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Long poem by Isaiah Zerbst | Details

A Poem of Ruth

The tears well up, and scarce could she not moan
When father, brother, husband, all have died.
She now has no possessions, neither home,
But travels to a distant, unknown land:
Once so secure, yet now compelled to roam;
Once rich in love, she treads through foreign sands.
Her weary feet move forward but by faith;
For all left to her name is mere belief:
Mind, heart so far away she seems a wraith-
Love, happiness- all taken by a thief.

When, sometime since, her heart had broke in two,
The path of life, once single, parted way;
Forsake she could, but this she would not do-
All else was gone- with mother she would stay:
"Intreat me not to leave thee," was her plea,
"For whither thou wilt go, there will I; pray
Forbid me not to follow after thee,
For where thou lodgest I would also stay:
"Thy people shall be mine, thy God my God;
And where thou liest, I will gladly lie
Beside thee, overhead the selfsame sod;
That even then thou mightest be closeby.

"And so they twain walk on, hand clasped in hand;
Both hold the only thing they yet possess:
The younger but a stranger in the land,
An enemy, a widow in distress.

She rose before the sun to find a place
Where she might gather barley ears and wheat;
A field where she might find some needed grace
To gather for their winter store of meat:
Then Boaz comes from Bethlehem, and see,
He tarries with the reapers of the wheat:
He comes to Ruth and says, "Hear'st not thou me?
Remain until the harvest is complete:
"Go not from hence, but in my fields abide,
And let thine eyes be on the field they reap;
Behold, these maidens thou may'st work beside,
And near the reapers thou may'st ever keep."
Then to her face she fell, and wond'ringly
Asked why to her, a stranger, was so kind;
And he replied that she unfailingly
Had cleaved unto her mother with one mind,
And left her father, mother, and the soil
Of her nativity, and kissed the dust
Of some strange land wherein she meant to toil;
Forsaking gods of Moab God to trust:
"The Lord," said he, "reward thee for thy deeds,
 And recompense thy labour and thy love:
The God of Israel answer all thy needs,
And make his wings a shelter from above."
 Then said the maid, "My lord, please let me find
Some grace and favour in thy blessed sight,
For that thou hast been friendly, spoken kind,
And I am but a stranger in the night."
Then Boaz said, "At mealtime here abide;
Rest in the shade, come, sit with us and dine:
So down she sat, a reaper on each side;
She ate her wheat and dipped her bread in wine.
Then Ruth arose, and to her work she leaves:
The master thus commands his servant men,
"Let this young maid glean e'en among the sheaves;
Rebuke her not, for she shall come again;
And let some handfuls fall onto the ground,
There let them lie for my sake and for hers
That she may glean and plenty may be found;
For reasons she has need of it are pure."
And as she worked, Ruth knew not what a sight
Of beauty and of diligence she made,
As in the golden field in sunset's light
She bowed her head and knelt as if she prayed.

It came to pass that in his fields she stayed
Until the end of barley harvest came,
When mother told the lovely little maid
To seek for his provision and his name.
She washed and dripped an oil filled with sweet
Perfumes of wild roses on her face:
She had not much; her beauty was complete
With but her finest clothes to seek his grace.
Her braided hair shone brighter than the gem
That never graced her soft and shapely form;
Her eyes, they sparkled brighter than the hem
Of gold and pearls that she had never worn:
Thus Ruth went down unto the threshing floor
Where Boaz winnowed barley till the night,
And peeked at him so shyly 'round the door;
She never let him leave her searching sight.
His workday done, the master ate and drank;
With happiness his heart was full when fed:
Then by a heap of wheat he went and sank
Into the furry robes that made his bed;
And Ruth, a while watching till he sleep
Kept vigil from a stone used as a seat,
Till when his eyes had closed and sleep was deep
She lifted up the cover from his feet
And softly laid her down and dreamed of brides
Until the watchman struck a dozen beats,
And being startled, Boaz woke and spied
A woman sleeping at his very feet:
"Who art thou?" queried he in sleepy voice;
"Thine handmaid, Ruth," was her unsure reply;
Then blessed he her for wise and kindly choice,
For passing poor and rich young fellows by.
"And now, my daughter, gladly shall I do
According to thy wishes, for all here
Consider thee as virtuous and true;
Howbeit, there is one to thee more near,
A kinsman who must duly have his say:
If he decline, then rest assured I will
Perform the part of kinsman." So she lay
Down at his feet, and both were quiet, still.

