Long Grayed Poems
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Serious sibling subluxation...
rapprochement somewhat salvaged dislocation
Truth be told about following poem
mostly written quite some years ago,
and revisions made to recreate
and revise a more satisfactory literary product.
This trademark ungainly, unsightly,
and unwieldy title essentially
huzzah mask ***** aid,
(my humble apology NOT
to incite unwanted
and unwonted anger
among lgbtqia community),
and accentuates tendency
(mine) to administer
reverent unpretentious yawping,
sans (asper thy usual)
wordy, quirky, nutty, heady, easy...
and gallimaufry charade,
though pointed lament
decries copious blather,
which awareness (in tandem
with better devilishly cherubic angels)
prevail upon sesquipedalian
nippy nap noopy quirkiness, might be
in my best (in show)
interest to evade
leaving an unsuspecting
reader psychologically frayed,
and without doubt prematurely
finds same cyber surfer
harried and grayed,
styled akin to experience dramatic,
and sudden onset of progeria
hence, a concerted effort
will be orchestrated, i.e.made
so everyone involved woodwind
fur me (a hip cat) tabby
conscientiously choosing
meow me modus operandi
to mute trumpeting,
associated with this one man
faltering hit parade,
hence, an intent to write
swiftly tailored and more clearly,
cogently, and creditably
qua more understandable to invite,
subsequently witnessing, an
increased authorial fan
base, and unite
easy to comprehend
underlying intelligent conversation,
and/or share something trite,
anyway, thee impetus regarding
risking emailing a younger sister,
where repressed spite led
to dissolution, née cessation
of brotherly linkedin communication
engendered me to make right
egregious emotional estrangement,
principally vitiated, nursed,
generated, augmented
(thank you very much) by me,
viz in sum avoidance behavior
(traipsing, purring, loping,
humming, and doodling along) quite
familiarly, easily, (no matter
discontentedly), alas and alack
moment seemed apropos
for this only bro
their to allow, enable,
and proffer selflessness -
pushing aside ego
(mine) and attempt to go
for the gusto hoe
embarking, kickstarting, and
resolving upon reasonable resolutions
to convey persevere re-establishing
cordiality, despite misgivings
toward Shari Todd
thee family member in question.
He goes by the name of Lacrimosa
He is the plain picture of a man
Those who don’t know him see him as a monster
But you and I know better that he is a broken friend
His smile drips of sorrow
His walk is that of a footless ghost
And should you accept his outstretched hand
And succumb to the adoring nature of his gaze
He will lead you away to a dreary place
That he calls home
And the monster will sing sweet nothings to you
And hold you safely in his arms
And though the smile on his orchid face may weep for you
Do not be ungrateful, as it is for you
You can shudder and shake and claw to get away
But you need him as much as he needs you
This puppet man who hangs from a single string
Neck crooked and marbled and hanging to the side
Will frighten and disturb those who can’t see his face
But he will protect you from the ones who claim to love you dear
He’ll hold you close and wherever you go
He’ll be there by your side, his cold hand grasping your own
He’ll be everything you need so you’ll never be alone
He’ll share with you his tears and guilt and blame
And for these gifts he asks nothing in return
But your companionship and smile for only a small time
He knows you cannot stay forever by his side
So when you’re ready to say goodbye
He’ll let you go
And he’ll insist that you keep his gifts
But in time you may throw them away
And turn your back on the weeping thing
Who gave all he had in your time of need
And let his crying fade away
But don’t look back or you’ll see him there
Extending his hand, begging to hold you in his arms once more
And should you choose to return to him
He will always welcome you
And make a place for you by his side
And one day you may decide
To snuff out the man on a string
To throw the gifts he gave back in his blotched, orchid face
And run far far away
So that never again will you see his smile so grayed
Or feel the icy sting of his clammy embrace
Never again will you sigh in the arms of a love once held dearer
Now burdened whenever they look in the mirror
With the image of what they at one time feared
Of a sad smile painted on the picture of a man
Neck crooked and marbled and hung by a string
Dangling a smile loose to the side
Tears scarring his cheeks
His arms open wide
A monster posing as a broken friend
Who goes by the name of Lacrimosa
Form:
Hour arrived,
Proclaiming first light,
As a shower of mellow sunbeams
Smiled on the foundation laid
For the structure of the man.
And he began to ascend.
Time fused together
An empirical patchwork,
Mirroring the passage of pain and joy,
And slowly and meticulously
Each part melded together,
As a solidarity formed,
And his very existence
Was tested,
As each piece of the puzzle
Fit into place.
And he stood invincible.
Highways ventured off
To ambiguous tributaries,
Triggering decisions to snap into place
And simultaneously causing consequences,
As he played the game of life.
