Long Goblin Poems
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I am a purple headed chicken with glass beads. I like to roam the wooded glades. I often wear a pair of shades. It shields my precious amethyst eyes from the glare of the sun. Such heat corrodes such orifices. But producing a grin as I pass the goblin who gazes ay my feathers in an admiring stare. Then I make my way up the tree and use the vines to swing over to my favourite picnic spot by the lake. Mrs squirrel has made an amazing spread of acorn nectar which I peck up at great speed. Lovely wild mushrooms mixed with bracken. A treat as I sit in my woodland dream. But oh no what is that? That terrible noise? And why is it so very dark? I feel squashed. My throat is dry. Where are my woods? Oh no I am here and not in my sanctuary. I must claw at the sides of this thing. Far to restrictive. Cant even flap. And isnt that Myra, and Hettie I can hear clucking. If I get out then I will get them out too. Wait for those passing stomping boots and that noise must be on as I go. Means the end of a life but if I can rescue some of my friends it will be fantastic and plucky too. Plucking up the courage she began to claw and finally broke through. Squashing through the tiny bars she found her friends and instructed them how to release. Then one by one they flew up and up and up into the night air. Using the rest of their power gained by finding three pieces of corn on the floor of that place. The ceiling had a sky light which was barely wide enough to squeeze a potato but they managed to kick it whilst beating their wings. Finally having released themselves they soared across to the woods in the distance. Where they were greeted by a squirrel in a patterned apron and chefs hat. Wow Mrs squirrel is real. Not just in my dream. Mrs squirrel smiled and greeted her and her friends. Now you will have safety here amongst the trees. Later you can visit the lake. Then the blanket was dutifully laid and the birds sat down to enjoy their feast. Feasting feathers find fun. Then they spent the future swinging from the vines, visiting the lake for regular picnics, singing with the woodland choir, and working the soil with their claws and beaks. To earn a crumb is to earn a crust. And crusts are neither crumbles nor couplets crouching. Cluck cluck cluck. Ornithomania
Form:
It was time...
Past eventide, he crawls in.
Playing with my hair, the whistling breeze was,
Teasing me.
Like fireflies, the distant city lights grinned,
Vexing me.
Sighing in fragrant air, wisped the meek blossoms
Pestering me.
And sat I embraced, in my window
Whining.... and waiting...
For that White Goblin...!
It was time....
And he knew that I knew
He was looking at me
Sneaking through the peep-holes
Of mulberry leaves.
He knows how the poison called Patience works
Draining the last drop of life
Yet refusing to kill...
"That loathsome White Goblin..!"
Past the period of silent conversation
"Hey! Sweet Champagne..!"
He bows and greets.
I uttered not words but a gush of fire
"Expect a bitter-gourd tonight!"
His chuckles are callous, and so is he
" O! You hateful White Goblin..!"
It was time...
The tribunal was set and ready
And he who was accused, stood guiltlessly
And I, the prosecutor, alledged my charges
"Illegal are the broken vows, under the rule of Eros"
"Guilty of lurching me, you, who leave me alone"
"On the darkest of nights, you,
Who walk away without a word"
"Justify lest you are held a traitor!"
" You brazen White Goblin..!"
With his head held high, in divine aura
A faint smile kissed his lips,
Cloaking the moisture of his eyes.
Glancing at me, most humbly
He said...
"Your Highness, blame me not for lurching you.."
"For its I, who, holds your glance in mirror"
"Its I who follows you in your shadows"
"Its I who spins your thoughts"
"And its I who braids your dreams..."
"With the threads of boundless affection."
"On the darkest of nights.....
Right here, I was, behind you, Love
Holding you through, only out of sight.."
"Scared to look into your eyes
Drenched in undeserved tears."
"I envy them, for they hold your eyes
That otherwise...
Hold my image..."
"Forgive me, your Highness
My strength is flawless
But for this little weakness."