In grey of early morning she arose,
Before a face could be discernéd there;
To keep from what some people might suppose
And who might stand along the road to stare:
Then Boaz said, "Bring here the vail thou hast
Upon thy head and hold it in thy hand:
Six times the barley measure filled and passed
From heap to vail as much as she could stand.
Then Boaz went up to the city gate
To find the nearer kinsman, whom he sought,
To see if he would purchase the estate
Of Ruth, and she herself, but he could not;
So Boaz purchased all the widows' land;
The houses, barns, and fields, though overgrown;
And bought what pleased him most, Ruth's comely hand
To cherish and to make his very own:
Then Boaz went to find the handmaid, Ruth
And lift her from a servant to a wife;
To love her in all tenderness and truth
In every day God blessed them both with life.



[By Isaiah Zerbst. Published 9/7/14. Parts of poem have been removed due to soup's limitations.]




Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by Aniruddha Pathak | Details

Inviting hills

O to tune in to good times of childhood—
To re-live gone-by years, not just to brood,
To lighten dust-laden baggage’s dead tare,
To unburden mind of deadwood afloat, 
To fast-forward to dusky days of old, 
To turn over life’s leaf now withered brown,
To try see if it looks green once again,
There’s not like reliving school memories.

So, let me leap back all of six decades
On my mind’s time-travel machine
To arrive at the days of middle school,
Let not my old age misunderstand me,
The happy me, I’ve nothing to complain,
But let me just take a random re-look,
Heed to hidden hints here, a hard guess there,
To reinvest in childhood’s restive days,
The right age all life to be in—
Be it the first childhood, or the second,
For, when the ‘first’ is far beyond my reach,
Wise it is to enjoy the second itch.                                   

So, here I go unwrapping days from warts
From my fleeting past’s event-filled raw years—
The coolest time of life that warms all hearts;
And I remember three schools and three cheers,
Three times three harmless mirth, and time so cool, 
I recall here my second change of school—                                

To a sleepy town, to a far off date,
Nestled ‘tween two hills, on a dusty road
Patched up and tarred to cover up pot-holes,
A school retaining still her princely charm
In a small town of an old princely state, 
A hilly terrain of Aravalli range,
The hills posing no mean tempting challenge
To adventure seeking few boys and girls
That always looked for joys of thrills sans lulls.          

More than hills, tempting fruit trees beckoned us 
When its fruits were in season and copious,
Yet, more luring than fruits was the challenge
To complete the task in limited time
Of school recess, bare hands whatso the clime,
But there was something in it that was strange—
Perhaps, coming tops was no lesser bet,
For, the raw fruits, once plucked, must be buried
To ripen, for, ripe ones were hard to get;
It mattered least marts were flooded with fruits,
But such is the lure of venture-filled loots!
                                                                                                                   
I was one of the ace climbers of sorts—
Whatso scriptures say, we did fox for fruits,
Life does beckon with such tempting resorts
When man cannot forget fruits for the roots
While weary still of what-if of the life,
A venture it was strewn with stumbles rife.
When wisdom dwells far off to weigh you down,
Innocence when rule, be heavenly bliss,
When care and concerns of life look like clown,
That life shows all its charm so hard to miss.   
It’s when today looks like pathless wonder
To which all past and morrows surrender!                                

I’d any day love climbing verdant hills
Wooded with lush trees all so inviting,
Fruits or not, let there be rainbows, and frills
Of looking back at things left in making;
If we manage, be a child all age,
Let old age rage the worst of its rage.                                  
______________________________________________________
The school that the poem talks about is one of the schools I studied. The town is an erstwhile princely state. The fruits referred to Timbhers (not timber), greenish hard husk when raw, getting a brownie tinge when ripe with juicy sweet pulp inside, bearing a tomato-like greenish crest as if it be the king of fruits. Yea, to us then it was. I’ve never seen this fruit again all my life except once when I visited Mt Abu.  
______________________________________________________
    Reminiscing | 11.10.08 | 

Copyright © Aniruddha Pathak | Year Posted 2018


Long poem by Eileen Manassian | Details

My POTD

My Prayer of the Day

I’m broken Lord, I’ve come here now to pray
To beg forgiveness, for I’ve lost my way
I’ve done and said things, lived outside Your will
For that I’ve suffered, and I suffer still

I’ve come here at the end of this long day
There’s so much locked inside I need to say
I let the tears fall and the silence reign
What can I say, when all I feel is pain?

