Long Excise Poems
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The world is so attached to this perceived device
Lost is the romance of rolling the proverbial dice
What would it be like; if we remembered to entice?
Instead, we only tax each other to a ruined excise
Until all our souls breath is cold as new formed ice
Seeing impurities; in the aspects that we are precise
Most are shown to have spines akin to the ghosts of mice
Our days spent trying to quantify our life's value price
Seeking to achieve a version of paradise
All while searching for an unattainable entitled slice
Without giving an offering to self-sacrifice
No real effort to make the world better will suffice
This verse with judgment; am I withholding advice?
Peel back the lamination of this to reveal its true gneiss
Questioning; who do you know; would you ever think twice?
Swimming times river, looking for every-ones; selfish vice
Avast emotional gulf manifested; courtesy
series of unfortunate events; sundered
biologically accorded, cherished, enshrined
paternal bond; resultant dereliction defies,
justifies, ratifies...dissonance; unbearable
hindsight excoriates impropriety reviewing
dirty deeds done dirt cheap; impossible mission
to excise indelibly etched psychological
impacted repercussions upon mine fountainhead;
weighing excruciating deserved self loathing;
permanently deplorable depravity yoked;
unyielding choke hold, no longer asking
forgiveness, but airing errant culpability;
dada's guilt indefensible impropriety; begetting
permanent fallout; exacting just desserts; bitter
regret beast of burden (oxe see moron) housed
within self made villain; unjust to impinge your
providential opportunities, whose blessed smarts
plus unfettered, unencumbered, undaunted...
daring do promise productive existence par
excellence, versus anxiety riddled torturous
legacy writ large across countenance this papa;
analogously das scribe bing mortal epitaph, while
dark shadows haunt this edgy rusty knight, who
once pawn time shrugged off mischievous
lascivious actions as payback; recognizably erred;
misperceptions (mine); deduced ex post facto,
when the missus doled out unpleasantries;
exploding anger; vented regarding significant
roiling perturbations harkening to her own
unrepentant poisonous stinging toxicity;
delivered courtesy birth parents; hands lack
king awareness to rock cradle with tender
loving care, hence burdened with childhood
tsoris prior to accepting yours truly as life
contra dance partner these preceding xxii+
years avoiding unseemly behavior; aware
that the mother of our two darling daughters
doth love and forgive me, though recouping
similar results with first offspring may remain
tense, and many years past not a happy camper.
Excise Exercise 1.
Today is the Day she prints out her poems-
a careful first time collation of black and white,
and every color to be seen, in between.
Her Heart clings to words of lost love. And hope.
Which scores are true keepers of internal Self?
In your face front page realities?
Or surreal back page fantasies?
Lies and faith in truth flesh out
skeletal details of a Homeless Heart
living below life on bye-bye ways. And high hi ways.
Out in the open. Vulnerable. Exposed.
Free to go. Free to disappear.
Free to reappear in any frame of mind
between cover, uncover, and undercover.
Finally getting lost...
To be fully found out.
Aqua Marine Pen Umbra Poetry.
26 January, 2024.
I had been working on the concept of "Penumbra" Poetry for a while. Penumbra is a term used to describe the coulour that blends light and shadow to give dimension. Human behavior is often judged "black and white", without adding discernment to deepen understanding. I deeply value those who express deep discernment, fellow feeling, and an acknowledgment of uniqueness, expressed in the creative Poetic minds, old and new, who come here. Thank you to those who read my poems. It is enough to be "seen and heard."
With Faith, Hope, Love. (And the greatest of these is Love.)
a cadaver is laid down on a cold dissecting table;
to study all about life, an anatomist ponders
which organ to be excised for examination without bias
he decided to use a median value of the life
from normal curve within +/-1 sigma area
after a thorough examination of the body
the anatomist who is still breathing decided to excise the heart,
which never was stopped until the cadaver breathed his last breath;
and the brain’s layer after layers of good and bad memories, caused from good and evil thoughts or his behavior while he was alive
inside his heart was contaminated from all kinds of waste
and that’s why it made difficulty in breathing; on the surface,
so many big and small cut outs and stab wounds all overshadowed
by the immorality of the mundane world it makes you want to turn
your face away from it
the brain is no difference, after chopping the skull, the anatomist carefully pulled the brain out, unfolded and examined every nook and corner of the brain. the connected cobweb-like thought’s narrow passageway consisting from all kinds of chemistry symbols; it was, found to be a lump of fossilized DNA so fragile that just a little touch of the hand would make it crumble
at the time when the pulverized fossil blown in the air
carried by a gust of wind, started to release an overpowering
stench so disgusting that nauseates the sniffer; however, as you sniff more
and more, it becomes sweeter and finally enraptured the sniffer.
