Long Fences Poems
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Janice Avery loved deep green nature; like cherry sunset owls, gawping.
She dwelt with her parents and Sissy, when old, golden days were walking.
They lived out in the hilly country, where orangeish stars could be seen;
And summer seemed to last forever, for days held a predominate sheen.
Noons were filled with happiness laughter, that foreshadowed pink moon.
Life was young, but blue world was old. Burgundy butterflies left cocoons!
Mauve fog was doing its fadeaway, as never failing, friends came calling;
When feisty fandango flowers flopped-in scent breezes, sweetly recalling!
Future blooms were dreaming buds, in the spring of faultless, family visits,
Via paths, lined with flowers of familiar hues. Birds sang in willow thickets.
Janice lived in the house of cool shadows, beneath lovely, sheltering oaks;
With colored birds at each window! Back fences, saw many tales and jokes!
Rich, raspberry sun lent sights to remember, on their road of blue flowers.
'Ere reverent night fell richly! Like marmalade change, expected in hours.
Numerous hued clouds were etched nebulously, on dusk skies, blackberry,
When nostalgic neighbors came fondly, as a turquoise moon rose, solitary.
'Midnight valentine' camillas felt Cupid's arrows, under yellow stars of thrall;
And 'Lady Margaret' passionflower vine, in burgundy, crept late to the ball!
'Gay goblin' flowers indulged red revelry, as 'brilliant lilies' rivaled the sun;
When 'sultry scarlet' blooms pined for sunset, like nostalgic noon, undone!
Janice was a birdwatcher, for she loved pretty songbirds' chirps and trills;
But, she wanted to see them up close! So, she put seed on her windowsill.
One day as she was entering the room, she saw a red cardinal, hopping;
And pecking her seed as he hopped. Janice ran, but he was not stopping!
Yet, Janice had gotten a good glimpse of red, like sunset skies, before dark;
With a shake he'd flown into azure sky, destnation garden, or green park.
Janice realized moments are precious, and the briefest, might be golden;
And those are the ones most likely to revisit, once twinkling time is olden!
'Once I saw a little bird
Go hop, hop, hop,
So I said: – little bird,
Will you stop, stop, stop?
Then I was going to the window
To say "How do you do?"
But he shook his little tail,
And away he flew!'
Stuff your rock stars, your heros, your christs,
your anti-christs and anarchiests.
Stuff your false idols up your ****.
Stuff your regenerative ramblings;
the spiel of a million others
spilt in diluted misunderstanding.
The generic rhetoric of another blank generation.
Born under the yoke of fashion not fascism
we walk a happy middle ground smiling contentedly.
Raised, sightless, in the sickly glow
of TV screens and neon lights.
Suckled by the fast food empires
and the bloodied abattoir's's carcasses.
Supping the milk of human blindness
with the blood of fallen beasts.
Schooled in paranoia and conformity
through magazines and film.
Body over brain! Body over brain!
Don't feed either if you want to fit in
to society or size sixteen jeans.
Passive skeletal expectancies rule over all.
We are over-looked and yet watched over;
Monitored through cameras and stolen information,
watched on screens by perverts and bigots
watched for signs of difference and dissent:
word gets around and gets arrested.
Incarcerated. Gone inside. Turned inside out.
I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers.
Spayed to the point of mental impotence:
no longer threatening. Hope is dead.
Driven as slaves into factories, offices, banks,
working to gain enough to "buy" what is already ours:
ownership as proof of existence.
I consume therefore I am.
Ownership of possessions and of people.
Taught to repress desire, to plough the rut of our parents.
Mate Spawn and Die.
Breeders laugh in mock pleasure behind picket fences.
There is safety for us all in our collective clichés.
The pursuit of pleasure becomes confused
through labour and labour saving devices
then drowned in alcohol and soap.
Happiness becomes vague comfort and escape:
Ignorance is bliss and bliss is easy.