And yet I know before I say one word
My words unspoken, by Your love are heard
Before each one can from my lips depart 
They’ve flown above and gone straight to Your heart

And so I rest against Your loving arm
I let You soothe me, keep me safe from harm
The calming peace of heaven rests on me
I’m filled with wonder at Your majesty

For here You are, Creator and the King
And yet Your presence down to me You bring 
You show me love, this speck of earthly dust
You beg of me, Your sovereign power to trust

You know I’m hurting, so You linger near
To wipe away my tears and chase my fear
My heart bows down to you, and yet I smile
For my Creator God thinks I’m worthwhile

I love you, Lord, you know that this is true
And yet I stray, this too is known to You
You know what’s best for me, and so You keep
Your vigil day and night as tears You weep

So here I am, Lord, Your beloved one
I’m here to bask in rays of God the SON
So let me stay a while, oh...strengthen me
For lost without Your love, I’m sure to be

Eileen Manassian


"Prayer is opening the heart to God as to a friend" Ellen White. Prayer isn't giving God a shopping list of things you want. Jesus gave us a model from prayer.....

It starts with praise....Realizing the omnipotence, omnipresence, and omniscience of GOD! "Our Father in HEAVEN!! Creator- GOD! Praise is not the same as thanksgiving. Praise is focusing on the characteristics of God...and adoring Him for WHO HE IS! Then comes confession...we need to confess our sins to the only ONE who can forgive them, as HE is the one who died on the cross for the remission of sins. Then comes supplication...we ask, knowing that He will answer according to His good will for us. We ask for ourselves...we interceded for others. We become prayer warriors, knowing "the prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective"...as it is written in James. Who is righteous? The one who has asked for forgiveness and is covered with Christ's purity...and we thank Him for all His blessings....for His promise that even though as His followers, we WILL suffer, He will help us bear it. We thank Him for the trials...for we know that because HE loves us...He allows them to purify us, to strengthen our character...to develop perseverance as it is mentioned in James. "Consider it pure joy when you face trials" We pray because we know...He hears even before the words are on our lips.

There was a time....when prayer brought me into heaven's atmosphere. I was so close to God. I felt His presence. There was a time.....I know that it can still be mine...All He wants is for me to COME to Him and confess...and be blessed. He is only a thought, a whisper, and heartbeat away...If only we would come!

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details

Monsieur L'Vampyre and the Black Lady of Paris

   MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE & THE BLACK LADY OF PARIS
Just south of Paris, lives the soul of me,
at my chateau, where few will ever see,
I'm compensated for the way
death lingers on from day to day
and makes each night a night of tragedy.

   All dark as hell, from trees that block the light
   so as to make the day deep as the night
   I'm free to come, and free to go,
   without the sun that hurts me so
   and this, my home, is hidden from all sight.

Now I would never have you think my way
is shunning life, and hiding from the day,
and though I live a tragedy,
it's quite the way I'd have life be,
as all alone leads only to decay.

   One night I'd settled in for Poe and me,
   my candle lighting words my mind could see
   and authored by his morbid mind
   who knew his words were of my kind
   and as I turned my pages, what should be?

All feminine, the hesitating sound
of just a tapping, to the door it's found
of fingers slim, but in distress
or she'd be home, that was my guess,
but still I raised myself to stand my ground.

   Anticipating what--I didn't know--
   for what fair damsel knocked at my chateau?
   and so I grasped my deringer
   all cocked and ready, as it were,
   and set upon the path where I should go.

The tapping grew to be quite indescrete
and hurried, as if one about to meet
a harsh and catastrophic end
without the slightest hope or friend,
and so I pulled the door, but braced my feet.

