Long Incoherently Poems
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I Had a sick vision;
all the aborted blastopore, blastula, embryo’s
and limb budding fetuses irradicated this year so far
we’re making their slow painful way
past the Supreme Courts.
Some carried clusters of not-differentiated cells
in their undeveloped arms,
most were rudimentary sentient beings;
They left slick trials of blood behind them,
and behind those tell-tale trails
followed females dressed in red garb
screaming “My body, my choice!”
One late-term victim spoke out
explaining to anyone who would listen
that intrauterine babies were not ‘their’ body,
no more than a pup belongs to the body of a dog,
that it took two humans to fertilize an egg,
and a becoming embryonic organism
is a being separate from any other body
while only sojourning within its mother
to be nourished until
it could be brought forth
as an autonomous human life.
Upon hearing this, the outraged crowd
grew yet more feral, frothing at the mouth
while yelling incoherently.
They set upon the aborted
with steely knives and many a curse.
Blood ran through the Capital,
and their chanting could be heard
upon the breeze
of every warm summer evening there,
until winter snow’s arrived
to bury the already dead.
Expectations brings
about self deprecations,
sometimes I wonder if
the thoughts running
through my head are
my own or somebody
else’s?
The world lives
in constant turmoil,
waves crashing,
tides swerving in
and out from open-
ended beaches,
abysmal delays of
the lighthouse directory,
guided by supplemental
shocks of lightening
rays trajectory.
I stand firmly in front
of the baseless sandcastle,
a fragile foundation of
past voices from lurking
shadows who slowly
poisoned its interior,
lack of motivation,
wandering in between
spaces incoherently,
my mind in anxiety help-
lessly what I could
not understand,
the words stare back
at me in silence gradually
suppressing the last
bit of life found closing
in underneath,
time holds on as
it falls into deep
sleep.
As I was walking in the woods, admiring the beauty,
I saw a brook that babbled nonstop, so incoherently,
Humming as I strolled the summertime most fruitfully,
I noticed gay purple hummingdirds, accompanying me!
A meadow revealed yellow butterflies so aptly named,
Swarming in the golden sunshine, wild and untamed,
Enjoying their moment of bliss, before sunset flamed,
Putting an end to the hour, that nature had acclaimed!
Then I saw pretty ladybug, refined and full of grace,
Dancing to enchanted breezes, in Queen Anne's lace.
A sudden sound alarmed me, but it was only a rabbit,
Running like the wind, as if it was customary habit!
And when I turned my head to an emerald green tree,
There sat a blue mockingbird, that was teasing me.
The colorful day wore on, until long shadows finally-
Which I became aware, were now shadowing me constantly!
Written on August 11, 2020
For: Craziest Time at the Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
I burned a book today.
The author will remain unknown
his words unread,
yellow pages untarnished
by the grit of hungers need
his ideas set free upon the wind
disembodied ghosts
hoping for redemption
I passed a library today.
its shelves stripped
of error’s errors
dark corridors
leading to locked rooms
suffocating the voice
of freedom.
I wrote a poem today
etched my heart
upon the paper
baptized it with my tears
nurtured each word
melded them into a union
of mindful contemplation
I passed a mob today
chanting incoherently
carrying contradictory signs
demanding unity,
equality and justice.
after the riot and looting
I went home and
I burned a book today.
John G. Lawless
3/21/2021
Just because my eyes are uneven
And my teeth are tinged with green
Doesn't mean I'm unattractive
Means my looks are not mainstream
I sometimes babble incoherently
But my words still have importance
Everyone has an opinion to express
Some of us have more discordance
So what if my hair grows out in tuffs
And my nose is crooked and bent
It's what's upstairs that really counts
It's the brains that pay the rent
So when you see a strange looking person
Who's considered a little extreme
Remember we're all in this together
But we're not all a part of mainstream
© Jack Ellison 2013
Will I live longer than I suppose to be living...possibly a centenary,
and struggle on a cane to sustain my weakness?
Those beautiful and vibrant years have fled to impose fears,
making my presence unattractive and more blowzy,
and in the present time, I am isolated and frowzy;
a deteriorated mind feeling the burden of senility?
My motto wasn't " Conquer and be invincible!" No-first mistake was allowed
to mar my perfect character; body and mind in full accord, blending together,
so obstinate in defiance to obstruct any possible pleasure...
was it a deference to holiness? Everywhere explicit posters encouraged promiscuity:
an indulging nation...diverging from the concept of morality!
