Long Infuriated Poems
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Maleficent was frankly and nefariously magnificent
Evil to her very bones, she had gigantic evil stones.
No one else would blatantly maim and kill.
The way she did, with happy thrill.
Hunting down whoever wronged her, was deadly Maleficent.
Smacking them down left and write, killing as she went.
She was not invited to the castle for the baby’s christening.
Brought herself in from the bowels of hell, devils hands listening,
She wanted the ugly newborn to die, and she was determined to help.
She made it her mission to give her a gift that had everyone all atwitter.
She searched for her for sixteen years, with her trusty crow Dead Kelp.
Those ugly faeries infuriated her, she called them Pip, Pop and Pitter.
Maleficent had many killing ways, but her favorite was the wheel.
Here was how her evil mind worked, this is pretty much the deal.
The princess would prick her finger and fall down hard and dead.
Her face would turn green and ugly, and her eyes would roll back in her head.
Those flipping faeries stole her wish, converting it to something better.
So damned mad, she was ready to kill them too, she sent them a mean letter.
The spinning wheel trick did not work as well as Maleficent had hoped.
The stupid princess did fall down though. Looked like she’d been doped.
Castle slept for a hundred years, but one day Maleficent woke up quickly.
A handsome prince on horseback was chopping down the vines so thickly.
She turned into her most evil self, a dragon with third-degree fire.
He met her at every turn, was frankly endowed with super power desire.
I am sad to say he killed Maleficent, and Dead Kelp Crow, her pet too.
This is how these crazy fairy tales always end, so what could poor M do?
A skulking werewolf, all dark, and hairy, and keen.
A dainty elf, flitting about, barely being seen.
A dragon, with a fat body, that is hard to drag about.
And me, getting portly, I think I am now rather stout.
We were dancing around in the terrific forest this summer.
The elf would not sit still, which for the dragon was a bummer.
The werewolf tried to secure her with his well-intention-ed paw.
But a crow distracted him with a wild and deeply ugly caw.
So of course, the elf got hurt, and had to be taken to emergency.
The faeries were mad. The werewolf got stung by angry bumblebee
This infuriated him, so he took a giant bite out of my side.
Now when I see this threesome coming, I stay inside and hide.
The summer day four good friends began distancing themselves.
All because of an unfortunate incident that happened to friend elf.
This is what happens when you are all dancing and carefree,
Not paying close attention to feelings, or the way true friends ought to be.
A werewolf, all dark and hairy and keen, ran away that night.
An elf, lost her fingers, part of a wing, and her eyes lost their light.
The sweet dragon and I are still friends, but not nearly as tight.
An apologetic friendship that used to be vibrant and bright.
A dreary sun shoots its milk-warm and colorless sun rays that
in this jovial season should be harmonious and radiant;
raves themselves are wearing the funeral dress...
they croak, lament, and cringe at ghostly shadows
that set a murky stage toward early sunset...
shouldn't everyone raise their melancholic chant?
If gold lures avid seekers so does our luminescent sun
which slowly crosses unobserved the Euclidean space
through serene skies or even through tempestuous ones;
believer or non-believer, its crossing affects lives that abase:
while the preacher prays, and the astronomer discovers
galaxies outside our universe and asks the question twice...
we'll be leading a hard existence indulging in occasional fun!
The macabre fluctuating elms scare away the crickets
and the glowing owls from their posts chosen for quietness;
infuriated are the Green-winged teals who flew miles
from the snowy North to find the warmest nests...
they gather closer and defy the menacing winds!
Little they understand that who is responsible is Man himself
whose greed has devastated forests with fires causing death!
Ghostly shadows set a murky stage,
who dares to act portrays courage;
the villains watch, they don't applaud...
doom is a hated word, a demise not contemplated.
Greta, a remarkable advocate, makes her entrance;
her voice echoes and they are hushed by silence:
" Our planet is dying, so will you people of little concern;
thinking I came here not to speak about danger and afflict scorn:
before a disaster occurs, take appropriate action
to save yourselves and this planet which is in imminent extinction! "
He desired nothing but a tiny sliver of a hole
Where he could tuck himself up inside
Away from the others
Because he did not understand their need for attention
Their pursuits or their opinions.
He was a shy boy, who was used to apologizing since birth
First to his mother, who chastised him for causing her such pain
and disappointment, as she was a showing off gaudy gadabout sort.
Whereas, he was quiet, reticent, sedate, and shy.
