Long Incredulously Poems
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I didn’t want to let her down. She was a fellow teacher in the language institute and a very dear friend. When my husband went on trips, which was often, she’d look out for me, so when she made the suggestion to go to the student banquet, I didn’t have the heart to say no.
We were the first ones there. We chose seats right next to the big floor to ceiling glass windows. Out below us, the sparkling lights of Beirut mesmerized. A young couple sat on the veranda, outside the glass partitions, enjoying a meal in the cool night air. They were warmed by the love that hung around them in the smoke from their hubbly bubblies (hookas). The whole atmosphere was romantic and beautiful. My heart constricted. Slowly the students started to filter in, and invariably, they would come over to give us kisses and greetings. It was a lovely evening, but my heart was heavy. I looked at the beautiful girls: hair…stylishly coiffed, make-up…flawless, dresses and skirts short…tight…revealing….sexy. I tried not to cry as I flashed them all smiles.
Picture taking time: the girls posing like models, showing off long sleek legs, the young men acting cool…models one and all. I sat at my table, feeling old at 46…Old. One of the students would always come over to me and flirt…such a sweet young man. He made me feel young. As I smiled at one of my pretty students further down, I thought to myself as I looked at her…”That, that was ME.” I remembered what it felt like to be young and beautiful, what it felt like to have young men swarm…what it felt like…
I tried to push away the thoughts. I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. I looked up into sky blue eyes peering out at me from a handsome bearded face. There was Ryan, one of the young Americans who had joined our communication staff, camera in hand. He flashed a killer smile as he leaned in and said, above the pounding sound of the live band, “So, when are you going to show us your moves?”
“What?” I looked at him incredulously.
He smiled showing nice even teeth. “The little birdy told me that you are quite the dancer.”
I smiled, feeling like a million dollars. “Maybe not tonight,” was all I could manage.
Eileen M Ghali
TO BE CONTINUED......
Deep in the forest was an inaccessible cliff
that soared high above the tall tree canopy.
People had wondered for years what lay beyond
yet the landscape was so inhospitable none dared
to try to reach the impassable cliff and scale it.
A hunting party got led astray as they tracked
after a herd of mountain bearded goats.
The chase had been long and very hard
as their elusive prey kept far ahead, tempting
them ever onwards. Now with night approaching
they were caught far from home with no shelter.
They searched along the cliff base for a cave
finally one spotted a narrow track.
With trepidation they followed it into the cliff
it twisted and turned getting narrower,
darkness coated them almost smothering them.
With brush torches they plunged ever deeper
into its midst, the rocks covered in green slime.
Which gave off an odd luminous light that
distorted everything in the strangest way.
Giving rise to images of long lost creatures
that flicked and danced in the eerie light.
Along way ahead they could see sky
and odd trees on the distant horizon.
Finally reaching the end they looked
out on to a very different world.
Everywhere they looked were new plants.
Wondrous plants with enormous fruits
and strange multi coloured birds
that flocked to them without any fear,
settling on shoulders chattering away.
Deer came up and nudged them gently
seeking their pockets with wet tongues.
Flowers spanning six to nine feet
made for the perfect resting places.
Cosy and bouncy the weary hunters
were soon fast asleep and woke invigorated.
The stream bubbled by contentedly.
Its waters were crystal clear and sweet
and enormous fish lazily swam by.
They spent a few days there exploring
all the treasures that nature offered.
Reluctantly they made their way back
and excitedly told friends and family.
They scoffed at their tales with disbelief
until in frustration they led them back to the cliff.
For hours they searched in vain for the trail,
They looked at each other incredulously
Had they just dreamt it? We will never know!