In his moist eyes
The reflection of my smile
Held the court adjourned....
Meetings part one....A moon is neither a plant nor a weapon so never sit in a washing basket at ninety eight degrees. And a tick tocking plant is available for hop scotch games. Timed over frontiers and available to view in a slip stream. Hang gliding sparrows then. They dive to skies unseen. Whilst horses in cars kick out no fumes as fumes belong to plates of rotting peas in a disorganised kitchen. Speeches from a rhino make the bees tap dance. But when trapping an ant one must place a teaspoon to entice. Moonlit menagerie many monsters moving. *** armament aflame. *** antacid alter *** clandestine cinemas *** luminous .... Meetings part two....Circular wisdom robotic wisdom of a once well fed leaf. Orangutans race across the well placed floors of a once dusty landscapes when acrid moons sip a passing juice of sea bud. The flares from a dome can be found in worldwide chains. But never let it be said that upon mastery of sun chiming the turning flame could alter even the most dormant of chasm. Thus releasing the glows. Ejecting powerfully with great force. In a constant ever increasing united wave. Fathom not a thread. It is to be of great peril. As balance and footsteps are very carefully counted by a nine metre sea slug who buries items if antiquity on a beach. Often during a sandstorm. A reason unsaid is a goblin ghost. Woo woo nightshade collapse. So go paint a plant then. Several sheets of toilet paper are often akin to paperwork in print. Circulating a very stale air. All pop. Yogurt pots are empty. Please do fill yet no film is of the fodder of the diet of royals. And royalties are only marginally accepted by crafting a large diagram of a field to delay deliveries. Justice delivered in a strawberry jam. Strawberries are the wisest fruit. Dance with a heifer, a snake, and a very wise stripy frog. Erogenously placed power porks pickling places potently. When a free bird cackles. As a bud erupts. Volcanic arts in a sky. Xx radiation xx branches *** during dinner dance do *** culminated clapping clam xx and healing hippos plus 48% of a dangling dandelion in a sarong. Xx fashionable. *** dutiful deity. *** horsemen hounds. *** tea sedation *** representation *** oink oink oink b 4 q
Form:
Meetings part one....A moon is neither a plant nor a weapon so never sit in a washing basket at ninety eight degrees. And a tick tocking plant is available for hop scotch games. Timed over frontiers and available to view in a slip stream. Hang gliding sparrows then. They dive to skies unseen. Whilst horses in cars kick out no fumes as fumes belong to plates of rotting peas in a disorganised kitchen. Speeches from a rhino make the bees tap dance. But when trapping an ant one must place a teaspoon to entice. Moonlit menagerie many monsters moving. *** armament aflame. *** antacid alter *** clandestine cinemas *** luminous .... Meetings part two....Circular wisdom robotic wisdom of a once well fed leaf. Orangutans race across the well placed floors of a once dusty landscapes when acrid moons sip a passing juice of sea bud. The flares from a dome can be found in worldwide chains. But never let it be said that upon mastery of sun chiming the turning flame could alter even the most dormant of chasm. Thus releasing the glows. Ejecting powerfully with great force. In a constant ever increasing united wave. Fathom not a thread. It is to be of great peril. As balance and footsteps are very carefully counted by a nine metre sea slug who buries items if antiquity on a beach. Often during a sandstorm. A reason unsaid is a goblin ghost. Woo woo nightshade collapse. So go paint a plant then. Several sheets of toilet paper are often akin to paperwork in print. Circulating a very stale air. All pop. Yogurt pots are empty. Please do fill yet no film is of the fodder of the diet of royals. And royalties are only marginally accepted by crafting a large diagram of a field to delay deliveries. Justice delivered in a strawberry jam. Strawberries are the wisest fruit. Dance with a heifer, a snake, and a very wise stripy frog. Erogenously placed power porks pickling places potently. When a free bird cackles. As a bud erupts. Volcanic arts in a sky. Xx radiation xx branches *** during dinner dance do *** culminated clapping clam xx and healing hippos plus 48% of a dangling dandelion in a sarong. Xx fashionable. *** dutiful deity. *** horsemen hounds. *** tea sedation *** representation *** oink oink oink b 4 q
Form:
Before the great golden gates,
in the long ago,
battle was to be waged on Badicha plain,
Soldiers of the Dark Ones come,
to destroy the lands of light,
upon the mighty silver parapet,
many stood and watched,
an angel stood,
sweet womanhood,
in her wondrous prime.
