Long Give up the ghost Poems
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Dribbling
If someone continually gets knocked down
Eventually they will give up the ghost
If around every corner is more negativity
Which of us has lost the most?
Started to believe
More fool me
Be another page
In my sad history
Knock me back
I’m used to it
Should I care
Should I give a
If you had me and lost me
How much did you lose?
I never dreamt this for you
But then,
I never dreamt it for me,
Too
Never got beyond the opening gambits
The if's the that's
The why's and wherefore's
The dangled conversation
The fandangled expression
The ooh's the ah's
The more's the baa's
The ponderous the wonderful
The hip the snakey
The half asleep
The wide awakey
The shakers
The quakers
The jitterers
The poem makers
The right from wrongs
The singers the songs
The left from right
The right from not-so
You never understood
None of you
Never had a clue
Poem as
Cathartic expression
Class dismissed
End of lesson
I’ve told you a thousand times
Don’t exaggerate
And if you’re not early
Don’t be late
Mind your p’s and q’s
Your x y z’s and your w’s
Let it flow
Let it grow
Mind what’s going on
Down below
Every sperm is sacred
Monty Python taught us so
How long’s a rollercoaster
Compared to a sapling
If you think about
Why is money happening
Haven’t had this much fun
In years and years
Still wondering about sweetcorn
WTF? Ears, ears?
Just letting my mind
Cleanse itself
Nothing left
On the shelf
There’s an infinite number
Of poems to be written
If I call this one,
Will it be forgiven?
I’m here and now
Ducking and fighting
A paper bag
Doesn’t come when writing
There was an old poet called Neil
Who wrote something for the thrill
Everyone groaned
Some even moaned
At poor Neil Neil orange peel
Don’t worry
I’ll get me coat
Not wanted here
I won’t get the goat
There’s barely a day goes by
Without me trying to marry
Sigh with my
I wonder why
This butterfly
The poems cry
And if I’m high
Or do or die
I’ll fly
Aye
I’ll fly
Aye
For the end is nigh…
PS
There’s a reason for this coda
Nothing to do with odour
But I’m not going to tell you
Or give you a clue
The best poems are written
To make you think,
I think.
28.4.2022 9:06am
Disappointed Devil - Hood Das Fume And Fret
'Curse darned demon
of that thar
underworld nudged me abet
as a permanent solution
to a temporary problem
i.e. principally no money
and rising debt
not for a long time didst
I feel so distressed didst,
where no amount of
optimism could get
back joie de vivre ebullient elan,
that oft times fines me jet
ting hither and yon, to and fro,
until spent energy met
fatigue, whence sand
man gave his pet
tickle yore sleep inducing
sprinkling granular set
tat heave, albeit
non off fence sieve tet
deep slumber didst
hone like a whet
stone, less drastic alternative versus
welcoming grim reaper, yet
eventually, aye reckon
this human machine
moost give up the ghost
boot not now,
cuz this moment hike ken boast...,
an immediate diminution
of anguish, viz unlike as told
yesterday, the monthly doled
social security automatic direct
electronic deposit extolled
joyus relief, viz checking account
death rattle didst sense a gold
din shimmer and em bold
qua slight monetary profusion
lowering destitution,
asper dearth of monies
allowing ease to un fold,
which severe dire straits rolled
forward respite
with money for nothing
oppressive full (rick kitty)
full Nelson neck
i.e. near choke hold
rejuvenated brittle psyche mold
during self feeling auld
also attendant temp
purred critical pull
away woe decreased yielding
(all "talk" and no action),
following thru with desperate,
sans destructive (irreversible)
actions unable to hold,
metaphorical tiger of despair
by the figurative tail,
where soul of mine
almost got "sold"
for a pittance (NOT penitence)
to the Prada devil
(or similar facsimile thereof)
rational self didst scold
spewing idle "FAKE"
hollw we ning suicidal threats,
not necessarily bold
cuz, this scribe did not write
his last (nor first,
second, third...) will
and testament before death,
would hove found
me stiff and cold.
HUNGARIAN RHAPSODY
Her hand’s swan-like dance,
ivory shadow puppets
romance. Hungarian rhapsody.
The musician sans existence
as emotive fingers move
imaginary marionettes
with splendiferous precision.
Drama drops onto piano keys
occasionally taking a gentle stroll
then in sensuous sway, sashaying
like an exotic dancer. The musician
plucks and plinks as if
with chameleonic charm, like an
angel playing a harp.
Her fingers fast walk the keyboard
then resound tremulous keys.
(The audience swoons, spooned
by a rapturous torrent that enters
the heart, strokes and kisses
the yearning flesh, like the taste
and feel of brandy, burning and
tantalizing in breathlessness)
The musician’s slender fingers
now strum along in gaiety, like
paramours on the streets of Paris,
Springtime in the air. Palms nearly
rest upon silent keys as if two lovers
lay back upon a bed with puffs of smoke.
Dawn’s crescendo, with peaks of happiness
reside upon streets of ebony and ivory.
Life’s serendipitous monologue begins
once more with foreboding or adventure
or both. Is there loneliness upon this crest
for what has happenstance brought,
are they star-crossed? Do we see the sun
and the moon racing through their pulse —
days of birth and mourning?
