Long Gate Poems
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Saunters along, nonchalance
Dimpled craggy chin, cracks a wrinkled grin
eye slits that see beneath, within
casino cards, in his jacket coat
his past, a lot said and wrote
whiskey drinks, smoke filled rooms
pallid, dubious men, the mark, fate looms
poker face that smile beguiles
“Frank the Devils Croupier”
deft hands, cards flew across the table
they all did fall, to card magic
his taipan strikes, fast and slick
was coined get “Dizzy” legendary
Texas Holdems sudden death
High rollers, anxieties shallow breaths
Turn card, tails flick, fat cats wile then wait
fish and whales swim through the losers gate
So the millionaires did agree
to pay Frank royally
retirement from the game
So if your up for a yarn do stop
At “Get Dizzy I’m All In” Coffee Shop
drinking taipan coffee shots, he’s that guy
smiles at people walking by
Entered “Bring a Character to Life” Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Richard Lamourex
Dated 25/08/2019
Placed 3rd with thanks
With all the hype on 2012
Are we heading towards our hell
The calendars predict, a drastic change
They coincide, now aint that strange
Should we believe that this is the end
With signs all around, that we can’t mend
Or do we believe in something good
A loving God and brotherhood
So many theories on the .NET
Bring confusion, toil and sweat
Which one do you believe
That’s for you and your reprieve
Could it be, the coming age
Where man excels and turns the page
Or will it be that we shall fall
And God saves us, one and all
Will it be cause and effect
Where we pay our karmic debt
Can we rise above it all
Becoming strong and spiritual
Some believe will meet the dead
Here on earth, that’s what I read
Our loved ones pass the golden gate
To talk with us, and to relate
I heard, a planet will collide
With us from the outer side
Or could it be, a huge black hole
That tosses the earth to and thro
Some say, will be hit with meteorites
Causing people to lute and fight
And what about the financial status
Economy breakdown in the papers
Floods, pollution, famine and war
Global warming, terrorists and more
There could be a catastrophic event
Sending shock waves, to our sense
We could be invaded by UFO’s
From outer space, alien foes
What happens now, be on your guard
Cause December 2012 at large
With all these signs and revelations
Will it break, our civilisations
All our books seem to agree
The end is near! But we shall see!
© Copyright 1st December 2010 K.C.Leake
Aged eighteen and three quarters
Six feet one inches tall,
Typical mouthy teenager
Who thought he knew it all.
At least twenty years older
A woman close to her prime
Laughs lightly at his offer
To show her a good time.
Three drinks and three hours later
She took him to her bed
Saying now come on then
And give me what you said.
Then, she used him, abused him
Gave him a long lesson in style
Deposed him, exposed him
As an inexperienced love juvenile.
Restrained him and trained him
Showed him how to share
To make tender love with
Compassion and care.
Tired him, hard wired him
Set his body on fire
Teased him, released him
Shared his desire.
Six hours later, both red eyed
From lack of rest
She told him with pleasure
Now you’ve passed the test.
She dropped him quite close
To his base camp gate
Just to ensure he wasn’t
Back on duty late,
Gently resisted his request
To see her once more,
Told him, with a kiss
To go out and explore.
Aged eighteen and three quarters
Six feet one inches tall,
Not quite so mouthy teen who now
Knew he really never did know it all.
I feel just like that old grey squirrel,
whose belly is empty as can be.
He keeps on searching for those acorns,
but he has climbed up a maple tree.
He worked hard and long the whole darn year,
burying his food out on the lawn.
But when he went back to grab a snack,
he had found the whole damn thing was gone.
All because some stupid bureaucrat,
said he had filled out all the wrong forms.
Now there’s nothing left of his nest egg,
to help him survive the winter’s storms.
I keep rolling the dice for sevens,
somehow, I always end up with eight.
Each time I think I’ve reached the garden,
someone has already locked the gate.
Now I’m too old to hanky panky,
and I’m too tired to even care.
Point me towards the supper table,
and just see how fast I’ll make it there.
So don’t dare ask me where I’m going,
'cause I can’t remember where I’ve been.
I’m sick of always losing the race,
Just when will it be my turn to win?