Her soft brown eyes,
they beheld a black sea,
would this be the end of all dreams?
would darkness come upon this scene?
she watched intently,
this Warrior Queen,
as manhood marched from Alahsar,
through golden gates, they marched,
they were a wondrous dream,
the mighty splendour of Alahsar.
Brave the knights that rode away,
regaled in golden finery,
they did shine with golden light,
kissed by Sol's celestial beam,
followed, they were, by infantry,
they did march so bold and strong,
bedecked in summer's brightest colours,
a glorious sea to behold.
Brave indeed, were these soldiers,
with hearts of steel, they marched away,
glory and honour,
within battle's horror,
Upon the plain of Badicha,
before the gates of the golden city,
a battle for the survival of light,
fighting to whatever end would be sung.
Womanhood did watch this day,
forbidden by the king, to fight,
As Fathers, Brothers, Uncles,
Lovers did march away,
Into the light of glories dawn,
the golden glory shining bright,
which, ever did shine,
on the golden glory that was Alahsar.
Our Warrior Queen stood tall,
she stood with the other women,
they longed to be on the field,
atop those bright battlements of silver,
they could but await the outcome,
a fire blazed in her brown eyes,
she stood on the smallest part of the wall,
above the great golden gates.
Both sides now,
light and dark,
they faced each other,
across the emerald sea,
The Dark forces,
their Spiders and Spider Riders on the flanks,
Arlaghs were in the front lines of the centre,
merciless, murderous beasts,
Behind them the Goblin Wolf Riders,
The light force,
there armoured knights on both flanks,
the infantry,
they stood row on row in the centre,
the archers were mostly ranked behind the infantry,
small groups are on the flanks,
both these armies in expectation,
they waited for the command to strike.
To Be Continued..........
I warned you about Mother telling her stories.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
I warned you about the magic
of golem and djinn,
about lilac walks
and mysterious circuses.
Stranded mice,
abandoned mice,
runaway mice,
unexceptional princesses,
all fodder for the worst sort of daydreaming.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
Sisters telling stories in bird language
as they browse bookstores in Paris
and tapestries of tales
told by women who are unicorns
invite all sorts of imaginings,
nothing practical,
all frivolous flights of fancy.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
Leave Avalon to lie in the mist,
allow the city of chains
to fall into the abyss,
let wolf-women run
through Rome’s seven hills alone.
Close your ears to Mother’s stories,
cover your eyes so you aren’t ensnared
by the magic of gesture.
Let the story end,
leave the queen encased in crystal
and the flower-maiden weeping
in underground halls;
don’t send the children out
to peek under toadstool and
fern forests for wee wicked folk.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
Tell them no,
you’ll not hear the hoofbeats
as the horseman stalks the village,
rabbits don’t wear watches,
mermaids don’t dance,
fillies don’t fly.
Tell the children no,
abandoned princesses don’t wear crowns of stars,
maids don’t marry monsters
in return for a single rose,
they don’t marry the north wind,
they don’t spin dynasties
on outlawed spinning wheels.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
See what comes of Mother’s stories:
the children run wild through the wood
seeking musical menageries,
they wade into seaside caves
singing for selkies.
They ask for tales told
by orphaned princesses
hiding in palace gardens
and songs sung by shieldmaidens.
They want stories
of women made of glass
and sagas sung by lionesses,
princesses who save miners’ sons
and princesses who save themselves.
