Long Glowered Poems
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‘Twas on a morning brisk and airy
I met a creature big and hairy.
It glowered at me, and I at it.
I was not afraid, not one small bit.
Its eye was crookedly turned all askew.
From its nose escaped ghoulish-green goo.
A wat’ry rivulet down its cheek.
“It needs a tissue. It looks quite bleak.”
My proffered handkerchief it did take.
Blowing its nose made the sidewalk quake.
It took a moment and looked at me
with a grim grimace, or gleeful glee.
We nipped pleasant words and parted ways.
A morn to remember for always.
We tipped our heads in courteous nod.
Away it turned and away it plod.
This tale is so insanely absurd,
to this day all the details are blurred.
I scarce should repeat it now and then
that I am lumped with demented men.
But for the creature’s courteous bow
It meant no ill will, I know that now.
And when I am asked if I believe,
a brave and bold front I shall achieve.
I shan’t retell the tale of itself,
choosing to keep the tale to myself.
If it returns and it should see me
I’ll smile and definitely pleased be.
Dropped anchor off the Fever Coast
‘board a rake-masted schooner
Spooked by Ahab’s ghost.
Lamps glowered through the yawning blanks
Casting bone-twisted shadows
Over teakwood planks.
Salt biscuits and Jamaican rum;
Heard the deep-throated rattle
Of the talking drum.
Count it with numbers. Say it with words...
Leaned hard against the mains’l boom.
Strained my eyes in the blackness
Of the brackish gloom.
Port lookout gave the counter sign;
Put our boats in the water,
Oar blades dripping brine.
Paid tribute to the pagan chief
In exchange for a passage
Past uncharted reefs.
Count it with numbers. Say it with words...
Slave dealers ruled the hidden cove
Near a shrine to the god
Of the cassava grove.
Made landing on the leeward shore.
Stacked our crates on the beach;
They totaled near a score.
Trade muskets worth some eighteen head
Pleased our hosts and they showed us
To the holding shed.
Count it with numbers. Say it with words...
Grey shackles made a hollow clank.
Moved them out single file,
Guards on either flank.
Fog greeted our return aboard.
Stashed our cargo below
Where once the guns were stored.
Turned to and dodged a man-o-war.
Rode that swift tidal current
Like a smuggler’s whore.
Count it with numbers. Say it with words...
Fair sailing till we hit the Cape,
But we made Madagascar
Still in decent shape.
Brisk business on the auction block
Where a Dutch merchant
Purchased our entire stock.
He sold ‘em to the Portuguese.
We set course for Calcutta
With the morning breeze.
Count it with numbers. Say it with words...
Crew mustered in the open air.
Coins were stacked on a blanket
And I took my share.
Two hundred stone of human freight
Brought me four Spanish dollars
And a piece of eight.
Christ Jesus, we be ruthless men.
Tell the god of the cassava
We’ll be back again.
Count it with numbers. Say it with words:
Guilt and compassion? Sh*t for the birds!
The fae of the forest watched as they
Gaily slung the discs on their way..
And it glowered hatefully from where it stood
As again and again their discs struck wood.
Surely for their offense they'd pay!
Patience was hard as it followed and sought
A punishment befitting for this offensive lot
Laughing in merriment when their discs struck chain
Strung from the iron poles that his wilderness, stained.
His fiery hatred grew hot!
But the iron and machine that invaded his realm
Weakened his magic, did arcana o’erwhelm,
Even as they climbed and hiked and played,
He studied the lot and his hand was stayed,
Three men, two women shaded ’neath elm.
So he bid the day increase its heat
He bid the trees their discs defeat
He slung small magic to deflect their discs
Off-course into thorns and other risks,
Yet their discs flew to basket’s entreat.
As the eldest wished for the trees to stop
Snatching his disc in flight to flop
On the ground, its flight outshined,
A horrible, evil thought sprang to mind,
Ahead the mad imp hopped.
In the false meadow set the devil his trap,
“No trees? No trees!” And with an evil clap,
As the eldest stood at the edge of the meadow
The younger’s disc flew errant, powerful, into elbow!
Horrific thud, not a light rap.
No truer could any aim have sought
Nor more devastating than the nerve it caught,
Waves of nausea wreaked by such pain
Stunned the warrior, he couldn't regain
His feet. The younger man was distraught.
Yet on they played, and gave no ground
Stubbornly threw their discs and found
Joy in every basket’s clink
And caused the evil imp to re-think
The awful paths he'd bound.
Twice more, throws askew were slung,
Twice more was impish, hurtful magic flung
Once at the mother’s head- wisely, she ducked,
Then again, feebly hit the youth’s leg, whose laughter clucked,
Mocking laughter, his leg unstung.