Why do I keep reaching for those dreams,
when I know they’re unattainable.
Anytime I find a little hope,
I know it is not sustainable.
Yes, I know I’m insignificant,
you don’t have to keep pointing it out.
I did not fall off the turnip truck,
with no idea what life’s about.
I know that there are no right answers,
because it’s all just lies and deceit.
But before I even start the race,
seems that I have already been beat.
If you gave a penny for my thoughts,
that’s likely twice what they would be worth.
I may be, ugly, poor, and broken,
but I’ve always been that way since birth.
All I can hope is when I’m buried
somewhere beneath a simple grey stone.
That the epitaph carved into it,
“Here lies a man who didn’t die alone.”
"The Repeat of Fate"
Deep buried in a dead forest
I hadn’t heard of before,
Wycoller lies in ruins, barren
no trees nor foliage remain,
no tenant can be found,
but here I am
like a ghost glued
fast as a succubus to its walls
rain like poetry falls hard
the wind stinging the loveless hymn’s
continuous tin-hitting torrent to breathe
and it fills its chanting monkish boned gutters
with pages of leaves, rivulets cascade
burning like copper-coloured tears
like rusty blood the signature stains
down and over and through
its windows’ broken panes
pink-eyed writing stories, still life,
falling like laced crimson snowflakes
melting to sleet the messy sludge
sliding down its unchaste whitewashed sides
to be scraped away the scarlet lye
and underneath the nails that pierce
the sharp words tightly furled
like Rochester waits
torn on his wuthering
cliffs of heath;
which one am I?
which word?
which name?
the repeat of fate?
Unsaved by the Wildfell grace,
a small but loud device
runs with its unthinking heartless mouth.
On Pendle
a daughter seals her
mother’s fate;
too soon
it is opened,
the closed Malkin gate
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“Jennet Device, Daughter of Elizabeth Device, late wife of John Device, of the Forrest of Pendle aforesaid widow, confesseth and saith, that her said mother is a witch, and that this shee knoweth to be true; for, that shee had seens her spirit sundrie times come unto her said mother in her owne house, called Malking-Tower, in the likenesse of a browne dogge, which shee called Ball; and at one time amongst others, the said Ball did aske this examinates mother what she would have him to doe; and this examinates mother answered, that she would have the said Ball to helpe her to kill John Robinson of Barley, alias Swyer: by helpe of which said Ball, the said swyer was killed by witch-craft accordingly; and that this examinates mother continued a witch for these three or foure yeares last past.”
lye/lie.
I wait for you to see me through the night,
for nightmares come and capture me in dread,
I seek from you my solace and your light,
to guide my dreams to paradise instead.
Oh Angel can you wrap me in your wings,
to cradle me in blissfulness to sleep,
and quell my screams so only I will sing,
I hope tonight my eyes can keep from weep.
Sweet Angel pray with me I'm in the dark,
this place I'm lost and wishing I was blind,
my love has died I'm feeling pretty stark
in madness from the visions in my mind.
Oh Spirit be my guide to Heaven's gate,
and sate my heart my lover does await.
Susan Ashley
November 6, 2017
Take a walk with me, in the darkest place.
A home I've been living alone,
but you had come in this decrypted hole,
Something I had always known.
Here, near the dead,
The fog at its heaviest,
you came through the gate as if you had been here before.
Yet, you never realized who you have woken up.
Your heart, mind, and soul seem so lost.
Deep inside, you were completely broken.
Your cries arose me and I had to touch you somehow.
Feeling lifeless brought you here to me
and you didn't even know it
Why did you come here?
What exactly led you here at your lowest moment?
I will be the one to bring life back to you.
I want to be the one to make you live again.
© 2010 (Jim Sularz)
A morning meadow - tall, red-yellow speckled,
now, humbled low by the wind.
Conifer sundials – mirrored shadows, slowly stretching, dancing, and then diminishing - along blurred edges of a lush, flowing sea.
Feathered, high flying eagles soar, circling small and wide, against a blue, white pillowed sky.
… a crow caws.
Nuzzled prairie dogs, with tethered tails, scamper for cover,
for danger spirals, just above.