(The blond marionette in concert black
seems to be mesmerized or hypnotized
by the muse of music. She’s like a dream
on a performance stage. Practiced in
illumination of flame. She releases the arrow
and the audience brightens up like a chandelier
with clinking and brilliant crystal pieces)
Happiness once again but with ferocious fervor
sends the keys to a heavenly place - to ears,
to mind, to soul...a cheer of a great parade,
and then the shivering of climatic peak,
followed by a lullaby of dreams - we imagine
a newborn wrapped up in a life well-lived.
The darling gal still doesn’t give up the ghost
but plays and plays...can you hear the needle
stuck at the vinyl’s end...spending all love gives?
Only the Creator Himself can lift the arm and
carry the musician still incubating all her charm.
3/19/2018
Sweet dreams I wish to have in a much longer
When the ticking clock of live ticks not any longer
when the fresh and healthy air has no use any longer
And when the wishes and worldy dreams turns into reality
When the light of the world beginhs to deminish slowly
Whe the eyes of women continuous to water prefusely
when the hearts of men gets broken with no remedy
When the world is finaly closed for me certainly
And when the breathe is made its final tune
And it is then the time to give up the ghost
I wish then to have sweet dreasms in a much longer
When the rich and the poor are sent down into body of the ground
Then will I be taken to a place where the time never flows
The heaven is always blue and the rivers always flows
The air never comes to not and the breathe never seiz to count
A place where the eyes comes to see what the ears used to hear
Where the deeds of the righteous and the wicked are made plain and clear
Where men shall be succumb to account for that which they used to do
True families turns to rejoice, dejected families each other they turns to haunt
I wish to have left saddened families behind gladly
Wishing that, worried friends were seeing that which I am seeing
I wish to be laughing in joy and devils weeping prefusely in defeat
With love will the angels welcome me and sang the song of victory
And with peace the gates of the theavens will be showed to me graciously
And sweet dreams I wish to have when I am made to have a good sleep in a much longer
Awaiting the rapture, the final day and the awakening of the dead
Taking them into the land of the living on the day of Judgement.
When the ticking clock of live will never stop ticking any longer
And surely death will never come to seize me any longer
I wish to have sweet dreams in a much longer
ANSWERING AN ABSTRACT
do you trust the world not to fall on you?
i’m standing on the world, i have to trust
myself not to drop. i’m an implosion of doom
enjoying expressions like good grief, my structure
is closer to collapsing because the bolts unloosen,
thinking my thoughts are unique, sounding
like a dead man, the one who invented
the atomic bomb to protect the world from Nazis
and orange mist, didn’t work of course
nobody laughs at my jokes, wife thinks
my ***** is small and wants a threesome
with the neighbor who steals my newspaper,
the sun is dying, learned about it in fifth grade
along with putting a condom on and long division,
a little too late if you ask me, and everybody
dislikes the idea i might want to pray or learn
Korean, my life is a parachute that won’t open
i’m going down and not on my wife
people call me crude, saying my behavior
is for shock value, i like sitting naked
in my living room with the windows open
clothes are itchy, socks have a tendency
to make my feet smell automatically,
cleanliness is next to godliness and i
need all the god i can muster, why i
sing hymns because i hear they like music
up there more than talking, conversations
in chitchat sounds like static in an oyster,
can’t know for sure i recognize the world
have to assume i don’t, ignorant of the cosmos
and my own capacity for greatness, clouds
could be my thoughts, trees could be my limps
sun could be my soul, and even if the world
falls i’d have to go with it, and how’d i know
i was dropping when i would give up the ghost
before we land at the end of time because we are
booming through the millenniums and it takes
a long time to get to a floor so bottomless.
I spread my toes wide in the sand,
tanned feet in stark contrast,
the white sand squeeked like cornstarch,
saw the shadows that we cast.
She sat forward, hunched, hands clasped,
her shoulders round and frail,
her clear blue eyes were milky now,
her face seemed pinched and pale.
Just last month she was terrified
of the seagulls by the shore,
but now her world had narrowed
and she noticed them no more.
Above our heads they swooped and screeched
and laughingly cocked their heads,
they eyed us hoping that we'd brought
some popcorn or some bread.
But, of course, we'd brought no popcorn,
our focus was all on her,
on how she'd disconnected,
her reality a twisted blur.
So they shadow-boxed the demon,
would naming it give it strength?
and no one dared to speak of it,
as its shadow grew in length.
In this family that I was part of,
(but more an unwelcome guest)
I was puzzled by their silent taboo,
knew my place was tenuous at best.
Confused by their veiled insults,
oft disguised as jokes and jests,
in her madness became my ally,
I responded with tenderness.
So I dug my toes into the coolness,
just sat with her on the beach,
and smoked cigarette after cigarette,
and listened to her speak.
So spoke with long-dead relatives,
time-traveled to her youth,
and who was I to judge her,
to tell madness from the truth?
I think her soul was straddling worlds,
her life-force was still in the host,
her body's grip was tightly held,
reluctant to give up the ghost.