   December winds came freezing to my skin
   and lightning lit the winter nights' begin,
   an omen I supposed to be
   a blessing of the night for me,
   and so I welcomed her, and asked her in.

She shed her wrap, one tatterred by the years
but fondly placed it to my hands, in tears,
and dark was she, as any night
her skin so black, a bless-ed sight
for beauty's in beholding what appears.

   There showed no blood, upon her neck for me,
   though not a mark was there that I could see,
   and questions raced all through my head
   if hers was warm, and damp, and red?
   Or did her blood flow black--how could that be?

What brought her tears, once placed into the past,
I set upon to make here smile at last,
and asked her if she'd like to stay
at my chateau, near Poitiers,
and spend the night, for it was waining fast.

   Of all the beauty, ever to be here,
   in all  my life, not one could come so near
   as when her cloth fell to her feet
   in candlelight, love made complete
   by flesh and blood, as dark as they appear.

My mark was bit, and I could feel the flow
of life that made my heart not want to know
an end to this, a special night
so red that flowed from just the bite,
but dark as sin--I begged she never go!

   But overcome with joy of all she was
   my pounding heart gave in to what it does,
   and drank of her until she knew
   what never ending life can do
   and all that I can say, is just--because
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet.

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details

Monsieur L'Vampyre and the Dark Lady

   MONSIEUR L'VAMPYRE & THE DARK LADY
Just south of Paris, lives the soul of me,
at my chateau, where few will ever see,
I'm compensated for the way
death lingers on from day to day
and makes each night a night of tragedy.
   All dark as hell, from trees that block the light
   so as to make the day deep as the night
   I'm free to come, and free to go,
   without the sun that hurts me so
   and this, my home, is hidden from all sight.
Now I would never have you think my way
is shunning life, and hiding from the day,
and though I live a tragedy,
it's quite the way I'd have life be,
as all alone leads only to decay.
   One night I'd settled in for mystery,
   my candle lighting words my mind could see
   and authored by a lightning mind
   who knew his words were of my kind
   and as I turned my pages, what should be?
All feminine, the hesitating sound
of just a tapping, to the door it's found
of fingers slim, but in distress
or she'd be home, that was my guess,
but still I raised myself to stand my ground.
   Anticipating what--I didn't know--
   for what fair damsel knocked at my chateau?
   and so I grasped my deringer
   all cocked and ready, as it were,
   and set upon the path where I should go.
The tapping grew to be quite indescrete
and hurried, as if one about to meet
a harsh and catastrophic end
without the slightest hope or friend,
and so I pulled the door, but braced my feet.
   December winds came freezing to my skin
   and lightning lit the winter nights' begin,
   an omen I supposed to be
   a blessing of the night for me,
   and so I welcomed her, and asked her in.
She shed her wrap, one tatterred by the years
but fondly placed it to my hands, in tears,
and dark was she, as any night
her skin so black, a blessed sight
for beauty's in beholding what appears.
   There showed no blood, upon her neck for me,
   though not a mark was there that I could see,
   and questions raced all through my head
   if hers was warm, and damp, and red?
   Or did her blood flow black--how could that be?
What brought her tears, once placed into the past,
I set upon to make here smile at last,
and asked her if she'd like to stay
at my chateau, near Poitiers,
and spend the night, for it was waining fast.
   Of all the beauty, ever to be here,
   in all  my life, not one could come so near
   as when her cloth fell to her feet
   in candlelight, love made complete
   by flesh and blood, as dark as they appear.
My mark was bit, and I could feel the flow
of life that made my heart not want to know
an end to this, a special night
so red that flowed from just the bite,
but dark as sin--I begged she never go!
   But overcome with joy of all she was
   my pounding heart gave in to what it does,
   and drank of her until she knew
   the bite of death, I brought her to,
   and all that I can say, is just--because.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Yvonne Uzzell | Details

Not Taller At All

Not Taller At All

There were birds in the garden. There were birds in the air. 
There were birds on the rooftops. There were birds everywhere. 
But one certain blackbird thought he could be best. 
He flew to the chimney and sat there to rest. 
"Look at me," shouted he. "I am looking at you. 
If you were up here, you could look at you, too. 
I'm grander than you. I'm so big and so tall. 
From up here, the rest of you look very small." 

