Long Eardrums Poems
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Zealots are totally incapable of any emotion other than rage. It is an unalterable law that people who claim to care about the human race are utterly indifferent to the sufferings of individuals.
— Quentin Crisp
ZEALOTS
The raging machine, storms of zigzagging arrows, fueled by each word that bounces off the trampoline of their eardrums. A zealot sage, an oxymoronic knight, not a saint. Stained not with tears but billowing eyes and cheeks.
emotional wreck
concentrated on one theme
no deviation
The heave and the ho of heavy sacks. Teamwork in torrent. The zealot doesn’t stop to hear a prophet, except Simon. Simon will buzz in their ear about a diamond but the team has their eyes on the gold. With cold, strong hands, they sharpen their swords, meditating on the prize. They want to topsy-turvy, throw out the law, upturn the tables of dirty coins.
if one turned his head
a scene of perfect substance -
heals blind, deaf and dumb
Does the tyrant trump the zealot, or is power the point? Both explode. Not on their sides, you will be imprisoned or stomped out. Simple Simon was a zealot whose ears steared toward the Son of God.
Simon the Zealot
apostles known by their works
one’s tax collector
Zealots loose whilst hell’s hammer wills the fastening of cruel suffering. This innocent has the right approach to rid the world of tyrants though the chariots have not entered the course. The zealots would still be wielding their swords as the stone was kicked away in a powerful way.
Zealots have their way
the martyrs follow Christ’s way
Simon chose wisely
A little lad named Tommy Tum,
just wouldn’t listen to his Mum.
He’d loudly play with other boys,
and wouldn’t put away his toys.
Around the house he’d beat his drum,
Tommy, Tommy, Tum-Tum-Tum.
Oh, how he loved to pound his drum,
Tommy, Tommy, Tum-Tum-Tum.
His father warned with a mean face:
“I make the rules inside this place.
If you don’t listen to your Mum,
I’ll have to spank you on the bum.”
So better listen to your Mum,
Tommy, Tommy, Tum-Tum-Tum!”
You think his eardrums would be numb?
Not Tommy, Tommy, Tum-Tum-Tum.
An energetic, cheerful child,
around the house he still ran wild.
But then when running up the stairs,
tripped on one of his Teddy Bears.
Poor Tommy tumbled on his rump,
down each step bouncing, bump-bump-bump.
Bumpety bump-bump, bump-bump-bump,
he hit the landing with a thump.
Then he began to cry and cry,
while fishing for some sympathy.
But weary Mum said with a sigh,
“you’re lucky that you didn’t die.”
“God punished you,” teased sister Suzy,
as he stood up feeling woozy.
“Now learn your lessons, Tommy Tum,
or else you will stay dumb-dumb-dumb.”
But Tommy, Tommy, Tum-Tum-Tum,
grew up that day with a bruised bum.
That year when Christmas came around,
the Little Drummer Boy was found.
Please Tommy, Tommy, Tum-Tum-Tum,
play for me pa rum pum-pum-pum.
Please Tommy, Tommy, Tum-Tum-Tum,
play your drum pa rum pum-pum-pum.
March 10, 2021
Nursery Rhyme Poetry Contest, Sponsored by Eve Roper
I met you halfway.
Why did you have to take the bigger half?
I held your heart in my broken fingers,
my throbbing nerves were soothed by the cold.
You lashed out at me,
breaking through my second skin.
Perhaps you thought it was armor.
Leaving me sitting,
crying,
halfway between heartache and sorrow.
I looked at you with contorted eyes.
Listened with my popped eardrums.
You sang your maniacal song.
Fortunately I could not hear,
I was halfway under the ocean of my fears.
Afraid of losing you,
being lost in you,
losing my mind.
Halfway not moving,
stuck.
Wanting you.
Why you?
Why me?
There can be no meeting halfway!
I chose different,
that was no place to stay.
I turned,
I ran,
went my seperate way.
All the while you chose,
to sit and cry.
For some strange reason stayed.
Locked,
lost,
in our yesterday.
Halfway from reaching,
grasping,
understanding,
that for us,
there is no tomorrow.
For Archaic Poet's first contest.
His poem that I re-imagined is called "Meet Me Half Way"
Tonight, I will undress.
I will strip down the walls I built so high for so long.
Tearing down brick, after brick; leaving them to the mercy of my bathroom floor.
