Long Hand on Poems
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I behold the rose in bloom, and I cry,
I weep and I wail, then I sigh.
As the night draws in, my painful thoughts begin to wake,
I retreat into my mind and with fear I do shake.
Your clammy hand on my neck, your touch just like lead,
I close my eyes so you will go, you bury further in my bed.
I know I’m worthless, but please do not hurt,
And I try not to scream as you begin to insert.
The deed almost done, your sneer of disgust,
Your toes curl as we prepare for the final thrust.
You roar with delight, I exhale with relief,
My virginity now taken by a wretched old thief.
The memory still haunts, and the damage goes on,
I unravel the silk cloth that my knife lays upon.
Slowly but surely destruction is on its way,
I fear for my soul, but my body must pay.
Anticipation takes hold, and the blade does its work,
I press firmly down, blood appears with a jerk.
Is this the pleasure I've longed to have?
And a voice deep within screams "YES! ONE MORE JAB".
I am so frail, my young flesh so weak,
I can not go on, for my virginity he did seek.
The cold steel blade tattoos my white maiden flesh,
And the untouched skin becomes like wheat for the thresh.
I must abate, I must restrain,
This is the only way I mask the pain.
My eyes glaze over, my body feels weightless,
Each stroke is a prayer, and every cut a caress.
The guests have arrived, my relief has been fleeting,
He stands there staring, my heart is beating.
He looks at me inquisitively, mouth gaping,
And my mother knows not that her brother likes raping.
His gaze upon me, I'm his gift to unwrap,
He would rip me open and toss me like scrap.
I wish he would vanish and leave me in peace,
But his lust won’t be sated, and on me he would feast.
My legs are so withered, and my wheelchair’s a cage,
I wish that man in the Skoda didn’t have road rage.
I guess I should be grateful I can’t feel a thing,
But my mind is alive and every inch of him stings.
He gives me a present and pretends to be nice,
But don’t be fooled, it comes at a price.
He wheels me outside for a fresh of breath air,
When no one is watching he sniffs at my hair.
I wish I could lash out with my thin spastic legs,
But they are as useful as ice-cube clothes pegs.
I hope my diary doesn’t land in the wrong hands,
And if you’re reading this now then I’ve suck-cummed to his plans.
- Anonce
The Truth is the Gift of Gods Word
for it's understanding the habitation has stirred
softly upon spirit we listen to it's call
comprehension to it's voice like a seed is small
Can you understand the wise man's riddle
apprehend interpretation the narratives trail
from beginning to end surround the middle
without understanding it's Truth you may fail
Upon the Truth are your heavens fixed
the hearing upon earth with lies are mixed
to many have reached a state of complacency
the cares of this life has choked ability
You lead upon paths unknown
a flight those having wings have flown
I tell you upon the rise of each day
that you must lead and show us the way
Oh Shepherd like a lamb you guide me
for I am lost to the flock without thee
My Lord and my God you have called us out
faith in you but confidence in self do doubt
With every gesture you affirm the way
yet evermore before me do my sins lay
I look around upon those I do see
whose lives are worth much more than me
The seventh day Jehovah has blessed
where mankind will enter into his rest
abundance of joy will fill the earth
as Gods Kingdom has given birth
The fruit of her labor is worldwide
she will wipe the tears her children have cried
Gods woman has brought forth Life
she will train the children remove their strife
You are God from the womb of my mother
have preserved me from violence of brother
your handmaiden as captive I serve
given more than anyone here deserve
I listen to the music of your call
understand I grace given since fall
for to live is Christ and to die gain
and within the hand of your Love remain
Forsake me not when I reach that hour
frail woman in mankind has not power
give me courage so I don't therein cower
for I have beheld the future from your tower
Oh my gentle Lord your path holds no discord
our seas turned to glass when we do as asked
neath your wisdom do kneel as truth you reveal
all thinking given you and insight given true
Hold me close and in your arms
for hear I do the trumpets alarms
you have signified my death
for those you love I give my breath
Hold my hand on the path you take
for I am weak and easily brake
a thing that is soft and frail
for those you love like Lord impale
Now I know the path to you
by example your loved showed true
willing I am to give you my life
like anointed Son did for wife
source JOHN 3:16 Romans 12:1-2
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
"Bat Crazy 5"
