Long Huffs Poems
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The big, bad wolf wears a suit of gray with a snide smile.
Standing upright, he believes himself to be debonaire
as he takes his comb from his breast pocket and slicks back his hair.
Why does he flash his pearly white fangs
and file his claws 'til they're razor sharp?
He smells the fear of docile creatures; he taunts the weak,
stalking his prey while vultures circle overhead in waiting.
The face of evil in a fairy tale with girls wearing red cloaks
and shepherd boys watching their flocks on hillsides.
Flames like daggers from his yellow eyes pierce the pastoral images.
Clear skies become dark by his phantom-like shadows.
He walks tall in black boots of Italian leather
towering higher than treetops in their eyes
beyond the echoes of his menacing laughter.
The woodland creatures cower in their hiding places,
yet hope for a glimpse of the beautiful princess
in her dazzling horse-drawn carriage crossing the forest.
Through the darkness, the ancient land shines like an emerald
with fragrant flowers in bloom; the petals strewn her path
in a storybook from a child's shelf between rainbow bookends.
Surely, heavenly showers shall rain down on the land
and good shall overcome evil with rainbows coloring the pages
as an enchanted princess in a shimmering gown rights all wrongs,
though her strength is not immediately evident.
Melodious birds fly on the outskirts of the tale,
orbiting the forest without fear, searching for the light.
The princess, oblivious to danger, dances amongst the trees
calling the shy creatures from their hiding places.
She ignores the wolf's hideous laughter in a dream-state.
Looking for her prince, she kisses a frog to no avail
then spies three little pigs with curly tails and fearful eyes.
They know the wolf too well. His gray suit coats the dreams
of their happily ever afters. Our heroine, the princess, wipes their tears,
rolls up her sleeves, and builds a brick fortress.
She bravely changes history to her story not giving in to fear.
Fear only fuels her adrenalin rush 'til the job is done.
The wolf huffs and puffs, bites and claws unable to infiltrate.
He eventually sulks off on all fours with his tail between his legs
and is never heard from again. At least, not in this storyland.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
for Fairy Tails contest (Debbie Guzzi)
*the wolf is personified
Snow showers earlier today December 9th, 2020 yielded negligible accumulation
Though anyone who saw
and/or watched local news would be more wise
the brief flurry of crystalline precipitation
came as a complete surprise,
cuz yours truly prefers
getting strangled courtesy neckties
versus being given spoiler alert
subsequently forced to give reciprocal highfives.
I generally skirt tracking the weather,
nevertheless the missus would pantomime,
née blurts out with glee
meteorological conditions occurring here
out the skies above second Street
within Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.
No rhyme nor reason prevails
necessitating yours truly to hear and/or see
what mother nature doth hold in store
concerning (Delaware, Chester,
and Montgomery) tri county locale
sometimes loosely referred to
as comprising Delaware Valley
a geographical area coterminous with
metropolitan statistical area (MSA)
and broader combined statistical area (CSA),
and composed of counties located in
Southeastern Pennsylvania, South Jersey,
Delaware, and the Eastern Shore of Maryland.
As a lifetime resident - 19473 zip code
regarding aforementioned place name,
I can ofttimes intimate
how the forecast will bode
especially if adequate hours spent outdoors,
more so when yours truly
lived at 3224 Level Road
which less likely as ole man winter
huffs and puffs with braggadocio
rarely ripping, riffing, and riding
piggyback with nor'easter.
Interestingly enough global warming
affected dramatic climate change
during course of mine lifetime,
where Currier and Ives rural
linkedin with good n plenti grange,
where agrarian lifestyle might seem strange
to urban outfitters constituting population.
Truth be told, I fondly remember those days of yore
when countless unbroken acres of greenery
whereat in Arcola a cider mill vestige
of American/British Revolutionary War
perhaps e'en centuries before frequented by troubadour
named Shakespeare, quite sad
to narrate hundreds of years postwar
(meaning that brouhaha incorporating
Declaration of Independence)
long since derelict and sold
possibly by family with surname Knorr,
(methinks his first name Ignoramus nickname Ig)
who strongly exhibited demeanor of Eeyore.
The rain didn't fall
last night so much
as it was thrown.