Pre-packaged rebellion under state supervision
rattling shackles and throwing toys from prams.
Socilalists singing sweet songs of false hopes
an alternative repressive ownership,
punks so bereft of individuality repeat to infinity
even the intelligent ones just want to be another dick.
All grow old and sick together
having furthered the species and the empire,
return to the organic matter from whence we came
or perhaps ground up and fed to the pork and beef
down at Old (Ronald) McDonald's farm that we all love so much........stuffed
Form:
Bundled in a horse-drawn sleigh
warm and snug on Thanksgiving Day
the children restless, we went on our way
as the shedding forest began to sway
and the gusts of wind set astray
the vestiges of autumn's display
that unveiled the cabins along the bay
Past weathered barns fraught with snow
and over covered bridges would we go
through the misty river's chill
turning toward the cider mill
its churning paddles frozen still
past the farmsteads and withered fields
the ghosts of bounty that harvest yields
caught in a breeze of burning leaves
and all the reveries the season weaves
We arrived on main street after sundown
gliding through the charming town
toward the chiming white church steeple
past the storefronts curbed with people
in the wake of the gingerbread float
at the stern of the Pilgrim's boat
behind fairy tales and candy lands
as the revelers sang with clapping hands
to the music of the marching bands
From the celebration would we emerge
from the flowery, spangled surge
to behold a wondrous sight
as geese took flight into the night
over the sea where moonlight sought
to quell the hues that twilight wrought
Frosted lamp posts lit our course
and into a trot sprang our horse
his hooves and harness jingling bells
as if to the tunes of sweet noels
while from the shops whose cozy glow
projected windows on the snow
there flashed the goods someone will leave
under a tree late Christmas Eve
the toys and clothes wrapped in bows
and all the gifts that a stocking stows
Now past chimney smoke and picket fences
nostalgic aspects that stir the senses
where old Victorian silhouettes are found
and gestures of goodwill abound
toward the sound of waves we wound
as our lanterns flickered on the ground
the atmosphere around us festive
while within full and restive
or nestled by the fireplace
or with their heads bowed in grace
folks enjoyed a simple pace
while outside others strolled about
amid the maize and wreaths throughout
absorbed in a twinkling universe
of colors snow-clad and diverse
To our delight there soon arose
a savory ambience for the nose
adrift from tables set with care
with a redolence that met the air
as we hailed the last of passersby
and climbed the road into a sky
whose stars adorned the snowy limbs
to a house on the coast, flowing with hymns
One night about a year ago, we heard whimpering at our door.
One of us had to get up and go, didn’t reckon for what was in store.
A dog, with a note “look after our dog we don’t want him anymore.
We know you are good people, we have watched you at the shops.
Some were shaking their heads and demanding all that noise stops.
We saw you give a woman with 4 screaming kids a bag of lolly pops."
Referring to the dog, tied to our veranda lattice, the note went on to say,
"He isn’t a bad dog and doesn’t eat much, its just that he won’t ever obey.
We can’t control him, and he never stops crying, right up to this very day."
It was a cold night, so we brought him in after we finally got him untied.
At midnight he was warmly soaking in the laundry tub, once inside.
To warm him up, get him clean and to kill every flee that we spied.
Wrapped him in an old towel and realized we had a big decision to make.
The burning question, what to do for the poor dog and for our sake.
We hadn’t planned on getting a dog. Quite a responsibility to undertake.
Finally he stopped whimpering, and on a blanket settled down to sleep.
We would sleep on the burning question whether to give away or keep.
In the morning we were surprised, we got up and didn’t hear a peep.
My husband said good morning he called the dog ‘Bandon’ to my surprise.
“Well” he said “he is an A Bandon’d dog,” Which sounded quite wise.
Having a look at him, he was a handsome dog with large bright eyes.
A metal dish we used for BBQ’s had already been painted with his name.
It seemed we had made “our” decision, a majority of one just the same.
