Long Insinuations Poems
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No Respite
No respite for one who comes as broken as I am
Quietly contrite I passively question the morality of man
Without delight I mention that it’s possible to take a stand
It’s close to midnight in this retention of knowledge that I must understand
Imitations of insight upon a doom scroll feed
Insinuations that are so light they are starting to demean the need
Continuations that were once so bright they outshine the rich man’s greed
Permeatations of respite that teach you to pay good heed
Collaborations of misinterpretations that express myopic predispositions
Configurations of conversations that come about through premonitions
Considerations of constellations that create a cosmic vision
Coagulations of ruminations that require surgical incisions
Remonstrations of argumentative consumerist logic and belief
Demonstrations of competitive ludicrous mischief
Elevations of repetitive mutinous displays that make you consult the chief
Degradations of contemplative luminous thoughts compelled by grief
Indignation of insubordination that burns just like a scalpel
Abdication of misinterpretation that takes you back to the chapel
Escalations of captivations that burn the Tower of Babel
Desperation of aspiration that only wants to come across as stable
Outrageously aggrieved by the injustice of the systems broken administration
Courageously deceived by the
Latest over saturated celebration
Contagiously conceived by a mind that deals in annexations
Rampageously received by this global age of constant misinformation
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz
The classroom is a quiet forge,
and I, a blade in silent fire—
shaped by care, tempered in calm,
honed to serve a brighter purpose.
But into this heatswept chamber she storms,
a tempest cloaked in titles—
her words the hammer’s fall,
striking without measure, without proof.
She holds a flame to my calm steel,
asking why I do not sparkle like she:
“Why do you not forge connections?
Why do you not ring in chatter’s tone?”
Yet I am not a songbird chained to noise—
I am forged for the steady burn,
not the fleeting flash of gossip’s flame.
Her thunder cracks across the anvil of class—
insinuations, judgments, coated in authority.
A storm that sees only its own fury,
hearing nothing of the forge’s slow strength.
Still, in that crucible I hold my shape—
unbowed beneath unearned heat—
for steel that holds its edge through fire
is steel that stands through storm.
Each harsh word becomes smoke on hot iron,
which fades but leaves the core intact.
The hammer may bruise, the flame may scar,
but the metal remembers its maker.
And so I remain, weathered but true—
a blade of purpose, not of defiance.
Let her heat come and break upon me;
I will endure, refine, and rise anew.
Tolerant coaxing aided my first hundred starts
to rescue you from your own negative dark.
I failed and failed while you grew more hurdles.
My sanity got trapped in sketchy drawn circles
where time left me helpless as you sharpened
more false things into outrageous doses of hurtful.
Came your broken wrist and me to care for you.
I brought hope for all we might joyously mend.
First eve, your dimples did not smile or reach your eyes.
Still, with hope, I hugged and kissed you good night.
Next morn, your bad mood launched commands,
demands, accusations and insinuations that
tugged my frustrations into poking my anger
and I zoom-zoomed beyond my hoped conversation.
I startled, then wondered who voiced such aggression
that ‘F you’ was spoken aloud to my elderly Mother.
It was me, no - I was surely possessed by someone foul
and vulgar …. or perhaps I was desperate to convey
all your bitterness insisted we senselessly suffer;
perhaps … I was desperately reaching out to my
treasured Mother, long loved, but now hidden …
and missed by all her children and grandchildren.
My overwhelmed-self spilled bluntness abruptly.
I ache over what I cannot forget whenever it hits me.
Since the time of my disrespectful utter,
God best soothes my Mom-pieces to someday still gently.
At your age, you change all facts around a bit
which eases me in living with how you live with it.
Art is a virtue
Still life too realistic
I see the cold insinuations
Yet it too builds a wall
With good intentions
I push the brush
And dip into lush hues
Painting to my hearts consent
Then words hush
I sit in solitude as well
And think
Critiques are in my head
It's LINE I define
I break it up
I continue to paint
Changing definition instead
I see space an element
It grabs me
I embrace my brush again
It overwhelms me
Painting hues
I see the virtue
It is my dream
Though it may seem
The artists hands
Predominant
The ideal
See the painting
Each stroke made it real
And the desire
It then became
Evident.