He silently apologized to others who sought him out,
Which was not easy, for he usually was successful
Finding a corner, a hole, or a tree, away from the others.
Because he had no voice except a stammering one
That infuriated and caused embarrassment to his dear mother.
I don’t believe there is such a thing as a mirror,
Because this so called reflection is not really me.
I think he is a stranger that moved into my house,
For the man that I see is somewhat, ugly.
I think he built this life size window
To spy on everything that I do
And I can tell you he is beginning pissing me off
I can feel my anger’s starting to brew
Once I moved to the side of the window
And he disappeared out of sight
What I could see a part of his room
Gave me an terrible fright
The bugger’s been to the same shop
And bought the same things I have
The bed, cupboards and lamp shades
And on the table he even has the same Sat. Nav.
I peeped into this window
With the hope to catch him off guard
But there he was looking at me
Staring just as hard
I stood in front of the loser and cussed the most colourful words
The monkey aped every action even the moving of his lips
Then it dawned on me that he wore the same clothes
In the same pose with his hands on his hips
So infuriated, I punched the window
And ended his years of peeping tom jeer
However, the bugger is now haunting me
In every glass I happen to peer
Saturday, December 21 Military Time 2319
(According to website:
https://earthsky.org/astronomy-
essentials/everything-you-need-
to-know-december-solstice.)
Hark the herald angels sing
yea, only one hundred ten days,
I started counting until spring
as proclaimed courtesy
yours truly, a fellow Earthling.
Mine tolerance to endure
brutally cold weather quite plain
decreases in direct proportion
as orbitz around El Sol increase,
hence subsequent heft to weather
old man winter doth wane,
no matter majority mein kampf birthdays
lived hashtagged Southeastern
Montgomery, Pennsylvanian.
Climate change slated
to ratchet up temperatures,
thus quaint Currier
and Ives existence dated,
whereby relics portraying
old man winter curated
within (ironically enough)
climate controlled and heavily gated
surveilled environment freighted
replete with trappings created,
back in the day when bomb cyclones
nsync with polar vortex precipitated,
where global warming naysayers skated
on thin ice ignoring strong voice dictated
by diminutive Swedish
activist Greta Thunberg severely castigated
passive grownups, said
slip o' lass generated
cult like following despite
her petite, yet enervated
larger than life presence, especially venerated
by young people cohort, who felt infuriated
unheeded apocalyptic warnings
inadvertently kickstarted,
motivated, and promulgated
green revolution proudly designated
government, née said youth
zealously, vociferously, righteously,
opportunistically arrogated
take charge attitude
(think) wartime economy escalated
forcing drastic paradigm shift
diminishing nightmare demise calculated
to reign death and destruction,
nonetheless untolled cruelty
permanently and wantonly eradicated
multitudinous swaths of life forms.
On the wind's current,
face-swept and braving fret;
I push forward...facing a tough day,
never fainthearted: merrily drifting away!
I challenge my strength,
to fuse more enthusiasm;
to beat the puzzled clouds with ingenuity,
and they, frustrated, initiate a plot against me!
I laugh, making them infuriated,
and they respond with stronger blows;
thinking they can't be imitated!
Don't they know that I watch all their moves?
Call me a marine or a sky-diver,
I may not look too convincing for a liar;
the open sky lets me on the wind's current,
lifting me off the earth to deliver my stunt!
Where are my rivals? Are they hiding or
planning my imminent defeat?
I may be too naive to cheat,
but I am as swift as a hunting panther!
On the wind's current so rough,
aware and attentive, I make my living;
chasing the fearless eagles with a bluff,
vulnerable...yes, but unafraid and willing!
Copyright by Andrew Crisci
Except My Hugs
Written by D. W. Breidenthal
You think everything's passionate and sincere
Except my letters, texts and hugs
You think cats are warm and friendly
You think dogs are dependent and full of positivity and vitality
Except my heart, kisses and hugs
Oh, how it bugs me to death
I can smell a stench of lies in your breath
You're lying to yourself - last one to lie is a rotten egg... I guess you are the creator of lies
(it's in your insidious nature...don't feed me lies now)
You appreciate your friends and family and you love their rare embrace
Except my hugs (and that really bugs me to death)
You think everywhere's a place of rest...
Except my shoulders...except my fatigued hugs (tired of not hugging you another day)
You think you are the best out of the rest...but I'll try my best (to think not dismay...not to sink in disarray)
To not be infuriated by you...
