cars passing
Lonely is a figure, drifting in and out, to and fro
It struggles in a blizzard of silence
Freezing fingers of slicing wind, blow
In its black cloak of ice it watches,
Loss in the city of aftermath
A figure pushes on, full of wrath, loss n sorrow
Looking for a place in the silence of snow
Something longs for rest n warmth of the known
It was a soft rain -- yes, I stated soft,
for rain has many texture -- some even
color. Imagine a spectrum-brush dragged
across a well wetted, primed sky, which
muted technical, dully call~ a Rainbow.
It was a long anticipated rain:
Saguaro Sentinels weary, dryly
on guard -- bristled their natural pins and needles
A night, of many, thirsty
dark folds, imbibing deeply:
Desert craving saturation --
Just beyond the dawn tomorrow
if not for some minor residue dew
the blessing will again be entirely gone --
witness the browning green hint of
a brief gully front lawn --
I stole her away…
That was no innocent child
She was full of wisdom I would never attain,
That not even a martyr of a thousand years could ever dream of
I stole her away….
Because she was never mine
Just as my wife was never mine,
That child was never mine
I can still see the look of confusion in my wife’s eyes
That baby knew everything within that stare
She knew everything and more
She knew more than was physically possible,
In her little time on earth
So I stole her away…
I kept her from growing…
I keep her…in here!!!
She listens to my lies
Though somehow she sees right through them
She finds truth in the ugly…the damned…
With surpassing intelligence
The truth has many eyes, many ears
The truth need only taste once
Then it has to hit and run
The taxi driver knocked me out,
But before I was hit,
He saw the loose shell in my arms
He saw that she was not looking at anyone
He saw a stupid, innocent child
She was looking at the ceiling,
Fascinated by its insignificance
She didn’t cry out,
No matter how hard I thrashed
One second I missed that terrible stranger
But the memory has seared into me a hate that will never fade…
She didn’t move at all
I woke up and was childless. I lost everything, I dully knew. Sometimes I am haunted by the baby’s gaze…but she is not looking at me. She is looking at everyone else—all of those who I have hurt and ruined, all of those I have yet to know.
The sad thing is, I never imagine my child looking down from sky paradise…I always picture her as I last saw her…looking up.
Anticipatory excitement awaiting a thunderstorm...
Late afternoon April 14th, 2022
meteorologic destiny manifested...
rumbling atmospheric thud,
promised natural exultant
the sky opened up
cascading wall of water
created instantaneous flood
sound and light show
subsequently within minutes
dully rightly appraised as dud,
yours truly forced himself awake
way before dawn's early light
all for naught, yet...
thus hours later summoned,
perhaps lame poetic material
(think) potential Earth shaking
literary cause not lost
expressing disappointment
'pon absent dramatic booming anticipation,
electrifying fascination, injecting glorification
atavistic beastie boy within me
awed, charged, fascinated, jarred,
witnessing (i.e. seeing and hearing)
humbling experience beholding
dynamic latent forces unleashed
intense earsplitting, blinding
spectacular singular sensational
magnificent natural phenomena
far surpassing, née dwarfing
extravagant pyrotechnics wrought
courtesy innovative *****sapiens.
Time and again
without fail - exuberant delight
always gushes forth,
no fanfare for
totally tubular common man,
whose feeble insignificant powers
laughable and lamentable
puny human specimen
easily flicked (think
humongous sized fingers
particularly middle digit)
sending me airborn
pirouetting head over heels
at mercy of Mother Nature's whims
among brethren and sistren
constituting fray'n chipped
foo fighting ship of
motley crew zing fools
metaphorical human league
bajillion *****sapiens
even if/when global
standing military combined
be they: armies, marines,
navies... fighting force
nope, still no match
against tectonic and volcanic
potential and/or kinetic energy.
Schooled in hard knock sufferance... -
soulful scribe matt er fact - seeks solemn sanctuary
Despite always pledging
allegiance to the flag
academic performance traced, narrated,
graphed... unfavorable zigzag
vertical lined spikes across
x-axis and y-axis displayed
dramatically sharper increased crag
when promoted one grade to the next
how comprehension did lag
attributed to allocating, dag
gone nabbit budgeting, crafting... productive
time usage, plus an affirmative nod,
whereby yours truly did lallygag
evincing object lesson procrastination
study habits shucked off cuz mum did nag
obfuscation regarding illegible note taking
I moost definitely haint gonna brag.