A band donned... Around ring finger of left hand
Yes folks (meaning,
whomever espies these lines) alas and alack
I attest thy spouse located future heirloom -
while tentatively asleep in her bivouac
though far less likely,
(yet near more rewarding)
than finding bullet in gunnysack
and/or locating needle in haystack
constitutes the missus
(thru... worm my going with fluke...?)
She discovered logical whereabouts
concerning whaddya believe
simple 14 carat (ha - just kidding)
no custom made
tooled bejeweled purchased,
but symbol of marriage
originally acquired as prize
within box of crackerjack
and treated as goodluck
which find accompanied with
wife merrily drumming upon me buttucks
an old chestnut nursery rhyme named
knick knack paddy whack.
Emotional moment found
yours truly uttering yippee
while straddled upon rushing limb boughs
verbally punctuated courtesy warranty
said treasured ring kept guarded
by hand sum vigilant trustee
kissing me darling dumpling
as adequate reciprocity
suddenly husband experienced himself
as figurative payee
delivered out his
(mine) emotional melee
courtesy lucky find
more precious than fine spun gold.
Now bonafide marriage signifies
stronger invisible bond,
whereby Western Culture accepts
how wedding band doth correspond
unlikely once philandering quirky poet
will draw attraction, anyway
cuz insinuations he won't respond,
nor at this matrimonial juncture
(approximately two dozen plus years)
will one bard **** troubadour abscond.
How great if woebegone
misfortune could abate
such as obsessive compulsive
mailer daemons that create
psychological distress and chronic depression
whereby suicidal ideations will elevate
impossible mission to oust melancholy
against psyche doth grate,
though chatting (over telephone)
with eldest sister,
who lives within Woodbury, New Jersey
can figuratively illustrate
how solitary existence
encompassing isolated kalifate
only breeds despair within,
emotionally remote bailiwick
therein still stews
emotionally unbridled wordsmith
whose entire being does marinate.
Hands in hands and eyes
To eyes,heart to heart and
Verdicts upon verdicts...
The hearts have merged and
Nothing of asunder.
Ebony descendants.
Their loves powerful arms, like thunder,
Rigid insinuations yet
Like flower,
So they watch all night
To see it never wither.
Ebony descendants.
Ebony arrangements
Nature's love horns sparkling
Like silver.
Always together like
Lilies and valleys.
Walking shoulder high,Proudly
Brandishing ebony complexions
Like coco-butter or something
Like sweet chocolate.
Theirs is so pleasant.
These black descendants,
These ebony make ups
These elastic African sunsets ...
Yours is hugely elegant
Yours is truly excellent....
Thank God for your presence.
Form:
...Oliver had saved up the cash
to buy into his employer’s franchise,
bought his own store, aggressively courted
every rancher in the countryside.
Soon enough the cash flow was well in the black,
so Oliver and the bartender wed,
bought their own house and were soon expecting,
he cared nothing for what the people said.
Jack, still drinking, played the Hollywood scene,
was a fixture of the wild nightlife,
soon he was in the tabloids again
when he knocked up a girl he knew one night.
He managed to keep working in film,
supporting roles were the best he could get,
with alimony and child support
he found himself slipping into the red.
When he crashed his car into his front door
he was quickly shuffled off to rehab,
in what would be the first trip of many,
the addiction had a grip on him bad.
But still he managed to get some work,
and when folks saw his face on the air,
they’d look at Oliver, mumbling how,
“That brother never went anywhere.”
Now Hollywood is a hot-bed of rumors,
and a disturbing percentage are true,
soon tales spread of Jack’s early acting days,
and all the things a new actor has to do.
Rumors of giving favors to producers,
insinuations of oral sex,
some said that was why her drank so damn much,
and why relationships left him vexed.
Whatever the case, on the internet,
the rumors became an ongoing meme,
his reputation thrown in the toilet
by GIFs and infographics obscene.
Oliver, back in fair Nebraska,
really had no reason to complain,
he had three kids and sold big equipment
to half the ranchers on the Sand Hills range.
Nobody was making memes out of him,
no reporters were snooping through his trash,
tabloids were not undermining his marriage,
and he was making more than enough cash.
He had six stores and a seventh coming,
and a hundred acres tied to his home,
a life or both family and friends sincere,
the general public did leave him alone.
