Long Galls Poems
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BEAUTIFUL SADNESS
“The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows
brown and sear.” William C. Bryant
Does she hear the tinkling bell in her sweltering state? No breath seems to touch her face nor move her hair out of place. The wan dove seems beautiful ~ he says, “she’s mine,” in disbelief. He says this on a loop but she never embraces his hook.
She clings to dust and nothing more. The x-ray mirror probes her bony exterior, where her lips neither pout nor grin, barely touch in chagrin. He sees they’re slightly pink and his heart pounds in his chest. This melancholic queen’s all his.
In wintermoon she moans, though she walks amidst the lilies of Spring. The leaves fall all around her, though they cling to majestic oaks. Pine needles fall from her fingers - though for her love, he sees Christmas trees rainbow bright, sashaying with silver and golden garland, “mine,” like a starling he chirps and the bluebird of happiness galls her though she’ll never let him go.
melancholy deep
dark and beautiful - naked
void with shutter-eyes
custodian sculpts goddess
so lofty he can’t reach her
7/19/2019
Writing Challenge 2, July 2019- Melancholy- Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
I dream fragments of poetry,
my pen balanced in my hand,
journal opened to that page
already darkened
with blots of frustration,
asterisks for seemingly important ideas,
collections of words and phrases
intended for collage and inspiration,
pleas for clarity.
My poems appear haltingly,
in bits and pieces
written in several colors of ink,
each suited to the nature
of the several ideas that flit
through my paper mind:
vermillion extracted from cinnabar,
thinned with vodka for my good days;
palest sky-blue from the seed of the avocado
bathed in water and lye,
for those times when I know I can fly;
ocean-blue ultramarine
ground from lapis lazuli,
used carefully when I feel a need for absence;
brown leached from oak galls
steeped in acidic water,
yielding ink such that when employed,
dissolves the paper
beneath the words I have written,
leaving a lacework of poetry;
yellow from crushed petals of the marigold,
soaked in tears for when I am confused,
noir-black dipped from the depths
of my melancholy.
The final poems,
the ones I can live with,
come into focus
only after passage through
the fermentation of language
essential for developing notes
of flowers, stones, and juniper.
Only then are they shared.
Woolen objects wrapped up in fine linen tucked away on a shelf bear the scars of age-old men lamenting in their years, while the sound of young men gets ready to join the conscription line thunders in the streets and anxious mothers running around in a frenzy consoling their sons.
The temperature keeps rising and mulberry tree in all its splendor stand still absorbing the peace as the sentiment of the earth embraces its fate and looking around for an answer that have traveled around the world to console those innocent souls.
I watched the squirrels running up the mulberry tree, hiding among the branches in a peculiar motion that I could not understand. The animals bear the witness of the hidden grave that lies at its roots. The mulberry tree is a witness to the brutal murder hanging from the throne where the mulberry tree has grown.
I feel a sudden urgency in my feet propelling me to walk in the desert heat and mix the desert dust with sand and sprinkle it all over the land but I can see a barrier erected in the way and the moment quickly fades away.
My heart is invoking a strange feeling and I cannot understand the meaning, I forced myself to pull it back but an element keeps wrestling with my spirit setting my heart on fire.
It is not the fire that glows in firewood, it isn’t the fire that dance like a servant should, it is the fire of the weak that is speaking to the deep and the matchless price that you have to pay. It’ burning with internal fury paving the way for a new chapter as the vision gets wider.
I can see them lining up, hundreds of them standing at attention and their guns strapped across their back. They are getting ready for a mission that requires great devotion they are up against the army guard and the notorious “alcoholic” lords.
The guns alone cannot defeat them, the belly dance, hips up and bottom down and galls sliding beneath their night gowns with ribbons and skirts to move away the earth and squeeze the passion out of their heart and melt the pride of hard tone men.
My heart is contemplating a delicate matter so ride with me to the next level and I will show you something spectacular, there are millions more miles to go and my heart is in tune for the greatest show.
The Do Not Call list doesn’t work
For scammers still get through.
I answer, feeling like a jerk,
But what is there to do?
My house phone has no way to check
Just who is on the line.
(You see, I’m really not hi-tech;
I guess the fault is mine.)
But still, there has to be a way
To stop those robo-calls.
It puts a damper on my day
And sometimes even galls.
A voicemail on my husband’s phone
Said he must call right back
Or else in jail he would be thrown,
An interesting tack.
We’ve heard it all so did not fret
At tactics they’re employing,
A price we pay for life today – yet,
Still, it’s so annoying!
If time shall not our derelict joys
Revive with tunes melodious so,
Let past's nostalgic merries balm
Our souls and bid all sorrows go.
Should ebbing laughter and smiles
Their cold arcs yet vanishing carve,
May old cheers of our jolliest whiles
Redeeming warmths pitifully impart.
Although gone mirths seldom thwart
Present galls despite their vivid hues,
Mortal forgetteries lulling blisses are,
As would certainly void painful clues.
Thus might sweetly reechoed tones,
Excerpts from our merriments dead,
Like beneficent ditties in unison allay
All lingering whits of lonesome dread.
And if blunt fate her forking bivouacs
Twirl and twine in drab manners sour,
Beclouding paths erst snowing white;
Here’s bold shield in life’s icings dour.
The bar was dark [bars always are] wouldn’t want to see,
he asked me what I’d drink, I answered back,“Who me?”
Since I didn't have much cash to exchange and less capacity,
I told him I’d have a beer, and "Thanks," but have one with me.
My heart was mush but, hey what’s new [I told him on beer two.]
He said, “Hey sweetie, wha's new? All men want to do is sc*ew..”
Tears ran down my face [as tears will do] as I told him, I had no clue.
