Long Fingering Poems
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The man I love
doesn't know my name
Conned
What does that mean
It means illusion and dillussion
It means lies that live like a vine on a tree
swirling around the trunk
Fingering the branches
Basking in the life force of the beautiful tree
The vine
It grows telling the tree they are lovers
Entwining slowly and ever gently
It grows
The tree enjoys the company
Thinking
This is my friend my partner
Let us join together
Let us grow together
Let us take up more room
We will be more ...more leaves
We can take in more light together!!!
Till the tree starts to choke
Just a little at first
then more and more each day there is less oxygen
Until it's lower branches start to fade
It's Leaves are less green
It starts to choke more
And it turns to its so beloved friend
and says
I feel unwell
But vine says
Oh you are so beautiful
So tall and gifted
Look what poetic leaves you make
Tree blushes and let's the vine hug it tighter
And tree feels loved
It says to itself I am needed
I am essential
Look how vine loves me
look it hugs me holds me
We are a true pair!!!
But tomorrow comes and tree can't breath
Tree says to vine I know you love me but can you
gently loosen your hug
because I am not able to breath
Vine says
You are my life
You are my love
Don't you love me?
Am I not loving and holding and embracing you
just as you needed?
I am everything you said you wanted
Tree can't argue but with every day grows weaker
Unable to breath and no longer with enough oxygen
It starts to fade
Vine says
Hey buddy look how full we are
Man I feel great my leaves are super green
I am reaching the sky with your help
Look at me at the top of the world
But tree is too weak to argue
It whispers
Vine I love you
Vine says
Oh man isn't this an incredible view
and stretching further to the sun fails to notice
that tree
No longer answering
Vine thrives and thrives and forgets to talk to tree
Tree turns brown
Vine notices tree is less attractive
thinks it's age
Vine feels vibrant and attractive and giant and unstoppable
Vine thinks it has moved beyond tree
Look at me know it thinks as it reaches for bigger trees
Near by
But then suddenly tree is cut down for fire wood
and vine is cut back and cut down as well
Crying out
Why why why
as it is hauled away
WordScape Triptych #1
Coming from the Underworld as a ghost, just sauntering out of the depths like you did;
With all the rest of us just watching and wondering what you were going to say;
Tell us young Beatrice what shavings you encountered in your intrepid sojourns;
Regale us with splendid tales, and grand dishes with squid meat and fried barnacles;
Intrigue us with your newly-learned dances taught by dead men beneath the grasses.
Manipulate us with your pouting grimaces when sad phrases turn inward the head screws;
Sweet Beatrice, there is no relief or recourse from these exacting heart exercises;
These time-stopping surrenders to the moist touches of absolute skin arousals.
Please lovely Dulcinea, guide us to the far-away stones piled atop the ancient green expanses;
Where screaming armies once pondered mortality amidst the spreading proliferating weeds;
Soothe us with your tender eye gazes which shoot through the airy spaces with calm affinities;
Made immaculate with silent prayers and lifted legs around the shoulders of the nobilities.
Create us for your strange mansions and your strange universes made of chalk, and fingering fears;
These soothing squanderings of doubting time, and the strange splashings of forgetful mercies,
Made manifest with the urgings of the stones, and the apex gods with the sharp plastic crowns;
Please Dulcinea, sing to us with your tenor gyrations made of pickled stardust and squid meat.
And proffer for us, sweet sweet Laura, your lilting songs celebrating the recurring exhalations;
From the lips of bearded nomads coming like leopards across the squared-faced, death vistas;
Expose to us your battle-scarred appendages where bleeding arrows found the stringed lattices;
Reveal to us your arched spinal bridges which flatten and turn with the seeking wind shears;
Gather us, lovely Laura, to your immense home hidden in the spiral ferns for tea and secret games;
Teach us how to be present and aware of the artifices, as rendered woodenly by the blind gropers;
Yes, sweet sweet Laura, we are at your service, but finally, kill us, destroy and annihilate us,
With your slithering clandestine movements behind dripping tombstones in the snoring graveyards.
In such a whimsical action
a half-asleep routine
shaped disrobed and left stark naked
this vehicle, this housing, a shell
scarred skin, greying hair, bones, muscle
and more besides with plenty of stories to tell.
Awash with collected fallacious matter
amid mind obstacles and other clutter
clinging like feathered shards
decorating our ethereal bodies help slide
through the corridors of our intentions.
