Long Hisses Poems
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Creakily and squeakily we meander in,
the mice and I. The bats are already there.
Gritty cobwebs in my hair.
Smelling something foul now. Putrid.
The mice turn and run.
I hear organ music
Pretty serious Dracula music.
There is no organ, which would be odd anywhere else.
Dilapidated staircase begins crumbling.
Hair raising scream now.
I smile, moving forward
Fearless, even if I am alone.
An ebony bat whisks past me
Heading toward the open door
Attracted by street light or afraid?
A weird cough to my right. I look. See nothing.
Welcome! An elongated deep Halloween voice says.
I am wearing my running shoes, but not ready to go yet.
How did you hear of us? Someone hisses.
I jump a bit, hoping they do not notice
For there is nothing visible yet
Someone runs past holding a machete in the air.
They came so close, I could feel their breathing on my arm hairs.
Scared yet? My cousin asks me.
I had not heard her come in.
Now I am.
She has been dead for six years.
I am not defined by my past mistakes
my failures and misfortunes
oh I have lived a hundred life's
been many people
that I wish to forget and abandon
but there is this monster lurking in my mind
that comes slithering
to assure I cannot forget
remember, remember it hisses in my head
and it all comes creeping back
all my past as if happening today
away I scream silently
leave me alone
and as with any bully the monster just laughs
coming back, again and again
but I had decided to stand up for the me
that is now
stop I say within the corridors of my mind
I do not care to recall what was
the only thing that defines me is the now . . .
_____________________
December 18, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/I am Not Defined By My Past
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1095-484-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, You Are Not Defined By
sponsor, John Hamilton
Fourth Place
In uniform vision flight of angled
depth and precision.
The breakfast being cooked outside
on the roof, in a tree, on a bush with
no emissions!
The squeaks and bubbles and hisses -
these sounds you may well miss.
In the blink of an eye they dismiss us,
disappear away in the distant bliss.
The complex array of tune notes blend
into the beauty of song. A day has
begun anew and winter’s marching on.
The cold crisp air and freezing fog blur
the weary sight. A glance into the air
and a fly past will focus your eyes alright!
The bird feeder quiet and alone all night
now attacked by a flock of darts. In focus
you can hear them talk and see their
speckled white on their dark.
The evening falls when darkness calls later
in the day. The roost site sees a cloud is
born that moves in a different way.
Ten thousand or maybe more now perform
a magical dance. The sky is a their stage
and the sun set their light as you see this
movie - you’ll watch it in a trance!
They pass over your head so huge the
murmuration the sound takes your breath
away.
That little starling that you saw maybe in
that crowd, maybe up there today?
The anticipation of the funnel dive and
then the magic settles for the night.
You’ll remember this for years to come
and you’ll try to get another sight.
Nature’s beauty shows up in different
ways in the dark and in the light.
But there is a beauty and wonder of
aerobatic majesty performed most every
winters night. By birds that produce
more than a beautiful song - by those
little starling birds and their plumage of
dark speckled white.
Late November,
and lonely resonance of harmattan
salutes this solitude.
A weaverbird's contralto, in one
gale-sweep, lays bare the lower balustrade
of a maisonette,
and the romance of the last seasons
shoots the long throat of the clarinet...
O'classicals, on wings
ye come;
leaf cusps and petal ears —
classicals, swearing oaths of
mellifluous assembly...
Calm rhythms hasten to the
ears of Beethoven —
summon him for a serenade,
lest the dark shelter of a
decrepit day strips this solitude.
Anodyne hisses among
this hidden threshold,
curing and healing the weakness of
Clepoatra's hair, dampened with
the venom of haters of vanity.
Classicals,
rid us now of this grief of mundane
dances...
Even in death, Stravinsky hails solitude
on notes of the keys.
From the clarinet,
the bimetallism of barter —
the platitude of life and death
(symbiosis of percussions)
epitaph to the aftermath of
inveterate tradition —
now and forever...
And the clarinet looms.
Goth mood’s not right, not bright enough.
Fountain of sea, rapt in darkness.
Crepuscular ink blocks sunlight.
The cursive waves doth strain the wrist.
Fa-la-la rhymes, leaping and lowing.
Counting the black sheep - times not slowing.
Fountain of sea, deep in darkness.
Coarse keys, ivory black, musing.
The cursive waves doth strain the wrist.
Resist of playful sounds - thirsting.
Fa-la-la rhymes, leaping and lowing.
Counting the black sheep - times not slowing.
Coarse keys, ivory black, musing,
and refusing to budge - lines spurn.
Resist of playful sounds - thirsting.
The burn hisses and squeals; smudges.
Fa-la-la rhymes, leaping and lowing.
Counting the black sheep - times not slowing.