I warned you,
but you wouldn’t listen.
No good will come of Mother’s stories,
I said,
and now all is topsy-turvy
and the children have run off
to the goblin market.
Therewithal, profluent life ettles it's while.
Thitherward, from Death's bleak campanile
Grim antiphonals serenade.
A capriccio, the slashing swipe of the reaper's scythe
will serenade.
Stringent Death forthwith anoints the mithridate to
Life's cantankerous and rankling ado
Hither now come, anon recondite Azrael, neither protend
nor annex this throttled contretemps.
The antiphonal of the reaper's cavalier scythe
Shall now serenade.
Awhirl, like kerfs demarcated
Years, bollixed, muzzy and brattled
shall holus-bolus expire.
No retaliation to death's gloomy surcease
No ingenious riposte to the reaper's final cleave.
Bootless now to don the amulets,
squeeze the jujus,
Kiss the talismans,
clutch the periapts or
Attire in steely cataphract.
The serenading of the reaper's scythe,
it's efficacy shall blithely cleave.
Bedim mine eyes from life's assailing
Bedim mine eyes from life's poltroonery
Vocabulary: barghest-a goblin fabled to portend misfortune; monody-funeral song;
antiphonal-chant; protend-to protract in time/lengthen; riposte-n. in fencing, a quick
return/thrust; brattle-v.-to make rattling or clattering noises;
cavalier-supercillious/disdainful/haughty; muzzy-hazy; attaint-v. to condemn; rankle-to
give pain/nettle/gnaw; contretemps-untoward accident/hitch; throttle-v.to
choke/suffocate/strangle/stiffle; bollix-v.-to bungle or botch; holus-bolus-adv.-all at
once/altoghter; mithridate-antidote against poison; cataphract-suit of armor for the
whole body; poltroonery-n. cowardice; a capriccio-musical piece characterized by
improvisation; ettle-to intend/to prepare; campanile-free standing bell tower; kerf-a
groove or notch
Azrael-the angel that helps souls from living to enter the afterlife; recondite-not
easily understood/abstruce;
periapt-a charm worn to ward of evil; juju-object believed to contain magical powers;
contretemps-disruptive unforeseen event; protend-to hold out or stretch forth
Circular motions of mice dressed in vividly printed mushroom skirts. Could be acronyms for stars. Could bring the brooms to the brooks. Many a flea could clean a flowered stalk. While the emblem of an embroidered teacloth sits quiet in contemplation. Ears are easily drawn onto photographs of lions. It is not the intended job for the ghost yet mitigating circumstances mean that in a league of leaves can boil a great many kettles from rain spittle. Meeting a horned goblin in a shimmering jade field. Long grass. Bulging threatening eyes and large fangs. Nowhere to run from this crouched creature. Mindful of this the needle spins effortlessly producing sounds and in later times on earth a cradle of blue is a safe haven. Speak not of this beastly creation. It survives on fear. So jump into air with style and dance around the tree tops singing to the tiny birds whose flapping cam create harmonious auras. Take not a zebra to a castle to meet a big bear at a banquet. Busy are the peasantry. Take not a goblet to the fish eyed man with the sword. Tailor not a suit of armour for a shrew. And always listen to the harmonics of a lute. Deliver the items then to the vast expanse to the army tents. Canter across the country on an iron bred horse. Missions then. Musically arranged. Forest floor contains great wisdom. As the crone creates a herbal brew to cure all ills. As the curtains in theatres fall. As the wind of night arrives to sweep away penalising judgements and falsities. Then arrives the badgers with books. Hopping heaping hollering hollowed out tree trunks and a sunbathing elephant smiling in contentment. Play not a song of prawns or peas to a cactus plant as it is rare that it will induce changes. Streets of serpent swirl on a snowy day. Misted motions mandatory underground fortresses. Having a pleasant time then? Oh good. Now I will play with my fifteen rabbits,nine sheep,twelve octopuses and my fifty foot pig. Play. Power. Pleasing. Plenty. Part. Xxxx Avenue answering. X.