Of all the broken hearts he’s seen, he said, mine was the most askew!
“Gave that man everything [I had!] washed his floors and walls.
Painted his G*d damned garage trim, pruned his trees of galls."
Ole Mick he cocked his head and sighed, his expression pitiful.
He said “I’ve been there with ya doll. But, enough of this caterwaul!”
“A mans only concrete attribute on which you may rely,
is the stick between his own two legs, as over you he lies.
If he gives you that my darling doll he’s done..and you can cry
for a man’s, but a man for all of that, and you’re but a bit of pie.
Contest: Confessions to a Bartender
The rocks on the sea bed
Can be friendly in storms
When our sails are bedraggled
Or all tattered and torn
From our voyage on seas
Often left unexplored
But there's truth in the water
That cannot be ignored
In the wind is the Spirit
An adventurer's friend
So we move in directions
To where searching may end
There are hazards aplenty
As the salty air calls
There's that taste for adventure
But another taste galls..
We'd fare well to remember
Not all rocks help to save us
When we cast out our anchor
Catching bitterness flavours
Where the water is stagnant
And the wind but a tease
Hopeful canvas restored
Needing more than a breeze
Then it's time to resolve
Pull umbilical chain
Begin a fresh outlook
Let the rancour remain
Ship Ahoy Mates
A Ship Captain
His sailing Days
Observations of sunrises and sunsets
The vision of Sea Galls and Birds
The sight of Dolphins doing leaps and splashes
Maneuvering through might storms at times
The ship would deep dips, and waves would overpower the ship
The vessel going side to side
The courageous crew would do all they could to keep the ship afloat
As a Captain, my mind would always visualize sinking down into Davey’s locker
Devastation and no survivals
The Heaven’s always pulled us through with only minor incidents
Witnessed as the storm began to pass, the waves would calm down, and peace and calm would be the aftermath
My thought would be peace being still
The Moon would be presence after the storm
It was if the Moon smiled as Heaven watches
During the storm, it seemed as if the Sea Gods were full of fiery and anger
The Devil’s brew
Heaven’s guidance in continue to pursue
Sail on we did having no fear
Those were the captain’s sailing years
Now Old and retired
The Former Captain just sits and reflects on his ship days that were
Admiring all the ships from a far while observing from a nearby pier
Irony of courage, strength and responsibility as a Ship Captain
The captain’s sea tails in sharing with youngsters of his sea adventures
His journey through the Panama Canal having an exploration vibe
Meeting people from various countries and learning about their cultures
Remembering meeting a lady that became his personal mermaid wife, and their marriage lasted 52 years
She died six months later after of Cancer
The former captain says he is now alone and misses his mermaid
He has only the sea that comforts him, and a life he cherishes
He often says the skies ever so wise, and a kingdom that watches I
The captain reminisces of his life as a whole
Meaningful and plentiful
The Old Man and the Sea
The waves cast his shadow as a reflection
Storms that were
Ship in the distance in its own horizon
Commitment and determination that came through
Old man and his sea
Breezes that flow and memorable although.
Fast as an atomic banshee, he roils sacred halls
of White House clutches levers with brass balls
American powers remain unrestrained when he calls
Armada to exorcise imagine aery dragons,
he inarticulately falls
non-communicative, faux eruditely generative,
and heartily galls
toward this introspective kickstarter male,
and most likely others he appalls.
-------------------------------------------------
My inner guru hankers to share voice
amidst increasing din
and clamors in reaction to insidious machinations fin
hushed via Machiavellian offal prince,
who unleashes clout with Cheshire grin
unconcerned about population, chaste,
from their wells Fargo wing.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Most every citizen banker, and kin
stared down vis a vis fierce-some intimations
catapult escalating, spin
laughing at rigged voting outlook
gratefully inflicts populace with monstrous win
doomsday soldiers -
art of the deal book not writ by said urchin.
-------------------------------------------------
Though regularly affiliated with top notch
kudos to virtual soapbox platform
re: all poetry to express Bing averse
toward ill feted Barron settlement
of United States government tossed like scotch
on thar hocks, thus an uneasy angst
also invisibly grabs me by the crotch
cuz das Trump power monger,
I fear rubric of democracy, he will botch!
-------------------------------------------------
This poem alternately titled -
harbinger of political debacle wolf find antipode
where toxic brew at crack of 12 a.m.
January 20th 2017 doth bode
doctored pregnant swollen tidal anarchistic military toad
deeds sheepishly shape into battalions
in tandem - fraternal order of police erode
Civilian protesters unite with ordinary citizen bankers
crowdsource sing metallic ca clash to goad
Form:
A torn tale ere was sewn b' time's tool;
''f haggard hemisphere 'n' nocturnal nude,
'n which porous promiscuity 's oft draped -
furred fabrics, scales embroidery.
This tale 'n which cursed clothing was hexed;
porous past oozing sassy spell.
Makes marred maidens scarce behove laud,
but fractured flaunts cum odds grilled galls.
Tell those who 'gain sew this torn tale,
that nosy needle anon 'll break,
'n' sewn sanity would foster pawn
''f bruised beauties, gaunt graces 'n' plagued pores.
Let throbbing themes ''f this taunting tale
'n' wools ''f sewn silk canvas wits, fame 'n' shame.
'20:07:23:13:41
Note:
a) Of fractured fashion.
b) Written apace with Middle English lexis:
i) Ere - before
ii) oft - often
iii) Hexed - cast spell
iv) behove - suit
v) cum - and
vi) galls - biles
vii) anon - soon
c) The following are used with no syllabic consequences:
i) b' - by
ii) "f - of
iii) 'n' - and
iv) 'n - in
v) 's - is
vi) 'll - will