I will remove every undergarment that hides who I really am.
I will do this because I need to.
I will undress myself, to prove that I indeed do not need a man to do it.
I’ll turn off the lights and sit in the dark.
I will think.
I will speak my mind, even if no one is going to listen, and not just to hear the sound of my own voice.
I will show you my morals. From the roots that sit in the dark, wet and in abundance; to the flower that blooms from the tippy top of the stem. Where believe it or not, it is the most lonely.
I will NOT, force you to believe them.
I will not engrave my flowers into the back side of your eyelids and leave gardens that you do not understand.
I will tell you, that you are beautiful.
And if you hear those words dance off my tongue, glide through the air to greet your eardrums, do not tell me otherwise.
If it goes in one of your ears and out the other, filtered away to nothing by social standards, so be it. That doesn’t make it any less true.
But my voice doesn’t drown yours.
Do not take my opinion so deep into your heart that you can’t tell it apart from your own.
I will not drag you into the depths of my mind, that no one has ever seen, nor may ever want to see.
I will be your backbone, as long as mine doesn’t end impaled.
I will throw caution to the wind, and run barefoot through meadows of those thoughts I blossomed. Unprotected.
Please do not pluck my flowers,
for then they die.
I know my place, I will stumble upon my purpose.
I will still find myself pressing the placebo button, knowing.
But I will wait for change, because I can.
Because that is who I am.
These days
The sound
of a the busy
signal
echoes
in
my
eardrums
Like
the
sound of a falling pin
in an abondened
home
so cold
These days
its like
we
are falling
apart
like finely woven
sweaters
that
slowly
unwinds
spinning
me round and round so that
I am so dizzy
like
my grand mothers
crystal
on fishwire
so brilliant
are the
colors
yet
we are blinded by the light
and
these days
Sunsets
and sunrises
come and go
Gods
etch-a-sketch
I race to
capture traces
of my life
TO SHOW YOU
but
we are overturned
and everything IS GONE
These days
I
cling
to blankets
for solace
for
comfort that is
unreal
an imitation
for your affections
and still
I shiver
at the thought
that
i need your embrace
as the fall nights
turn to wintery
days.
These days
Form:
Advice has no use to the ‘know all’
But pride often precedes a fall
Crass indignation when questioned
Denying each truth that is mentioned
Evidence he calls refutable
Facts, he says, aren’t indisputable
Grey is the colour of dubious knowledge
Hark at the novice as he enters college
If one week of lectures makes him feel all knowing
Just grin politely at ignorance showing
Kith and kin revel in such peace and quiet
Life is so peaceful, it’s almost a riot
Motor mouth’s gone for a couple of years
No doubt he’ll grow something between his ears
Or will he just come home as bad as before
Pounding our eardrums until they are sore
Quoting past monarchs that once held dominion
Recited - ignoring conflicting opinion
So if you know someone who ‘knows more than God’
Tell him that learning’s no sprint but a plod
Utter confusion may darken his face
Vitriol, soon will take confusion’s place
“What do you know, you’re so uneducated,
X-Ray your brain; you’ll find you’re overrated.”
Yet, when it’s back off to college tomorrow
Zero shame shown when he says, “Could I borrow…..”
When time flies, feelings of euphoria,
spur jaw-dropping habitus within,
vision of nirvana on groundswell earth,
chirping bird amber tone on hedgerow,
cacophony that piercing aural backdrop,
riotry of wild bewitching warble,
golden fronted leaf, black nape oriole,
northern red bishop,
snapshot or sedation, honey dribbled spatula,
that ladles satin eardrums,
as momentary plot unveils its kernel,
fleeting countdown to ecstatic charm,
mesmerising tailspin gust bract swirl,
of diamond stud color burst variety,
time lag is an instinct riven leap,
lustrous spark escape hatch mere sprint,
who could be immune to such splendour,
embellishment or antic flourish,
folly swept aside in brisk stanza,
hyperbole on jewel rim chariot,
passenger in situ juggling spheres,
morning dew mist clad bank enchantment,
divinity in spiral foam waterfall trance,
speckled moon’s transient blind soar,
amid hall of mirror dream cloud etching,
bonfire of imagining without rein,
infant echo chamber left me thunderstruck,
lightning flash recall as I shudder,
with ardent inkling of toddler stopwatch era,
parental caper, boisterous shriek,
blue stain paddle boat capsized,
guffaws at the peak of silver rush,
backscatter on a prior and current bloom,
like a reckless swimmer’s wild swipe,
at a grazed iron metal lifebuoy,
whose toss and turn gyration high jinx,
another symbol for the heaven in one’s palm,
that vanishes as soon as it clocks in.
