Long Ill luck Poems
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Lemme titillate thee
regarding myself daily soldiering thru breastworks
read out loud to experience where dangerfield lurks
twenty five years a husband unknown marital perks
bachelorhood to die for, cuz warp and weft
courtesy webbed and wedded bliss
incorporates life threatening quirks.
Hazardous beyond belief
analogous crossing a landmine good grief
ensnared yours truly mistaken for Baghdad thief.
Impossible mission to step up pace
when ambling one room to another
footfalls of generic guy approximating brisk,
cuz one misstep could find me flat on back
with damaged spinal disc
worse fate than experiencing
strong arms of law reach out his hands that frisk
old meister wordsmith
merely ventures innocent risk,
yet may as well surrender self to Taliban,
who would willingly whisk
Garden variety Caucasian American bloke
afraid to tread amidst belongings strewn
pell mell outranking rating tornado 5 courtesy
enhanced Fujita Scale
whereat Good Housekeeping ostracized spouse.
As precautionary safeguard, I carry amulet
to ward off ill luck toward life and limb you bet,
especially when gingerly
taking one step after another with lights turned off
owing steadfastness to prayerful debt
intoned toward guardian angel to get
self groping in dark without bifocals
envisioning severely myopic
(blind as a bat generic guy
without spectacles) met
bedded objective where
menagerie of stuffed animals
(albeit Woodstock favorite pseudo pet),
which aforementioned Peanuts character
called warm fuzzy as sobriquet.
The missus bursts out laughing,
whom I damnably scoff at and berate
as I trip head over heels
cursing said spouse ever since first date
at Tex-Mex restaurant
in North Wales, Pennsylvania,
a gut level intuitive sense -
even then our sealed fate
cursed analogously crashing thru Hades gate
antagonistic altercations in actuality
displaced suppressed anger toward parents,
which father and mother (both deceased)
their sole son of did hate
for afflicting psychological trauma
regarding them furiously irate
doling out ultimatums
interestingly enough comfort found
within company of loving mate,
she weaseled compassion
evidenced by poetic prattle I prate,
whereat ye can (of course) highly rate
feedback I eagerly await.
Hurriedly enroute to her royal majesty
porcelain goddess throne
whereupon earlier today
March 28th, 2022,
after incomplete defecation
sitting pretty on pissoir,
I jiggled and wiggled posterior
(analogous to performing
the bum bared hustle)
until gasping for breath
though unable to shake loose
dangling dingleberry yours truly
nevertheless synchronously praise zing
a mostly functioning sphincter muscle.
Gross and smelly
as human excrement considered
expelling fecal matter comprises
important function, whereby any unspent
ingested material shunted
thru alimentary canal
then spewed courtesy sphincter vent.
**** lies zing constipation
and/or stubborn stuck drek
nothing to poo poo about,
cuz when bedeviled by
colorectal obstruction,
no matter emetics
applied with bonafide clout
without wasted doubt,
that malodorous, maleficent
malevolent malady
body electric doth flout
analogous to uranus
clogged with grout,
whereat no heroic
efforts break loose,
the severely obstructed bowel,
thus spurring determined,
desperate derriere plea
for proctologist sought
to relieve constipation
equipped with a special
"J" shaped, hooked,
and designed dowel
in an effort
to pry stoppage
if/when yours truly constipated
jamming up human cloaca,
where rock solid stubborn
immovable turd emits foul
gaseous emanations accompanied
with a$$ a nine growl
followed by red hot,
fiery excruciating spasms
shooting jagged pain
inducing yours truly to access,
the werewolf within howl,
where a preference for sciatica,
in place, but my ill luck
regarding aforementioned plight
merely naming said nerve pain
accursed affliction arises
analogous to parasite malefactor thieve
ving would be
equally unpleasant and offer
absolutely zero reprieve
along heinie kin cheeky jowl,
thence finding me
resorting to peeve
hush scream therapy,
which wrought nothing,
no pain did re: leave
me bummed out bum,
but veins snapping,
popping, and crackling,
utmost effort I forcefully heave
oye how aye did grieve
plus a bajillion
gallons of perspiration,
while lower gastrointestinal
agonizing torture didst cleave
entire abdominal
area please believe
without aforementioned crisis,
and feeble poem,
I could not achieve.
Look at the floor of heaven
Laid with patterns of bright gold
For us, they are but little orbs
But in his motion
Like angels, they sing
So many songs of harmony
To the souls of immortals
And while this muddy vesture of decay
Does gross in them
We mortals cannot hear it.