Form:
I watched you this morning.
When the cool of the air settled on the morning buds
leaving only the hint of moist stolen kisses
as golden rays slowly caressed the dew from the petals,
I watched you.
Your Cobalt beauty beseeching my gaze
transcending mere mortal allure,
playful and mischievous
the Goblin dancing in your eyes,
as your burning gaze pierced the darkness within me,
I watched you this morning.
Then turning away, as if I weren’t there,
you teased me with your tantalizing flirtatiousness,
pretending that we shared but a passing moment,
a furtive glance, an instance’s breath of longing,
your laughter sighing through the soft petals of your ardent lips.
I watched,
your slow feline body, lithe and graceful,
belying the fragility of your nature.
Your deliberate movements agilely swaying,
then you glanced back at me
with impassioned pout,
as your love lies bleeding in your mournful sorrow.
Through billowing trusses of Amaranth blooms
in the breath of breeze
that gently whispers through the curlicue locks
of your glistening auburn hair,
you comb your long slender fingers,
passing slowly down your neck,
straightening each beautiful tangle.
I watched you
and my desire to hold you overwhelmed me
but you ignored me,
making me want you, yet, more deeply.
I watched you
speaking to everyone but me.
How I wished to be each one of them
and bring this sad loneliness to an end.
I watched you
until at last with a single final look, intentional and lingering,
you brushed slowly past me, smiling sweetly,
as you gazed beneath silken lashes,
like those of Aphrodite, long and mesmerizing,
deep into my longing eyes
through the bottomless pellucid pool of cerulean
from which you enchanted me.
“Smile,” you whispered,
and my lips turned for the shortest of instance,
my grin mirroring the beauty of you.
Tenderly you touched my arm
then walked away,
and I watched.
11/20/2017
Two true taboo nocturnal friends
Bedeviling the vernal places;
Un-men unto un-town's undead ends,
Under wrinks in mansworld's faces;
Take care me boys, wear Wolfrat clothes -
Make sure you're tooled - tooths fully bloodied?
Put yer foot in ther gutter that 'Overworld' loathes,
Splosh mirror truths Ministers muddied.
Rah, in the street-wright night-boy club!
Be prey, but with Lionheart essence!
The hungry punk-hunt shade that coin-eye pub;
Beware those sado-mermaid's fluorescence!
Beware those sirens, strident scribes,
Evade the Lamp-rayed Hag of Hoar!
Abhor the barb'ry boo's of the Boozeblooded Tribes,
Fear the Head-Rider's ritual roar!
And hide from those trackening opal eyes,
through which blind the Lopeful Coghagi pries -
You must weather the trail of the Bufferjudge Snail,
Whose pregnant tongue licked dead your railbridge braille.
*
Go, but beware every towner! fearless be, me boys!
Your game plays real monsters, that dread light-world's lost toys.
Go, snuck under covers, worlds without Mothers, going down,
Below bewildered barrowers in semi-detached mounds -
Over crows' roads, to ausider's ground
To un-town's electrical woods
To the alleycaves icebound ancestor's found
Where Messy-'A's were named in saints hoods.
In those estates of homeless air,
Cracktheadrals of drizzle in stars,
Go, urchins - nuke town to show you are there,
Re-score the old world's oldest scars!
Bring plaster peace, scrawl boundaries,
Two Pilgrim imps watch n sign posts -
Dripped under zipped walls of all crawling sundries,
Crossing the Freightmines of neon-roped ghosts.
With your chats, plans, laughs, paths run,
Why do it, ink 'round them Weird Wenders?
You scorned ghouls fly there for glorious fun
As humans - not those over-town pretenders.
Then, minxing in, to light world
Where un-town and-town blend
Hide your goblin masks, your darkness of pens -
And part home with big hugs, as any-world friends.