Sorrowfully, the wood devil gave in
He could not defeat this family's win
Even the old man's arm wouldn't bruise
How could the imp do ought but lose?
And so did the disc golf end. Fin.
So if you, enjoying family time fair
Seek to enter the forest imp’s lair,
Take cover from friends as the disc is cruising
Lest the wood devil, offended, send you a bruising
As from shadows he hates and stares.
You ever heard those people who
always spout these conspiracies?
Think there’s schemes behind everything,
it’s just so laughable to me!
Like remember a few years back,
in the days of the orange man,
he claimed that his first opponent
had hatched some convoluted plan
to provide false information
to out intelligence people,
that made him seem a Russian planet
who was all sorts of criminal?
How ridiculous can you be
to think they would go to such lengths,
really now, when you think on it,
it just doesn’t make any sen—
…wait, what?...It was fabricated?...Multiple testimonies…a disgraced spy…uh…well, So what? Even a broken clock is right twice a day.
But they you heard all of the claims
from this same orange president,
that the leader before him had
used wire taps to great extent,
had even tapped the man’s office
during the height of the campaign,
I mean talk about paranoid,
this kind of stuff is just insane.
To think in a democracy
our leaders would dream of such things
seems more to me like mad ravings
from a man when he’s losi—
…wait…they have the applications? It’s documented?...Based on ginned up charges….all from a joke they didn’t like? That happened?!...For real?
Well, forget the politicos,
this goes beyond halls of power,
remember just a few years back
when a loud man yelled and glowered
about how frogs were ‘turning gay’
from the chemicals in our streams,
and some people believed this rot,
to be that dumb in just obscene!
Like in our more enlightened times,
where we now cherish Mother Earth,
we’d turn blind eyes to chemical
strong enough to inflict such hurt.
This is not the 1950s,
we would not tolerate such things,
why would people believe this fool,
his conspiracies add noth—
…wait, huh? Female birth control…enters though the toilets…hormones cause mutation in fish and repitles? Hermaphordites…sexual dysfunction….we can’t filter it out… we’ve known for twenty years?!!...conflicts with women's issues...political sacred cow?...Oh...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
She frowned at him, still dressed in his skins,
then cast her gaze upon sweet Nell.
“Why do you bring a savage with you?
Long, lost, little brother, do tell?”
Prent knew this would be a hard sell.
“She’s your niece,”he informed,”My little girl.
I came home so she could learn the ways of the world.”
Annabeth laughed, then she glowered at him.
“If only our father could see you now.
Consorting with whores, laying with squaws,
that’s how he figured you would turn out.”
But Prent would let no one talk down.
“I came here to settle, and do right by Nell.
If you don’t want to help me, I’ll do it myself!”
Annabeth sighed, and motioned them inside,
but the scowl never did leave her face.
“Mother, I’m afraid, was laid up by a stroke,
I’ve taken over running this place.
I guess you and your…child can stay.
But I’m telling you now, just so you know,
I’m not associating with folks in such ratty clothes!”
The days that came transformed them both
Into good facsimiles of civilized folk.
Prent wore waist-coats, Nell put on a dress
With a high collar that nearly choked,
So tight it was that poor Nell spoke:
“Daddy, daddy! It huwrts my neck!”
Said Annabeth,”Child, you’ll get used to that.”
Days went by and a tutor was hired,
to try and teach the irrepressible girl.
Annabeth grimly took it on herself
to impart on her manners of the world,
still scowling at her like a churl.
While Prent went to his brother Ike,
to see if the banker had a job he’d like.
But luck was not with him at the bank,
owned sixty years by his family.
He still had no skill for business talk,
or keeping the customers happy.
He found his spirits soon flagging.
Plus, when it came to finding a love,
it seemed he was cursed by Heaven above.
Some would walk with him if he called,
but most ran when they learned of Nell.
One was so shocked he’d married a squaw
that she loudly condemned him to Hell.
In truth, it was all just as well.
A mother, he thought, Nell needed to grow,
but none of these women would make that so.
A month passed, and things grew strained,
Annabeth seemed more and more disturbed.
“She won’t learn her manners, and only talks
about trapping, horses, and pet squirrels!
That’s no kind of talk for a young girl!”
She threw up her hands, and said,”I’m done!
There is no helping that little one.”
CONTINUES IN PART III...
Your luminescence and clouds from once before, My vision blurrs fine connoisseurs and hunger profits more…
Longing for belonging vain void of emptiness,
Shoulders back, head held high weighting heaviness.
Murky desperation; wish not to be a bother,
Stars twinkle right above us whilst
Mist below does hover.