Hold your fortune for your bliss
A gentle scroll
A diamond ring
All gone
Loss upon loss
Life upon life
Death upon death
Pain upon pain
A man of the people
The villainy the beasts taught him
That he executed
Until things fell apart
Judge him not
And mourn him as a legend
Chinualumogu!
For whose sake
The Arrow of the gods granted justice.
Christopher Okigbo called them beasts
David Diop called them vultures
For me
They were weeds on our soil
Colonial masters
Who awakened our sleeping lions
Achebe threw the bomb
And died before it exploded
This cooled his friends
And awakened his enemies
They laughed at his losses
And scorned all his gains
He sought no revenge
Yet his silence scrapped all nations
Thwarted their bargains
And with two heads of fools
He repaid them for one
And then There was a Country
He chose not what many men desired
And rejected the barbarous multitude;
Crystallized the inferiority complex
And fought back to back
For Africa.
No ill luck stirred at first
No tears but of our shedding
No sighs but our breathing
Various creditors sprang
Enemies arose
Yet he'd give up nothing for the wilderness of monkeys
Nor for the generation of wolves
An ambassador of love rarely seen
His pleas were for the taunted and corrupt
And with his graciously seasoned works
He obscured the shows of evil
What damned error!
But some superior would bless and approve it with a text
Hiding the grossness with faint ornaments.
Look on beauty
And you shall see
It is purchased on the weight
Often have you been told
That all that glitters is not gold
Farewell, the hope of Africa
For now, your suit is cold
We love and miss you
But our prayers with you shall be
Oh, Lord!
Arise and await
For his gentle spirit
Unto you dear God
Commits itself to be directed
The Beautyful ones are indeed not yet born
But the born indeed are most beautifully precious
Adieu Albert!
GREED
While cutting woods beside river strand,
axe of an wood cutter slipped from hand
and fell into stream.
Then, he had to scream
on such a big loss, too tough to stand.
Angel appeared out of the river.
Being kind, asked, what was the matter.
He was lamenting
‘My axe is missing.’
Angel assured to search in water.
Angel again came with axe of silver.
‘Is it yours? I have found from river.’
‘No Sir. This is fine,
but cannot be mine.
Oh! Ill luck. I lost that forever.’
Next, Angel appeared with axe of gold.
‘Is it yours?’ He casually told.
‘No. This is not mine.
I can’t imagine,
axe of gold to be built and sold.’
At last by Angel real axe was brought.
Delighted wood cutter thanked a lot.
Gold axe came as prize,
Great and grand surprise
The lesson of honesty was taught.
One cunning wood man heard the story,
dropped axe into water in hurry,
started loud laments.
Within few moments,
Angel appeared, ‘Why are you sorry?’
‘Sir, in deep water my axe is lost.’
‘Silver and gold axes, I have got’.
Angel showed the pair.
‘Which is yours? My Dear.’
‘Gold axe is mine.’ His answer was prompt.
‘Liar! Simple honesty you do lack!
Greed has painted your mind and heart black.
Gold, you cannot own.
You have lost your own.
You do not deserve to get that back.’
Syllable count 9 9 5 5 9
02/27/17
Fable Contest by Nayda Ivette Negron
Second Place
ou’d think this was a poem of death,
since my death begins it, oddly enough,
though it all takes place in Heaven above,
after I’d gone to my eternal rest,
the weight of time and space now off my chest.
Remembered the hospital, then nothing,
until in a small town awakening,
amidst a green country, and rolling hills,
the air was sweet and fresh as my lungs filled,
quite confused as to what was happening.
The buildings were quaint, quite photogenic,
as if out of some nostalgic past age,
Like something seen on a storybook page,
set amidst verdant fields bucolic,
I suppose I should have felt some panic,
but instead there was just a quiet peace,
as if all my worries had been released.
I looked down and saw my body was young,
the wear of eighty-six years all undone,
as if all of the laws of nature had ceased.
As I got up, I saw people emerge,
looking curious as they came my way,
waited to hear what these figures might say,
and would I even understand their words?
Yet ever onwards these people did surge,
until one of them did say, “Who might you be?”
I just shrugged and said, “My name is Stanley.
Honestly, I don’t know how I got here,
but I think I must be dead, it appears…
This whole thing just seems very strange to me.”
Most of the people there just cocked their head,
looked at each other, wrapped in confusion,
like they didn’t know just where to begin,
until a young woman asked, “What is ‘dead?’”