Standing ‘au naturel’ now in a white tiled cube
blinking up at the spewing fountainhead
still too cold to stand under
steam signaling it’s welcome
salivating over sleepy baggage
currents of memory turned on
groping dangling vegetal limbs
to the sound of clanging pipes
running, churning, rippling
warmth over fornicated folds
fingering creases and crevices
soapy belly buttons and anuses
Between a blinking downpour
Crashing thumps detonating water
gushing over a hollowed shell
ears drumming peace to a closed eye
the mouth blows out a succulent sigh.
Aaaaaahhhhh……
I leave my body now, transferred by the glistening
whispering unending warmth dissolving my corpse
floating now in the ooze of this poetical river
soaking in fragments otherworldly sensations
I float on a raft outside of time gliding on a current
completely dissolved as vaporized droplets
as liquid words transferring constantly
flowing like remorseless compassion
fluidly escaping to rivers of reeds and bullrushes
harboring wilder one-eyed otters reminding me
of the rivers running through my veins
sacred springs or murkier places.
I am a swamp of gurgling metaphoric ideas
connected to dripping pipes as portals to dreams
flowing over banks of mud with protruding shards of rust
half sunk shopping trolleys dangling with neon moss
my effluence goes beyond all wriggling life form
swimming up the sacred river to our birthright source
a wriggling newt, a tadpole or a spermlike mudskipper…..
the water is listening,
echoing our hymns through the biosphere
coursing a channel my imagination runs, whichever
But then, right then, all of a sudden
a tap fills a kettle in the kitchen,
the shower loses all its power
plugging me back
to my present shell.
Late at night, in the secret chamber far apart
A valiant knight, stands there, put his hand on his heart:
“With this ring, I plight unto thee my troth till death!”
She’s slumbering, the damsel in distress. Her breath
Divinely lovely, her rosy lips, they beguile
The fiery lordly, leave him, with the sweetest guile.
Deep within his bosom, dulcet sounds beat quicker,
Lambent eyes blossom, red face betrays his fever:
“Fair lady, why sleepest thou? Rise out of thy sleep
O deary, cast me not away, nor let me weep.
Awake thee, beauteous maiden! Awake! Arise!
I prithee, let me see thine orbs, before sunrise!
In woe and pain, I suffer from like no other.
I ache all o'er again, and I can no longer
Tarry here, abashèd by thy fleshly body.
Harken ere I succumb to thy charming beauty…”
After months of waiting, I kneel beside the bed
And fingering, at the blonde hair about thine head:
“Princess, how dark the darkness of Abyss must be…
Blessed be my last favor! In love with none but thee”
Nigh to thy visage, my late outrage to the realm;
—Thy lips I kiss for ages!—Into Heaven’s whelms,
I fall apace… How long this fantasia will last?
Till my Grace behold mine eyes, for a long time past.
In mine arms, thou shall awake or remain this way!
If thou fallest under the charm, avarice pays…
From ecstasy to agony—The deathly kiss—
There rests no heavier calamity, than this…
Countless minutes goes by, since my lips are on thine
Thus, I die! In death my lips thou sealest… decline…
But I care not… Thou art mine! How happy I am!
Thy tongue is so hot… what a delectable jam…
My lips are sealèd on thine!—Sempiternal kiss!—
On the morrow, after and beyond, I beseech:
“Fantasy not about the others! I’ll never
Let them slake their thirst, drink thine heavenly water…
Thy sole lover I am! Forever and ever!
And ‘till never sever, our link for another.”
I wish that somewhere, in the far distant future
I could meet with her, go back on an adventure.
My shape may change may be, but be sure, by my troth:
“My love will never cease to be.” I pray for both…
The Snow that Flurried like Chatting Kangaroos
Ramah Prince was thinking about Suhail G Faizal again. Suhail G was a remarkable rover with pretty hair and wide lips.
Ramah walked over to the window and reflected on his magical surroundings. He had always loved chilly Newyork with its rapid, roasted rivers. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel shocked.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a remarkable figure of Suhail G Faizal.
Ramah gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was an incredible, greedy, tea drinker with feathery hair and handsome lips. His friends saw him as an alert, afraid author. Once, he had even helped a relieved Baby bird cross the road.
But not even an incredible person who had once helped a relieved Baby bird cross the road, was prepared for what Suhail G had in store today.
The snow flurried like chatting kangaroos, making Ramah active. Ramah grabbed a peculiar kettle that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Ramah stepped outside and Suhail G came closer, he could see the yarbing glint in his eye.