As incredulously the second
hand ticks cuckoo tock
And malevolent the noon is high
I amongst the many few
Gaze upon the circumspect
Of the floating traveling
ghosts slowly moon-walking by
Trying best not to reflect
the stained glass mirror
watching back
Drawing their attention to what
has gone before
Safely entrenched i whisper
lie behind 3 locked bolted door
Inbetween elongated gulps of
breaths to ward away my state
of panic from attacks
I fuse my thumbs to tack
my ears and draw the nearest
pillow to hide my masked face
If grace and peace are but
a death away i steely pray
cometh it to take me quickly
As i fear the many stones i
have thrown throughout
my life
Are about to come crashing
down and through this very prison
of windows i have chosen to
seek refuge in
My skin is crawling so thick
with goose bump flesh my
body hair is cascading through
the basement floor
And all for what i do not
know nor can explain who
what and why i am today
I am of my own self creation
self made of every bad
misguided decision and
path taken
And given that i have reached
and crossover to this point
If i was to make my appologies
and say im sorry for merely
to placate my selfish state
of grace
A lesser man than even
i could ever hate to be
shadow
I'd expect to be standing cursing
me to hell and back
Resplendent righteous in the
very slippers i failed so
miserably to fill
I heard my husband say,
Oh, good. You'll be here in forty minutes.
How wonderful!
Yes, the cousins of the cousins were coming.
Less than an hour's notice.
We'd been trying to get them here for ten years.
They had never accepted.
Now that we had the car packed, and
the kids were psyched about going
to a water park for the weekend,
We were staying.
I stared at my husband, incredulously.
Why didn't you tell them?
He put up his hands, shrugged, helplessly.
These were his mother's cousins.
In their 80's.
They would never understand.
They were already on their way,
Expecting us to be delighted.
The hardest part of the weekend
was not unpacking the car
or keeping the disappointed
children quiet.
The hardest part was
not strangling
a man.
Later that night, Ike and the others arrived
for a gala they held every first of June.
To be filled with dancing, feasting, and fun
with a full band to play people tunes,
inviting every respectable person they knew.
But before the part, to Prent Ike came,
Saying,”Now brother, we must hide your shame.”
Prent raised an eyebrow, truly confused.
“Now what every can you mean brother”
Ike said,”You know full well what I mean.
That little girl with the savage mother.
We don’t want good folk to discover—”
But before he could say another word more
Prent knocked his brother flat onto the floor.
His siblings came running to see the fuss,
and stared on quite incredulously.
Prent said,”Now, it’s all coming back,
all the reasons I decided to leave.
I see what father would have made of me!
I came here worried about my daughter’s fate,
but bringing her here was my greatest mistake!”
Annabeth gasped, and began to argue,
but Prent shot her his best death glare.
“I’ve had enough disdain to last a lifetime,
so dear sister, you’d better not dare.”
He kept her pinned there with his stare.
“But of you gala, you need have no fear,
tomorrow we’re going far away from here.”
Sure enough they were back on a train,
he in skins and her in traveling clothes,
Prent took great pleasure in seeing Nell smile,
her little face still pressed to the window,
riding back west to their home, Colorado.
Knowing fully that this was the end,
he’d never see any of his family again.
III.
When the stage reached town Prent took Nell
down the road towards Sally’s Café.
He’d had a whole ride to think of the words
that he desperately wanted to say.
Course talking never was really his way.
How he’d ask her, he didn’t right know,
they walked in and Sally went pale as a ghost.
She turned quickly from all her customers
and scooped up sweet Nell in an embrace
The girl smiled and hugged her tight,
showering kisses on Sally’s face.
Prent knew then that this was his place.
He said,”Sally, I think you were in the know.
back when you told me of good women right close.”
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
The museum is full of gangs,
child gangs that roam sneering at the 70’s people.
The 70’s people live now in a diorama.
For the most part they are cheerful,
they cut grass with push mowers,
swim in above ground pools.
By and large they don’t kill each other
or pillage the Malls.
Some are vets with grey ponytails -
they ride to forget.
The 70’s people that lived in New York
pretend not to have been there back then
and take long meditative soaks in crude
high rise jacuzzies.
Behind the glass
the 70’s people mechanically wave
at the hordes of sneering children.
A young questioner asks his handler
why the 70’s people are not all dead?
A reasonable question
which the handler deflects
with a long tale about dinosaurs.
Meanwhile the 70’s people
peer out of their mid-century homes
and watch the foot traffic
as if it were an older black and white TV.