Some say
she was batsh** crazy
life hits the windscreens
in the labyrinth of life
that way
the foot remains pinned
to the metal, fast to the floor
full speed, left brained left hand
holding hard-gripped the gear stick
an upwards inflection, “You know”,
in the Queen’s Land, "all under control"
the open palm under the shaft
moving all the way up to 5,
reflecting on the mirror rearview
she watches the eyes
of her child
dreaming of open highways
the foot remains pinned
to the metal, fast to the floor
full speed, left brained left hand
holding hard-gripped the gear stick
never once moving from 5
the left all the way up to targa 5
right hand up on the wheel
left hand down right up to 5
windows spitting emeralds
like a baphomet
the two finger salute
the other above so below
watches on
"here we go again",
the 1 above it all
watches on
as above so below
that 1's long-suffering
that way, aghast, but resolute,
that 1 has never-ending reserves
of eternal patience
and watches on
perplexed
her mind geared on
how to kill off
a spider
and his sister, next
changing lanes
easier said than done
when you're hell-bent on
Freedom
the highway sign
Happy New Year
flashes ever onwards by,
foot to the floor
left brain baffled
at forgiveness
at Christmas
long gone by
right hand on the wheel
left hand down
open palmed
shifting gears
accelerating increduality
towards the accuracy
in the justice of karma
drivers sitting on both shoulders
inside the vehicle
holding the wheel
the internal speaks
to the universe
listening
for kindness
and answers
on a lost highway
Blue Sky
nods, as if in agreement,
that 1's always amused -
but never confused, that way
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“Is it possible to switch dimensions?
There is currently no conceivable way to get to these if they exist, and they may only be possible, not actual. To travel between realities, they need to be in proximity. To be in proximity and not interact, they need to be incompatible. If it is a compatible universe you could travel to, it is already here.”
"Won’t you let me know,
if you made it home that night
Oh won’t you let me know
If our bones made it home alright..."
Clouds spiral down and curl around to touch me
—not those western drizzle shrouds
baring a soul of misery mizzle
...though I adore a good wallow in sorrow —no
these clouds come from yonder bluebird wilds
white cirrus wispy and whispery dance around me
I steal one to wear across my shoulders
like a platinum’s blonde’s faux stole
they come to me like papier-mâché angels —no no
that’s too cliché… and passé for I’m far beyond
the Godly touch of angels… hmm.. they come to me
like a lover —no too easy …like a heartbreak-er lover!
yah I’ll go with that and get a taboo tattoo of his name
anyway the clouds they find me where I stand
dissatisfied with being satisfied
the result of my cool cat face seduction
I wear a crimson bee balm boutonniere
display it on my plunging V lapel but
it attracts wasps instead of honey bees; I find
danger brings a secret pleasure to my displeasure
my leopard print pants (red sky colored)
stirs sir knight with his bridled gaze and walking stick
he watches my next move on the chessboard
tries to guess my breezy strategy
my hands behind my head legs crossed
maybe it’s a white crested ocean I'm floating on
—or wrestling with— either way
I’m here to play and paint a displeased scene
watercolors? they’re just transparent hues
applied to my white background
depending on the mood of my mood ring —but
when acrylics bleed it’s harder to see the scene
colors escape their space creating a slurry
of what is where where is when when is why
and why don’t know why ..what?! but I know how
blurry lines take on a life of their own
and shapes a new fate from ‘no gesso’ mistakes
I could switch my style to snarly tiger stripes today
and gladly take that horse-headed knight down
that wooden old guard has new orders
he’s suspicious of me scrutinizes me
but only half as much as I’m used to
his right hand on his monocle
—the other eye blind
just beyond the reach of his walking stick
I free my torso of its purple grapevine corset
uncinching my fake waisted form —I muse
if my time as a wastrel was wasted or invested
oh …the monocle is telescoping me again
I shimmy lose my butterfly wings
slap him as I flap them and fly away
it’s hard to know if I’m still beautiful
or if I’m just broken
—either way I embrace the rainy side of the rainbow
happily discontent
THE ARRANGEMENT
It's a dull, grey afternoon in the middle of October, with nothing much to commend about it. Last of the autumn leaves are falling from trees with the icy breeze, too chill for even the ardent gardener to be out and about, where streets are deserted, and children are not yet out of school. Clouds are softly framed in bands of charcoal grey.
