Long Emasculated Poems
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Scented Nightingale sets sail
Foraging through every, well-forded dale
Primped, preened emasculated shell
Black crown renovated for sale
From seductive perch casts alluring spell
Easy catch your lucrative Grail
Burnished cloak gleaming 'neath the moon pale
Brightly adorned feathers flap and flail
Arched talons ready to caress and assail
Hoary head cocked; each passing suitor to hail
Chirping beak with flattering lines doth swell
Her prominent tail quivers at the sight of every, virile male
Innocent malingerer she'll stalk then trail
'Till clutching his beating heart and hearing his bleating wail
Unlike this papa akin
to being racked, raided,
and raked with hot coals
during his adolescence devoid of
a social network and academic goals
if possible to magnify
psyche, one would see
mostly a torn shred of holes
thy youngest (of deux) daughters
did not agitate
as much as myself, asper being
emotionally isolated, a miserable fate
she participated with
supportive services how grate
full (this once psychologically dead papa),
progeny did not experience
chronic severe hate
Shana (Punim) blessed by fate
while a Lower Merion
High School student did great
fully experience positive
munificent interpersonal bounty,
she didst illustrate
with smiles all around her countenance,
which sophomore socialization better late
than never, which friendlessness
(that didst plague this papa),
thee progeny didst obviate
thus, this poem
(to no one in particular),
expresses how I appreciate
the plethora of supportive
services, to ameliorate
bugaboo sans inferiority complex,
(ran rampant within self)
where mine imaginary
pals did commiserate
nonetheless, aye envy thine
begotten Harris heiress,
whose self esteem positively bolstered
ensure ring a confidential boost,
and now doth demonstrate
how remedial, and extracurricular activities
during and after class respectively,
combatted cognitive delay,
warding off bullies,
who did grate, humiliate
and interrogate, this middle aged
(he's a good) fellow,
Johnny come late
lee to the "NON FAKE" game of life
changing strengthened soul asylum
primary, secondary, and tertiary grades
where whip sawed, pejoratively emasculated
hoary golem, unstintingly bruiting, brow beating
and bamboozling gremlins
wrought zealous destruction!
She lives in a single dimensional world
But watches 3D in the theater
She decides that she will protect herself
The next time he tries to beat her
He feels inadequate in the outside world
Emasculated by the masses
So to help him feel more like a man
He beats her every time she passes
Her mother had left them long ago
His wife had had enough
Physically and mentally abusing his child
Makes him feel real tough
He didn't like the way she dressed that night
And was going to hit her with his belt
The handgun she had hid in her purse
Would change the hand that she was dealt
The orange jump suit that she now wears
And will for twenty years
Is worth the price that she has to pay
For putting an end to the monster she fears
After a lifetime
(pronounced like millennium),
where tenacity futilely braced
psyche deeply purpled,
hellishly, and lethally
traced resulting scars -
jackknifed, emasculated
cruelly chaste
sexuality expired, lapsed,
and petered out testosterone
begone to waste,
and how this abased
bereft of eroded optimism,
nee faith no more - erased,
solitary carbon based animal
coalesced into countless
foreborn generations
(glommed *****sapiens
salient survival skills)
mortified, putrefied, and
stagnated toxic brew
quaffing poisonous
score peon - composite gin,
barley distilled, exiled,
and fragmented
human encased
faculties doggedly
catapulted, with haste
squandered genetic inheritance
kamikaze potential
apathetically plundered, akin
how Hindenburg plummeted
like led zeppelin,
(scare way to craven)
his foghorn emitting distinctive
Semitic bulbous
shofar shaped schnozzle traced
analogous to decrepit son -
dialed helpline to late
promising lad once vaunted
lauded, and
deemed hereditarily, -
he busted great expectations
quintessentially, psycho
socially, and opportunistically
lineage noble storied
standing déclassé debased
forced to take stock at aging
non-thrilled man
in the mirror
haggard heavily creased
doughy paste poker face
(born that way)
blankly stare ring back, spaced
out, no longer boyish,
but gray bearly grizzled,
flecked, and etched stubble,
scraggly unkempt whiskers
discombobulated
straggly matted hair
limply drape stupefied noggin
utterly disc graced
countenance eye spy
crows feet laced
blotchy complexion re: placed
once smooth skin
donned dawning senescence
amplification trumped
"NON FAKE" crudely
aping scrim age lost
fight of his life.
The man who made his meddle outta' sand,
came to my hand,
and I kept on begging for a chant,
from god-
the angels,
or even the damned.
This locust creeped'
into that big house by the street,
into the cracks
that leaked out the meek,
caused my tree's their little leafs,
and my cats their skis,
I had no proof to see,
but it really happened to me...
That one day at the Peet's-
that one hour of peace,
the crease in the page had folded awesomely,
at the perfect degree.
The sun sparkling,
my eye's dozily-
crosses into the rolling scheme,
and then I become the poetry,
lust gets forgotten,
power emasculated,
hours infatuated,
sourcrout steak being heated to the core,
girls go out the door,
begging in pours,
become seated on the porch,
sipping tea and eating dessert,
never having to flirt,
always having a turn,
oh yes-
come in and become the stress-
come into the best,
and then take home your vest.
I was born in absence—
not just of a father,
but of the myth of one.
Raised by silence,
I searched for manhood
in shadows and wounds.
My name is Oedipus rewritten—
not in fate,
but in affection never given.
