Long Geographic Poems
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Disguised as an Apple Computer Technician.
He initially hacked Macbook Pro laptop.
He (alias Harvey Specter)
planted seeds of suspicion
that criminal activity prevailed
within my geographic area in general
or questionable individuals
lurked within or without
Citizens Bank in particular,
and suggested yours truly (me)
to be wary about
over friendly employees
at aforementioned capital one
storied financial institution.
Said gonif (pulled a masterful subterfuge)
inveigling yours truly to carry out heist
of the twenty first century
against his honest good n plenti resources
(subsequently checking and
savings accounts severely depleted).
The invisible webbed wide whirled net
ensnared me lock, stock and barrel.
Little did I know
the spellbinding impact
until the dirty deed done dirt cheap
found writer of these words
figuratively holding the empty bag
where I got forced to trod
analogous highway to hell
courtesy diabolical, inimical, satanical...
devil may care disguised cozener
who wove believable scenario
claiming Citizens Bank employees
involved in suspicious conspiracy
to siphon off hard earned bucks.
I submissively consented
to participate and cavalierly disperse
freshly minted Benjamins
suddenly linkedin
chain of events
rocketing, kickstarting, and experiencing
a worse horror than death
mortified at being bushwhacked.
The feeble explanation, justification,
qua obliteration, ululation
trumped with lame excuse
yours truly not in his right mind.
Mind control, (albeit remotely)
assassinated rationality while hypnotically
feeling commanded, governed,
née kid lee killed
mine esprit de corps
among kith and kin
consigning thrifty troubadour
to the depths of despair
wishing termination of existence
in tandem with damnation, interrogation,
penalization, et cetera of nasty brute.
After series of unfortunate events brought,
where innocence and naïveté caught
teetotaler tempted to drink deadly draught
of top quality hemlock sold
at many bustling entrepôt
cuz now existence fraught
with torturous quaking
nauseating, kickstarting hatred
of self, thus restitution
of funds sought
by folks willing bestow largesse.
If yes check out (fiasco from fraudsters
frazzles father)
legitimate platform
where charitable people swarm
and toys are sold.
Methinks muss elf akin to a cold prickly...
being analogous to a
limp biscuit viz
wussy wonky willy,
yet back in the day
rolling in hay worm
may at large cavorted
frolicked, and idealized
as a warm fuzzy.
Though aforementioned title
slightly risqué and silly,
yours truly dwells in Schwenksville,
approximately an hour drive
northwest from Philly,
a geographic enclave flush with
seeds of life and White Lily
hometown of mine reminiscent
of Lake Woebegone
similarly verdant and hilly.
Today I bubble with gumption and glee
riding a crest of carefree euphoria prithee
within Netherlands home to Zuiderzee.
Now yours truly lets thoughts unspool
as they popup like mushrooms
after a soaking rain
and flash across consciousness
hoping to hammer somewhat
comprehensible poetic product
wrought courtesy tool
of me noggin
stream of consciousness school
meanders and follows no particular rule.
Despite being rescued
from blimey and bloody
ten thousand cannibals yippee,
where before escaping xi
shark infested cyber sea,
I nearly fell prey to piranhas we
dulling their way think valley
girls enlisting themselves
to be worshipped
as omnipotent trustee
trumpeting themselves
as shaykhah of chic re:
to do bidding of commoners
heavily guarding, ousting,
and thwarting stiff contenders
for commodification, commiseration,
commercialization, communication
and glory of riches q.e.d.,
quod erat demonstrandum
selling one soul to the devil
what a pity
exploitation, juxtaposition, opposition
temptation teasing proletariat offeree,
who seductively utter née
all the while vicarious thrilling
analogous to shady subterfuges
within dark wide web
bloodhounds (created courtesy
artificial intelligence) ripping asunder
supposedly airtight code,
while proficient hackers punching
virtual holes at Norton and McAfee
and other logistics wizards to protect data
laugh demonically, hysterically,
maniacally, sadistically, and zestfully
at those payees party as licensee
guardians of regal materialistic realm
do as I saith - speaketh bourgeoisie.