and after all the mysterious aroma thus becomes powerful enough
to delude you into pretense that you bear a charmed life, thereby
dragging you to stand at the edge of a deadly cliff
if a day of life is entangled with so much oddity and complication,
there won’t be any better and simple life beyond death,
yet the grotesquely structured brain wanted to look into
the world beyond as ever
He chafes the prayer beads against his wrist
Has died lesser deaths of exasperated rage
It’s not forgiveness he seeks but purifying anger
To feel the rawness of emotion he focusses
On undefeatable loss and zealous slaughter
Of cross fires approaching target practice
A peaceful man and oft discerned by thoughts
In overthinking modes of analytical destruction
The old warrior aims to unleash condensing fury
‘I want to feel the hurt’ and so he turns inside
For considerate vivisection and careful attribution
Selects a modus operandi to excise the pain
Rips off the bandages and washes ointment from
Years of contained and preordained resilience
And resolves that ceasefires of mind must stop
Turns off the light to engage with boiling darkness
Plugs his ears and braves an onslaught of deaf voices
As cacophony and synaesthesia fuel the silent bellow
Once iron will is hot and set on scalding blisters he confronts
Injustices and ravenous beasts of incinerating prey head on
At last they fall on his scalpel once boiling point is reached
To remind himself of the successful operation he chooses not
To stitch the gaping injury because he needs encouragement
Instead he cauterizes his soul and seals a union with himself
16th December 2019
Senescence concomitant
and best buds with malaise
despondency inescapable as
infirmity ages formerly young gals guys
though age just a "number"
father time not shy to apprise
every mortal wakes to the
inescapable truth that never dies
each living species mainly
one known as *****sapiens
allotted longevity not much
greater than highest
double digit which existence flies
at speed of greased lightning,
which passage of years
zip faster -- this strictly my
perception as one nears
cessation finally escaping
nasty, short and brutish
how to remain youthful lies
plugged by health
and fitness tricksters,
"FAKE" staunching
getting older decries
the science of biochemistry,
gerontology, kazoo whist tree, pathology...
though many consumers
spend bajillion dollars to disguise
and/or feebly stave off their demise,
oft times, yours truly (me)
doth not despise
the finality frontier, whereby body electric
ceases to function and this poet cries
against psychological torture of anxiety/
panic attacks linkedin to penuriousness
physiological symptoms
even with prescription medication
i.e. racing heart, chronically
sweaty palms, irritable bowels,
thus there ought not
be cause for surprise,
where salutary marital
bond bereft, when he dies...
finally free and clear
of Lake woebegone angst no lies
yet not courting danse macabre,
but occasionally sighs
pondering courtesy visit
qua grim reaper who allies
him/herself to every storied birth,
whose wish to live
long as Methuselah
an aspiration this
scrivener doth advise
against, no friends family,
nor lovely beau ties
remain, a near reality,
whereby alienation, I cannot excise
thus toy with suicidal ideation,
though ye might chastise
elusive joie de vivre impossible mission
to attain plus world growing
darker shadows along edge
of night with decreasing eye
cite, and gloomy prospect
Medicare maybe axed...
accursed fate eternal sleep
destiny or her her offspring
might hopefully exercise.
The Length of Time
Sometimes it takes the length of time to get us through our life,
And Sometimes it takes a length of time to see us through our strife;
Sometimes it takes the length of time to heal our troubled past,
And Sometimes it takes a length of time to prove that we can last;
Sometimes it takes the length of time to get outside our head,
And Sometimes it takes a length of time to face that which we dread;
Sometimes it takes a length of time to heal our hardened heart,
And Sometimes it takes the length of time to yield a brand new start;
Sometimes it takes the length of time to know what we have lost,
And Sometimes it takes a length of time to know at just what cost;
Sometimes it takes the length of time to wallow through the mire,
And Sometimes it takes a length of time to reach what we desire;
Sometimes it takes the length of time to accept ourselves as whole,
And Sometimes it takes a length of time to heal our shattered soul;
Sometimes it takes the length of time to grasp the reasons that we fell,
And Sometimes it takes a length of time for us to sit and dwell;
Sometimes it takes the length of time to excise memories bad,
And Sometimes it takes a length of time to heal our heart that’s sad;
So to understand the length of time is not for us to know,
So we must cherish all the lengths of time for it is with it we'll grow.