My sister wears men like seasons,
because no one taught her
what protection felt like.
A home is soul-architecture:
a mother to nurture,
a father to protect.
Remove one—
the child wanders inward,
into crime, confusion, or ache.
Today, fathers are exiled—
emasculated by law,
their authority turned to shame.
And mothers are told:
“You can be both.”
But God was not a fool
to design a house
with two pillars,
not one.
Fatherless children often fall—
not from evil,
but from emptiness.
Society fractures
when the family fails.
No policy can replace
a father’s voice
or a child’s peace.
If this silence continues,
humanity won’t perish in war,
but in quiet homes
where no one knows
what love should feel like.
I’ve been looking at a map of the world...
upside down.
The Mercator version just doesn’t sit right with me.
Old Chinese maps once were oriented
East to North.
Many ancients envisioned
North to be South.
When I look at the map upside down
it all makes sense.
The East now looks a lot like
an obese dragon throwing up
clumps of green fur-balls.
A Godzilla-like Britain,
now dangles into the Antarctic
Its nether regions emasculated
by the slow nibble
of immigrant crustaceans.
Europe and Russia as always, seem to be
carpet bombing the sky.
Africa, well Africa is still Africa,
only now it looks like a turd
in the process of being purged.
Australia on the other hand
looks like the United States,
a place where kangaroos
bounce in a slomo Texan rodeo.
Florida’s limp dick situation
is now flagrantly erect.
Any piddling little country
can now be orientated
at the middlemost point of the globe.
However, the Great State of Ohio
looms large
and still remains deeply significant.
The rest of the world
radiates away from California
as Walt Disney always intended.
It’s a secret only known to NASA
but astronauts who circle the globe,
on return,
have to be reeducated,
or forever struggle
to keep walking upon the ceiling.
Forgiven Again
****
Human
In absolute duress
Frantically abandon Eden
Plagued by a menacing darkness
Apparition transform into Seraphim
Extinguishing flames of hopelessness
Rejuvenate emasculated mortal skin
Hearts atone then spirit rejoices
As love descend from heaven
A new advent arises
Forgiven
Again
Penned: 02/12/2010
4:45 p.m.
Aboard cruise liner, "Radiance of the Seas"
Floating on an ocean--somewhere
I find it humorous how folks like to say, "multicultural",
Multicultural is a very safe euphemism,
For it euphemizes mass incarceration and exploitation.
It enables organizations to create one slot for any brown, yellow, or red character
and call themselves "progressive".
Meanwhile we brown, yellow, red, and black, fight like dogs for their approval.
Well I say, their approval is of little consequence, for it is God that they must
ultimately answer.
And God sees all.
Black People, Black Queers, Black Rape Victims, are not multicultural.
We did not come here with hope, we came here in bondage and have been in
bondage ever since!
How many times must I listen to so called allies say, "But what about the
Vietnamese, for they have issues too?"
As if it should be my added burden to make sense of their problems?
My people built this nation plain and simple.
They worked for no wages and built the foundation for American prosperity.
And now "progressive" liberals think that they can grasp this experience?
How I ask you?
How can they know?
As they struggle to empathize from their rooftops.
From rooftops all people look the same.
It is only from the street that one can grasp the nuances.
Black women are not multicultural.
They are the recipients of an abominable legacy of injustice which continues ad-
nauseum.
I challenge anyone who thinks they understand, to humble themselves and
finally deign to ask me for my opinion.
For I have lived the hell of miscegenation! And the sodomy of emasculated
voices in alliances on this and that.
And even as you read this, your minds are too numb to grasp the full measure of
its venom.
And still, God loves me too.
Venom and all.
For God is not afraid of the requeim that awaits us.
No God is not afraid at all.
Archetypes flash straight from a pack of Tarot cards
anti-terror Jing Jang synthesis with neuro-spiritual precision
implants explosive animation from the deep unknown
like a taro rootstock growing wings to fly with found suspension
Stereotactic stereotypes archetypes semi-circling soothing storm clouds
thunderbolts and enlightening darkness are my enema of anxious anger critique
of the mono-morph collision of the scalpel shadow ‘Prozacian’ nemesis
neology of ‘animusity’ of ‘newfoundlandel’ comprehension
Dialectical complementation rises higher and higher culminates in
ethereal transcendence where collective personal unconscious
presents my animus in wishful thinking and projections as
soft and gentle revel rebel raising entropy in tender conservation to escape from
Dogma categorically demanding artificial classification replacing with dimension
flow and rivers stagnant pools of stream of consciousness evading
sexist fragmentation disenfranchising marginalisation assigning male
and female emasculated o-variation where seminal origin implantation
Precedes nurture socialised indoctrination assignment of celibate promiscuity
My animus refuses to accept in emotional rejection whether Jung and I read
symbols from the same page or not of masques façades and liberated self
where academic artistry split hairs and personality for the premise of debate
I am a rebel and claim no higher lower ground of superior distension
He or she who animates friendly animosity is right and incorrect whatever
common ground belies the provocation I propose but possibly my
presentation of what others mean in kindness is too neutral neuters psyche
While anima and animus illustrate conclude a symbiotic destination
the starting point of this and that left right up above and side by side
is far too circular an argument when we should start not end in union
Male and female are constructions of disparity of power and repression
Archetypes are not therefore I am
11th June 2016
Animus-Anima Part II—Animus – Poetry Contest
Sponsor Tom Quigley