Our heroine, Erin McCarty can't distinguish whether the distant rumble she hears, is a brewing storm, or her empty stomach. It occurs to her she hasn't eaten a thing, except for the quick granola bar early this morning at the bus station.
As she approaches the old house she sees that the garden needs weeding, devil grass taking over the wind-whipped faces of faded, dreary, old chrysanthemums. It is so unlike her mother to let it go untended. Seeing it so unkempt, makes her a bit uneasy.
A suitcase heavy in her hand, she hesitates before turning the knob, or ringing the bell, taking a moment to compose. She waits a moment. What will they say, ...what will they think when she tells them everything that has happened, and where she has been all this time?
The old place seems strangely *****, as if she’s gained new insight
As if another eye had sprouted new, to view the past more clearly, and the present, more objectively. She seems to perceive shade and shadows, shape, as if she were watching from above.
The chrysalis that held her in, has drawn her back here again.
How will they receive this unexpected return? Will she still be welcome?
Have they been able to forgive her for leaving without a word?
Her hand on the knob, the door is locked, then almost without her control, her finger has pushed the doorbell. At first just the silence, .....then the sound of muffled footsteps. Someone is coming.
The door opens...........and she is startled. Who is this?......?
Who is this stranger answering her mother's door?............
Follow Erin's story to the captivating ending...
a story of hope, renewal and rebirth. A story of coming of age, coming to terms with both love and sadness. It will remind you, that love and compassion can renew the spirit...even when the world has turned upside down.
__________________________________________________________
For the Contest Sponsored By Judy Konos: "You Have Written A Novel"
Eyes are the windows of a soul and they say ‘Love is blind’
But how do you describe colour to a sightless person?
Such depths to your violet eyes
The windows of your Soul
A flickering source of emotions
Speaking volumes ~ though sightless
Not limited by vision
Not obscured by darkness
Your dazzling beauty of true colour
Conceals your inner world
Of complex greys
Your smiles create rainbows
That stay
All through my day
In a world of colour
For some eyes
Sadness and mistrust linger
Your eyes mirror only
Beauty and Hope ~ Love and Joy
You ask for a detailed description of
the colour of your eyes
How can I?
Futile will be my try
No Master’s artistic brush can decipher
That deeper shade of violet
Changing like the sun’s ceremonial display
Retaining an aura of mystery
Seeking only truth
In your abstract blur of colour
Though ~ let me try
Here place your hand on my heart
How can one see colour
If it can’t be felt
Look through my eyes
Feel that majestic sky
With its beautiful variations of blue
Serenading the aqua sea below
Through sparkles of iridescent silver bursts
A tinge of pearly pink lazily drifts past
I hastily dip my brush just a touch
Do you see? Swirling pink with the blue
Another dip into the aqua of the sea
Hints from the bushes of lilacs below
A smidge of the red poppy
Blended till it’s the right shade of a violet hue
Can you feel my colour?
Behind your veil of black velvet?
My humble artistic attempt
Going beyond my range of limitations
Your
eyes glow
in approval
In that spinning vortex of
violet complexity ~ We dance in your world of darkness
As you whisper to me ~ that your eyes have always seen the stars.
We both look~~~~~incredulously ~~~~~at the same spot
A starburst ******************of light
A ~~~~~~~~~~~~~shooting~~~~~~~~~~~star
My wish ~~~~~~~~~~for you~~~~~~~~~~my love
To be ~~~~~~~~~~~~forever and~~~~~~~~always as
Brilliant as~~~~~~~~~~*********~~~~~~~~~~~you are
** **
*** ***
***** ****
****** ******
******** ********
True Colors movie clip – with vocals Anna Kendrick and Justin Timberlake
The first time I saw George,
I was a young girl and cupid shot his arrow in my heart-
His motorcycle was black
and silver and he was a Golden God.