The only thing that could worry Oliver
was what would happen to his brother Jack?
How many stars had walked down that same road,
and how many of them had never come back?
Though Jack’s state would weight hard on his mind,
and hear feared to see him drowning in despair,
Oliver couldn’t help but laugh at the folk
who thought it was he who was going nowhere.
Black Friday
So here we are again
My reflection and I
The worst of friends
As we’ve always been
Surely nothing could be better
I am a happily married man
With a beautiful wife
And a lovely child
But something has grown
Out of the unknown
A latent energy
A mysterious
Creeping and suffocating
Loneliness
The reason for this
I can’t attempt to analyse
When I try, I cry out
With surprise
But I am surely mad
You may say
It can only come to bad
You may say
And yet it is there
A lurking, choking, mysterious
Loneliness
So here we are again
An evening full of pain
When all my work is done
When my wife and child have gone
And where are you?
Waiting on a wet Friday night
For your lovely child
To finish her dance classes
Surely something could be better
For an unhappily married woman
Returning to her home
Waiting for her drunken lover……..
Don’t get me wrong
No indecent proposals
Only a wish to share a common feeling-
Loneliness
Monika – this is just one moment
And we have to think of our lives
Our responsibilities.
But can I dare ask you -
Despite my religious restraints-
Despite the fact that my carnal desire
For you may seem like playing with fire-
Can I dare ask you-
Knowing that we are cautious adults-
Can we one black Friday night-
Share our loneliness together?
Maybe I’ve misread the signals-
Maybe I don’t know what I’m saying-
Don’t get worried about my suggestions
In an age of obsessive sexual insinuations-
I repeat one last time tonight
Can we share our loneliness together?
Eluding My Ressurection
Eluding the proposition of more work to be done
Prelude to the inquisition that is blocking out the sun
I can only conclude that the ammunition was hard fought and won
While the interlude for the intermission has only just begun
Statutory situations from behind a judges bench presiding
Defamatory imitations that aren’t worth justifying
Auditory insinuations that see a person testifying
Crematory conflagrations that are somewhat death defying
Intercontinental ballistic missiles heading for a major city
Coincidental trajectories on the inside that are the opposite of pretty
Environmental projectiles that leave humans loitering in complicity
Developmental officials that stunt the growth of those without pity
Acrimonious altercations that leave you shocked and stunned
Parsimonious purification that has men reaching for their guns
Disharmonious communications that make you feel inclined to run
Sanctimonious salutations that remove the laughter from the fun
Aberrations of contemplations that leave my thinking incomplete
Abdications of compensations that keep you working on your feet
Complications of innovations that seem to be headed for defeat
Combinations of annotations that keep your words strong enough to compete
Augmentation of technological conversations altered for their privilege and stature
Conflagrations of mythological consternations that have people waiting for the rapture
Insinuations of psychological manifestations that make you feel like you are captured
Constellations of astronomical configurations that engender awe and enrapture
I’m hoping that the tides will flow in favour of my direction
While eloping from the slides that show my wanting predilection
For downward sloping motions that grow upward in their redirection
As they live while coping in the know of my resurrection
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz
A Contemplative Sojourn Through The Breeze
The continuity of perspective required for accurate conclusions
The ingenuity of the reflective inspired by immaculate infusions
The co-morbidity of defective desires for considerate inclusions
The plain fluidity of the introspective fires of commensurate confusion
Why does the momentary delight fade with contemplation ?
How do we constantly engage to fight instead of inspire by elevation?
Why does she remain so utterly contrite when faced with adulation?
Who do they call upon during the night for their sacred consummation?
Awash with notions of consideration and correction
The lost devotions of invocations and invention
The frost that’s frozen upon the intonations of his intentions
The cost of the broken connotations of what it means to defy convention
To revoke what has been given so freely and without shame
To envoke the art of living when one is refusing to play the game
The bespoke art of precision as they are refuting the burden of blame
Renegade perspectives of innovation and pure style
A tyrrade of correctives and incantations that beguile
To invade the environmental incentives of the plantations on the River Nile
As they pervade the vast directives of the ramifications of their denial
Convoluted insinuations of thought that permeate time
Polluted imitations that have been bought by the unrefined
Disputed limitations of a population in decline
Refuted deliberations on the observations of these signs