Deplorable curriculum vitae
not hearty and hale
equals pathetic academic performance
now displeases me,
yours truly did wanna fail
no matter parents told me, I got smarts
severe psychological dissonance
affected this male
in retrospect,... a tell tale
sign everyday existence
arduous, horrendous, perilous...
lifelong struggle analogous to quail
caught between cross hairs
tis pointless foregone opportunities... assail
self pointless, hence no surprise
metaphor locked within jail.
Report cards highlighted
plethora weaknesses bred
teachers exhausted markers
especially black red
spent small fortune replacing
regarding this jughead,
who practically proved deficiencies
prevailed within his head
arising and undoubtedly stead
dully contributing living
antisocially he approximated
being gratefully dead.
Search for acceptance during harrow
wing during formative years absolute zero
earning michelin equivalent laughing stock,
where mummified pharaoh
each arose out sarcophagus (cue Thriller -
Michael Jackson), a hero
cash equalling cow Jackson 5 era
before disgraced pedofile,
now keeps company with Nero
roman around within underworld
plus disembodied spirit Clarence Darrow,
who scopes, karaokes,
moonwalks... with monkeys.
Sundry dead souls heave pens, gogol,
and trumpet like Donald duck,
their afterlife I envy mingling sui generis
versus yours truly down on his luck
dismal flying colors
analogous to mire and muck
no man iz an island, yours truly isthmus
squeezing thru narrow passing lane,
this bummer doth aimlessly truck
this late bloomer summoning forth
long suppressed pluck.
Back in the day
of exclusively straight white male
****-retentive missionaries,
the Church
Whether monoculturally Catholic
(which may become an oxymoron
one enlightened day)
or Protestant,
But certainly not polytheistically ecstatic,
like a perfect Thanksgiving meal
shared with EarthMother's sacred
deeply co-passionate
mutually resonant
and co-invested
convivial people
Proclaimed religious education
in response to local questions,
and questionable behaviors
and thoughts
and feelings,
moral and legal dilemmas
about how to interpret diverse feelings
of erotic love
and exotic hate
Yet not so helpful
with all the dully boring
nuances of every tedious,
often traumatic, days
and nights
in-between ecstasy
and infamy.
This was rigidly civil education
about how to nonverbally commune
and verbally communicate
in positive touching ways
that feel mutually right
to ego happy minds
and eco-healthy bodies
financially and environmentally
and politically wealthy,
resonantly resilient
but less than fluidly brilliant
education from above,
transcendently monotheistic.
Today we have replaced civil
StraightWhiteMale privileged missionaries
with cosmopolitan
pantheistic and atheistic teachers
In neighborhood schools,
elite schools,
grade
and middle
and high
and tertiary
and graduate
and post-graduate
secularized schools
For learning
non-violently communicating
thoughtful inclusive reason
and deeply felt polytheistic
possibly artistic treasons
free of monotheistic dogma,
monopolistic colonization,
monocultural predation
At least on our best outdoor classroom
physical health
and metaphysical trust
and mental happiness days
And full through empty
GrandMother Moon blissful
indigenously erotic
nakedly wise
vulnerable
transparent
co-passionate
co-empathic
BodyNature/MindSpirited nights
Of bicammerally balancing,
multiculturally bachanal,
ecowomanist,
Whole Open Systemic,
win/win bipartisan,
bilateral
binomial
Double-cobinary
dialectical secular/sacred
enlightening/empowering
Left/Right
thoughtfully felt
informed outflowing re-education
Perhaps especially useful
for exclusively straight white male
****-retentive missionaries
for monotheistic monopolies
of unenlightened power-mongering.
26/2/2012
By Sashi Prabhu (zeauoxian)
Contest: treasure trove
Austerely laid my eyes firmly on my garden far side
Tattered page piles, from my attic treasure trove, littered outside.
I picked up a dog eared page of the days of sitting together,
In this garden, cuddling and smooching in cold weather.
On such a glorious winter day, I scribbled on this page love notes,
A long time ago, by the way, in double quotes
Nostalgic now the dismal, Melancholy tenors that fill in,
Memories of “au revoir”, replete my poignant heart to its brim.
A wind now blows this dog eared page & it flies by the old gum tree
Dully chase it with some rage &as I see the page, begin to read all about me……………..
For the last two lines, the paper is vacant void & bare,
Heart’s healed wounds to open with quinine drenched text I would not dare.