Harvester ants marching in tiny zigzagged columns,
tunnel an ever deepened colony -
twisting around creviced rocks and roots.
Lightning fast gragonflies – thin tinsel winged airships,
darting, spinning, some kissing.
And white petite wild-flowers,
bobbing from honey bees, stand quivering.
Multi-colored butterflies flutter, undecided,
and brown-helmeted grasshoppers oddly peer -
like praying mantises, eager to leap.
Chirping sparrows, with cocked tails,
sand-bath in a warm, thirsty, summer sun.
And cat-tails, bursting, pierce through a sparsely wooded island.
A distant thunder-clap, and crawling, flat, anvil-headed clouds -
slide down majestic, snow-capped mountaintops,
marking the hour, like clockwork, this time of year.
Dusk comes, bathed in a warm, orange-amber hue,
waxing and waning with a melting sun.
A red fox stirs, finding at twilight’s gate, fresh promising scents, for her young.
And black masked raccoons steal away, through soft, cool moonlit grasses –
in a hushed, clown-like parade . . .
As I dwell in this sanctuary of place and spirit,
beneath an infinite, star-painted canopy.
I know with certainty - of mind, heart and soul,
that when God’s rainbow palette had hardened and dried -
All were - Forever One.
As she walks down the subway,
Through the hustle and bustle of life,
She passes me by
Like a Johnny-head-in-the-air
Thinking of trivial matters
That occupy her day and night.
Hey you, my darling, I'm looking at you
Am I so insignificant
That you don't notice
I love you so?
As she walks in the meadow,
I see her in the wane moonlight
Smiling and dreaming
Of astral combinations,
Of capricious yearnings,
And romantic volitions.
Soon she approaches the silvery lake
Listens in sublimity
The faint ripples of the waves
As they kiss the lichen-lined shore.
As she walks through the lonely gate
I see her shiver with cold.
A north light breeze rattles the trees
Ruffles the dying leaves
That hang limp on maple trees.
I stand still, mesmerized by her beauty
Vow ever to be true
As I wait on the porch for her return.
As she walks up the winding path
She suddenly realizes I'm looking at her,
Smiling and hoping she'll finally be mine.
True to her feelings she strolls into my arms,
Embracing and hugging me,
Kissing and sighing and finally she's mine;
Definitely all mine.
I can feel it in the tip of my toe, I have the rhythm in my body, and I’ve got to go, the fire is burning in my feet and without you I cannot compete.
You have been with me for so long, and I am inviting you to come and help me compose the Olympic song, the rhythm is floating in my head, and I want you to spread out the sheets on top of the bed and examine the miracle in every verse.
The rhythm is fine, and love is divine, and everything that is written on the line comes from my gut, and I will not stop until I get what is rightfully mine. We have gone over these a hundred and twenty times, and you must brush up the second line before the rehearsals begin.
The birds are singing in the tree and a stranger at the door is waiting for Thee. She has a guitar and a music keyboard, a violin, a flute and a clarinet she bought in her youth.
She has subtle smile on her face as she comes through the benevolent gate. I have seen this face on TV before and she is the last person I expect to come to this unpopular place.
The handyman drags the bag with the equipment through the gate and search for a place to set up a stage, and her legs began to shake.
She has caught on to the rhythm and she began to hum the tune and clap; she writes it down on the musical sheet and when she was done, she plays it on the music keyboard, it was so good, that it makes me walk about the floor. The Olympic rhythm is burning in my brain, the Olympic rhythm is driving me insane.
Get everyone one on the big stage and organize the chorus for the opening day. You need more instruments in the clouds to send the vibration through the town. The crowd is getting bigger so record it several times before you sing.
The Olympic rhythm has entered the space, and everyone is getting ready for the big race, the tortes and the hare are in town and the snakes, and the lizards are resting at home Synchronize the sound and work on the timing before you go dancing.
I don’t want you to sing, I just want you to give me the Olympic rhythm; I don’t want you to sing, I want the musical instrument to create the rhythm that is locked up in my head, get the people onstage and let the show begin.
Can you hear that sound? It is the olympic rhythm vibrating all over the town.