He ate well wagging his tail all the while, and when we called, he came.
Now it was time to work out a budget to handle our new expenses.
Dog food, vet, registration, lead and collar Had we lost our senses?
And then the matter of building and fortifying all our gates and fences.
Well that was all a year ago and time has past and I am happy to relate,
We have a terrific friend. If he sees it left open, he closes the gate.
He was a Bandon’d , now daily, for us to get home, he will sit and wait.
We love this little fella, his happy ways give us more than we give.
He learns something new every day. Home is now such a fun place to live.
A bag of lolly pops made us eligible. To those that gave him up we forgive .
I WISH I WEREN’T A BUNNY
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
I never wanted to be a bunny, I’m not playing this game
I’d reconsider a puma: a lion with a frightening mane
But that’s not my fate, I’m a bunny, a defenseless toy
Other creatures have fangs, claws; they can deploy
I have no defensive arms for use in personal defense
Why nature created a sitting duck, just makes no sense
My choice would be the fiercest critter ever seen
Yep, you got the picture, the ferocious wolverine
Indian lore says, one could cause a village to vacate
Moving in on his territory was a fatal mistake
He’d come after you, if on horse back or if on foot
He’d destroy your tepees and lodges all gone, kaput
But alas, that’s not me: in spite of what I’d like to be
I’m a bunny with soft fur, that’s something we all can see
I have soft long ears, and a wiggly waggely tail
A cute sniffing nose, my gifted maneuvers never fail
Maybe for you, but doesn’t satisfy my lifelong dream
I’m a ferocious beast inside willing to dominate the scene
Mother nature could have given me more traits to bear
Like those big hind legs and speed she gave to the hare
Or a cotton tail that can avoid danger by simply leaping
I spend the day, daydreaming or silently sleeping
But all in all; the object of my wishes and self esteem
Is to wake up tomorrow in the body of a wolverine
Each day when I open my eyes, it’s the same old story
My status hasn’t changed, I’m the example of lonely
When I first arrived every body came over to see me
I was the new thing on the block a real live novelty
But as time progressed visitors were fewer in number
Reducing my activities to intermittent slumber
Bunny (2)
I can’t complain I have fresh vegetables every day
And usually some company, if the kids decide to play
But I’m a one man show unable to live up to my reputation
As a prolific contributor in expanding the population
Each night I pray when I wake a willing doe will appear
I know she is somewhere but unfortunately, not here
In a dream the other night, I was lightening quick
Instead of hippity n hopping, I was lickety split
Those wishes that constantly flood my senses
Doused by the existence of surrounding fences
I’ll just have to accept my lot, be docile, not mean
But between you and I, I’d rather be a wolverine
My fellow countrymen, the President, Politicians, and pulpiteers Though not in a cave like Rip Van Winkle, I must have fallen asleep in "indifference and over-business". It was more than Van Winkle's 20 years, because prior to my sleep, I knew an America that dreamed of chickens in every pot; of carports, garages, and picket fences; of a good education and catching the Joneses.
It appears I am awaking, not from, but to, a nightmare; and to what am I opening my eyes to see? Me thinks it's not 'my country tis of thee'; not a chicken in the pot or fryer in the skillet. But I see leaders in the kettle like a frog, where the fire is turned down low and heating slowly. Like the frog, they are relaxed and comfortable. Oh Lord, if they only knew the manner of the frog's demise.
I see changes, and multiple evils have been removed. Recovery and relief have been appropriated and dispatched for the poor. Reforms and revivals have periodically visited us from above. I see blessings and prosperity beyond comparison; melting pots of dreamers and immigrants still dine at our tables. That's part of the American beauty.
Oh America, we are busy face-booking and twitting; But we must realize that we are also bleeding. I weep for what might lie ahead for us. I grieve for what we are becoming. I fear for us, though not of guns and nukes from afar; But for rivalries in the white house and the halls of congress. And I fear for our pulpiteers who also relax in the kettle like the frog.