"I am here because I want revenge," Suhail G bellowed, in a kind tone. He slammed his fist against Ramah's chest, with the force of 479 gerbils. "I frigging love you, Ramah Prince."
Ramah looked back, even more active and still fingering the peculiar kettle. "Suhail G, I am your father," he replied.
They looked at each other with healthy feelings, like two outrageous, oily ostriches loving at a very lovable Holiday, which had reggae music playing in the background and two admirable uncles shouting to the beat.
Ramah studied Suhail G's pretty hair and wide lips. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you revenge," he explained, in pitying tones.
Suhail G looked lonely, his body raw like a rich, ratty ruler.
Ramah could actually hear Suhail G's body shatter into 1698 pieces. Then the remarkable rover hurried away into the distance.
Not even a cup of tea would calm Ramah's nerves tonight.
THE END
Magical Ravenshoe
A Short Story
by David Armstrong
Lolly Pops looked at the peculiar rock in his hands and felt ecstatic.
He walked over to the window and reflected on his grand surroundings. He had always loved magical Ravenshoe with its melted, mute mountains. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel ecstatic.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Lusty Busty. Lusty was a caring teacher with dirty hands and grubby fingernails.
Lolly gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a gracious, snooty, beer drinker with handsome hands and tall fingernails. His friends saw him as a panicky, plastic patient. Once, he had even helped a scary chicken cross the road.
But not even a gracious person who had once helped a scary chicken cross the road, was prepared for what Lusty had in store today.
The clouds danced like laughing ostriches, making Lolly sparkly.
As Lolly stepped outside and Lusty came closer, he could see the resonant glint in her eye.
"Look Lolly," growled Lusty, with a thoughtful glare that reminded Lolly of caring koalas. "It's not that I don't love you, but I want some more Facebook friends. You owe me 6204 gold pieces."
Lolly looked back, even more sparkly and still fingering the peculiar rock. "Lusty, hands up or I'll shoot," he replied.
They looked at each other with healthy feelings, like two prickly, pleasant puppies singing at a very admirable birthday party, which had jazz music playing in the background and two brutal uncles walking to the beat.
Lolly regarded Lusty's dirty hands and grubby fingernails. "I don't have the funds ..." he lied.
Lusty glared. "Do you want me to shove that peculiar rock where the sun don't shine?"
Lolly promptly remembered his gracious and snooty values. "Actually, I do have the funds," he admitted. He reached into his pockets. "Here's what I owe you."
Lusty looked stressed, her wallet blushing like a new, nervous newspaper.
Then Lusty came inside for a nice drink of beer.
THE END
Form:
Tasseled Dreams
The thought of the future we will never have was pollinating foul fuzzy particles in the air,
slowly following the wake of all those tasseled dreams I held onto to for far too long.
The most intimate revelations can often expose plagiaristic suppressions that we’ve most likely,
have already tried to to forget; suggesting to anyone on the outside looking in,
That there was a rancid cowardice secreting from the pores of all those who would deny the most basic of fundamental decencies to he equal fellow man.
All the while,
Boasting a loud tolerance that would be found falling with the last fleeing fall. . .
The very last of colorful arrangements made of watering oranges and bleeding reds,
Falling from all trees never to be seen to fall again.
The thundering drumming of my own heartbeat gave my freshly dead and over bland reactions,
A new sparkling neon personality.
But there are always those few extra fingering, lingering, successful hand gestures reflecting a prism of tracers-birthed from the most brilliant lasers, radiating something blindly gorgeous that could heighten with more sensitivity.
Shadowing over the complexity of every kiss that I had ever been given in my entire night.
Spinning a silk and gold web all around me,
That was more intricate than a disastrous earthquake.
This flaccidly tight response came at a price,
Leaving nothing but whispers and the wrong kind of impressions.
The time for Dignity and Grace were long gone and felt decades away.
Your tiny little temperaments helped with attempted to soothe me into a very still silence.
Wooing me..
Seducing me..
with such a strong touch of Romantic Readiness…
I no longer knew how to say the word “No”
Causing a stroke of sadness pass through me at the single sentiment.
This dramatic departure killed any interest that might have supported the abortive sorrows and short winded elations of men attempting to market a profit off their own Tasseled Dreams.