Taking more risks,
He constantly hoped
All would be well,
But a shadow started to form in his mind.
And he wondered why.
The threshing of the merciless hammer
Sank to the bottomless pit of his heart,
And he postponed action for awhile,
As his shell showed the wear and tear
Of his sorrow.
Fine lines, weaker eyes, grayed hair
Landscaped his outward show,
Yet he still found laughter
In roundabout places.
And he pondered more.
Reality unhurriedly and deliberately crept in,
And the bitter truth hit him hard.
A barren emptiness pierced his structure.
Try as he may
To make it go away,
It stood its ground,
As a formidable foe,
Reigning in its scheming majesty,
As it devoured him whole.
And he trembled.
On auto drive,
Days and nights became one,
As a robotic sameness
Mocked and tormented him,
Engulfing his dreams and his hopes
For happiness and purpose.
He forgot about all the exciting possibilities
And relegated himself to a solitary confinement,
As the fissure widened.
And he suffered.
Out of the blue,
Fresh blueprints renovated his perception,
As reinforcement seemed inevitable-
Ready to strengthen his original splendor.
He liked the design
Because it reminded him of his original plan
Of magnitude
Of dignity
Of respect.
And he accepted the proposal.
Layers of veneer removed,
Revealing the beautiful pattern
Still buried within but not lifeless,
And the lights switched on,
As everyone saw who he truly was.
Admiration exceeded even his wildest imagination
As all who passed
Could not help but notice the change from within.
And he stood tall once again.
As everyone marveled
At the beautiful structure of the man
Yours truly does readily confess
the following poem crafted more or less
approximately a year ago,
when coronavirus (COVID-19)
wrought havoc creating global mess
when panic against collective temple did press
a feeling of melancholy and world-weariness.
Along luscious green acres banks steep grade
(in close proximity to
Petticoat Junction) naturemade
Perkiomen Valley watershed,
verdant landscape displayed
yours truly, (a garden variety
proto human) arrayed
solely donning birthday suit,
whose fifty plus shades hair gone grayed,
i.e. one infinitesimal measly mortal
whiles away hours, laid
back days of his life as
the world wide web turns
comprising second decade
of twenty first century
civilization, where
coronavirus veritably waylaid
furlough afflicts populations feeling betrayed
entire fabric *****sapiens staid
threadbare existence now best describes
chock full of endemic ennui proliferates,
where vast majority of people afraid
to leave their houses lest COVID-19 played
greater havoc, whereby society already upended
unemployment factor at record high since...
Great depression witnessed
courtesy somber parade,
ninety years ago benchmarked
from May 11, 2021,
an invisible oppressed heaviness weighed
down the madding crowds
aghast how stock market trade
hit rock bottom making paupers,
ill fate clobbered breadwinners
circumstance none could evade
October 29, 1929 haint no charade,
when Black Tuesday hit Wall Street
bitta bing bitta bang bitta played
bitty bitty chitty chitty bang bang
linkedin with irrational exuberance portrayed
American economy supine splayed
versus March 11, 2020 characterized
coronavirus outbreak as pandemic
by the WHO subsequently signaling
Trump cited "fake news" and not dismayed
to expedite drastic measures
none would impede golf nor Mar-a-Lago
leisure him sipping lemonade
acid test tee zing 'bout quaffing electric kool-aid
without getting his doggy dimples in a bunch
he grudgingly complied and obeyed
purveyors (governors) and Anthony Fauci
complete United States government shutdown
approximately mid/late March 2020
which undertaking generated brisk business
grim reaper experienced
(still does) protracted heyday.
Pardon ma'am, but I noticed you've been staring at this painting for a while
She is beautiful but has such a melancholy face, it's hard to look away
Her name is Veronique and that's me behind her, the little canary
She's been my sorrowful mistress now for almost two hundred years
When the artist painted her she was wearing a subtle smile but then
Gabriel told her he had to leave for a fortnight and promised to return
He vowed to finish this canvas, painting her smile back on again
but thousands of fortnights and volumes of her tears have come and gone
no sign of Gabriel, so my Lady sits and stares wistfully, remembering him
She touches the bow of her violin but hasn't played since the day he left
I hear her weep late at night when she reads the poem he left for her
The edges of the page are torn and tattered, tear stained parchment
but Veronique reads it night after night then holds it against her heart
He wrote in extravagant hand the words, now on yellowed page:
Thou fill'st my heart with love
More than any winged birds
Could fill the heavens above
Thou art the chalice of my soul
The cup from which I drink
My warmth when I grow cold
Thou art nectar of my desire
Thou art the spark of my fire
Those are words any fair maiden would swoon to have written for her
She still holds hope that her Gabriel will return but I worry about her
She keeps repeating the words he wrote on the back of this painting:
My Veronique ~
Goddess with cinnabar tresses in green velvet dresses
I've told you her name and mine is Cyros. May I ask yours?