07312017cjFBPH; August Standard Contest, Brian Strand Part fiction
I waited
Under the outspread foliage
Of the banana tree,
With ripening fruits dangling precariously,
Wondering,
With eyes set on the earth,
Wishing I understood
This everlasting madness.
To what end would man go,
To what end?
A mystery it remains,
Like the age old conundrum
Of the seniority between the hen and the egg,
Like the unfathomable depths of the bottomless pit...
Oh! Lamenting in unbridled grief,
Mother of all,
Seated on an ashen throne,
Wails poignantly,
While her children trade mighty fists,
Wetted by her tears,
Buoyed no less by her flashing darts
Of fierce reproof..
I, a mere bystander,
Watching, meditating, confused,
Lost, trying to understand what
Led to such fisticuffs
Between brothers who sucked on
The small obfuscated nipple
And rode the same burdened back..
Yes!
To what abysmal end?
What, hidden under the rigid crusts of the earth
Drives man to seek so zealously
To bury his fellow man
Six inches below
And shake his head
From side to side
Wearing rehearsed frowns,
Indifferent, obeying the laws
Of anarchy, and basking
In the prestige
Of ill advantage?
For in these matters,
Fasidically christened "the survival arts"
Men show sleight of hand,
Dexterity and mastery of the deleterious science
Of death...
And for his fellow, he is unapologetic..
Fallen, have you into the cesspool
And mucky wastes of nothingness,
You survived not,
And as such, were not fit to survive...
We, must hold our
Small heads in mad agony,
For shamelessly, we have
Trampled on the little men,
So dastardly disparaged
Till they shrunk,
Into tiny ants
Who suffer in silence
While the mammoths fight
For the trophy from Sheol..
I wondered....
Days passed,
Nights went by, sleep eluded me,
Nightmares sought out my deranged mind
And tormented me,
And I could not bear it any longer!
I searched the lengths and breadths of the earth
For answers, from men
wizened beyond my years,
But found them not...
I found only fools,
Tightly snuggled in their cosy territories
With mighty barricades
And tall barb-wired fences,
Throwing orgies...
For they had defeated themselves...
It was then, I slept...
This time, in the gentle
Stillness of the Caspian,
Wishing I was never born....
High school times were lived with fun and ease
Other peoples opinions I didn’t care to please
Found friends who accepted me for who I was
Wanted to enjoy it, soak it up, it was love
Class became less important, became such a bore
Going to school and listening started to be a chore
Intelligence and ability weren’t the problem at hand
Needed a challenge, motivation, Teachers didn’t understand
Getting taught the same thing, same lesson plan everyday
Made the decision easy, I’ll just go a different way
Basketball I still loved, it had always been my addiction
My new ways were causing trouble, not my smartest transition
Wasn’t making the grades needed to stay on the team
There I stood watching, as it drifted away, my dream
My whole life’s plan, I gave away just like that
Figured quitting was the answer, now I’ll never get it back
Decided on a new plan, a new worthless occupation
I was self employed, getting hired? No complication
Welcome to the party, I’ll be your host for the evening
What ever your pleasure, just ask, it’s for the taking
Which drug do you prefer, I’ll be happy to oblige
Smoke some herb, do some coke, or Lucy in the Sky?