My brothers introduced me and he touched my flowing hair-
saying beautiful . . .
I followed him around a lovesick puppy and he would just smile
at my adoring worship, oh his voice, his eyes . . .
daydreams, night dreams, fantasies of first kisses, marriage, kids.
But, oh life can be cruel . . . he was not only a motorcycle God,
but a Canadian soldier -(more fantasy dreams!)
and was leaving on a UN Peacekeeping Mission to Afghanistan.
I was heartbroken . . . even though our love was all one-sided
(he thought me a child).
(the drums of time rolled) I grew up,
a young woman- and when my eyes first saw Michael, I fell in
unconditional love, I actually hurt inside, his kisses exciting-
he was romantic, handsome, and I was intoxicated, euphoric,
oh, he was smooth talking
brooding and deep
could be funny too
this was REAL love, a love with true passion, desire, yearning returned . . .
I heard that George had been killed,
in Afghanistan-
I remember the day I heard, ( it was a bright sunny azure day)
my heart swelled in an ocean of tears,
I screamed
and
cried his name . . . (this object of my puppy love) . . .
I went to visit his grave and was lost
in a sea of headstones.
Hidden birds sang sweetly from drooping trees . . . and
flowers hung their heads in sorrow-
People assume that in Peacekeeping missions there are
no dead,
they are wrong . . . the graves do not lie.
And puppy love can leave a scar on the soul . . . and it did,
I keep George in a small corner of my heart-
and often the sweetness of childhood, dregs up this sorrow,
of his kind words to a lovesick girl . . . (his hand on
my
hair) . . . .
________________________
March 15, 2017
Free Verse/Forever Within My Heart
Copyright Protected, ID 884586
Puppy Love Vs Real Love Contest
Sponsor, Eve Roper
First Place
Part Two
Do you remember your run-up to the crease
your Lindwall-delivery dragging the clasping flannel round hobbled boots
your anger
at the wicket that went on a no-ball
Do you remember your opening bat
that snicked the runs to leg and off
which dozing umpires signalled as byes from pads
Do you remember Brigitte
her perky bobtail
her boucles of prancing hair
lances on her forehead
sickles on her verti-vir-ginous temples
Where are the bridges you have crossed
and those you had planned
and those you saw grow pebble by pylon and cementing stone
where the roads you laid
up virgin forest and limestone
Where indeed the buildings you repaired
erected
re-erected and razed
and the thousands and thousands of miles
you rode the wild seladang of the primeval jungle
hand on hump
with no stars in the paly night to guide you
through venomous blukar
and the boiling green torture
seared deep into your burning entrails
these that now have run out on you
Watch now how the river glues under your fuming stare
when the monsoon torrents sweep the knock-knee-ed pylons to a side
those dry as split-bark legs of yours
itching once too often in comforting company
though a little spindly for a Pied Piper
Yet you made the puppety Peninsula run
down drains and monsoon pipes
to a purge-full sea
Who is there now who wouldn't wake to your fits of irrupting gurgly merriment
to ease the tension
amongst unlikely fellows
Who who wouldn't miss your seething whiteheat glee
at his side
You who knew how to accompany Kay and Richard
up to the closed door of your last night
a very good night on your lips
Your opening bat's duty done
the side shored-up in safekeeping
the last fast breathless ball you faced
nicking the bails off
You needn't return to the pavilion
for the standing ovation goes on
for you Bala
long after the cloddy-stumps lie slain on the tiled floor
© T.Wignesan 1993 August 8, 1993 - Paris [from the collection: back to background material, 1993]
We were drinking in the Eagles Nest; a cozy little pub,
one Friday evening after work completed in the scrub.
Most of us are timber workers, who get paid on Friday night,
so we’re all cashed up and thirsty in a setting that’s just right.
There were six of us who formed a shout and mixed to socialize,
and as the beers were going down, glassy turned our eyes.
