Long Freighted Poems

The Stela Epic by DR. Mohammed F A Alrazak

The grains of sand, the drops of rain, makes the stage for souls to play 
The prints of feet on rocks were wonders and arts as the...

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Goodbye six pack hello* poetry scribes

My poetic side COSMOFUNNEL
wordsmith thanks tumblr in his noggin
ofttimes triggering babbling brook 
to swell after deluge
becoming stream of consciousness runnel
carving, gouging, and liquidating topography 
qua zee mow toe natural formed...

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"Angels & Demons"




The Soul never sleeps
battered and lonely, the lesson 
Life spent in The Hard Sell

Soft-served you become
melting Insomnia 
mouth sucking a loaded gun

blue ribbonned and veined
pulsing electricity 
from heart to lung to brain

you’re a...

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The silent night walks like a freighted man in boots, and penetrates the head of the living dead while they lay down in silence to sleep. Not a sound could be heard except for the...

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Tonight the act of naming fell through the floor.
We speak permeable solids inflect’d by light.
Things move indistinctly: a pine palette floats
momentarily from semi truck’s bed, crosses
its body with windshield; ovidian shift from a
Forest to an...

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I still feel under the weather today April 2nd, 2023

Unseen enemy invades my body 
with platoon of green berets air
rating, and enfilading immune system viz 
Hib bully knock and sock kin me 
courtesy roebuck seers...

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I loathe feeling under the weather...,

especially when nasty elephant 
(named Thomas the pachyderm)
stomping to break loose courtesy tether,
where antibodies of mine 
struggle to band together
loosely analogous to voters
standing in a queue
waiting to cast their vote
(while...

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Anti Establishmentarian - hashtags himself as antithetical

The following poem crafted 
not quite thirty months ago,
when severe bad hair day
found yours truly self sequestered
toying with notion 
to coif, primp, and tease, his limp locks,
(whose hirsute trademark...

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Puberty set off affright
seeding decades long
     terrestrial space flight
freighted existential blight,
wherefore from that
attempt to live airtight
many scores yesternight
ago, I barely (except

     on par with grateful
  ...

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An evening stroll, on Midsummer Night's Eve ,
under the silver light of the horizon moon.

Life that burst among a small acreage,
of old-growth forests, flourished.

A delightful flurry of fireflies, drifting,
twinkle among the foliage, an amazing sight.

Echoing...

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An evening stroll, on a chill night,
under the silver light of the horizon moon. 
Life that burst among a small acreage, 
of old-growth forests, flourished. 

A delightful flurry of fireflies, drifting,
twinkle among the foliage, an...

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Fraught as an extremely socially anxious younger person...

hashtagged introvertedness trademark
silently exorcised, ostracized, and vilified
Impossible mission to resuscitate...
a forsaken promising
(even short lived) friendship
regardless of expressed gender
exhibited by other persons from yesteryear.

When trying to jump/kick start
lapsed meaningful...

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Anti Establishmentarian - hashtags himself as antithetical

I stand, (albeit figuratively) athwart
current mainstream popular opinions concluded
(i.e. swirling) within
metaphorical eddies storied Senate high court
case in point constituting acquittal regarding

good and plenti jinxed 
high crimes and misdemeanors
purportedly linkedin...

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Saturday, December 21 Military Time 2319

(According to website:
https://earthsky.org/astronomy-
essentials/everything-you-need-
to-know-december-solstice.)

Hark the herald angels sing
yea, only one hundred ten days,
I started counting until spring
as proclaimed courtesy
yours truly, a fellow Earthling.
Mine tolerance to endure
brutally cold weather quite plain

decreases in...

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I wake up but I can't see 
Everything is blurry 
Life is not what it used to be 
Beyond the silence a little girl cries 
As all faith is taken 
Broken into piece's, never to...

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LONESOME
SOUND 
			
Old man said he could hear that whistle blow a hundred miles 
and they could write a song about that. 
Said he could tell how many cars a train freighted 
just by how sad...

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The formality of it stings.
“How are you?” 
Delivered with a self-conscious courtesy and
a poverty of emotion 
calculated to immediately keep 
me at arm’s length, 
fencing herself in.

There was a time when this
same greeting would
have been...

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Like a mystical wight,
Ain't in a trance,
Nor experiencing delusions and phantasmagoria.
I live. I fight,
Fighting
Because the decision to be free
Is that which I took freely,
Yet, criticized with unsparing vigor,
Cruel and baseless calumnies.

The past is gone,
The future...

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Scraping these stalemate shadows from such, buskins nails

Tracing real time read throughs signifying tragedies

Shredded in the leafed contours bin....

High rise windows overlooking the city; hedged portrayed views!?

Collosity framed upon the walls possessive panels this, epidemic...

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“Sunset”

The silhouette of beauty passes by my aching head
Eyes strain to keep it within my vision but lose it in the darkness
My fingers try to grasp the ghostly image but to no avail
I am left...

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Ocean is more ancient than the mountains, and
freighted with the memories and the dreams of time.
—H.P. Lovecraft, The Best of H.P. Lovecraft:
Bloodcurdling Tales of Horror and the Macabre

His Overboard Tale

My captain bellows, “heave-ho.”
Off the plank...

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I looked onto the railway tracks
Relieving myself of cities grey
Exuberant in freighted happiness
As I watch the smoke puffs die away

My thoughts running on labyrinth tracks
Lapping up the miles and licking on 
my ice-cream stick
Touching fields...

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The crumb of bread I lift to lips
Is freighted in my fingers.
I squeeze it hard lest it slips
Reclaiming a past that lingers.

'Tis a weighty rite to partake
Tokens of His riven frame.
Freely given for our sake
Oft...

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Trills tumble through an air long silenced
warbled melodies enlighten the palate 
whistles delight but fly off to the thistle
freighted by the frigid speak  
amongst the downturn of the day
where blue skies lost their way

Memories...

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Even though, perhaps, tomorrow,
As a concerto of Violins is departing along the clock,
	My green leaves will shine away under any morning's sun. 

	My love will be delicate, sweet, like a red apple,
While I, walking back...

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