Long Infamous Poems
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A Publisher and A Writer walk Into a bar…
They Both say “Ouch!”
Please My Omnipotent Publisher;
Please give me a break.
Give my poetry a chance to show,
I'm not second rate.
This book will sell and my words will be heard
And your company and I, will reap the rewards.
Let us start a new duo,
More famous / infamous than Bonnie and Clyde.
I must be published, before I die.
My legacy must be left, so my memory lives on.
I'm sure there are people out there,
Who will like my Poetry in E-Motion.
Please arrange a meeting, so I can discuss with you my work.
Please read my poems and songs, to see if I deserve,
You standing beside me,
When ‘Poetry in E-motion’ begins to sell
And standing in front of me with lawyers,
When they say go to Hell!
This poem is the warm up band, for releasing my novel.
I guarantee the sales of ‘Poetry In E-Motion’,
Will be more than trebled;
By
‘The Life and Times of Stumper Chubble’
And by my following novels,
Poetry, songs and My Own Bible.
So far I've written 600 poems / songs.
All I'm asking you for is to listen to one of them.
If you read another of my poems
And don’t think they are good enough…
Read just one more…
And it could change your world.
If you like one poem, you might like the rest;
Then maybe I can sign a contract with you; if you wish?
And if you like them all…
Well, then I'll write you a thousand more.
(C)2005 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
The hustle of the
Khyber pass
Dusty
Dirty
Traffic chaotic
Pori’s border
Like the ground
Soaking up my foot prints
We move beyond
The bus is silent
In this barren landscape
I look upon the discarded
Shells of war
Interesting
I identify shells
From many wars
Like a walk
Along a beach
After a storm
An high tide
But the storm
Still thundering
The vision scape
Has pockets of green
So many gums
I could be back
In Oz
A brief stop
Jalalabad
The men Decant
I stay
Watching
Looking
Out the dusty window
Engrossed in what I see
The woman and children
All start talking and laughing
At once
The sudden noise
Makes me Jump
I look around
But all I see are ghosts
But free
The influence
Of men
The men return
So does the silence
We move on
We pass a check point
Then stop
Beside a green river
I sit on the bank
Smoke some hash
With old Coco
He looks just like
The old cameleers
From the pioneers
We can’t converse
But I feel
A gentle heart
War tired eyes
Mountains loom
Around us
We are about to make
The push up
To Kabul
We join a convoy
Of trucks
So many trucks
All going up
And up
And up
Never been on such
A huge mountain
And such a narrow
Road
I look down on the
Shells of trucks
That didn’t make it
Up or down
Horns blare
Dust stings my eyes
But I want to see
If I am
About to die
We plateau
And loose the convoy
Cruse toward Kabul
We stop at the
Biggest refugee camp
The atmosphere is
Stressful
Angry
Suffocating
Claustrophobic
Like a humid
Wet season day
I can’t wait to leave
Continue we do
The end is here
The infamous
Soccer stadium
Blocks an blocks
Of rubble
The end
Of the road
To Kabul
I salute you brother of mine
One whose venomous bile
Sends shivers down the spine
Of spineless rank and file
I have never known you
But like William’s “18”, your
Legend lives on afresh and new
Telling tales of valour and rancour
Singlehandedly, you transformed Be-neen
Into a Bend-Hell; singlehandedly,
You made the state’s purse quite lean
Only to spend your loot foolishly
Like Samson, you had a Delilah
Like Achilles, you had the heel
Expecting you to be caught very far
From home, like a complacent eel
You were tangled in the net
Reclining in the recess of expired nipples
Dousing my awe and admiration. How wet!
Your fame is lost among the ripples
Commander-in-thief that you once were
You died like a mere beggar in the street
How disappointing! From stag to mare
You lost your crown by being indiscreet
Daredevil, bank robber, kingpin
Notorious criminal – the infamous Anini
The Dillinger of your time – a King
Dethroned by men on one knee.
Under your twisted lips, runs a wooden tongue called time, you have drained the city of all that is divine,and your tongue is rolling over into your head as if you are getting ready to expose the dead. You went on a shooting spree, committing murder in the first degree, mashing up sauce and pans while you infiltrate the substance all over the land.
You bear the mark of the Antichrist in your stomach and the beast curled up in your back side while the guitar is strumming silently in your head as if music is your only gift and sardines, are your only dish.
