Long Interrogated Poems
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National Panic Wednesday March 9th, 2022 actually... every day
Founded by Tom and Ruth Roy
solely to acknowledge hardship
of A. R. Harris
and her husband M.S. Harris,
who cope poorly
(even courtesy medication)
with anxiety attacks, especially when
violated, probed, interrogated courtesy
Highland Manor inquisition,
which traumatizing event happened
on aforementioned date
included with poem title.
J. G. and P. F.
constitute management team
under jurisdiction of Quoss
(pronounced chhath tt) and Grade,
who espouse principle laissez faire
but whose exhibited heavy handedness
pertaining to the married couple
named in the third line of this poem.
Either one or the other gals
who attend these premises
here at the Schwenksville location
(I won't mention
the state as penile solitude)
alluded to a peculiarly nasty odor
emanating from unit B44,
our man/woman cave.
We received a twenty four hour deadline
to get into shipshape the disarray
messiness even Pigpen
would find abominable,
yet upon receiving both
oral and written admonition,
me and the missus
buckled down and kickstarted
frenzied whirlwind one bedroom
apartment cleaning spree
zoned out like zombies of Sugar Hill
when the clock struck bewitching hour,
more specifically that alluded time
synonymous with midnight.
No matter we felt dead tired
whereat neither option
to acquire additional time,
nor desist existed,
and yet nearly impossible mission
to continue, but appealing
to temptation of sandman
out of the question.
Deep sleep for the weary
appeared oh so heavenly,
on par with plate
of powder milk biscuits,
our mandate (analogous to pilgrims
adults and children -
forced to fight in crusades)
forbid cessation, thus to plod
and plow onward
despite overwhelming urge to plotz,
(not the slang definition)
found yours truly
blissfully in dreamland
when me noggin hit the pillow,
Not for a minute
could yours truly
sit down and take a breather,
despite severe lower
(rightside) back pain.
Said dull throbbing ache
diagnosed as tight muscles
by Doctor (physical therapist)
John R. Mishock,
he would not countenance
(approve, comply, honor...)
I popped one Ibuprofen.
Sophie Scholl was raised a Christian in a Lutheran family
Born in the town of Forchtenberg in south west Germany
For standing defiant against evil with her young life she'd pay
In a country that was in deep turmoil and had lost its way.
She was a young teenager in nineteen thirty three
When a new leader offering hope, emerged in Germany
Adolf Hitler was an Austrian, who came to power
And for many it was the start of their darkest hour.
To unite the German people the Nazis held rallies
In some of the larger towns and all the big cities
But something dark and sinister was taking place
The evil Nazis were plotting to create a master race.
All the youth were encouraged to join an organisation
Hitler youth they were known all over the nation
Sophie and her brother together, with some of their friends
Turned their backs on the movement and vowed to make amends.
Word was getting around about death camps and persecution
Together they decided to form, a small non violent organisation
Known as the 'White Rose' who urged the people to renounce Hitler
They handed out leaflets telling the truth, about the Nazis slaughter.
One day at Munich University where Sophie studied as a student
She was seen distributing leaflets on what Nazi ideology meant
A janitor intervened and confronted her, and wouldn't let her go
She was arrested and then handed over to the notorious Gestapo.
They interrogated her to find out, who her accomplices were
But she wouldn't give them their names, as they tortured her
They charged her with high treason and sentenced her to death
To die by the guillotine and the date of execution was set.
They executed twenty one year old Sophie for making a stand
And they had accused her of being a traitor, to the fatherland
They eventually captured the others, five of them in all
And they too walked to their deaths standing proud and tall.
It’s people like Sophie who want to make the world a better place
And not supporting some twisted ideology like a master race
The Nazis were eventually defeated and their leaders tried
But not before Sophie and millions of other innocents had died.
Written 15th May 2021.
Why does the heart get all the credit for love?
By so-called affairs of the heart,
that most storied of organs is not unduly inconvenienced.
It beats,
now faster, now slower,
that is all, its task ever unvaried.
But the brain.
The brain is swarmed
by a scream of consciousness,
the amount of work that lands on its desk
swollen by an epidemic of incoming data
as body-wide receptors caffeinated by intimations of love
report frequent sightings of
unexampled beauty followed by euphoric contacts.
Every signal, real or illusory, is taken into custody and interrogated
to determine its authenticity or duplicity.
Every word is a code that needs to be deciphered with a
clear-eyed detachment it can no longer muster.
Every look is transferred to the left side
for facial-contextual-inferential analysis but often hijacked by the right
for the purpose of aesthetic appreciation.
Every scent is identified and catalogued with
a perfumer's olfactory precision.
There are hints to catch,
spats to be postmortemed,
crucial dates to be inoculated against amnesia,
preferences to be recorded, compared, grafted,
model answers to catch-22 questions drafted,
declarations of adoring allegiance crafted.
The subject’s mind is apparently required to be read,
two sets of past, present, future to be crossbred,
blindness to other females pled.
There are virtues to exaggerate to divine proportions,
flaws to modify to virtues with willful distortions,
desires to mollify by counseling patience,
thoughts to be felt,
feelings to be thought,
vertigo to be fought.