At first I didn’t believe what she said,
Then a man in the front gave a great gasp,
cried, “Go find Philippe, and bring him hear fast!
I think this man might just be an earth-born,
I’ve never seen one appear here before!
And only Philippe is up to the task!”
I had no idea who this ‘Philippe’ was,
or why they said ‘earth-born’ like it was strange,
I could make no sense of this whole exchange,
why they all seemed so shocked by what they saw,
why they all looked at his with gaping jaws,
but somebody ran off, back through the town,
I moved to a bench where I could sit down,
the people just stood there, looked quite awe-struck
at little old me, a man of ill luck,
not exactly the type who’d been renowned.
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Paraskevidekatriaphobia logical as any other phobia right?
Superstition(s) stubbornly linger
impossible to shrug off
(cue Atlas) courtesy pointer finger
regarding Friday the thirteenth bringer
o' ire rush ill luck cue fountainhead gargoyle
nsync with ominous grateful dead singer
uneasiness drilled into collective
conscience since time immemorial
equally puzzling me as harbinger
of spilt salt tossed over left shoulder,
into the face of Devil who lurks
snapping unsuspecting bystander
fast as ginger.
Secular humanists, viz case in point
yours truly, who finds himself
flexing falange joint
as iterated above unable to pinpoint
despite persistent atheistic viewpoint
even when rash of unfortunate events,
whereby sizable tin of yard did anoint
me noggin than hours later dog
canine sank teeth into flesh to reanoint
(handily) these events eyepoint
out occurred 1300 hour August 13th
two thousand nineteen
funeral for William Zison
(late father in law) whose spirit
supposedly, securely, satisfactorily...
passed barred underworld checkpoint.
One (or I), could pick an arbitrary past
month day combination cast
amidst travails, yet fast
as quirky forgotten
mishaps occurred, I long last
forgot unpleasant mishaps vast
among pooled countless
circumstances that did blast
temporary woe out classed
courtesy aforementioned painful
bodily injuries leaving me aghast.
Generally (figurative) speaking
I tend to shrug off (think Atlas)
unexpected misfortune that did bring
momentary such as abby (a bee)
thee wife with painful sting
generating speculation how life fared
if assertiveness prevailed,
when ding a ling
interpersonal opportunity doth ring
regretting forsaking MaryAnne Sage,
whose strengths regarding
compatibility (she shared a string
of characteristics) regarding same birthdate
and square thumbs as
one garden variety generic
NON GMO and gluten free Joe King.
Battery (for Hyundai Sonata) Needed Today
Frugality worn by fiat generated
by alternate fickle finger of fate,
the plus side being said vehicle
parked here in public Salem's lot,
where I live with said diabolical mate
at highland manor apartments
penury run me underground in potter's
grave adversity doth unfortunately accelerate
curse to finance repairs of titled automobile,
more'n six months ago plus of late,
where saving impossible mission more
difficult than resurrecting the dead
even an atheist (like me) could activate,
thus this poet blithely doth adumbrate
posthumous renown much more likely than
mine corporel flesh (a complex conglomerate
edifice), essentially if present automotive
woe continues, one beastie boy aggregate,
oven ironic steely dan sing nature
unstoppable trooper, respectable,
and likeable rubber re: soul apostate
ascending, bridging, and
crossing unscheduled airdate
not set, whirling wide arms akimbo
webbed spirit world whose
self worth did depreciate,
this future disembodied
essence death will alleviate
he can deliberately leverage,
imagine, and envisage, I do articulate
mean, kickstartering (ill) luck knowing
postage overdue, I anticipate
outstanding debts unpaid
monies ash should urn
at grave robber's rate
within an eternity and
credit debits to eliminate
delay getting transported
into another dimension
NO colorful bedecked Apartheid
of time space, nonetheless
perhaps choosing reincarnate
entity formerly matter
of Matthew Scott Harris
doth unconsciously assimilate
painlessly whatsapp pining
for xfinity (away off into
verizon) accommodate
ting with easy equipoise no
difficulty to assimilate
linkedin with alternate
universe, where "FAKE" prelate
will presidentially usher
trumpet, shutterfly, annunciate
one successful Earthly gadfly,
donning imprimatur to communicate
with bone a fide skull fullness!