And however strong was urge to indulge in wrongful acts incoherently,
my doubt gave no indication...that I would have gained from my inequity;
and ruin would have wrecked this conscience and wrenched my spirit;
alone to face the sure wrath of the Divine...while wrestling with my lost worth!
One-stand night didn't nurture a sensation so momentary and insipid,
many times, staring in the cold darkness, I was glad that my behavior wasn't lurid!
And today new pills promise to give more virility,
causing blindness and a probable, sudden death;
and Lord, my intention is not to use them to harm myself,
the gift of longevity was well-received and is well-kept by me!
Unlikely the times past, when my doubt gave no indication,
now it does so plainly and clearly... not swaying my attention!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
The Price of Friendship
The air around me flows freely,
Yet its breath brings no relief.
I stand beneath the rain,
My heart thumping loudly—
Each strike resounding with worry,
Like a heart about to fail.
But still, I feel no pain.
The rain caresses my skin...
Yet I feel no warmth.
My gaze is absent,
My eyes unfocused,
And yet—I continue to stare.
The thought of friendship stirs within me.
I wonder... what is a friend, truly?
I weigh the price of it,
And my heart quakes.
Where does friendship end—
And where does love begin?
I mumble incoherently,
Like a man in distress.
“Friendship... friendship...”
Am I worthy of it?
Are they worthy of me?
My energy drains,
Weariness sets in,
My vision blurs...
And I wonder—
Is this the price?
A chuckle escapes me,
Yet no smile follows.
Must I carry both their fears and mine?
Can I bear such weight?
Must I follow them to hell and back,
Their worries bound to me like a sack?
All this—just because of the word friend.
Does it mean I must stay until the end?
If this is the price of friendship,
What, then, is the price of love?
Could I even bear it?
Would I not crumble?
Or am I simply afraid to commit?
Was friendship always such a summit?
Still, I have no choice
But to walk this path—
For another.
And if I were to break apart,
Would they piece me back together?
Or walk away?
I do not know.
I cannot tell.
Yet, I pray never to see such a day.
Drenched in rain,
At last—I feel it:
The pain.
My will falters.
I begin to crumble.
Yet no hand reaches for me.
Still, a smile forms—
As I ponder my fate.
Do I drop it all?
Stop my own free fall?
The thought crosses my mind...
But I refuse.
I shove away the off-switch, the fuse,
And dive into other nightmares,
While still embracing mine.
All this... just for another.
Behind the moon, where hunters hunt
In secret, the whiff of boiling lipsticks
Chastises the lungs of scorpions.
Murals hang on battered doors of
Decrepit banners, hoisted by dust-swept
Elements of colours –etched and painted.
Drums are sober, frightening withered
Hands that beat them to lean delirium.
Rotten eggs hatch on their own,
Their shells, white-toothed fragments of
Lost archives, posted with the obituaries
Of totems of muted art.
The silence on the moon haunts.
That on the back of the moon sears,
Sears incoherently,
All agonies of a wasted age with fires,
Moon fires, old and ravenous,
Which smelt the vagaries of a
Limitless anxiety.
Did someone just mention a nudie beach
Where inhibitions are thrown to the wind
Divesting oneself of the rules of society
Exposing our lily white skin
Where voluptuousness causes virile males
To babble incoherently and drool
Not to disparage the lesser endowed
But it's always been BIG BOOBIES RULE
Don't have to be large and well shaped orbs
Small and perky can still turn heads
A female's appeal has a very wide range
Must be upright and preferably not dead
As long as her body has all the main parts
In a relatively organized manner
It's quite immaterial to virile young males
When viewing with his built in scanner
© Jack Ellison 2013
This house has been set ablaze; ashes rain like snow,
covering what has become my deathbed.
A weighted blanket of ruins lies heavy upon my chest.
Laboured breaths and the taste of soot coat the back of my throat,
stifling oxygen from reaching the whites of enervated eyes.
Blue-tinted lips incoherently whisper, flirting with my demons,
living in purgatorial gloaming
whilst my spirit hovers between diminishing light and shadows.
Reality blurs, amalgamating with hallucinations
where demons dance in a macabre ballet,
reenacting repressed sorrows,
torturing an undead heart to the brink of insanity.
With each twirl, each act, tales of desperation are etched onto flesh.
Riverlets of blood stain the sheets bright red,
as tourniquets are nowhere to be found.
There is no way to halt the flow;
emotional instability will be my bloodletting.
Every second ticks by a little quicker
until each heartbeat grows fainter.
A clenched jaw relents,
eyes roll backwards,
and a damaged soul is severed from its mortal coil,
yet its fate is left undetermined,
flailing in the in-between forevermore.