So all the birds looked. They looked up there to see 
Just what the big noise was. Oh, what could it be? 
They saw the ole bird who thought he was so tall. 
They saw where he sat and said nothing at all. 
But one little bird didn't like it a bit. 
He flew 'round in circles, his small beak in a snit. 
"I don't like it," said he. "I don't even like him. 
I'll show him. I'll fly to that great big high limb.”
The little bird flew to a perch in the tree. 
He looked down below and said, "Hey, look at me! 
I'm up here so high, and I'm looking at you. 
If you were up here, you could look at you, too!" 
He looked at the first bird and hollered, "So what! 
Now I am the tallest. I'm tall and you're not." 
One bird on the ground said, "They think they're so big. 
But what they don't know is we don't give a fig!" 

The other birds stood it as long as they could. 
They wondered if one of them should, could, or would 
Say something to those two who thought they were tall, 
And tell them they weren't the two tallest at all. 
One bird said, "If you were down here, here with us, 
I'd show you there's nothing to make such a fuss."
"You flew way up higher than us. Yes, we saw." 
He stopped his tirade, but it stuck in his craw 
That those two up there thought that they were so tall, 
And they weren't any taller, not taller at all. 
Just thinking of it, he continued to stew. 
"You're looking at me, but I see you two, too." 
And having said that, he said not one word more. 
He wanted to say it all seven times more. 

The two birds were silent, a little chagrined. 
They knew the bird speaking was truly their friend. 
"I don't know about you," said one to the other. 
"But I know for sure that I'd very much 'druther 
Be down there with them. Our real family. Our friends. 
The ones who will love us 'til world without end." 
"You're right," said the other. "So let's you and I 
Fly down there with them, and not sit here up high."

"You know," he continued, "The thing might just be 
To just be ourselves. Be just you and me." 
They flew to the ground to be with the rest. 
They saw for themselves they weren't really the best. 
And so it should pass that they figured it out. 
They figured it out, what life's really about. 
That being up high doesn't make you so tall. 
You're still just the same. You're not taller at all.

Copyright © Yvonne Uzzell | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by David Fisher | Details

By Degrees

September I gazed outside with unease
When I heard it will fall in the sixties.
Then dad said we’ll soon be losing degrees;
To me these things sounded like tragedies.

Why do we have say bye to degrees?
I never knew they were our enemies.
Tell me the truth ‘cause I hate when you tease.
I’m begging you, dad, I need to know please?

I dreamed degrees were no bigger than fleas
That could saddle up on the backs of bees,
And buzz along in rows of twos and threes
Then vanish amongst the tallest of trees.
 
Dad replied, you’ll learn it all by degrees,
So I gave up on him and asked Louise
To see if she knew much about degrees.
My sister said they’re in geometry.

She drew a large L, and said this big cheese
Is a right angle; called ninety degrees.
Angles take their shape by connecting these
Points together, denoted with ABC’s.

Right angles were proved by Isosceles,
And two of them are complimentary.
Whatever this had to do with degrees
Was another of life’s big mysteries.

I pictured angles of many degrees
Popping out from books of geometry.
As gulls that appear as a flock of vees
Flying above all of the seven seas.

I then asked my mom, can you help me please
Concerning my questions about degrees?
Sure, hon, she said, see those sugar cookies
They baked at three hundred fifty degrees.

Oh my goodness mom, you say that all these
Are as hot as the sun without a breeze?
Of course not, silly, there only cookies;
They’re made to raise money for charities.

I thought if the sun was made of cookies?
Of course I’d prefer that better than peas.
But anyways, would the universe freeze?
Whether out of cookies, or peas, or cheese?

Since I was still puzzled about degrees
I ran back upstairs, with difficulties.
Knowing my brother was sick with disease,
I crawled in his room on both hands and knees.

Dad was there too, but his face showed worries
Tom’s temp reached over one hundred degrees.
So I touched his forehead, and thought, oh jeez
It would melt bowls of M&M candies.

I imagined if Tom had to sneeze,
Would the juice burn through the land and seas?
And make it all the way to the Chinese;
Would it infect all their towns and cities?
 
