Long Gored Poems
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I wonder helplessly like a gored Ox,
My Head so light, like an empty Box,
I needed even the slightest protection
even if it comes from a pair of socks,
but finding help in a foreign place is so unorthodox
not until I found your sheltering Hut.
Mutualism shared so wonderfully,
exciting and comforting like the lilly,
Love and Compatibility making each day lively,
then I realize "actually!"
this place is really a Family.
Transmitting the passion to members like an antenna,
raising our spirits and touching our hearts like an entertainer,
giving Hope and encouragement like my sister, Aiyanna
so selfless to ensure it is all about You
spreading like an epidemic to affect others too
and if you still struggle like I do,
it will aid you up the ladder for a breakthrough
to the point it may seem not true.
Wanna improve on your virtues? It shall
making you patient and meek like a fisher
blessing your hard work by reaching the top like Usher
and even making you a mentor like the real Aiyanna-Anisha.
What are you waiting for?
no restrictions from the Law
Join the family and share in the atmosphere of Love.
Papa ...
Why build your walls so thick?
Did you fear the world would tumble in on you -
Find you as vulnerable and discomposed as the rest of us?
I think your TRUE battles - your wars - took place within
An Id so ambiguous and at odds with itself
That you drowned it in substance and sin and mortality
The edge of a knife too jagged for shrewd application
Visceral impulse, your fine compass
Those paths and bearings felt the prow of your words
Perchance the movable feast was NOT Paris
But rather the light in you - Paris as you lived it, in the rain
You and she, shining, in tremulous unison
Tapping keys with the lethality of your favorite rifle
The point of your pen invasive as any needle, poisoned
Ravaged and gored by the demons of night
Yet passed untouched by the bulls of Pamplona
Your world was raw on the half-shell
You, with Tabasco and a paring knife
Beauty found in muddy fields and mustard gas
As deep and compelling as a Caribbean sunrise
More taken by the grainy texture of a pear on your palate
Than by all the gods of humankind
And THAT, that easy allure -
That sublime simplicity ...
Is why ... I love you.
Written and submitted on November 24, 2019
For the "Your Favorite Artist" Poetry Contest
Chantelle Anne Cooke, Sponsor.
This realm is where I shall always belong.
God bless this nation and upkeeps it strong.
For he will thrust his sword and suit his vow.
He wielded his hand to ensure bestow.
July 4th, our land is vastly stunning
We unleash acute bursts and stark burning.
Our coastlines and towns' awe and wonder.
For our advocate chart and plush stunner.
The sky is a gored purplish mantle hue.
Moon gazers will revere this jewel view.
Eyelid star for each candle in the sky.
Wanting to claim the grass with their glazed eye.
Sublimity entwined with prettiness
Hands and hearts clasped at once in happiness.
Throbbing footsteps pulverized out the wave.
Of the flawless world and the spirit crave.
2nd place Contest Winner
Written: July 07, 2022
Christmas in July or July Celebration Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Checked by HMS.COM / 10 syllables per line
"The Circe Effect" (Part 1)
Circe, Goddess of magic, nymph, witch, bold enchantress
daughter of Helios, Sun God, her father, can you imagine? ...
let me paint you further, the tree of this wacked-out family canvas -
daughter of Perse, her mother, wild Oceanid Nymph, spawned not on landmass,
but in the vast deep blue deep.
Aeetes, her brother hung tight to his Fleece
and Pasiphaë, her sister, given in marriage to King Minos of Crete,
had a fling with a monstrous White Bull,
a gift from Poseidon, ain't that so sweet?
she bore a bastard child, the Monataur with a ring in his nose,
horns and hoofed feet.
Now there was a family of total dysfunction
and Circe, poor dear, betrayed for remaining herself,
remaining non-function
was banished to Aeaea for murdering her husband
the Prince of Colchis.
There on Aeaea, as revenge, Circe drew out her magic wand - not a sword,
transmuted her enemies, all those who offended her into wild beasts,
where they were left to circle her mansion and roam to eat swill as their feast.
Docile not dangerous, drugged and delerious,
these beasts never gored -
they were fawned on by all newcomers, who were simply just curious,
never bored.
