Long Hung over Poems
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“It’s time,” she said in a deep throaty voice,
She picked him up and carried the preacher who had little choice,
He hung over her shoulder as she walked with ease,
Her blistering flesh when she touched him could be smelt on the breeze.
Now and then, she would let out a whimper from the pain,
However, a pain she was all too familiar with, she carried him to her ultimate gain.
She reached the old wooden building and opens the boor at the back,
The building housed the crowd as they parted once again for the man in black.
The people, stared shocked to see that he was alive,
Their mummers were as if it were bees in a beehive.
Then a man shouted, “His supposed to be dead, ho can this be?”
She lashed out slicing his neck, and he dropped like a freshly felled tree.
The crowd stirred into a panic and tried to smash down the door,
But, there was a powerful presence locked them in for the long awaited gore.
When their efforts of escape were fruitless, they turned to face the girl
Who’s flesh bubbled, and the stench caused many to hurl.
She dropped the preached on the elevated stage,
And clawed at her burning dead flesh like an animal enraged.
She shouted angrily in a deep throaty voice, “Who is in charge?”
A man walked toward the front, seven foot tall, muscular and large.
She flew through the air and gave him a talon embrace,
As she stuck a finger nails in his neck and gnawed off his face.
The crowd screamed some came to his aid,
But eight died too in her deadly crusade.
She walked slowly back to the front stage,
“Who is in charge?” she screeched ever more so enraged.
She fell on her back and wriggled, screaming in pain,
Her body split in four forming creatures hideously insane.
The merciless creatures hungry and wild ,
Pared not a soul skinning man woman or child.
They left them skinless but alive, to slowly die a gruesome death,
Then squelched through the blood cover floor toward the preacher who was next.
Six Unfinished Lunch Bags
(A collaborative confessional-witness lyric by Anne Winter and Daniel Henry Rodgers)
The memories of my childhood linger long,
With imaginary friends, my strong bond.
Echoes of loud and clear domestic violence,
Grief, tears, sorrow and unbearable silence.
Six years old—
six wax bags lined across the black-and-white table,
Sweet Lebanon bologna sandwiches
spread with Kraft mayonnaise.
My hands stayed pinned behind me—habit—
he reeked of beer; the metal post blessed my skull —
everything went dark.
When I woke, the basement joists
hung over me, unchanged.
Cold concrete floor.
The scar on my knee —
first thing I saw.
I cried, then finished the lunches
chips wrapped into waxed paper.
I should have died—
Why not.
No closet, no corner—only the table and all six bags.
Tomorrow, I journey into the lost woods—
blue-black comics tucked under my arm,
the only safe place my hands didn’t shake.
Flashbacks of alienation in some crowd,
Achievements accolade-worthy, no one to be proud.
Razed rage, lurking loneliness seeping stress,
Here I confess, my childhood one chaotic mess.
Adolescent to adulthood soaked in existential crises and
Decades spent begging for love and screaming with my favorite band.
O life, O dear life, what do you have for me?
If you don't care then please set me free.
Help me escape back to the lost wood.
Six unfinished lunch bags.
Lord I have asked you for healing,
it's now left up to you.
Please speak to my heart if there's,
something we can do.
A virus has hung over our home seven days.
It hasn't eased up yet, please make it go away.
We've tried mist treatment and other medicines too.
Lord we have thought and done all that we know to do.
I just don't have a clue of what else we should try.
It's left up to you now whether we get better or die.
It's the times like this when whether woman or man.
Learn we are all powerless and our fate's in your hand.
In this life or the next it will be as you say.
You determine when we go and then where we stay.
Lord please forgive us if this illness is due to our sin.
I ask in Jesus name if you'll allow healing to begin.
You are "Alpha and Omega!" all is under your control.
Please have mercy and deliver us from this terrible cold.
In Jeremiah 29:11 you said for all you have have a plan.
I choose not to worry and on your word I will stand.
I'll be anxious for nothing as your word say's to do.
And wait for your next step be it according to you.
Once more my request is please let healing come.
Yet, not at my will but yours Father be done.
In Philippians 1:21 Paul made one thing very clear.
To die is gain so true living is not here.
That tells me death's a blessing, most don't have a clue.
It ends all our suffering here and all things are made new.
Lord I give thanks and praise to you at this time.
Leave our fate in your hands, knowing all will be just fine.
She walked through the Valley of Death,
As a loved one was laid to rest,
One of pure spiritual wealth,
Witness endured every true test.
Feeling alone and so depressed,
Slowly walked away with head bowed,
Heart was hurting under great distress,
Dread hung over like a dark shroud.
Approaching the path toward home,
Heard a noise coming from behind,
Strange, she thought everyone had gone,
But friends were walking alongside.
Grateful to see friendly faces,
And receive their warm embraces.
Thankful to have such welcome guests,
To help in her deep grieving quest.
There was a strong divine presence,
An Emmaus Road occurrence,
For Jesus was among the folk,
That lightened her heavy yoke.
A cloud of witnesses on earth,
Filled with love and heaven’s worth,
A lesson from God on His throne,
With Jesus, no one walks alone.
My boy and I hung over the Elk Rapids dam railing
Shirtless
With lines swung in the churning water
The iron hum of turbines rattling through our elbows
He lands a nice Crappie
And as he rescues the bass
He looks not at his dad
Or the helpless fish staring up in horror
But watches to see if the old stern man
Fishing on the other end of the dam
Cigar crowbarred to the crease of his mouth
Might take a look
But no
He doesn’t as much glance over
To see the catch by my long-haired CEO
With his 20,000 Instagram followers
And when we step past the guy
And over his pole and tackle box
Not even then
Does he grunt nice fish nor nod good day
His leeches keeps him free of snags
That much is true of his local secrets
But we used worms and had a big day.