To Dad’s home office I went ill at ease
And when dad came in I asked him if he’s
Going to lower Tom’s hundred degrees?
Dad said don’t worry, he has expertise.

He showed me one of his MD degrees
That you can earn at Universities.
He said if Tom rests and catches some zees
He’ll soon be totally free of disease.

I thought instead of Universities
I’d join the circus and learn the trapeze,
Or perhaps be a clown so that I can squeeze
Into a small car that runs without keys.

I think on that day I learned by degrees
That they can cook, and measure disease.
Fit on the wall, are in geometry
Yet I’m perplexed to the umpteenth degree. 

Copyright © David Fisher | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Roger Blakiston | Details

Spirit's Journey

Spirit’s Journey 
I’m sailing on the sea upon a sunbeam; 
I’m hovering on a cloud that’s made of snow; 
I’m flying on an asteroid round the planets; 
The universe is guiding spirit’s flow. 
 
I’m surfing on a sheet of sparking crystal, 
I’m circling round a labyrinth laced with gold; 
I’m skating down a canyon crisp with ice, 
I’m watching all my wondrous dreams unfold. 
 
I’m mounted on a beautiful white unicorn, 
And riding through a forest full of sprites; 
I’m balancing on leaves above the cosmos, 
And lighting skies that shadow all the nights. 
 
I’m soaring over mountain peaks and valleys, 
Where eagles fly, and humans long to tread 
I’m witnessing the bodies of the living 
While talking to the spirits of the dead. 
 
My heart is leaping, with exciting thoughts 
Of other worlds; of legends long ago, 
Where elementals danced on moonlit nights, 
And little people watched the giants grow. 
 
I’m lost in galaxies so far away, 
That earth folk only deem are make believe. 
There’s mystery in the atmosphere this night, 
As many mystic spells I gently weave. 
 
My spirit wanders, as my body leaves, 
Material world is left behind on earth. 
I’m cruising in a dream that takes me back 
To timeless realms before my recent birth. 
 
I’m in a garden full of rainbow flowers, 
With lakes, and streams and sparkling waterfalls, 
And lions and lambs all playing together here; 
A sacred land with freedom and no walls. 
 
While some may call it Eden, Paradise, 
Nirvana, Heaven, or another name, 
It matters not, the journey now I’m seeing 
Is what ignites within me such a flame. 
 
A fire, a light, my spirit and my source 
Are spinning in amazing worlds of bliss, 
A treasury of all creations gifts, 
And through the brilliant light I blow a kiss. 
 
My spirit’s full of love for all I see, 
I know that dreams like this are always true; 
So back to earth I enter my old form, 
To face the future blessings here anew. 
 
It may seem like it’s all just an illusion, 
Imagination lucid in my dreams, 
As I behold the faeries, elves and angels, 
With mermaids playing games within the streams. 
 
Yet all I see is very real to me, ¬¬¬
So there’s no need to question this, my truth; 
For images like these I’ve always had 
Since early days way back within my youth. 
 
For all the lessons that the spirit world 
Is teaching me each day, and all my lives; 
I’m grateful for my understanding truths, 
For which my soul and body always strives. 

Enlightenment will come, no more to learn,
My soul will leave this earth for higher planes.
I’ll exit to angelic sounds and songs,
Break loose from all the mantles and the chains.

Copyright © Roger Blakiston | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by David Fisher | Details

Dapper Drac

Dapper Drac had a panic attack, and topping off the dread
His trendy boots clashed with his suit, plus his white shirt was stained red

Sure his hair was right, and dynamite, as seen in the mirror
Yet to dress, without finesse, in his book, was a vile error

What could Drac say, about the way, that he enjoyed to prepare
He prized his pale, but added details, for which he had a flair

Our blood sucker, gets so tuckered, whenever flying en masse
Therefore he’s known, for going alone, and only flies first class

This genteel bat, donning a cravat, is such a sight to see
But Dapper’s comport, is his true forte, of which most can agree

Though vamps are scary, Dap was wary, as he wandered the globe
So as not, like his dad got, a fatal immortal microbe.