The young are getting bored with the 70’ people.
they move on to stare incredulously at a representation
of humankind back in the 60’s.
The handlers also cannot quite believe their eyes,
they explain that though there are many artifacts
of that previous civilization
experts disagree as to origins
and the strangeness of their bygone lifestyle.
Salem Alabama and Woodstock
are small print on a sign no one reads.
The kids are hungry and whine loudly,
the school-outing is a bust so far.
Harassed handlers usher them into a cafeteria
where they slaughter the air
with a wolfish glee.
A few Jeer at an 80’s person
who has wandered into the wrong room.
Inquisitive sorts enigmatic notions as positions--scaled left for the right-hander--behold various perceptions, thus preserving perfection as a cure for misdirection's subtle draw.
Earnest forgivingly weakens its posture as truth betrays, incredulously, amidst reality outfitted in non-traditions; Judas kisses a face, while the strummed favors oils embrace a straining revelation that pleasures the muted.
Distractions of another sort muse the ne'er-do-wells, while diligence inks the lost, ambulates ambitious quill of risqué 'Olympia' whose indecency is shaded decently.
Tryst loses in translation, forms anew in an altered view; observant exposed a chapter; a spilled review cores a novel of two; meeting of the minds formed upon a ruinous and trifle distraction, whereto whenever praise ventures, "A dull knife makes a cutting edge."
"Intermission: Flutterby Reveille"
Impromptu like a moth
pale words flutter out of his
psychodelic mind
curious funny flutterby…
for a second then, I didn't move,
deadpan, I said,
"... try again with some panache, some style"
incredulously, I smiled,
he's tripping guitar leads
counting long-tooth years
and numbers between drum beats
here no rest for the wicked, we...
hear pretty worded poets
walk on tip toe
balancing wet bars
on bipolar tightropes
shaking up and banging upside down
all the pretty snowglobes
In his land of silent muses
driving as he wrote
Singing “Every Little Breeze Seems to Whisper Louise's”
Pushing the envelope
aside, he writes,
retirement is a caged zoo
he gets high on cryptic puzzles
and cracking her
Sudoku
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
Breakfast Reveille:
The Angels, “Take a Long Line”
https://youtu.be/4LdZAK2Rfkg
The Angels, “Rhythm Rude Girl”
https://youtu.be/4bWsbCpCwOg
The Angels, “Rhythm Rude Girl”
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/angels/rhythmrudegirl.html
Imagine if this was my last poetry poem contest
My creative juice would drink itself!
I'd find myself staring wistfully into an engulfing abyss.
I'd title my last contest poem, "Creative Death"
If this was my last poetry contest poem,
Well, I don't even want to think about it!
I'd be banging on the keyboard with both hands,
exclaiming "Why!? Why!? Why!?"
If this was my last poetry contest poem...
"Now what? Hell if I know!" is what I would say.
More poems of mine would slip through the cracks
unread and unvisited like a barren no man's land!
If this was indeed my last poetry contest poem
"Good heavens! Say it ain't so!" I'd scream incredulously!
Would my poetry output slow to a crawl?
What becomes of flood of inspiration then?
Hmm....
If This Was My Last Poetry Contest Poem Contest (Winner: 2nd Place)
Sponsored by Silent One
Dates written: 07/17/2020
My neighbors and friends were astounded
Many had doubted, did not think it could be done
However with my dandelion-generated motor
I began to show them how, and it was incredibly fun.
You just add dandelions! They said incredulously.
That is right, I assured them as they sipped their tea.
We had brought in the neighbors, the doubters too.
We were demonstrating my new auto-engine. I had painted it blue.
Just ordinary everyday dandelions? Yellow humdrum?
Found in yards all over the world? Asked a man wearing a mask.
I nodded, and if you run out of gas, just pick some.
Will the people charge us for them? One idiot asked.
I nodded and laughed, and my six driving-age children nodded too.
For we had built each of them cars out of bits of junk yard stuff and glue.
The total cost to us was around two hundred and sixteen dollars apiece.
So my dandelion-engine put-together car was featured from here to Greece.