Clans, Ilks and Tartans
Woven into threads of red and black,
Girded by grids of white,
Distant plaintive bagpipe memories
Of sunset over Kilmaurs –
A crest that bears a unicorn
Touches royal roots
As a poet’s tribute to a patron lost
Watches neighbors Campbell and Montgomerie
Then looks out on the seas from tidal lands
Of Ayrshire in flings and reels with swirling kilts
When explorer’s feet recall on new world shores
The mew of seagulls soaring –
Politicians, engineers and entrepreneurs -
Over Fork Over – Cunningham, a clan of auld.
Blocks of green and wine
Stripped with blue
Look back into the heather
Covering highland hills of country dances
Where spring wanders in hunting kilts
Beneath clear cerulean heavens,
Boldly enduring;
A crest that bears a coronet
Of storied noble and knight
Whose melancholy legend
Whispers in glens and gloaming
Of standard bearers for a king
Watched by Ogilvy and Stewart
Lindsay, a clan of auld.
Like sunlight bouncing off of autumn leaves
In crimson, golden amber, umber greening hues -
A sword dance of squares and lines in twirling kilts -
Near the sparkling waters of Loch Lomond;
Clan neighbor Graham and cousins MacCammon
See the crest adorned by a coronet
Prize of battle;
The wind remembers
Tiny windswept island Clarinch -
A battle cry of Clar Innes -
Campaigns of kings and exiled queens –
Chieftain’s seat sees a president and prospector -
Hence the brighter honor – Buchanan, a clan of auld.
Cousins of the same ilk
Bear the names of families -
Of highland lands
And lowland memories -
Seaside and mountain territories -
Kilts wearing colors interwoven patterns
Born of clans with
Tartans telling legends and the stone of destiny,
Plaids dancing at the piper’s hand,
Ancient names, though maybe hidden, still live –
Cunnyngham, Lindsey and MacCammon
Of Buchanan –
In Celtic refrains like iridescent whispers
Woven through clans of auld.
This is the story of my Scottish heritage through the mottos, the tartans, the history and geographic references to the clan homes.
Labyrinth of Sighs
Wondering through a labyrinth of sighs
More platitudes with attitudes that never question why
A litany of afterthoughts about where we go when we die
An emboldened range of rude retorts refuting the reasons why I cry
A canon blazing wartime over a century ago
The night sky spent stargazing, wondering what we really know
A multinational conglomerate just phasing out more duplicitous advertisements that “flow”
A hungry orphan on a street corner, with nowhere else to go
Self-aggrandising promotion everywhere I seem to look
The wealthy uprising causing commotions, celebrities writing books
A typhoon on the island coast, Turkey on the day the earth shook
A morbid day that hurts the most,
An undignified Capatalist crook
The arrogant certainty of western superiority
The way the monotony forms around typecast minorities
The precedence of material goods conspiring to take global priority
The contradictions of individualism that consume the vast majority
The medical anomalies and surgical advancements
The incredible atrocities of cosmetic enhancements
A formidable ferocity of genetics and semantics
An incredible philosophy of frenetic theological pedantics
A sincere gaze of solidarity into another persons eyes
A mere phase of different polarities that use scientific graphs to signify
A Purple Haze of creative improvisational genius that cannot be quantified
A confused daze of inconvenience as another witness is proven to have lied
Returning to the central point of a theoretical discourse
Concerning a fundamental joint possible hypothetical recourse
A burdened soldier after war suffering the agony of remorse
An ancient boulder from the shores of civilisations geographic historical course
A curious mathematician, an inspiring original think
The spurious contradictions of a political candidate on the brink
A furious proposition concerning a scandalously placed eye wink
Human connectivity and the endless search for the missing link
Copywright Elizabeth Moroz
Swath of pristine tractless snow white landscape...
tell tale sign where
winter storm Demi left her mark.
Beautiful and bountiful visual scene
(seldom seen around
tri-state geographic area
for quite a few years,
where temperate global warming
spelled unseasonably warm winters)
trumps the inauguration
for breathtaking view.
Immaculate conception birthed
awesome aesthetic spectacular
blinding heavenly creation.
I feel humbled
as an infinitesimal know nothing
wrought into existence
courtesy billions of years
evolutionary fits and starts,
and will exit stage door left
barely impacting the cosmic schema.