Though you accepted people's gifts
Except my hugs...you refused them...long ago...(and that really bugs me to death)
You're heart's as hard as boulders...where's your prudent glow?
Who knows...
Where your twisted wind blows
Only you know...you're as dark
As a midnight crow...
Cawing before the dawn...
And yet, I must drive on...
Must move on with life...(now that's a big must)
Though I'm living with unbearable, vexing strife
(my family tells me to wipe off the dust
Off my boots and bust
Some moves...just cause I don't want my dancing skills to rust)
Oh, how your pride drives me up the walls
Graze in your own maze... (It means"mind your business" - get my drift) You never answered my calls
(I won't offer you a lift and ill just watch you drift...
Away on a ship...with a small rift.
Hah!)
I'll watch you fall
And laugh at your calamity
Hah!
Because you thought
Everything made you feel like you belonged
Except my hugs
Except my hugs
Except my hugs (and that really bugs me to death)
('Sorry' won't cover it - now that really does bug me to death)
You made me draw my last breath...
And I felt like I kissed death...
Literally
Just accept my hugs
But you loved everone and everything,
But my bear hugs. . .
Except my hugs...
Accept my hugs...
I beg of you
Why do you make me
blush blue?
I guess I'm left with 2 mugs
"Let me have a refill of bear please?"
Asked James Dunk.
Maybe a shouldah prayed on my knees, thought he...thought he...now he regrets getting drunk.
More'n nine months on...
and still I feel infuriated at myself
concerning squandered funds
passively, senselessly, and willingly
surrendered nest egg
to computer hackers
(imposters, jackknifing, and liquidating)
coercing me to forfeit funds,
whereby yours truly (me) blindsided
thru convincing telephonic dialogue
witnessing unquestioned trust
I unquestioningly, unerringly, and unblinkingly
carried out instructions
essentially cadging, depleting, and exhausting,
checking and savings accounts (mine)
courtesy convincing scheme
yoking naïveté (mine)
with FAKE conspiratorial claims
Citizens Bank tellers
linkedin as thieving magpies
(twittering bird brain analogy
hatched courtesy yours truly – me)
once ridiculous ruse beak came obvious,
I never ceased
maligning self as half cracked egghead
repeatedly replaying telephonic scenario
only this time
with home grown perspicacity triumphant
and fraudsters, marauders, and usurpers
harangued, interrogated, and jailed
critiqued, maligned, and whipped
courtesy just law of the land.
Clear as day,
I still recall the bloke
who chose one alias
(probably quite a few
in his bag of tricks)
videlicet Harvey Specter,
he coaxed at least one poor sucker
(the writer of these words)
to fork over his life savings
without yours truly batting an eye,
whose gullibility now legion
among the posse of scoundrels
sharing the ease with which
money plucked out figurative fingers
(like taking candy from a child)
diminishing paucity of integrity,
increasing perspicacity of acuity,
where wool will never
be pulled over my eyes
(ewe can bet my bottom dollar)
against being fleeced,
and now a heightened awareness
a wretched costly life lesson
inflicting a painful financial contusion
additionally severely wrecking, pummeling,
and bruising psyche suddenly woke
keenly alert to the bad to the bone
doggone wicked wily weasel ways
of unrepentant rapscallions.
When a rape happens or
When a rape is performed
Every one wakes up, gets outraged, infuriated
Finds moving phrases that affront the rapist
Leading to agitations at the India Gate and Jantar Mantar.
Everyone has a say,
Exasperation, vexations of all sorts.
President expresses her shock and displeasure.
Some popular neta says, “Boys are boys.”
Some sacrosanct puritan calls for stringent laws for women.
Dress code for women.
It is their dress which exposed their flesh
Causing the rape.
It is the raped who should take the blame.
The rapist will script stringent and austere regulations.
Hues and Cries and Cries and Hues.
We have to do something.
Meanwhile another rape.
Rape and murder follow strictly.
Blame the Chief Minister, Prime Minister
As another minister from another state rapes a teenager.
Whole country debates and discourses about law.
Commission is appointed, nationwide debates.
There seems to be change is coming.
Anti-rape law enacted.
Rapist multiplied.
It is now reported, women are courageous now.
The ing law is working.
Law is curing the disease, not preventing it.
Why this ing rascals indulge in rape
In this great country of traditions and God fearing rich cultured people.