I hope I helped her somehow,
while they both of us ignored,
I listened without judgement,
sitting by her, on the shore.
On an azure expanse without prospect or sail
the debris of my ship rent asunder from gale
as I float, the last salt to endeavor my breath
my mates sent to Davey Jone's locker in death
I am lashed to this length of the mizzen, adrift
as swells rock me gently and ship riggings shift
it's too many days now I've been without water
parched to my marrow the sun growing hotter
I've now resigned grace, if I give up the ghost
and I think on the treasures of life I love most
I remember my time in the crow's nest a-sway
puff cheeks of the moon on the tail of the day
the glow of the wake as the drift ever churned
and the dancing of St. Elmo's fire as it burned
oh the heavens - as dark as the deepest abyss
yet alight with a blush from the Milky Way's kiss
a thousand suns setting and not one the same
young lasses in port with bright tresses aflame
the yawp of the sails, e'er the ship came about
a yell from the nest when we'd spotted a spout
the cold slap of spray as a cap broke too soon
or Luna's night dance like ten million doubloon
well ...
the ocean can't hold all the rules that I've bent
but I float off to sleep on these billows content
ever sure that this seafarer's life was well-spent
and my only fit grave, this ol' sea, heaven-sent
aye, my only fit grave, this ol' sea ...
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Rattling Rhyme" Poetry Contest, Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.
Seven walked the lonely road
Searching for a secret key
To life’s door of humanity
Maybe if they let it out
People will be gentle again
One falls from hateful comments made
The six left fight with vengeance
To give people a conscience
Maybe if they give them that
People will be loving again
Another falls from an iron blade
Five stand tall and push past the fight
Towards the goal of endless light
Maybe if they let it out
People will see what they’ve done
One succumbs to despair
So there are four, so close
They refuse to give up the ghost
Maybe if they don’t give up
People will have hope again
Another falls from unknown cause
And three take the journey alone
Declining to rest, they cut to the bone
Maybe if they cut that deep
People will find the goodness they lost
One fades from disease and leaves the world
Two are left, clinging to possibility
That they have the capability
Maybe if they make it
People will stop being cruel
Two are now one, with sinking heart
Finally one is at the gate
The people are screaming for him to wait
He pushes it open, the light streams out
People will be gentle again
People will be loving again
People will see what they’ve done
People will have hope again
People will find the goodness they lost
People will stop being cruel
And all the people disappeared
Hiding from the burning light
Because people don’t like to see their faults
And the one falls and the gate and dies
And fades to join his brethren
©Copyright 2015. All rights reserved.
Form:
I want to sleep good
If happiness is base on money,
Be sure that ,
you can never be happy in life,
If love is base on material needs
I assure you,
that till eternity you will be stress,
If debt is real,
That make bills a phenomenon,
when one
Is not selfish,
He can obtain peace,
From a connection that he gaves,
By careing,
I want to sleep good,
I don't want to be the richest,
I don't want to be selfish,
I don't want to be in debt,
Of material needs,
I don't want to lose,
My peace of mind,
I don't want to be runing,
after shadows when the sun is down,
I want to sleep good
Like a necessity,
Like money,
Like a struggle,
Like the people,
Until when will the rich be satisfied?
When will the holes of greed be stitch?
Oh I just can't trade,
my beautiful
Sleep with worries,
When at last,
I will finally give up the ghost,
Just can't trade on vanity,
Instead of a good sleep,
That strenghtens me,
When am awake,
I want to sleep good,
How can one work all time,
without no good sleep?
How could you,
replace worries to sleep?
I want to sleep good,
I wonder,
How a greedy man sleeps?
Guess his ego,
Echo's around him
At night,
Like a ghost,
With his heart,
always on his needs,
His eyes open,
Like a watch man,
Constantly planing for more,
I want to sleep good.
Sleep is a good medicine,
Sleep is healthy,
Work and no sleep,
Is equal to slow death,
Like a necessity
I want to sleep good.
It's gradually I come to realize
Time is not the major thing
Cos with everyone, I idealize
Its way is different in Beijing
Of minutes or hours compare
To doing exploits, fate ensnare
It's gradually I come to think
How mysterious life changes
That date works plans to sink
To a lot of greatness in ranges
Now flying to tour out of Lagos
Isn't of stress to counting loss
It's gradually I come to learn
That moving forward is of grace
Work isn't the only way to earn
For many are blessings of no trace
God deposited cum mercy shown
Which doesn't matter of faith grown
It's gradually I come to know
It doesn't matter how you do it
So far each day, you want to grow
Out of mistakes, one easily do hit
Up the energy lessened cum stress
To fit intimately familiar with success
It's gradually I come to see
There's no need to teach scope
If life will drag you to its sea
It doesn't matter how far from rope
You may drown and give up the ghost
Hanging your breath to eon's toast
It's gradually I come to meet
Many people who blame me
For not having the size of their feet
So that they can give out house key
Go in there and pick up shoes
Yet, I don't think that defines them jews
It's gradually I come to view
No one else has it like me
For everyone is unique to be true
Doing things like other won't make it be
And if it seems to be, not exactly like
But will bury in you the exceptional psyche