DO NOT BLAME THE MONARCHY
Do not blame the Monarchy
For wounds from biting teeth that you dug up on your own
For the death of your children who were eaten by the wolf you domesticated
For your midget qualities and strengths
Your incompetence and your impotence
If you remember the cave after intermittent rain has soaked you
Do not blame the Monarchy
Do not blame the Monarchy
For the bad weather conditions
The witches and sorceres enchanting your life
For the ill luck that is ubiquitous in your life
Your ancestors peed on their prosterity so your life is automatically sour
That's inevitable,
Do not blame the Monarchy for your destiny
For the devil's artistry in your domain
If prosperity repels you
Success and your life are incompatible
They ploughed up to each other's boundaries
For fate , prophecies of doom showered on you
For asteroids headed for your existance
For spiritual battles you lost
For failing to whisper a prayer in the morning
Do not blame the Monarchy.
Do not blame the Monarchy
For the demons that battered you at night
For your acted confusion that has led you into the ladies toilet
Now you are facing your naked mother
For your dullness
For being a sham ,a scoundrel , a villian , a scum
For eating poison because you are a scoffer
For stepping on lamdmines by ignoring that the fact that running is not arrival
For your unguided appetite that lets you eat the seed before the season of planting
For the painful blood dwelling reward that you got from touring women's dresses
For your failure to listen to the grey haired
For your futile attempt to surround the ant hill single handedly
For taking a candle into the river so that you see the crocodile
For playing the drum with an axe
Do not blame the Monarchy
For misfortunes that you built up for your self,on your own
Do not blame the Monarchy.
STREETPO3TRY
DO NOT BLAME THE MONARCHY
Do not blame the Monarchy
For wounds from biting teeth that you dug up on your own
For the death of your children who were eaten by the wolf you domesticated
For your midget qualities and strengths
Your incompetence and your impotence
If you remember the cave after intermittent rain has soaked you
Do not blame the Monarchy
Do not blame the Monarchy
For the bad weather conditions
The witches and sorceres enchanting your life
For the ill luck that is ubiquitous in your life
Your ancestors peed on their prosterity so your life is automatically sour
That's inevitable,
Do not blame the Monarchy for your destiny
For the devil's artistry in your domain
If prosperity repels you
Success and your life are incompatible
They ploughed up to each other's boundaries
For fate , prophecies of doom showered on you
For asteroids headed for your existance
For spiritual battles you lost
For failing to whisper a prayer in the morning
Do not blame the Monarchy.
Do not blame the Monarchy
For the demons that battered you at night
For your acted confusion that has led you into the ladies toilet
Now you are facing your naked mother
For your dullness
For being a sham ,a scoundrel , a villian , a scum
For eating poison because you are a scoffer
For stepping on lamdmines by ignoring that the fact that running is not arrival
For your unguided appetite that lets you eat the seed before the season of planting
For the painful blood dwelling reward that you got from touring women's dresses
For your failure to listen to the grey haired
For your futile attempt to surround the ant hill single handedly
For taking a candle into the river so that you see the crocodile
For playing the drum with an axe
Do not blame the Monarchy
For misfortunes that you built up for your self,on your own
Do not blame the Monarchy.
STREETPO3TRY
Just a poetic (souper) side note courtesy chief
wordsmith brother unaware ye experienced grief
diagnosed as walking pneumonia please bull lief
yours me, he doth care and breathes sigh of relief.
Gratis the miracle of modern medicine wife
of Richard McGeehan, he offered succor
during serious bout when ye suffered strife
lovingly tendering lifelong counterpart
spelling finis regarding any galavanting nightlife
nurturing mother of their grown son (Brendan),
who immersed her whole self as housewife.
How aware ill luck of the draw
found thee inexplicably stricken
with serious malady against the law
nearly necessitating travois
(maneuvered by Kit Carson)
to transport thee to medical center.
The above stanza unbeknownst to you
analogous to current reading material
myopic eyes of mine view
historical fiction titled
"A Most Desperate Situation"
authored by Walter Cooper,
I just might maintain as keepsake
among various and sundry other books
lined up like soldiers upon shelved queue.
Courtesy perusing selective material
not so much to become boastful
self pedagogical ace,
but merely to expand knowledge base,
whereby latest erudition
preoccupies mindscape with displace
called realm of imagination
allowing, enabling, and providing me
to travel into hyperspace
only welcoming family members
like thee dear sister into myspace
a beloved sibling
thirteen plus months older
glad ye got begat December 1st, 1959
whereby ye got fifty two plus weeks headstart
to join (chance throw of genetic dice)
entrance into human race.
Though Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan born
more than three score and three years ago
if series of unfortunate events would befall thee,
this sole brother would certainly mourn
and with futility emasculate and scorn
himself until... his own plaque
designating his buried cremains
in lieu of tombstone worn.