Retrace your steps and look in the hole and you will see how far the tunnel has gone into the river bed and what about the clock above the wall? It’s time for you to get out of bed and take a long cold shower.
Your wildest dream is buried in your heart and it has been with you from the very start, walk up the road and turn around the bend and you will see the lion occupied its den, you can tame it from outside but don’t make the mistake and go inside, your wildest dream is full of pride.
The morning is looking for you and the afternoon has its wing all over you, the evening and nights are filled with delight but the dragons are active after midnight but the firefly will lead you into the light.
I have seen you wailing on that road with Illusion covering your face and reality leading you to a woeful embrace. The train is speeding and you must recuse yourself from the track before you get hit in your back.
Setting up late at nights to roll the infamous dice has set off a new course of action with marinated duck clucking in the oven and sauté beef frozen on ice watching the curry chicken dancing on top of the plate.
They set up all night waiting for you to try on a brand-new pair of shoes; I don’t think it will fit because deception is stuff in its sole. It’s too small for your feet and I can feel the Cinderella heartbeat spreading the heat.
This is more than fifteen-year-old inquiry of a man and a woman on a reckless and deceptive journey and the schemes that they use to obtain the price came at a horrendous sacrifice both man and woman fell into the ditch leaving a painful bridge behind and we finally got them off the pitch.
An infamous thief
lived a restless life,
looking out for those
vigilant, shrewd cops;
his crafty hands pulling out
those tools out of the box,
to feed that ego so imprudent:
would he never be caught...
when his instincts coudn't predict?
Escorted to the court-room,
in hand-cuffs and chains,
he faces the harshest judge
of the In-God-We-Trust-Country...
a female judge who's fair but firm,
and yet so unsympathetically angry;
and she like a fearless preacher warns,
" Whoever thinks has a right
to steal, rob, kill or disturb the peace...
must be punished accordingly to the crime! "
All he wanted was an easy flow of money,
dirty money without a trace of sweat;
and he acted like the richest man of the county...
flashing it around and feeling great!
Did he ever foresee an end to that bliss,
how could he not be harmed by his own mischief?
In the coldest cell, he sits on the sheetless bed...
frowning upon an unsuccessful scheme:
if he were able to bend each bar with those hands,
unlock each door and sprint to freedom...
it would be the end of his loneliness and boredom;
but when reality sets in, he returns to being sad!
Years and many more years without a voice...
he will spend writing letters to his family,
missing out on holidays and birthdays...
repenting of his greedy and wicked ways
and allowing no other thought for escape;
pain, isolation and tolerance within those walls...
will teach the hardest lesson for his sake:
to make good choices and overcome his misery!!
Here are four survivors of a rocket that had crashed.
For a great distance, they had walked through rain that had splashed
so long, and so hard, that everything was turning white.
The downpour continued steadily through day and night.
“Does it ever stop raining on Venus?” one could ask.
A journey through the planet’s ceaseless rain is a task.
It requires the strongest earthmen to endure the rain;
a challenging test to withstand frustration and pain.
Venusian jungles are thick with vegetation.
Survival is usually of short duration.
The torrential downpour cuts through the trees and the land.
It is steady and so strong. A man can hardly stand.
It’s continual pelting of raindrops on his head.
It does not take long before most men wish they were dead.
On this planet, there is one thing that they would call home.
It is a round, yellow building known as a “sun dome”.
Inside, there’s a man-made plasma giving light and heat;
where it is dry and comfortable, with food to eat.
Thirty days and nights had passed since their space ship was downed.
They blindly tread through the rain until a dome was found.
However, inside, it was dark and cold with no sound.
Gashed holes in the ceiling proved there was no one around
Venusians attacked here and killed everybody.
These creatures were infamous for their savagery.
On the map, another dome was shown to be nearby.
Only a few kilometers away, it would lie.
They would leave in search of the next dome they hoped was near.
Their compass readings were off; their position not clear.
Suddenly, their ship with two dead crewmen would appear.
They had traveled in a circle, causing them great fear.
A dark, ominous, electrical cloud they would see,
spewing thousands of lightning bolts, a monstrosity.
This caused their compasses to show inaccuracy.
The group’s leader yelled “Everybody get down right now”,
but one man stayed up and tried to run away somehow.
He was struck by the lightning, and was burned quite badly.
Remains of this man were charred beyond identity.
The raging storm cost the crew another casualty.
The three remaining men continued on their journey,
blindly hoping a sun dome was in propinquity.