A new dawn,
Unveiled hopes and surreal ecstatic.
The smiles on their faces,
Heralded news,
The folks were delighted.
It was worth every ounce of struggle.
Though, a dilemma.
Afraid of separation.
Yet, desperate to experience the journey.
The ambience compelled me.
I was finally seen off,
I was on a voyage to satisfy nature's balance.
Now I learned the way of flying.
They had fed me once, now the tables had turned.
The man I was had been called a coward.
They celebrated my bravery now.
Decorated badges shone and made them proud.
I lost one and two things to earn it.
Was it really worth it?
The grasp of my anxiety grew.
On a bright sunny day,
I was summoned by a great war.
The fallen heroes' cries haunted me,
They never let me close my eye.
Though I dodged death,
My mates did not.
When consciousness returned.
A stream of blood filled my sight.
Decapitated bodies, blasted arms,
Eyes bulging out of their sockets,
The fallen were the luckiest.
One who lived was burning in hell.
Men begged me to put an end to their agony.
Our eyes shed blood,
Tears dried out.
I wished to shoot my brains out too.
The nefarious haunted site was too much to bear.
"I couldn't" I cried ....
A bullet shell dropped beside me.
I had killed my own man, or had I helped him?
His heart wide opened, and my shank.
My shin mangled, my eardrums burst.
"Medic! Medic! Medic!"
A few men rushed and took me away.
I only saw them talking but heard no word.
Certainly they would cut it.
The pain fainted me right away.
A chunk of metal cost me a leg.
What would a hurt man do?
Run away to his folks.
So did I.
The smile on their faces now faded.
They hardly talked about their dream again.
Blames encompassed a loop.
Still celebrated as a hero.
The shell-shock and vivid imagery of the war,
Ran through my mind every now and then.
I never slept again.
Trapped inside a war I had never waged.
It had now changed my periphery of life.
I despised it.
The fallen were the luckiest.
I couldn't even stand on my own.
I barely opened my mouth, only to be fed.
There it hangs, my greatest achievement,
So the folks claimed.
Why did I live in guilt then?
Was it to hide my sins,
Or to make me feel proud?
The barrage of questions and bullets,
Never left my conscience.
I may have quit the war,
It still ran inside my head.
Pitter patter, patter pitter,
sings the rain upon the roof.
In attic room I hear its call,
I hear its dreary water fall.
Rumble grumble, grumble rumble,
crackles, crumbles, in my eardrums.
Fee-fie-fos revoke my sleep,
and ravage what thy labor reaped.
Sizzle sazzle, sazzle sizzle,
bolts light up the deadbeat sky.
Grey clouds linger, solemn, aching -
crying rivers, peace forsaking.
Then still the air, the air so still,
blue skies replace the dark-grey hue.
And bright the day, all worries ceasing,
gone the storm, dark retreating.
And now I know what I should do,
If e'er I'm lost in life's dark hour.
'For through the storm I must abide,
to reach the joy on the other side.'
01.02.2024
Happy New Year!
SUDDENLY SWANS
Address of my villa shows lake-view road.
Down the slope lies low land lake let.
Scarlet Sun at dawn reflects rays on little brittle ripples,
creating creases on aqua surface, propagating waves.
My glances always glue on weeping willow
sweeping tapis of wild weeds on shore.
At end of summer, each year
Migratory swans swoop to lake to lay eggs
on stop gap of their journey.
When hatched, ugly ducklings yell loud.
Parent birds push food inside mouth agape just for a week.
Flighty flock soon soar high to fly away leaving all ducklings.
Bizarre behavior of whimsical species to alarm us.
For full month shrill cries of growing birdies
beat eardrums of residents of lake view,
getting no clue, why birdies are left to survive on their own.
Passing through natural phases they become full grown
turning suddenly swans wading through muddy viscous water.
Astonishingly they greet their parents back to take them
completing scheduled journey.
Full family of colonial group on volant valiant charm
fly high to flee in glee.
04/18/19
'Suddenly Swans' Contest by Maureen McGreavy