His prey, they say, may have a disease much too hard to pronounce
That strikes to the core, and even more, is deadly to all counts

To lessen that chance, Dap tried in advance, to take precautions
Filling his pack, for the attack, with sterilization rations

Including scads, of alcohol pads, in case someone he bit
Was quite trashed, coz in days past, after sucking he had to spit

Then he applies band aides, as blockades, to hold back the dribbling
Since dry cleaning rates, have of late, increased more than a piddling

There’s no doubt, that when Dap goes out, his wicked breath is serene
This fiend by trade, won’t ambuscade, without using Listerine

Now while there’s a chance, let’s take a glance, inside his habitat
Noting his bed, built for the dead, is too refined for a bat

In all honesty, this oddity sleeps on a firm box spring
And irons his sheets, so his retreats, would even please a king

Inside Dap’s room, there’s no hint of gloom, mostly it’s clean and fresh
‘Cept his potpourri, for which he’s sorry, is the smell of flesh
 
On that fateful night, so full of fright, Dapper didn’t look smart
He felt like a sleaze, and this unease, made him afraid to start

Yet the grand ball, each time his downfall, with genteel folk galore
Since was letting out, Dapper went out, to get whom he adored

As no one could see, that bat in Gucci, hovering in place
Dap could select, the loveliest neck, at his own fussy pace

Since his model, was being coddled, by an adversary
Dap sought a weapon, but only beckoned, his new Blackberry

He turned full size, to claim his prize, but his Gucci seemed Eeyore
Next her guy, so easy on the eye, in his tailored Dior.

The fight wasn’t fair, coz Dapper just stared, at his handsome foe
But Dap’s muscles, needed corpuscles, so he choose a lesser doe

Dap Drac learned his lesson, by now dress’en, in finer attire
Yet be afraid, next time you’re waylaid, by the best dressed vampire

Copyright © David Fisher | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Tom Quigley | Details

Goodbye, Cruel Colleague

Appearance was your entire routine.
But truth is found if one looks deep enough.
A walking good first impression machine,
Yet something else when we cut through the fluff.

If not a teammate, what is a colleague?
No possible chance for a working team.
You thought you were so far out of our league,
Your sincere belief: You must be the Queen.

So underhanded, thought you were witty,
Stealthily swinging your velvet hammer.
You guarded my back just like Frank Nitti,
Knife-wielding in Kevlar body glamour.

‘Tween glamour and beauty the difference be,
One illusion, the other genuine
To conceal, from all who attempt to see
The inner workings of your Janus mind.

Botox, silicone, hair dye, and makeup
Formed your outer plastic geometry.
An eldritch dark lurked under the fakeup,
Fearful spiritual dysymmetry.

Your extroversion turned soul perversion,
Leveraging venom out through the crowd.
Backbiting, nastiness, and subversion
Brought the resulting silences so loud.

Spinning yarns, a bovine defecator.
Although the specifics remain unknown,
Twisting minds, a mental fornicator.
If water ripples, unseen rock was thrown.

A fell Disney Witch incarnate, it’s true,
Adept at the ins and outs of culture.
The bad element did flock straight to you--
Decay smells like gourmet to a vulture.

But Karma is a bear, everyone knows
Working at times slowly, ineffably
Eventually your time bomb did blow.
With no little schadenfreude, truthfully.

Our faults can be found through introspection
But not while there is a beam in you eye
Ever in love with your own reflection
Achilles Heel, the root of your goodbye.

It became so clear, you were no fair elf.
Over time, the whole truth will always out.
Most couldn’t guess ‘til they saw for themselves
The walls have eyes, ears, and certainly, mouths.

A guilty pleasure, as I was so blessed
Chatting with the chairman about work things,
Standing there when your pager hit his desk
Blessed relief! Oh, how my heart did sing!

I’m not proud of my lack of sympathy
Covered with grime from rolling in your muck.
Your nastiness left me no empathy
Just not my problem that you became stuck.

After all, one thing yet remains with me
Doubtful the impression you’d be wanting.
Simply an abiding sense of pity,
The emptiness of your life is haunting.

All I can do is offer a prayer
Up for you, but so I can heal from this.
Open my wounds to the Spirit’s fresh air
Having exposed my soul to your Abyss.

3/10/16

Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

Long Poems