THis room is reminescent of a warm cocoon. Like when I was a child and my sister and I
went Sledding. Our Laughter would get lost in the sky, dancing over tree tops getting
tangled up in snow flakes. The Moonlight glowed off our cheeks unaware of the diesel
pumping trucks racing down the highway like Demons. We were protected from the world, like
a real life snowglobe.
Exhuasted and frozen clumps of snow in our mittens, we climbed into my fathers car. Our
feet hung over the chair, we were to tiny to sit up properly in the seat. We Shivered and
the heater, like calming bath water was so still it was like a lullaby. Like an orchastral
sound track we closed our eyes, and to this day we said goodbye.
Form:
The Splintered Door
She shed but one cold tear.
The splintered door slammed
shrieking on its twisted hinges-
aftermath of “loving’s” binges.
The tear hung over a life
squandered on hopeful lies.
Death’s whimper crept across her smile.
How had her independence turned servile?
This frozen tear became
a memoried amulet
protecting her form torments
she fled - yet can’t forget.
The tear contains the sounds
of footsteps in the dark,
a weeping heart imprisoned
in an ever present threat.
Fear’s haunting clink on crystal glass
an icy heart cold breathing near
gasping on fate’s fatal twist.
She shed but one cold tear.
The splintered door slammed.
John G. Lawless
©10/23/2017
Bless the Lord, O my soul;
And forget not all his benefits. Psalm 103:2
One day our family joined hands and bowed heads as usua
, intending to bless the Lord and His gifts of food
As we did, our youngest daughter-not quite two years old-asked to lead
For a protracted moment
Her straw colored bangs hung over her rosy cheeks while she stared at our clasped hands
In suddenly exuberant voice
Loud enough for the entire heavenly host to hear
she prayed words she could barely pronounce
“Thank You God for … SINGERS
Daddy’s singers
Brudder’s singers
sissy’s singers
Mommy’s singers
A-men
Our teenagers chuckled at her cute at-tempt to say fingers
We exchanged satisfied smiles with one another
That day
Her childlike wonder reminded us of countless gifts we often take for granted
Even now as I use my hands to type I realized how precious these fingers are
How about you
What simple gifts are hiding in plain sight that you don’t want to forget
Bless you, Lord, and all your gifts
A cruel Jack Frost blows icy floss
(in front of spring a’ burstin’)
while shiftin’ sheaves of withered leaves
near freezin’ streams a’ thirstin’.
A pack reviled runs roamin’ wild,
the alpha wolf wakes howlin’
then scents a lean and lonesome scene
while on the lurk a’ prowlin’.
A cloud revolts with spangled bolts,
and starry skies start closin’
as wild geese soar beyond death’s door
neath naked moon a’ posin’.
Electric shafts, like fractured rafts,
sail night’s cathedral caldrons –
their cracking curse makes herds disperse
in random splayed and sprawled runs.
A she-wolf sighs with hungry eyes;
the ancient wolf waits, bayin’ -
with weary back, he’s lost the track,
his bandied legs betrayin’.
The brood’s somewhere in shrouded lair
with mama left to mind ’em -
the wolf, a’ drag with empty swag,
is on his way to find ’em.
The pack rejoins with weary loins -
perhaps its days are numbered.
In evening’s night, he’s feeling tight,
with aches and pains encumbered.
As morning nears, with shaggy ears
(one droopin’ down, hung over)
he’ll set the course with renewed force,
for, yes, he’s still the rover.
When snow enshrines the timberlines
and skies are ripped asunder
though young, lupine, they’ll stifle whines,
as gullies fill with thunder;
mid echoes in the mouth o’ death,
they bid farewell the lair
while panting puffs o’ crystal breath
float, hanging in the air.
Their path is black (they can’t look back
for herds long gone a’ missin’)
as dusk profanes the snow-bound plains
the sinkin’ sun was kissin’.
Neath northern lights, with barks and bites,
he keeps ’em all in motion –
the speckled scars of fallin’ stars
display the night’s devotion.
The sky’s a’ blushin’ in the east,
and hollow wind’s are sighin’
while buzzards freeze in gallows trees,
a’ roostin’, rapt and eyein’.
These ghouls of prey, they’re spooked away,
like tumbleweeds a’ blowin’,
by tilted head, white fangs tipped red,
and warnin’ wail’s a’ growin’.
...... Continued in part 2 ......
The sunflower stretched
With its stalk and its neck
As far to the sky
As it could – reaching high,
Pushing its golden face
With clumsy, awkward grace
Trying, with all its might
To reach the highest height
That it could ever muster
So it could be like Custer
Or like a grand ole redwood
(I think it thought it could)
It reached into the atmosphere
Inhaled the biting air
Looked about in wonderment
High above the firmament
But slender was its frame
It did not have the strength
To stand as so unaided –
It weakened, and degraded
It towered, then bent over,
It leaned a little lower
And found the earth up close
Had just as much to boast
As did the open sky
It wondered at up high –
And thereto did it stay
Forever and a day
A little bit hung over
As if it lost its lover
Or better yet, had found
Upon the hallowed ground
Some cosmic explanation
About its situation
Which held it in its thrall
High above it all
And made its hanging there
That much easier to bear –