Long Emaciated Poems
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Rigors of weary battle long abated
The haze and smoke linger; the
fallen obfuscated
Ignominiously deposited; in death's
unseemly clutches graded
Gradually emanating from the
debacles' debris taut, ghastly forms
emaciated
Battle's residual fodder on spent
ground masqueraded
With the accoutrement's of nature
and nurture now attenuated
Unrequited carcases posthumously
paraded
Only the malingering sun palls the
hulls now jaded
At dusk, dark shadows girdle the
remnants of slaughter dated
Anon, with the eery sounds of
bewitching night serenaded
Death's awning a patchwork of
gleaming stars cascaded
By bleary, mortal shadows in
quilted tents shaded
Waiting for morn's truce, their valor
with honor to be equated
I can still hear the echo of bells tolling its dirge.
As I sat on my rocking chair in the semi-darkness.
Outside as if in defiance the moon shone brightly
Illuminating my room through the large bay windows.
I felt tired, eyelids half closed, but sleep eluded me.
The night was calm as few clouds flitted on the breeze.
There on a shining stratocumulus, was my wife,
Was she waving at me? It couldn’t actually be.
Must be some hallucination, for she quickly disappeared
Like some gentle ghost into a supreme sweet spot,
Where only absolute celestial happiness could exist.
Suddenly darkness engulfed the bay and infiltrated my room.
A far away deadly laughter echoed in my abode.
And in the dim light, I saw a black widow spider
Deadly crawling slowly towards my emaciated body.
Let death take its toll, I cared not as I grieved.
But life could play tricks even in dire situations.
The spider cared not where it was expecting to be,
And as the rocking chair continued its monotonous swing,
It crashed the spider under one of its wooden curved bands.
I uttered some choice mutterings for death was not mine.
But the soft deadly laughter continued, tapering into nothingness.
Was this a dream? I knew not. Only life can tell.
FICTION
You are not a member of our family
Therefore we choose to lock you outside our door
Banishishing you to never
Never again darken our door
Your emaciated hands have lost their strength
The whispers you shout have fallen on deaf ears
We have always been stonger than you
Within your grip we have discovered our own resilience
Losing our appetite for your false promises
This pathway emerges beyond your darkness
Time deafens us to your whispers
For long enough we have been your domino effect
Feel our weight as we align ourselves against you
Our borders have been fortified
Consciencely built brick by brick
The mortar of our love extricating you from our spaces
Our new mosaic formed in light
New possibilities
Today is the beginning of this
This power
This life
This realization
That as you shrink
Our world enlarges
Until you are less
Less than nothing
Replaced by freedom
The way we are meant to be
Empowered and filled
With an appetite for living
My wife is the team leader for an eating disorder program here in Kelowna.
I wrote this as a way to empower families to align together against the disorder.
www.wisedummypoet.com
confined to a room
propped up on pillows
lies an emaciated figure
beard and long hair
like Jesus he does not believe in
tender in suffering
no doubt barely sustained
by a saline drip
and morphium tablets
he politely accepts
small portions of food
he possibly wants
or not as the end of life
as he knows it has neared
a father husband brilliant mind
now reduced to drifting in
and out of consciousness
being a doctor must make
hanging on more difficult
when science and feelings mix
with enduring and pain
his daughter reads him
small verses by Edward Lear
which he himself shared with her
when she was a child
all of a sudden laughter
barely audible but powerful
fills the room and his eyes
fill with both sadness and joy
no one has the right
nor the power to define
quality of life
but memories and words
are medicine when
storm clouds of emotion
entice reason and orthodox therapy
to take a bow and quiet retreat
-I love the simplicity of the old one. But this extended version is special, I think...-
Caskets unmade
Naked bodies sprawled in waste
Yellow, white and pale brown skins all in one
Emaciated fear lingering in the pale eyes
Spines tingle at the crunch of excessive skeletons
Grimy boots unmercifully stomp
Nostrils used to the stench
Ready or not, embracing the ash
Afraid to express
Afraid to breathe
Unable to stop the grief
Colder eyes than the dead themselves look on
They are bored, it seems
Untainted by the sound of groans
Unmoved by the crack of weak spines
Spineless themselves, these guards even smile
Frozen, blue eyes iced with a sneer
Black, demonic pupils steadied overtime
The corpses reflected in their transparent gloss
Teeth grind
A young boy picks up a dried hip bone
Small, calloused fingers clutch the last of his father
The eternal frowned mouth is caked with drool, tears and muck
Hair whitened as if ghosts have stolen his youth
This bone is jagged and worn
Once used by force as a bowl for his insect-infested meal
Shakily given to Her—the last She would eat
Before the officials watched Her slowly starve
Today the bone will be used as a shovel—his final labor
Last effort for closure
The boy knows they are all looking
Both the enemy and the oppressed unified
All experiencing, all watching
He simply knows that overtime,
Tears of hope will decompose the hardest of hearts
And the boy drives his shovel into the hard ground
Pounding away at the chilled, blood-stained soil
Drowning out the groans with his own cries
Flooding the dryness with his sorrows
Breaking up the surface to bury Sleeping Kate
Sleeping Kate showed the officers
The skeleton she built out of bone fragments
Sleeping Kate told them we were all the same inside
With this truth, she died
With their guilt, they continued life
They tried. . .