The wind didn't blow
last night so much
as it was whipped.
And a whip is
a thing which
lacerates, it cuts.
The day after
was the last day
and the next days
will be filled with
no more and no longer
until the next days
outnumber the
here-with-us days
and the days after those
days will pile on, unmercifully
as well. The whipwind cuts.
Whippy storm.
Shallow breath.
Dirtied coat.
Abraded eyes.
Right one swollen.
No bowel signs right,
and few on left.
Unwilling to move -
pressed rump-first into
a corner
facing southwest.
Signs of sweat.
"My other horse went this way."
she weakly offers
to the morning air,
to the isn't there,
foreshadowing shadows
and coming despair.
"I wish the doctor would
hurry up and get here."
though we knew he would,
he was, he would be...
soon.
How soon? We didn't know.
- - -
Shaving tummy,
seeking what's beneath,
what is deep.
Ultrasound inconclusive.
Which leads to a conclusion,
the conclusion.
Mommy cooing for hours.
She's brushing him now.
"He's toxic" says doc J.
"It's time." quietly said
to all who already know.
But the spokeness of it is
it's own gift.
The haunting guess brought into
Life, into the moment
into Astro's stall.
- - -
Outside, the crows cried.
The grey winds sucked
warmth.
"You're gonna like where
you'll be." repeated Momma K.
A stroke.
A kiss.
A nuzzle.
A forelock felt.
He thumped down.
Momma started.
We four knelt down,
knowing that but
three would rise.
Syringe after syringe.
Twenty two years.
"His heart's stopped now,"
says Doc
"That's just his diaphragm
tryin' to do its job."
Astro huffs heartily.
- - -
Blankets cover him now,
in a damp paddock.
His bridle off.
At long last.
He is still.
She shakes.
Tears from both.
- - -
The wind won't stop.
He seems to breathe.
It's just the wind
under the blankets.
He really seems to breathe.
- - -
"I learned so much from this horse."
i look to stars and wishes flew through space never to be heard again
fun to friends hearts do meld and break facing until time ends
this loop that plays and beats that syncopate become but a gem
pleasure a chest opened in surprise feeling no need to defend
galaxies away lonely planets please keep me in mind
distance could grow something fond or lost between the lines
gps my love you can see its still where I left it behind
thoughts fade away with life love lives forever in my rhyme
Im sorry, I wanted more,with all this space between
disconnected and I still look to that day
we talked on the phone, our separate homes
the love we had seemed so far away
without air i couldnt breathe squeezed until I'm passing by
no water flow my skin would dry and I return to the sky
sunny days would blacken out, attracting need for desperate lies
to make up for the beauty lost from death slowly closing my eyes
that fire once sparking motion snuffed in huffs slipping away
drifting I sway shaky grounds where once I sat easily and stay
upon my feet I still float drowning out all thoughts that stray
Tho these ends can come swift its worse to miss and hear you say
Im sorry, I wanted more,with all this space between
disconnected and I still look to that day
we talked on the phone, our separate homes
the love we had seemed so far away
down the road,flying free, I ride the wave and hope for your return
through several seas and cloudy peaks, storms of sand, I will not turn
helpless to fate and future events, nothing prevents something to learn
sights may not sore, nothing much looking more, isn't my concern
I hope the best and happyness is true to bless you, not just in dreams
we can meet when we sleep discussing life while sleeping seems
thanks for trying Im not exactly dying, banes of sentient beings
real enough moving on is rough, i'll love you forever, writting my means
One month into summer 2022 elapsed here...