A subtle smile crossed her lips, her skin pale and wrinkled with age
This lovely woman with touches of cinnabar in her grayed tresses
Stood with charm and grace. She curtsied in her green velvet dress
In whispered voice said, "Cyros, I am Madame Veronique Rossetti"
Painting: Veronica Veronese Artist: Dante Gabriel Rossetti
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
6th of May, 2016 Within A Gilded Frame Contest
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
Serious Sibling Subluxation...
Rapprochement Somewhat Salvaged Dislocation
This trademark ungainly, unsightly,
and unwieldy title essentially
huzzah mask ***** aid,
and accentuates tendency
(mine) to administer
reverent unpretentious yawping,
sans (asper thy usual)
wordy, nutty,
and gallimaufry charade,
though pointed lament
decries copious blather,
which awareness (in tandem
with better angels)
prevail upon sesquipedalian
quirkiness, might be
in my best interest to evade
leaving an unsuspecting
readers psychologically frayed,
and without doubt prematurely
finds same haired grayed,
akin to experience dramatic,
and sudden onset of progeria
hence, a concerted effort
will be orchestrated, i.e.made
fur me tabby
conscientiously choosing
modus operandi
to mute trumpeting,
associated with this one man
faltering hit parade,
hence, an intent to write
more clearly,
cogently, and creditably
qua more understand
able to in vite,
subsequently witnessing, an
increased authorial fan
base, and unite
easy to comprehend
intelligent conversation,
and/or share something trite,
anyway, thee impetus regarding
risking emailing
a younger sister,
where spite led to
dissolution, nee cessation
of brotherly
linkedin communication
engendered me to a right
emotional estrangement,
principally augmented
(thank you very much) by me,
viz in sum avoidance behavior
(purring, loping,
and humming along) quite
familiarly, easily, (no matter
discontentedly), alas and alack
moment seemed apropos
for this only bro
their to allow, enable,
and proffer selflessness -
pushing ego
(mine) aside and attempt to go
for the gusto hoe
embarking, kickstarting, and
resolving upon
reasonable resolutions
to convey persevere re-establishing
cordiality, despite misgivings
toward Shari Todd
(thee family member in question).
I dwell on virgin moments lightly spent
beyond the lips of verdant fairy glens
A grand invincibility was mine
and life, ah life, the sweetest purest wine.
I danced on dainty rings of dryad saddles,
I fought and died in bloody, death-less battles
but always mother earth denied a tomb
as though a rootless seed in fruitless womb.
A wild and reckless heart so often pleased
while thrills were fresh and rousing novelties.
When youthful whimsies never found a yawn,
between the ocher fires of dusk and dawn
and life's bold color spectrum never grayed
the sunshine eyes of vibrant, youthful maid.
But then I dared to chance a fatal dance,
escape, be swept away in the romance
of damning, mortal love so circumscribed
by life's short boundaries that death applies.
And in those borders such a fury raged
it slipped my mind that he was Time engaged.
I yearn alone for Time before I learned
to want, to need, to hurt, to love, to burn
for more than what the earth and sun could grow;
for him and mortal life that comes and goes.
No grave-spared hearts could have survived my sorrow,
the anguish greeting infinite tomorrows
for closing peace prevails when death endures
and ends the war with Life's one fated cure.
Eternal life, no less, my gift, my curse,
my soul forever knows a deserts thirst
its mouth wide open dragging sorbent tongue
with these forever cravings of the young.
I'd gulp a bloody Nile, consume Earth's breadth
to quench the thirst, the hunger snubbed by death.
No blade of respite either kills or stills
discomfort in my cries, insanely shrill.
Ten thousand wounds can't bleed the noxious taint
of mortal love complete with Death's constraints.
Nor can the magic of the vernal Fae.
take from the Earth a mound of pall decay.
I loathe the way that I anticipate
the lonesome endlessness of constant fate
when once before I lived for nothing more
than just to see what sunrise had in store.
Ah Life! I would, could I find exodus
espouse my ever-living flesh to dust
or maybe find contempt for Man’s love spells
and damn the man I loved to hell!
METICULOUS
Thom Love Pruett – his effect on absolutely
everyone around him –
Impeccably dressed
Moderately slight in stature and weight
With features suggesting a certain hauteur and
With promise of shrill snippiness should he
be upset
His expectations of those close enough to
converse are maniacal
And apply equally to self
Things have a definite love of geometry
Yes! A geometry of things but
Just things like
A bathroom towel how it hangs just so
The kitchen cupboard all things at proper
Interval and height
You name it
Seldom, though, does Thom Love consider
flesh
another’s feelings
One might ask – how can such an outright
consistent prig have friends?