These entranced beasts lured newcomers to our girl Circe
with a woof and purr.
Enter Circe, quite disturbed, in a logical kind of way.
“More pets for me!”, she thought, “they will never stray”.
These lonely, adventurous vagabonds who ventured into her lair,
well, she showered them with all her incantations, but they never heard
her words of Love ever there –
Circe would finally reveal who she truly was,
for you see by now all that pain, all that hurt
had converted our dear old Circe into a siren
otherworldly, deadly lethal, mysterious, re-birthed;
all that ventured into her Kingdom now were
captivated by her spells and
then promptly, with a wave of her wand,
transfigured forevermore
as creatures,
of her Elysian Fields interred.
(Lovejoy-Burton/ Dec 2017)
Red hot chili pepper poker face...
Born that way angry antithetical
mailer daemon when...
all of Christendom bows their collective
talking heads in supplication,
a temporary truce and reprieve
against bigotry, deviltry, idolatry (nah),
et cetera across the nation.
Yuletide pageant merry doth go round
where credo, ethos, and
faith no more jinxes webbed, wide world,
nevertheless soul asylum limned courtesy
peace on earth and goodwill
toward all men sentiment
sacrilegious to bully,
fully sully mankind's divine holiness,
and present disgrace to human race
in the dolled guise of heretic
quasi analogous to a matador ramrod ready
to Catch Bull at Four in a China shop
gored when muleta waved -
courtesy matador incited Bos Taurus
both fuming, fretting, foaming, et cetera
even the spectators
frothing at the mouth with lather
while smartphones captured tableau
frozen in time photo touched up
stripping bare every bloody
last vestige of cruelty
toward a gregarious animal
exclusively a domestic species
males genetic propensity
culled, goaded, likened as fearsome beast,
synonymous when anonymous nasty brute
fomented enormous disaster
monetarily eviscerated yours truly
an online scamming assault,
the repercussions I still forced to wage
depredations living hand to mouth
quaffing caustic acidic ale,
a cunning prankster did stage
comparable to kindle figurative
ringed fire of rage
within my still smoldering belly –
coalescence fuels tinder
while financial security riven
and rent asunder
severely dislocating, hobbling,
paralyzing vertebrae constituting
gray and white matter, appearing
in a cross-section as H-shaped gray matter
surrounded by white matter,
whereat the gray matter consists
of the cell bodies of motor
and sensory neurons,
interneurons, and neuropils
(neuroglia cells and mostly
unmyelinated axons).
“If someone besides a black ever sings the real gut bucket blues, it’ll be a Jew. We both know what it’s like to be someone else’s footstool.”
-Ray Charles
Author’s note: this is a companion piece to “Where Are They Now?”
Published in Out On A Limb, 2020
In the shadows lurk a venomous hate,
a darkness that festers, sealing our destiny.
Its target, the sons and daughters
of a heritage rich in history’s pages.
From ancient times to the modern era,
the prejudice persists in myriad ways.
A scapegoat for woes, a target for blame,
the Jew bears the brunt of humanity’s disgrace.
With whispers of conspiracy, lies unfurl,
a web of deceit, cruel and cold.
Stereotypes wielded like a sharpened blade,
piercing the soul, leaving hearts gored.
From pogroms to ghettos, from Holocaust’s cry,
to the present day’s thriving rhetoric.
The echoes of hatred, they still ring out,
in the air we breathe, in the ground we’ve uncovered.
Surrounded by darkness, a glimmer of
resilience and courage, shining bright.
For the Jewish spirit, it will not shatter
in the face of adversity, but will awake.
So let us stand against the trend,
with love and compassion, side by side.
For in unity, we find our power
and banish the darkness with unwavering light.
Savannah Night
There was an uneasy feeling that night on the savannah.
The creatures were jumpy as they huddled and grazed.
Startling at each new sound, one stamps its foot and
the vast herd flees, from what they are unsure.
The lions creep through the long grass setting an ambush.
The first pair's job to spook the herd now is done.
The rest spread out, now taking up the deadly hunt.