And refusing to budge, lines spurn.
Crepuscular ink blocks sunlight.
The burn hisses and squeals; smudges.
Goth mood’s not right, not bright enough.
The Cat on Top of the Tree
Papa in a deep sleep on the tree branch
the tallest tree, his fortress on the ranch
Snoozing in the jade shade in such delight
from the spirit of the young and sunlight
Pa, Please! Wake up. Help me up to the top
to see the buttercups from the treetop
My brothers and sisters won’t play with me
Lee loves to pounce and pretend it wasn’t he
Pinky is scrawny but very queenly
seen cleaning and meowing constantly
Missy hisses at everything she sees
even fuzzy bees that wheeze through the breeze
Norris is curious and mischievous
very outlandish and ridiculous
Pa, Please! Wake up. Help me up to the top
to see the buttercups from the treetop
My brothers and sisters are not like me
you’re the one I want to grow up to be
1/14/2016
Contest: For the love of kittens
Sponsored by: Brenda Chiri-Carroll
I am blowing pink-colored kisses,
where the winter's wind hisses,
hoping they will reach its destination and smell like daises
that we picked along our way to the pine-covered hills;
and coming down we stared into each other's eyes as passion engulfed us,
and that desire was as intense as the reddest sunset ever seen in the western skies.
I cannot touch or feel her now, yesterday was very brief,
but my consolation is the vision which appears
through the moonbeams of the ascending moon;
Venice never looked so resplendent over the deserted lagoon...
why isn't silence broken by the voices of lovers? It would be a relief!
Should I gaze into the darkness, pierced by gleams of moonlight, and not shed tears?
The bridges over the old canals sadly miss those lovers' whispers,
as they beg the fading stars to wait a little longer, or until it's dawn...
I am the only one standing there, blowing pink-colored kisses
that only owls see as they wonder what's like to feel love in such a tender way;
and like me they dream in the rising mist of a city which regrets its faded glory
as I regret not being with my pretty darling whose sweet devotion is never outgrown.
The fable of the two snakes in the grass
There were two snakes in the grass,
buried in the pit of life,
now bemoaning their past,
with hisses, coils and strikes
she constricts
he restricts
venom spewing out
she thwarts his advances
and he thwarts hers
stubbornness seeding,
in the pot of mystery
In the rock bottom
garden of life,
... there they were
continuously watching their every
movements like lovers
but in this case like adversaries
like snakes in the grass
her eyes would pierce his
his eyes would send chills down her back
on and on,
on and on
these two battled
battling night and day
then one day
and once upon a time
story has it a huge earth quack hit
it hit faith
it hit destiny
it hit the rock bottom garden pit
sending the pair twirling around
twirling around on top of each other
like a washing machine
and when the tremors stopped
the cycle stopped
the pair was still on top of each other
their eyes soften
their coats insulate
the heat felt good
they nudge closer together
sniffing Heaven for once
changing their venom to love
being pregnant with happiness
and soon a nest of little ones, too
so cute
that even the two snakes in the grass are beaming
beaming a new found purpose in life
olive branches of tremors, fate
a fortuitous bounce
connie pachecho
3/16/17
I once had a cat, who was born in a barn
on a farm down the road, not far away
Hunting for mice, she was a tigress, unleashed
She would put on a frantic display!
The longer we had her, we knew she was trouble
She would go after chickens, she could pounce like the dickens!
She chased our old hound-dog, who only wanted a friend
Became like a know-it all, who wouldn't amend!
She was simply a threat who could be such a brat
and she thought of herself as........... "Super-cat!"
My intentions were genuine, quite deep with affection…
I had just seen a movie, about a man with the gift
He would whisper to horses…and turn them to bliss
Well, of course I can do this! Control feral hisses ?!!
I would whisper so softly,…. and teach soon her to love me
Domesticate nature, if only to catch her!
She was not for the weak, or the meek faint of heart
She would pick and choose,… who would win, who would lose!
A limb, an eye, or a piece of her mind, was a stab from the start!
No treasure was she, nor the privileged displeasure of her company!
______________________________________________________________
Revised for Contest: Animal Antics
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
9/14/16
A magic elixir for the heart,
belly laughs are like Nature's high-five.
For once the titters and snickers start,
laughter keeps dreams and wishes alive.
A contagious, outrageous feeling,
laughter begins with grunts and hisses.
Yet specializes in self-healing,
like a bouquet of hugs and kisses.
It's a panacea for the blues,
as the chortles and chuckles snort out.
And a must: for folks with a short fuse,
laughs release tensions with every bout.
Tickling your funny bone sets the mood,
but once you start, it's stopping that's hard.
For giggles aren't easily subdued,
and laughter oft catches you off guard.