Memories accumulated across
six plus decades astride oblate spheroid
upon sixty plus shades of gray matter
sights and sounds transiently,
yet indelible impressions lasted a lifetime
eventually taken to the grave,
(or rather more eco-friendly crematorium),
which lovely bones once reduced to ashes
will leave nary a trace videre licet,
where joys and sorrows
dwelt within mine temple mount
unbeknownst to humanity
unless one attests to spiritus mundi
housing each and every personal record
that livingsocial (and more often
as an egalitarian, latitudinarian, proletarian,
solitudinarian, and unitarian) did emboss,
though uneventful existence,
would find any incorporeal passerby to gloss
tittering at reputation as spindleshanks
no doubt resulting
where chromosomes and genes
of interspecie breeding did intercross,
yet leaving some lucky *****sapiens
descendents of simian forebears
with eye catching physical characteristics
cases in point Heidi Kloss
or the waifish
former supermodel Kate Moss
testimony that either the former
or latter pleasing specimens
fortified with raw bits,
(and maybe even smattering
Norwegian bachelor farmers
big strapping men's bloodline
rumored heifer and angus outcross),
whose claim to eternal fame popularized,
and brought them renown fame
linkedin to "aphrodisiac hidden oomph"
of powder milk biscuits) sic erat scriptum.
TIDES OF TIDINESS
If I was God, the geographic world I would bless:
I’d start by tidying up my world map for it’s a mess.
First let’s examine the ideal - man-made edges can’t be beat.
Look at places like the USA -Canada boundaries - wow they’re neat.
Saskatchewan and the Four Corners - geometric perfection.
Australia’s states too, and Africa, especially the northern section.
It’s the instinct of all poetic geography teachers
To want to tidy up the world map’s ragged features.
The British Columbia coast needs sweeping with a big brush and
All those islands pushed till they’re joined to the mainland.
Same goes for the chilly south coast of Chile:
So many islands and peninsulas - it’s just silly.
And also the fjorded Atlantic coast of Norway:
Smooth? Neat? Geometric? No way!
The Canadian archipelago too might as well be joined up together
Cos it’s one frozen mass all the time in wintry weather.
Of those messy lakes of Canada and Finland we have no need:
With God’s giant blotting paper I’d make them recede.
And don’t get me started about the crazy course of a river.. . .
Pure logic and efficiency I can deliver:
The Amazon rises only 60 miles from Peru’s Pacific coast
But clearly it felt the need to have something to boast.
It should have gone west instead of 4000 miles east to the Atlantic
A wasted effort, silly choice - it ended up being absurdly gigantic.
And I have bigger complaints, such as South America
Being fitted back where it belongs into the coast of Africa;
And the Red Sea’s coasts, moved apart like edges of torn paper all raggedy:
Dunno whose idea that was, but it ain’t foolin nobody.
Obviously they should be stuck back together jigsaw fashion
To satisfy my geographical neatness passion.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
*This is the latest in my series of Nutty Geographical Poems.
Take a glance at your bedside atlas to see the places mentioned.
Today there was no electricity
So I slept off the day
Most of the nights past had been so long
Soon it was as usual
Went into my past
It wasn’t as enticing
Still a lot of mediocrity
Met a few friends
Still as they were when I left
Soon I found myself with someone I love so much
Still as pessimistic and unhappy as she has always been
God, thanks I still have some self esteem
For the past I had was tailored to make me believe
...that there was nothing I could achieve
Soon I realised a dream
I was in a media house feeling so ecstatic
But something interrupted the TV
It appeared as though it was a coup from the 60’s
The broadcast was shut
Then on the screen I saw three earthquakes or volcanoes
Couldn’t really tell what coz the map was geographic
The three volcanoes or earthquakes were due to hit my country
One around Lake Turkana the other two down in the Coast
Somewhere in the Indian Ocean
I know not what to make of that dream
Then I was somewhere in Iowa or Ohio
Couldn’t tell where of the two it really was
In a state that had a railway station, a factory and only three residents
Wondered how they got along
Soon I was in another county in the 1880’s
Here I met a lovely family of many
They were struggling just to get by
And there was a young man just my age
You could see in his face that he was a dreamer
And for sure he dreamt big
The strong sugarless tea and crusty bread
...couldn’t work for him anymore
In his soft voice I had strong resolve
He was gonna go and build his home stark in the middle of his dreams
And before I could see the intensity in his eyes
He was gone
His former home didn’t even miss him
As I rubbed off my eyes to wake up at five
His is the first dream that came to mind
And yes, as sure as I was he would succeed
So shall I
To have been there and discovered what time can do
to a place is astounding.