The officers tried to bury Sleeping Kate
But Sleeping Kate is always alive,
Building skeletons in their minds. . .
(alternately titled: tongue in cheek humor
cuz the following hyperbole
from this pencil necked baby boomer
without intent to badmouth,
nor start unfounded rumor,
who chalks, i.e. attributes gobbledygook
to funny bone tumor).
Impossible mission maneuvering around
soiled clothes pile
floor to ceiling humongous mound
terse reply hopefully adequately sound
to convincingly doth explain
absent poet buried alive underground,
perhaps never heard and/or found
till 1-800 GOT JUNK uncovered
emaciated (lovely bones)
formerly Matthew Scott Harris
his remnants discovered
visa vis mastercard bloodhound.
No need to fret
(while guitar gently weeps),
just talk to who barkeeps
works long late hours, he oversleeps
thus best track him down,
without uttering peeps
please find out if he knows
anybody reliably housekeeps
maybe lady luck will
thru think magical realism
deliver sophisticated robot
harkening within outer limits
from twilight zone
hookin get the job done
in one fell swoop sweeps.
Meanwhile yours truly
tries to remain upbeat
despite being royally tricked
upon pledging his troth
haint cool wedded bliss
heavily perspiring courtesy ultraheat
smellbound by malodorous laundry
necessitating heavy amount
of clorox to pretreat
which I rather drink,
(and thank president Trump)
for sakes Pete!
Though the misses upholds
voluntarily cooking as wifely role indeed
worth commendable attention,
I do concede
and doth adequately buzzfeed
her hubby lest he
wither away to lovely bones
(well past due date
late to avoid
above mentioned outcome,
his (mine) corporeal
being well nigh freed,
thus complaint regarding
spindleshanks solved no knead
to strain skinny ankle muscles
and maintain self promise
holy matrimony, cuz
aye know weed
never remain married forever
as initially agreed.
Fickle finger of fate
hath spoken thru smelly
potential Superfund site
perhaps... not amazing how heaping pile
of unwashed laundry can create
ecological hazard, that warrants B44
one bedroom apartment condemned
management understandably irate
to withhold security deposit
nearly four years at Highland Manor
now ready for model
domestic counterpart to debate
with her better angels where to relocate.