Part 1
Once upon a drunk bachelors night,
This guy decided to go down to his local drinking site,
Sitting in a sparsely filled dive of a pub,
Couples slurring, singles fingering at crap grub,
The smell of cheap beer and toilet waste emanating,
Half cleaned spew, alcohol stained carpets on floors bent,
Well-worn paths to toilets to empty body’s excrement,
Cigarette and cheap cigar smoke bellowing from drunk faces,
Filling the stained ceiling with ghostly looking traces,
Prostitutes revealing there abused tattooed torsos,
Men pretending not to mentally indulge in their shows,
In this scourge of erotic beings affecting their bulge,
Lining up to be next forcing off their wedding rings to hide,
Not that these night walkers would bother whether they lied,
Eagerly walking out after many a note spent on drinks,
Dragging their picks for the evening of chicks in false minks,
Stumbling off to revel in their spoils of the evening,
And off in their cars, to scary dark corners or lanes,
Hopeful not to go home to wives with trouser stains,
He giggles to himself as he imagines the explanations,
To their wives, why so late, with their lying creations,
On the stage he stares at a drunken dude karaoke rapping,
From behind he hears the sound of one hand clapping,
He continues to slowly sip on his 6th ice filled whiskey,
He has been there the whole evening now, driving will be risky,
Been very entertaining, better than television home alone,
Besides, what is better than watching drunkards dancing?
On a sticky make shift wood floor, each other fondling,
Dudes stumbling across the surface for the day’s special of gin,
So drunk they could win a break-dancing competition,
Nobody gives a crap of where, what happens next, is clear,
He browses the room for a possible semi sober listening ear,
There is a single woman with the same glazed stare in the corner.
End part 1
Sweet Just the Way I Like It
you're a genius she moaned
there can only be so much money in circulation
he replied halfheartedly fingering her abacus
the moon arose sharp as a razor
and they set about creating a dynasty
a master race of thumb sucking idiots
that arose from the dead at midnight
with pretensions of divine right
she was a plump desert highway waitress
with a mile of sunny cleavage
a beckoning oasis of hope
to every butt sore trucker
he was a cadre from the Cro Magnon bloc
raised by the Sisters of Inchoate Ire
in a constant din of prayer
a model of pedagogical endurance
a time of war ravaged the land
the grip of the Dept. of Antiquities was strong
wizards made the oceans boil
mystics buskered the street corners
will work for the contemplation of food
a few actually knew something
but in practice were a bit too bent
by the wind blinded by repetition
to be true in the rigorous mortis sense
nothing to be done except perhaps
another detached from reality ******
now that the past was in hot pursuit
but the leibensborn are clever
and they were smuggled to safety
in boxes of radio parts
he picked up the Bardic Hour
on the Welsh Luftwaffe Network
she was wired to the 220 dryer circuit
and clicked through the channels
Gamble for Your Soul followed by
Ladies of Leisure followed by
Nearly Inaudible the game show
which asked the same question
if the picture is perfect is it changeable
this is how they ineluctably became
the enemy of both sides
the rim shots were deafening
but histrionics had worked in the past
you'd think we were defending against death
rather than a better data set
so it is with surface addiction
a searching modern art piece
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Death of The Half Monkey King ( for my friend Neil Lloyd )
Cave men half human monkeys
Sat gibbering and snarling
Perched all around his garden wall
Bestial vandals waving sticks and spears
Pointing angry at their own reflections
Fingering him as hidden
He peered nervous through his dark dim kitchen window
One of the brutals held a stake
And to crude spike was thrust
The rough severed golden crowned head
Of the Half Monkey King
Hawked on high
As if to salute a battle cry
The cave men humanoids
Squawked and raged their threatening
From the ledge of his garden wall
“My first thoughts were of escape” he said
“But then NO ! I’ll go out
“chase them away
“do battle
“if I have to.”
And so grabbing his own ready stick
He ran out challenging
Shouting and yelling
Out into the thick of them all
Surprised confused these monkey android animals
Retreated and ran their cadre
Running off up the back alley way
And so slinging on his back
Another ready sack filled weapons
And other assorted machine guns
He gave to the chase
To hunt these noisome villains down
“RUN ! RUN ! From the Monkeys
“HIDE ! GO HOME !” he yelled through the streets
and loaded his riffle as he went
hunting until he found them
a gathered coercion of a crowd
he shot one
just one
as it was edged on by its cohorts
the brute made a dash screaming its madness
only to meet the quick controlled shot
The others all fled
And then he woke up
And then in waking
With the strangest thing he thought
Heard from out his bedroom window
A muffled snarling
Caught him drawing back the curtain
To see about his garden wall perching
A thousand cave human half monkeys
Gathered and sitting quietly
Patiently waiting
While awkwardly passing
A rough golden crown amongst them