Working quickly they target one and separate it.
One lioness jumps on its back then slips off and is trampled.
Another tackling it face on is gored in the shoulder.
But the rest soon have it cornered and it is soon smothered.
As it dies the pride are already ripping open its belly.
The blood covers the land red as it seeps into the soil
There will be feasting tonight as the lions gather to eat.
Snarling as they rip into the warm carcass, blows lashing out,
As they vie for position, pushing and shoving each other.
The hunt was long and hard, the fruits came at high price.
Two lioness wounded, one will die. Such is the cost of success.
A calf bawls for its mother, yet she cannot answer its call.
Sadly it is too young to live, it will end up a tasty morsel.
Sated the lions rest in the early sunlight as cubs play.
Life for now on the savannah continues, and peace reigns.
The shade of a swizzle stick
Clank to a glass
Stirring of wet stuff
Cooling of gas
Pleasure from drinking
Washing it 'round
Gushing then gobbling
Drooling it down
Clunk; there's an ice cube
Frosted in vision
Sunken till risen
Expanding with fission
Spinning the cherry
In circles that narrow
Mulching the flavours
Till bones fill with marrow
Blending the colours
In one seemly manner
Tasting the sword
Through lips you have gored
Stabbing the olive
With one splintered pick
Tasting the olive
In one bite that's quick
Laying the napkin
Aside of the glass
The glass starts to dribble
The waitress walks past
Cheers in the Cali capital without capital
A year began in the pits of a fool – total!
Paid the taxman to pursue an old dream
Into a 3rd world I tossed seeds to cream...
The rain poured as death took an adored
Alas uncle, twas haste that left me gored!
Life grew in humid brew as Covid stewed…
And a harvest success went isolated blue!
Deeper than the lily pond I dug the fathoms
Viewed the past, to taste real bitter venoms
Endured more than needed; a dimmed sight
Notes of the misadventure flew on the flight...
Touched down mid-July, with a searing relief
Under smoky skies a work boom eased grief
Rest came with loans paid, before November
Ended a year thankful for good remembered!
(1/1/21: To hell and back in a year – goodbye 2020)
You refuse, refusing the salvant call,
laying there in fetal position,
enthralled by my hex of vinegar and scrawl of liquids release that just seem to pour out of me organically.
Hissing in Wormwood's frequency dwelling, Hollywood "your signature home" learning-annex-auxilliary.
My park and recreation facility.
Reserved, this space taken.
A dump, next to unopened salve
and not knowing your own, side-bar-by-law$.
An unlived, contrived existence, of litigation before dawn.
So shine on, shine on,
Dear: ) (Newton Star blink out before the gravity of
persistence, taken aside, the watchtower of your keen eyed media straddle, beacons a distress
call, to your final hour.
The time your nightwatch is voyeur
procured.
Humpty Dumpty asses with sulphur in their saltwatering laffy Taffy maws, fixed, agape, ajar."Give me some sugar baby."
Jezebellians, you shunned, the truth, when it was audio visually- bore.
Gored yourself on the posts of a grinding of mandibles and dripping blood upon the crucible stone and forbidden bindings.
No white night when a guiding light
doth shine on dead eyes.
No silver linings filling those cavities.
Only self, depravity.
Will be mouthed from the still-shine forever moored.
Uttered where windmills churn electro
Codes of algo-executionary tables
to turn.
Churning the butter of temptation
with pouting maid determination.
Mitigated, my starlings it is for,
the ungrateful scored.
Cookie cutter milkmaids of
factorized words.
Music for Nations.
A union of the snake said Plato.
Fall from the night.
As an Nova of unbeknownst, essence,
implode yourself of something more,
lost in the mire of the ignorance of indifference, onloaded to fill an emptiness void of frivolous showroom and commercials shined core.
Enjoy the aftermath in my garden.
Take another bite of my lore.
Rise, a new creation, in new age culturism,
the retro- reel of Humanism, of illusionary-fusion of pride and behind the scenes thrones.
Slavery algorithms,
my Holograms of flesh and Bones.
Burning out on the Threshing floor.