Within Perkiomen Valley, Pennsylvania,
thus far marginal rainfall for season
nevertheless...the hazy, hot and humid dog days
meanwhile (gad) Zeus
tiredly huffs and puffs...with a growl
regarding thunderstorm unable to make headway
against invisible firewall
shielding this area
of the keystone state haul
in tandem with the spirit
of Saints Peter, Paul
and Mary (Southeastern -
tri county (also)
encompassing the suburban hall,
sans Spring Mount Mountain King -
an egg gree us fellow - quite tall
simultaneously straddling Bucks,
Delaware, and Montgomery),
and much as I revel,
when blizzard conditions raged, a Saul
ting self importance of humanity,
where meteorological conditions
hurled a wicked frozen curveball
forcing fatuous, egocentric brazen arrogance
into unassuming (ruff) atoll
shape shifting paradigm,
viz dogmatic couture of modesty call
out depravity, immodesty, pomposity,
et cetera, vis a vis,
when "she" declares marshall,
law yes only when might
of Mother Nature tempers
trumpeting one donning
guise of cloudy (with chance of) meatballs
unfortunately indiscriminately
striking havoc overall
mindful, honest, decent... folks
swept up in maelstrom, which pitfall
could cause loss of life or limb,
this teetotaler inebriated,
fascinated, and captivated,
and linkedin to thrall
dom wielded by volcanic, tectonic, climatic...
of phenomena take (measure for measure)
an indifference to scuttling
hominids beef four all
lose well that ends well,
asper scrimmage maul
ling the accouterments of civilization
then...deathly still quiet doth befall
after unleashed forces exhaust
and expend blistering might
temporarily silencing madding crowd
to standstill, and eventual faint crawl
courtesy of a wicked atmospheric drawl!
One Month Into Winter 2019 Elapsed Here...
Within Perkiomen Valley, Pennsylvania,
thus far marginal snowfall
yet...the Furies of old man winter
huffs and puffs...with gall
unable make headway
against invisible firewall
shielding this area
of the keystone state haul
in tandem with the spirit
of Saint Peter, Paul
and Mary (Southeastern -
tri county (also)
encompassing the suburban hall,
sans Spring Mount Mountain King -
an egg gree us fellow - quite tall
simultaneously straddling Bucks,
Delaware, and Montgomery),
and much as I revel,
when blizzard conditions rage, a Saul
ting self importance of humanity,
where meteorological conditions
hurl a wicked frozen curveball
forcing fatuous, egocentric brazen arrogance
into unassuming (ruff) atoll
shape shifting paradigm,
viz dogmatic couture of modesty call
out depravity, immodesty, pomposity,
et cetera, vis a vis,
when "she" declares marshall,
law yes only when might
of Mother Nature tempers
trumpeting one donning
guise of cloudy meatball
unfortunately indiscriminately
striking havoc overall
mindful, honest, decent... folks
swept up in maelstrom, which pitfall
could cause loss of life or limb,
this teetotaler inebriated,
fascinated, and captivated,
and linkedin to thrall
dom wielded by volcanic, tectonic, climatic...
of phenomena take (measure for measure)
an indifference to scuttling
hominids beef four all
lose well that ends well,
asper scrimmage maul
ling the accouterments of civilization
then...deathly still quiet doth befall
after unleashed forces exhaust
and expend blistering might
temporarily silencing madding crowd
to standstill, and eventual faint crawl
courtesy of a wicked atmospheric drawl!
From The Lost Book of Tuberlantis
(Translated from the Spudscrit by The Potato of Terror)
Retrieved Passage 1:
Prologue
Many leagues beneath the sea
where the flat-winged sloth skate flies
lie the million fossil eyes
of Tuberlantis: drowned city.
There tuber groovers, bright and bold
who once cross-dressed for star-crossed love
lie prone while freight ships pass above
they sleep in silt, like buried gold.
For all the laughter and the beers,
the long-lost camp, the gaiety
for buried lives of mystery
we weep for them, and droop our ears.
And Oh! The laugh like cackling loons
And Ah! The whip that downward swings
upon the tuber's broken wings
and scattered crumbs of macaroons.
Here lie the pages of a sage
who fought against becoming mad
who wrote the only thoughts he had
through fizzing fits and gnashing rage.
Retrieved Passage 2:
The Book of Days
They said to him it was unwise
it could not be pushed in that way
he nodded back, rolling his eyes
and went and pushed it anyway
The tubers all were sore dismayed
at such repentless recklessness
with such a coarse tool as a spade
by a King Edward in a dress
They hauled him to a prison cell
they made him eat cold plates of tripe
and pick oakum, in that dark hell
where budding criminals turn ripe
and so he wrote a Book of Days
to chronicle his suffering
with stolen ink and icing glaze
amid great huffs and muttering
he wrote it all on bedding sheets
and anything that came to hand
he hid it in his trouser pleats
hoping the world would understand
an erring artist's vanity
and descent into wicked ways
the slow collapse of sanity
that gave birth to The Book of Days.