Tongues were loosening up a mite and too our rationale,
and hints were being thrown about by master card sharp Karl.
Karl’s the gambler we avoid he’d bet on two flies up a wall,
but when we’ve had a skin full and Karl begs a poker call,
fifty per cent will jump right in and claim themselves a seat,
and the rest are easily convinced, for grog does hide defeat.
So with Ron and John, plus Bill and Stan, I walk to Karl’s abode.
We’re all carrying two six packs that we surely will unload,
while we shuffle, deal and raise and show, or play a game of bluff,
to find out whom at poker holds the nerves of stronger stuff.
And as the night went deeper and the stubbies emptied out,
some were holding piles of money and one was now without.
Stan had squandered all his pay and now he looked a mite unstable,
but then to top his bad night off - Stan drops dead at the table.
At first we panicked seeing Stan but knew there’s nothing we could do,
and seeing that we’re full of booze we only had a short review.
It was suggested we should show respect now Stan has passed away.
We stood up for the next three hands and thanked Stan for his pay.
And when new dawn began to break, it was time to close the game,
Karl was quick to put his hand on Stan and then he did proclaim,
“One of youse walking home my friends must notify Stan’s wife.
Who will it be?” But no hand rose and Karl felt he’s in strife.
So it came down to drawing straws that Karl held in his hand.
When I plucked me piece of straw I plucked the one I never planned.
Karl stated I must be discreet, be gentle, and not to make things worse.
With me virtue for discretion at Stanley’s door I did converse.
Ums and Ahs were flowing freely ‘til at last me courage grew,
“Your husband Stan has lost his pay now he’s frightened to face you.”
She glared with eyes that proffered hate - “Tell the mongrel to drop dead!”
So I uttered as I turned away - “I’ll go and tell Stan what you said.”
You are standing there
Solid
Resolute
Unbending
Unmoved
By my womanly charm
Your eyes look straight ahead
Not taking in my curves
Not noticing the look in my eyes
The sun dancing in my raven hair
The shimmer of my cherry lips
Your hands are in your pockets
Safe
Guarded
Captive
Under your command
Not able to give away
The little tremor I would see
Should they be exposed
I've seen it happen before
When I'm close...
Your whole demeanor
Distant
Disdainful
Displeased
And I smile a slow smile
Knowing
What lies beneath
For I have seen the unguarded looks
Of burning passion
You send my way
When you think I’m not looking
As I walk towards you
I wonder
What horrible experience
Made you this way
Cautious
Guarded
Weak
I walk past you
Almost touching
Making sure I’m close enough
For you to smell the perfume
That has become my signature scent
An extravaganza of
Giddy floral scents
Orange blossom
Jasmine
And honey
ME
The scent of ME
I let it waft over you
And I turn around and watch
As you close your eyes
And breathe it in….deep
Unaware that I am watching you
Unaware that I see your stiff body relax
And lean into the scent
Captivated by your desire
You are trying
So hard
To close yourself up to me
I’m trying
So hard
To make you give in to me
Silently, I walk back up to you
I stand beside you
Quietly, gently
I place my hand on your bare arm
You flinch
As though touched by fire
I look up at you
And smile
An innocent little smile
An inviting smile
I see your eyes take me in
Focusing
Finally focusing on my eyes
Sending a silent message
A plea
To go gently
You are not made of steel
For a moment, I’m lost
And yet…I speak
Brazen
Bold
Beckoning
I know you want me….
That gives me strength
Sensing victory
Within my reach
I move up closer
On my tiptoes
My lips almost touching yours
Almost
And I whisper….
“Don’t be afraid….
I won't hurt you...
Give in…
Give in to me
Give in”…and the rest of my words are devoured
Along with my lips in your kiss
As you crush me up against you
Reserve falls to the flour
A crashing sound
That only I can hear
For it is enhanced by the sound
Of my frenetic heart beat
Pounding against my chest
Ecstasy
Urgency
Victory
VICTORY
“Give in
GIVE IN TO…..ME!”
Eileen Manassian Ghali
The Title of this Poem is the title of one of my favorite songs by the late great Michael Jackson…GIVE IN TO ME!