Never was a dealer, just a consumer if you will
Then a new addiction, one special little pill
Just weekend party fun, you know, only here and there
But the feeling it gave me, well nothing else could compare
Soon it was a daily thing, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and such
Next thing I knew, I couldn’t smile with out my crutch
Still to me, all these things didn’t seem a big deal
What happen to that speech, the one about how drugs kill
Friends tried to warn me, things had gone too far
But I couldn’t help by stick my hand, in the evil cookie jar
Harmless fun turned to mayhem, actions with consequences
Tragedy was lurking, hiding behind the fences
Time to get out, but I tell you, it had a good hold
These demons and these urges, was I strong enough to control
Found a way to slow down, hop out the fast lane for a bit
It was a good ride with good times, man what a trip
I really thought I got lucky, no major repercussions
Thought I was out of the path of total self destruction
But hold on tight, this is just the start, of things I’d have to kick
Darkness was upon me, but my eyes were blind, what a trick
I lay my head down to sleep to the calm and peaceful sound of music flowing through the thick trees cruising from the subdivision below my dwelling.The rhythmic sounds of crickets and frogs composed a beautiful sympony and spawned a strange unfamiliar song that lay motionless on my ear, forcing me to absorb the quiet scent of the night and fall asleep without fear.In the dead heat of the night something thrust me from my bed and I found myself in the tumult of everyday life wrestling with the bearded probe again .I discovered my truck in a parking lot with bright white paint applied to the side. A sheet of paper lays flat in the windscreen bearing a name and number "Why should someone paint my truck in white", I muttered silently to myself.This strange happening propelled me to anxiously called the number.A high pitched voice woman answered the phone and gave me directions to find her. I drove endlessly humming a tune until I ended up on the other side of town. As tacky as it seemed and as gloomy as it appeared I entered the place without fear. I parked outside an unpaved parking lot and entered a tall gigantic apartment building and walked up the stairs. Suddenly two young women met me half way and told me that they would take me to the person who painted my truck .All three of us ventured down the stairs and pounced upon a confused crowd of people walking aimlessly up and down the streets while motor vehicles sprawled out everywhere.We hurriedly walked passed a depot and saw hard working men dressed in military suits standing next to barbed wire fences loading people urgently into trucks.They were recruiting barbers and people with skills to join them while screaming and shouting as if they were on the auction block. Many people boarded the truck but we shoved our way through the crowd until we reached a crowded market. The two young woman suddenly disappeared and left me alone standing there.I searched for my truck but I could not find it.Dawn brought the night's fury to an end and I was relieved to be back to reality again.
©2014 Christine Phillips
There was a dense fog upon the land
not a fit night for animal nor man...
the moon did change its silvery view
replacing it now was a blood red hue....
There just beyond thicket of the marsh road
lies the endless tar pits of bubbling black
It has been told that should one fall in it ~
There would definitely be no turning back....
Oh, how the populace did dread passing the pits
for all knew what dwelled within it...
Goblins dared not cross over it... and the vampire bats
would not go anywhere near it...
Even the witches feared this Halloween night,
as they packed their caldrons and potions...
preparing their broomsticks readying for flight...
too escape the diabolical one, known as Dark Blight.
Alley cats sat on fences and drank black draught, tonight
thence, sang they a harrowing song full of fright...
As the draught turned their multi-colored coats
to the colors of pitch black midnight...
The domesticated dogs remembered
their kindred brother wolves....
Soon they gave chase to lost souls,
while howling at the man in the moon...
So it began... with large boney fingers liken to ashy white talons
Dark Blight emerged scatching its way to the surface... its massive black shoulders
bearing a skull revealing eyes which burned
liken to red hot coals with yellow pupils set a glow...
With a sinister grin he did appear from within the pitch black pits
pentagrams and talismans were etched upon his sinewy back....
such slimy black skin mirroring centuries of horrors from many Halloweens past.
Oh, indeed there would be no rest for the weary wanderers this night...
Unless, a champion should appear in time to put things a right....
until then Dark Blight would continue to pass through the night; slithering upon his
belly ~
all the while leaving a dark trail as red as raspberry jelly...
Even the Ghouls knew and would stir clear of the sweet sticky pools
The Gnomes stood careful guard over homes,
whilst watching over all babes and fools....
For such tender flesh made the Dark Blight's lips drool...
The crows cawed thrice and the hoot owls hid their eyes....
Oh, the night was nothing nice, as blood chilled like ice....
Who would put a stop too the dastardly Blight...?