Well neat-freak Thom Love (never just
Thom) holds aces in the monetary and
political game
If you pucker up your ass-kissing lips and
do so with a loving smile
Thom Love might, so called, set-you-up
He rules the Pruett Tower with a strong
but latex-gloved hand
And you’d best be dressed with conservative
Care
Lest Thom Love – known secretly as Pru –
will assume his awful prune wrinkled
dried apricot stare
Blame it on his childhood house –
A dwelling of three odd souls –
Where all was in dusty dirty array -
dinner dishes stacked by a greasy sink
floors caked with brown stain
did I mention they had many cats?
nothing thrown away – books
magazines stacked high
windows grayed from tobacco smoke
I could go on and on
Well at 21 Thom Love came
into an inheritance
from a sane deceased member
of the Pruett clan
After his parents died in a house fire
He vowed to put all around him in proper
(geometric) orders
Should you run into Thom Love
He’ll not shake your hand but
Examine your clothes your studs your
glasses your watch with gleaming eyes
Dave Austin
Along luscious green acres banks steep grade
(in close proximity to
Petticoat Junction) naturemade
Perkiomen Valley watershed,
verdant landscape displayed
yours truly, (a garden variety
proto human) arrayed
solely donning birthday suit,
whose fifty plus shades hair gone grayed,
i.e. one infinitesimal measly mortal
whiles away hours, laid
back days of his life as
the world wide web turns
comprising second decade
of twenty first century
civilization, where
coronavirus veritably waylaid
furlough afflicts populations feeling betrayed
entire fabric *****sapiens staid
threadbare existence now best describes
chock full of endemic ennui proliferates,
where vast majority of people afraid
to leave their houses lest COVID-19 played
greater havoc, whereby society already upended
unemployment factor at record high since...
Great depression witnessed
courtesy somber parade,
eighty nine years ago benchmarked
from May 11, 2020,
an invisible oppressed heaviness weighed
down the madding crowds
aghast how stock market trade
hit rock bottom making paupers,
ill fate clobbered breadwinners
circumstance none could evade
October 29, 1929 haint no charade,
when Black Tuesday hit Wall Street
bitta bing bitta bang bitta played
bitty bitty chitty chitty bang bang
linkedin with irrational exuberance portrayed
American economy supine splayed
versus March 11, 2020 characterized
coronavirus outbreak as pandemic
by the WHO subsequently signaling
Trump cited "fake news" and not dismayed
to expedite drastic measures
none would impede golf, nor Mar-a-Lago
leisure him sipping lemonade
acid test teetotaler - tee zing 'bout
not quaffing electric kool-aid
without getting his doggy dimples in a bunch
he grudgingly complied and obeyed
purveyors (governors) and Anthony Fauci
complete United States government shutdown
approximately mid/late March 2020
which undertaking generated brisk business
grim reaper experienced
(still does) protracted heyday.
From ruined halls of a corrupt little apartment
I flee with my children, trailing after me
No more the hard hand of hate
On my back or deciding my fate
No more crack n ruined dishes
No more wishes lost in these wasted lands
Of iron n rust, from him I run,
Run chasing these wishes
The air is choked with dust, toxic things, sharp
Stormy is the sky, a bruised, blue-blackened eye
Of ash n brutal grays of dying flesh hung to dry
By an indifferent god, fire n lightning flicker, high
Lances here, there reflected in my watery eyes
The rumble of the engine is felt in my bones
Drilling deep into my soul
Litter drifts like ghostly figures
Across this broken road
Grayed-out lines of fuzzy imagery, memories
No more washing dishes, cracked n ruined sharp
No more cuts, bleeding my life away
No more wishes draining into the perpetual dark
I flee from the bitter stairs
The cold innuendos
The hurtful fingers on broken flesh
I remember when I used to wash our dishes,
Watching, wishes drain away into oblivion
Staring into the thousand-mile void
Watching my children playing in broken things
Thoughts fly across a sky of emptiness, framed
In a city of ruined skyscrapers, stretching, reaching
Burning cars cracked windows, parking lots
Reflecting flickering neon bars
Shadows grow as children run in play
Under a dreadful moon drifting
Under cloud shrouded misery
In ashen doom, I flee to anywhere but here
An icy light, growing cold, tracing all in silver
As I wash these dishes
I count my last wishes, as I sit here behind this wheel
Deep in my bones, my soul is aching to be free
Tears of relief stream, my children in the backseat
Silent they are, I know not where we’re going
In this bleak and ruined landscape
In this Wasteland of forgotten lives
Fading dreams
Fallen glories…
All I feel is the rumble of this old engine
The numbness of the wheel
Fighting the white monotonous line, but...
…I am free…