My never ending
search for whatever
this psychologically gout
riddled rhyme stir to
write (a poem) about
found me figuratively
staring at a theme without doubt
devoid of any "FAKE"
trumping controversial clout,
which subject came in route
tummy mind questioned NOT
explicitly broadcasting best related
most definitely not
apropos to flout
the sensitivity and personal
privacy respectfully tendered
obeyed, and invoked, not to tout
yet an impression can nonetheless
this versatile scout
felt motivated be shared with you
a general over view
the therapist averred thru
the title of this poem, she who
doth "actively listen" pertaining,
asper emotional issues that stew
within the psyche, thus
appreciation as I gentile lee
talked non Jew
bull leant lee of foregone
opportunities till rue
men hating lost chunks of
mine formative years
witnessed self deprivation
(usurped, sponged, and bobbed
entire memory queue)
of ordinary healthy
development of body,
mind, and soul casting
more'n fifty shades
of a grayish hue
my psychological landscape,
where at puberty -
anorexia nervosa (minus bulimia
squarely took root grew)
wing essential nadir existence,
thy emaciated condition drew,
sans Matthew Scott Harris
who recognizes aversion
to grow into manhood blew
away so many necessary figurative
stepping stones permanent
stilted impact didst accrue,
and merely hearing my recitation
of plaintive glue
me emotional reverberations,
now overlain by many
a displeasing faux pas,
and metaphorical boo boo
actions as a father
affecting mindscape
of near grown daughters the "ear"
of assigned therapist
appreciation doth issue.
Siddharta worked hard for the middle way to appear in silent meditation
Above him a lotus flower shone pure radiance from an indigo moon
Ebb and flow levitated cast in nothingness and droplets of wild motion
Antecedent prologues merged with moments of reflection and hindsight
Waters had risen and he sat cross legged on a fig leaf of sunken Atlantis
Ruins of the belligerent future chanted a story of unconditional forgiveness
The river swelled and delivered a choice between waterfalls and cascades
His ragged loincloth drenched in tears submerged in rapids of colourful Karma
His let go of his begging bowl for he seemed alone with himself and the World
It bobbed up and down before it joined an underworld of reclusive sorrow
Maybe rice grains would find a shallow paddy somewhere in kindness
And seed in the knowledge that the Universe holds hunger and passion
He found an ocean of love so powerful it brought him back to the Source
Of all beginnings and ends of surrender and suffering of Four Noble Truths
Empty Coke bottles plastic bags hindered Nirvana but sealed the path
And with his last worldly touch he freed an octopus onto his Eightfold Path
Praise honour and devotion resurfaced as a dolphin clinging on to a sign post
In the wilderness of destruction greed devious currents and harmony drowned
Circled around a polar bear lost on one last ice floe like a prophet of doom
The Buddha never lost hope though and offered his emaciated body to extinction
08th June 2019
Burning bodies, staring eyes.
Smoking chimneys, human cries.
Gas chambers for Jews to die.
Frozen corpses piled up high.
Electric wires inflicting pain.
Mass starvation, inhumane.
Old aged people, mental cases
Skin and bone with human faces.
Amputations, detrimental.
Unethical, experimental.
Too weak to stand, debilitated.
Left to die, emaciated.
Open graves deceased or not
Decomposing humans left to rot.
Undignified but freedoms there.
The stench of death was everywhere
Dentists practicing extractions
Gold fillings became distractions.
Unfed, unclothed, discrimination.
The master plan, extermination.
Eradication of a race.
Genocide, mankinds disgrace.
The Nazi party pursued their aim.
As the world averted eyes in shame.
10 / 15 / 2016.
We came upon a clearing as we all started to choke
Our eyes hurting, painful, us soldier serving blokes
Pieces of black floated, sporadic burning embers passed
Hazed buildings we could see through the trees, chimneys a fast
A stench captured our senses, nothing like this war has before
As we progressed through this something, my heart skips to sore
Beyond the barbed wire fences, deadening cries filter all around
And then I see skeletal beings, it's they who make those sounds
Emaciated to thin, I've killed men before my eyes
Women, men, and children so young, it's like watching the walking die
Through the gates we go, human carcasses piled so high
The hardened in us tremble, and many of us start to cry
The strong that we meet, hold our hands and welcome us so
Leading us into some buildings, we entered, they wouldn't go
On entering we now understand, their unwillingness to follow we
It beggars belief, mans inhumanity to man, that allows this kin to grieve
Furnaces still roaring, burning bodies consumed by their heat
Do I image they were alive or dead to meet this ghastly greet
We enter another building, witnessing piles of shoes and suitcases
I've seen many a sight in this war, but never a sight such as this
The strength of me now exhausted, in wretch I'm sickened to disgust
It's plain and clear, so evident that I've witnessed murdering lust
To the air I wanting go, for their memory I'll never forget
And for the rumours that these places existed, for some will they regret
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-8.php