Based on the short story "The Long Rain" by Ray Bradbury
As a vermillion Sun feigns its death,
daylight acquiesces to Night's might.
And with a propensity for red,
Sol colors clouds, cerise, and crimson.
Day dwindles, as flashing fireflies set
twinkling lights flickering on the scene.
And an austere, featureless landscape
morphs into a field of pixie dust.
Nature imbues the Night with subtle
scents of honeysuckle and wild rose.
And a mix of exotic odors,
of lesser-known, more infamous plants.
Contrary to popular belief,
stinging nettles bear scented flowers.
And as their fragrant blossoms open,
they release a pleasant aroma.
A gold filigree moon gilds the waves,
as moonbeams dance on rippled waters.
And dark silhouettes, like smudged shadows,
merge: within Night's ebony embrace.
Hardly in her dotage, Mary Shelley was only nineteen
when she composed the character/monster, Frankenstein.
I could connect the dots of many a tragic scene,
but we’d be here all night, I must streamline.
She eloped at seventeen with the poet P.B. Shelley,
Mary’s step sister introduced them to her lover, Lord Byron.
The two poets formed a friendship with a Dr. Polidori.
and nightly trialogues of morbid corpses began.
Listening intently, Mary absorbs what the men expound,
Lord Byron proposed that they each write a ghost story.
Mary’s contribution was to become the most renowned -
In 1818, the world first read of Frankenstein’s laboratory.
Within six years of that infamous meeting of minds
all three men had departed from this earth’s pod.
The two sisters survive as my brief telling unwinds
declaring the danger of men daring to “play God.”
August 7, 2021
Sponsor Kim Rodrigues
Contest Name Dot to Dot
a dot to dot based on age and eight years in the life of Mary Shelley
A lovely day, the eighth of May, with sunshine and light breeze
You could not tell, that all’s not well and we felt safe at ease
A little blip, a video clip, showed damage way out west
But that was far, and could not mar our little place of rest
The march of time, brought clouds that climb, into an angry sky
And soon the voice, gave us a choice, as winds began to fly
I stood and watched, the radar notched, and signified a storm
I waited to see, the possibility, of it’s mighty form
In lapsing light, at infamous heights, they formed and went away
With funnels strong, it was not long, I heard the voice say
“Take cover NOW, the storms somehow, are imminent and direct”
So in a panic, acting quite frantic, we sought a way to protect
As sullen skies stopped, the stillness topped our deep distraught concern
And all was still, and quiet until, the skies began to turn
Clouds regrouped, and trees were scooped, like toothpicks they did snap
And running fast, entrance at last, was like a treasure map
We were inside, seeking to hide, from winds and funnel cones
Windows broke, and trees did stroke, our little country home
Our chimney fell, the stones did sail, the rocks blasted our roof
The wind and rain, sound like a train, the damage is the proof
Well I must say, it went away, as fast as it had started
It seemed much longer, as it was stronger, just before it parted
It buried the cars, with trees like bars, in only thirty seconds
With doors blocked, the driveway socked, and freedom clearly beckoned
We were blessed, and if you guessed, this was real and true
In cleanup mode, our small abode, with so much left to do
I ache for those, whose loss arose, to greater heights than this
With nature’s aim, no one’s to blame, just pray it goes amiss
He ranked as de facto semiprecious,
tremulous and unanimous scapegoat
bullied by a bumptious, callous,
disputatious hippopotamus of a brat
infamous bruiser later in his life to become
forty fifth president of UnIted States.
Though documentation incomplete, the un
named subject referred within torn shred
recovered included signatory couching
ambiguous references to a tenebrous,
unscrupulous, and vicious wiseass initials.
Dee Tee quickly intuitively assessed
as one inhumane specimen, whose pugnacious,
pretentious, and pestiferous, persona characterized
impetuous, adulterous apprenticeship appetite
for erecting phallic skyscrapers.
This once pacific pilloried pupil, whose grown
son (myself), now recalls father's misty eyed
anecdotes dripping with acrimonious, curmudgeonly
grouchy, grizzly and crotchety old sorries,
viz refashioned abominable kamikaze
psychological sorties.
I can vividly recall (how painful unto his old age)
oft daddy's repeated quotidian taunts, whereby
that bad ass, acidulous, avaricious, contemptuous,
enormous, and grievous big boy trumpeting
bruiser exuded devious, heinous, libelous, and
parsimonious tightwad, though born into wealth.