These feelings are so haunting; sober, solemn , staid,
Lured by loves’ prison, glowered from the grave.
To seek to be a part of all
Here again- love serves,
Though effulgence with all brilliance
Yellowness reserves.
For twilight is obscure for magic must unmask,
mysterious allure perchance, perchance to last.
Our world it keeps on turning
For here that God does bless
We must be doing something right-
To wrap in yellowness.
They would never catch him for they were not global thinkers.
Good ole’ boy thinkers who were not forensic experts in any way.
Stale men who had not been through police training for so long,
They let people walk through the clerk’s blood trail at the first murder scene.
Sheriff Dickerson was a nice guy,
but he was a born and bred small town fish.
His deputy, Chet, followed him around like a puppy,
asking him questions
And he had been his deputy for nigh onto twenty-six years.
I had been their school teacher; neither had taken to books. Dickerson was a math whiz.
The only thing Chet could do was run track, so he did that.
I raced down there the second I heard about the second murder.
“Miss Marnie! What are you doing here?” they asked. Dickerson gave me a smile.
Chet glowered at me.
He has held a grudge since I flunked him in second grade.
“Don’t you think it odd that this is the second murder in the same store?” I asked them.
“What clues do you have?”
They gave me all of their clues, I was their teacher, right?
“I cannot help you with this one, I told them. Not enough clues.”
“We know he was wearing a blue hat,” Chet said.
“And he was driving a black car.”
“I drive a black car,” I told them. “Want to look it over?”
Even Chet laughed.
I made my way down to that store for
murder numbers three, four, and five too.
They gave me all their clues.
I went home, satisified.
They thought it had been a man. Wrong.
They thought he was wearing a blue cap. Wrong.
They thought it could not possibly be me.
Wrong.
To the windows the students all go.
To get a closer look at the snow.
The teachers began shouting although
Santa fell down from the sky down below…
The school was in a frenzy from head to toe.
Santa was yelling his “ho, ho, ho, ho.”
The windows were filled with students who know
The snow is coming down with wind that will blow.
A blizzard is on her way, you really must go!
It is the principal with a bullhorn in tow.
The busses are summoned. Drivers are yelling “whoa!”
We cannot get out, or to anywhere go.
So we spend the night with our charges in tow.
They are hungry, so we break into the milk case and find dough.
We make up cinnamon rolls. They are tasty, so
We survive the night, with only the moon for a night-light glow.
The next day there is still a bunch of new snow.
The children are not as fascinated by the great show.
To the windows no one actually looks or will go.
Teachers are tired. Their faces are not fit for a beau.
Parents are frantic, run in to and fro,
Some take their children home early and so
Some teachers get a reprieve but as you well know
The usual suspects are there all day hanging low.
Hey, what did you think of that beautiful snow?
One of the teacher’s husbands asked, not in the know.
The staff glowered at him, this silly man named Joe.
Made him their Santa saying ho ho ho ho.
I love my green and feathered friend a bushel and a peck, *
But there was one occasion when I could have wrung her neck!
She's normally so well-behaved, but on that fateful day
When Aunty Pat came round for tea, I heard my parrot say:
'Old fatty Aunty Patty', 'Aunt Patty is a bore!'
With that my red-faced Aunt stood up and stormed out through the door!
I could have killed that parrot, we didn't speak for days.
I glowered at her through the cage and confiscated maize.
I tend to watch my words now, and Polly curbs her bill
The last I heard, my Aunty Pat had cut me from her will!
FINAL REVISED VERSION
16/03/19
'Green Humor Rhymes, Old Or New For Prizes Poetry Contest'
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire
* For anyone not familiar with this expression it means : ' a lot; a great amount' and was famously used in a song from the broadway musical 'Guys and dolls'. The last word seemed particularly fitting within this context!
Forsooth, one must stand proud and get ready my dear
Hold thy breath for combat into that coveted dress
Ladies, unite, squeeze tight - let thy true self appear
'Tis the festive season for the expansive rear
That limp lettuce leaf - the villain, I duly confess
Forsooth, one must stand proud and get ready my dear
Oh! How I fought against sweetmeats throughout the year
To don the finest apparel with undue stress
Ladies, unite, squeeze tight - let thy true self appear
I wrestled into my garb and what became clear
The malady on the raiment is anyone's guess
Forsooth, one must stand proud and get ready my dear
On reflection, my right thigh exposes a tear
The mirror glowered the fabric is less times less
Ladies, unite, squeeze tight – let thy true self appear
I am no Damsel in distress with this form – no fear
Strutting a designer tear, exuberates finesse
Forsooth, one must stand proud and get ready my dear
Ladies, unite, squeeze tight – let thy true self appear