All the memories flash by before I wake.
Missing true colors, images in only pastel shades which
have borders and dimensions of depth and spatial distance.
This place I cannot find on a map, or from any encyclopedia. Thought I might find it while browsing through some
paleontology or mythology books. Did find a few notations
which I call ‘could be’s.’
But facts don’t line up to justify.
Perhaps it may be during the prehistoric era, maybe just a touch
of an idea that leads to the stone age?
Spent a few days flipping through books at the Clifford society
library in Kalarchee Illinois. They had a lot of material to shift
through, would take me weeks to do such. Their reading room
was like a grand hotel sitting area. Once you sit, you don’t want to get up!
About a dozen books later my thoughts of finding drew less and less. I did check out National Geographic site of all their sources.
but came up empty handed once again.
Did find some places in their magazines that I did not know existed. But Sedwick was not found.
Ah! Ha! Maybe the Holy Grail might know! Just thought I would toss that in to make light of the fact.
Fact or no fact.
But in fact to the matter, I don’t have any facts to build upon.
Are you with me?
It’s like constructing a building using Lego’s without the cornerstones. Thus... ‘the walls came tumbling down.”
Jericho in Palestinian territories is not a location for Sedwick
Case at hand:
A place to find
Unlike any other kind
May not exist
Will keep on my list.
Alternatives... drop it come back later
Conclusion... finding Nemo was easier
Will search for Monarch in Utopia.
So many warm thoughts surround the memory of my Father
Affectionately referred to as, “Papa” by his children
For most men, back then, life was and still, is not always easy..
He lived in a world where he shouldered an insurmountable weight
Not of his own making nor by choice; and that burdened his spirit to the core
Freedom was limited for young colored men those days
Through sheer determination he became well-educated during that time
Grandpa had traveled much, therefore knew the worth of an education
He married his sweetheart and took her away to find freedom
They knew that they would struggle yet, preferred inner peace and respect
He was an honest man; always considerate but couldn't handle disrespect
Always rooting for the underdog, he fell into trouble at times
Still, he was my “Papa” and in my eyes, could do no wrong!
I recall that, when he said “No”, he meant it, unless Mama intervened
Like sunshine, he filled our humble home with music, laughter and books
We were by no means wealthy, yet strangers thought we were
He was a proud man and he and Mama always worked twice as hard
He taught me to dance as I stood bare feet atop his shoes
And no matter how tired he was he would dance for as long as I wished
His loyalty was prime to family and friends; his word was his honor
He made time to help with home work and lend a hand around our home
On Sundays we would all take walks after lunch along the beach
And he would point out across the Atlantic the direction from which they came
He introduced me to the National Geographic and Life Magazines too
So many warm memories live within my heart, of Papa
And I know beyond all doubt that he was made special for me!
Note: For Sami's "Warm Hearts" Contest
Trump, the Transitional President
I looked at the 2025 official portrait of Donald Trump
and thought about Mount Rushmore
and how Borglum would have sculpted the rock
to include the transitional president
into the "Shrine of Democracy" of nation builders,
passing the torch from one generation to another.
“Donald Trump (1946–): 45th. & 47th. President: Rebirth of a Nation.”
***
Notes:
Shrine of Democracy: "The purpose of the memorial is to communicate the founding, expansion, preservation, and unification of the United States with colossal statues of Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and Theodore Roosevelt." (Gutzon Borglum)
George Washington (1732–1799): 1st. President: Birth of the U.S.A.
Thomas Jefferson (1743–1826): 3rd. President: Expansion of the U.S.A. with the Louisiana purchase.
Abraham Lincoln (1809–1865): 16th. President: Preserver of the Union.
Theodore Roosevelt (1858–1919): 26th. President: Development of the U.S.A.
Mount Rushmore: Mount Rushmore is located in the Black Hills, Keystone, South Dakota. Construction of the monument took place from 1927 to 1941 and is the work of the sculptor Gutzon Borglum (1867–1941). Mount Rushmore is named after Charles E. Rushmore (1857–1931), a New York City attorney who was sent out to this area in 1884 to check legal titles on properties for a mining company, and in 1885 the name Mount Rushmore came into local usage. In 1930 the United States Board of Geographic Names officially recognized the name. The Lakota called it Tunkasila Sakpe Paha, or Six Grandfathers Mountain (before it was renamed).