A LESSON LEARNT
I'm sat here in my front room
and i'm feeling all inspired
No ones having a go at me
or making me feel tired
Of the constant bloody arguments
the put downs and the moan
the telling me i'm useless,
the huffs, the puffs, the groans.
No more anxious feelings
or being afraid to speak
No more feeling insecure,
or feeling like a freak.
I'm not alone, i've got my kids
my friends and family,
but also someone great is here
and that someone great is me.
I vanished for a while
and really lost my way,
But that was down to being bullied
each and every single day.
One thing we all need to know
and believe within our hearts,
Is that all of us were victims
and targeted at the start.
Not because we're useless, ugly, weak
too fat or too thin,
But cos we're kind and gentle people
who, un-knowingly let the bully in.
And not because we're stupid
but cos he was very clever,
at making us feel worthless
so that he could feel much better.
The truth is he's an arsehole
and he really is a prat,
For not knowing that the day would come
when we'd start fighting back.
We'd stop listening to his ********
and we suddenly start to grin,
cos we know deep within ourselves
we're worth a million of him.
One thing to remember
is that beauty is skin deep,
cos as they age, their looks will fade
and all your left with is a creep.
On the other hand there's us girls
who are beautiful within,
We're the kind and gentle one,s
who let that bastard in.
But let's not be ungrateful
for the lesson he did teach,
For we now all know the difference
between the lover and the leach.
My mind and heart will never be friends.
Sworn enemies, they wrestle and box
for control of me, the battle never ends
like the tick tocking pendulums of clocks
I ask my mind when it keeps me awake,
"Tell me, what do you think I should do?"
It growls and huffs, "Oh, for goodness' sake.
If you heed your heart, it will lead you askew!"
It went on to tell me to slow down to a crawl,
and I shouldn't hurry to make a quick decision.
It compared me to Humpty Dumpty on the wall,
headed for a fall and on course for a collision.
I'm weary of refereeing their constant scuffle,
especially when it concerns falling in love or not.
I keep smoothing the crumpled feathers they ruffle.
When they argue I'm the one put on the hot spot!
When I ask my heart, " Will you lead me astray?"
I can feel it ache as though it's crying deep inside.
It replied, "My emotions are not easy to convey,
but from love's fervor you should not choose to hide.
Falling in love is a risk and a big decision to make.
Your mind may be a sage with words and thought,
but there's much to lose if real affection you forsake.
No mind can feel the love that lives in your heart."
An unresolved dilemma, so I petitioned my soul,
but it remained mute, mind nor heart did it refute.
"Which one of you should I trust with control?"
That became the cornerstone for another dispute.
Mind: "Heart, I knew to your whim she'd concede."
Heart: "She chose to love and fulfill her great need."
August 19, 2022
Inner Conflict Contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
doors that lead to darkness
doors that lead to light
doors that lead to death
doors that lead to life
turning knobs and twisting locks
at a big black door a voice says...STOP
it sounds like a party on the other side
little do i know it's a door to suicide
down the hall i can hear loud voices call
to the left and to the right...i seek a door of light
illumination spills around the frame
i ask for wisdom...given the keys to the kingdom
i slip it into the lock...angels sing while demons scream
the devil cries "DON'T GO IN OR YOU'LL SURELY DIE!!!"
prejudice and pride put to the side...i open the door and walk inside
covered in Christ...love multiplies
the door closes and mad men keep knocking
"COME OUT TO PLAY...CLOCK THAT CASH AND GET PAID"
the clock on the cross keeps ticking and tocking
beauties now turn into beasts...i see the truth...from the highest to the lowest...from the greatest to the least
the devil keeps knockin but he ain't coming in
he huffs and he puffs but he just won't win
winners turn to losers as they walk through demon doors...they cover them with flowers and paint a pretty world
wise ones walk through doors...some plain but spewing light
lighting up the darkness in those neverending nights
as i'm walking down that hall that leads to heaven and to hell...i'm walking through those doors where i can hear those bells
the silent sound of freedom,love and liberty
God guide me through your doors...the doors of divinity