“Wreck ashore! Wreck ashore!” came t’ cry on t’ wind,
Lanterns lit quick as t’ dark rolled in.
Steady on wi’ thi crates — them crabs an’ Welch’s near!
‘Tis whiskey this — nee chance it’ll spoil in ‘ere.
Rain an’ wind can’t find us here,
Sea maybe… but we’ll sup wi’ cheer.
These caves lead straight t’ father’s hoose,
An’ more beyond to hide these fruits.
Lantern sways on dripping stone,
Bottles clink as up we groan.
Scraped bloody knee an’ t’ elbow ache,
Forgotten soon wi’ profit make.
Tha whines an’ bawls cos tha’s lug crates,
Twelve bottles o’ nectar — tha’ll thank me, wait!
“Easy now lads, keep t’ lantern low —
Up t’ bolt-hole sharp we go.”
‘Tis salvage this, not looting mate,
Pulled from out them vicious waves’ gate.
Straw spills soft as t’ crate we crack,
Golden smell comes drifting back.
Eeh, t’ excise’ll come — nee doubt o’ that,
Sniffin’ round like dockside rat.
T’ excise searched caves an’ barns galore,
Yet weddings rang on t’ village shore.
STOP the senseless killing
By Michelle Morris
01/06/2020
We saw a man
Murdered on
The street,
By the serve
And protect
Police on
The beat...
And he couldn't breathe -
Begged and
Pleaded to
Be freed;
To live...
Not leave...
But power...
And control...
And fear...
And hate...
And prejudice...
And pride...
Are all
Elements that
Together
Did collide...
And exploded
In an apex of
Evil
Where good men
And women
Stood by
Too fearful
To try and
Stop the
Inevitable
Death
That was
Coming
To teach
US All...
That it's
Time to
(Once and for all)
STOP
The senseless
Killing of
People in this
World.
We cannot
Unwind,
Rewind or
Delete the
Images
On our screens...
In our hearts and
Minds...
Humanity's soul
Is on the
Line...
NOW
Is the time to
Get it right...
Justice
Shouldn't be a
Right we have to
Fight for...
Because we
Need to
Dig deep and
Excise this
Wound of
Shared
Darkness and
Evil...
And heal
Our nations,
Our people,
Ourselves...
And keep on
Praying for
Grace and
Guidance...
For love to
Dwell...
Because if we don't,
We'll act it out
Again:
The dance of
Death and
Shame...
And George Floyd
Would have
Died in
Vain.
© Michelle Morris, 2020
Aha...At Last,..Bitta Bing Bitta Bang
The Figurative Nail Hit On The Hair Strand Size Head!
Though no physician,
this aging baby boomer
absolutely, intuitively, and
unequivocally sensed hair loss (mine),
at first a speculative rumor
not simply in my (ahem) head,
no matter a minimalist groomer
nevertheless, thinning follicles,
upon dawning realization, sans medical
sought relief thru good humor,
though within this balding cerebral noggin
became repulsive as if my scalp
pulled pate rendered as a tumor.
Thus an unexpectedly present surprise
when in private consultation in the guise
as out patient client (early afternoon
December 19th, 2018),
where I did fraternize
and kibitz with the medical assistant
(old enough to be my...sister),
aye did exercise
mild mannered mien mean, aye do patronize
before doctor Rudolf (dearly
reigned) Roth, a practicing
Dermatologist told me no lies
his instant karma knowledge - mainly his
thirty seven years expertise
sought to excise
a prominent non cancerous mole approximately
centered middle of back
a small patch of skin,
he needed to anesthetize
nonetheless, a reassuring persona,
yours truly did lionize
(not merely, cuz
he received a five star rating,
specialist under auspices
of Penn, Medicine)
in Radnor Pennsylvania),
his modest calm did neutralize
any uneasiness, as did his pronounced
humility earn kudos to idolize
such rarely present gentility, and
unwitting capacity did harmonize,
and maximize significance to me,
asper my thinning limp
hair logically rationalize
identified underactive thyroid gland
(hypothyroidism) tubby,
which didst legitimize
no hair brained rooted concern,
hence...less reason to catastrophize',
which for no reason I
wanted to mildly emphasize,
hence choice to apostrophize...