Still the to-do list grows,
the repairing of an attention that no longer spans,
the mistaking of what happens to millions of others daily
as a unique personal miracle,
the confusing of being loved with being special,
the projecting of an untested passion into an eternity,
the steadying of feet that has taken to walking on air,
the murdering of ballads meant to be trilled,
and the admonishing
of that nonchalantly speeding heart
to be still.
The Bad Priest
In Lyons (I think it was Easter, 1438),
I was a priest and somehow can recall
the dim church, the heavy clouds of frankincense
and the knights and the peasants lined up for communion.
I chanted the magic words
and did the magic gestures but
instead of the wine becoming the blood
of our Blessed Lord,
it changed into piss.
I was not ready for this.
Inside the chalice,
the reflection
of my own most hideous face -
I poured my face onto the floor and
a thousand rats writhing in a sea of worms
destroyed my last pretense of piety.
The congregation – the whores no less than
the assassins – knew that I was one of them
and could no longer hide the fact.
The stained glass windows crackled and shattered,
the church crumpled into rubble;
and we all shrieked
as the earth quaked
and God was deaf:
to the sobs of the amputees.
For the unforgivable crime of sacrilege
the ecclesiastical tribunal interrogated me
under the direction of the Bishop.
Those Dominican friars, those Domine Canes
(bloodhounds of the Lord), figured I'd sold
my soul to the adversary and when they
put me on the rack and hung me up backwards
and hammered each ankle and elbow in turn,
I saw that they must be right,
for they showed such tender concern
for the state of my soul.
I confessed but still had to be tortured again,
in order to confirm the first one.
The Dominicans wanted to burn my genitals
to get to the names of family members
who might be party to this conspiracy,
but in his mercy the Bishop forbade them.
I had to prepare myself for being burned at the stake:
There would be no merciful strangling instead.
I could pray for the grace of God,
but I knew I wouldn’t get it.
I could not even look forward to oblivion
as I regarded that yellow shirt
printed with the Devil's signs
that I'd have to wear on that
morning of shame and buckets of ****.
My friends will ask for my forgiveness
as they set the straw afire.
Will I be a Christian then?
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.
Incident At Owl Inn
A simple call placed to the authorities created panic
Police and Fire vehicles speeding, crashing into each other
Everything they could, in pursuit of the truth
Hysterical hectic red sirens spinning out of control to Owl Inn
Officers of the law drawing guns mercilessly in all directions
One young cop shot his foot in his fervor to kill anything in sight
The captain of the force, ugly breath, panting, takes the Inn in storm
Grabs the manager close and begins his rant
While fire department and police jump and gyrate uncontrollably about
Proprietor Pepper was glowing with concern about the crime
His dissertation was anything but calm or kind
Room 209 was the subject at hand of something odious and grand
A man called John was filthy guilty according to the manager
Who could not continue speaking at this time
But wrote a note about the incident while nearly collapsing
Captain trembled as he read the message, turning pale and gray
In his mind this was a crime of the highest magnitude
Of malfeasance, impropriety, to perpetrate such nasty deeds
The chambermaid was interrogated for hours
She confessed to seeing the man from 209 but once
She told detectives she had soap at home to wash her mind
And screamed at them to leave her be in peace to cry
Scientist, archaeologist and pharmacist were called in
To measure every square inch of room and surrounding Inn
Firemen chopped down the door of 209 to find the truth
The captain of police made his announcement to the gathering
The note of the proprietor was read aloud as follows
“The occupant of room 209 stole 2 small hotel soaps and escaped into the night.”
“We suspect he is from New Jersey.”
Everyone was shocked, confused, did not know what to think or do
What was the bigger crime; stealing hotel soap or being from New Jersey?
You died today, three years ago. Which is when I wrote down this date with a brief note. Katrina died. Yeah, that was all I could fit inside, on the month and date in this small box with a space below your exit time. So it’s there. Centered, where I scribbled down inside, an end date for my sister, my first friend in this life. I can’t believe a calendar can remain so calm when all I do is document days when humans celebrate another year around the sun. Or a painful return to a paralyzing reminder of a human whose time stopped before today began. June, always an unwelcome with you. I have been seeing her in many different places, even showing up in my reflection. Must be because I have been trying not to face it. As it approached the day your spirit was lifted and your human body interrogated. It’s like every time this date jets back around I’m barely picking myself up from the last time I was in fetal position on the ground. Where’s the sweet spot for when this grief stops and I can look at a calendar without hearing tick-tock? I’m sure I’ve forgiven you and myself, so why is your death and absence still making me feel so unwell? Guess it goes back to the fact I love you forever and more, so this date will make my heart sore and my spirit mourn. I just wish I could hug you just once more. I’m just a human and even if I could take this pain away, I wouldn’t. It’s you. It’s a reminder I had you. Lived in the same womb after you, made memories after that with you, laughed with you, and cried with you, it’s the unfair reminder you were 1 and I was 2. Another three hundred and sixty-five without you. 2,3,4, need a one. Mom misses you with every last ounce of her, that she can. I look forward to starting back where it all began. See you when my dial ends.
(Up-Tempo Shuffle)
VERSE A
Each war of personalities
Within your crowded soul
Reaps a gasp of mystery
Anticipated - anticipated ...
But just a flash of golden-green
One sweetened liquored gaze
I'm on a slope that's slippery
Intoxicated - intoxicated - oh
CHORUS 1
I drink you like a madman - ma-ad-man
With cubes of sugar, sugar - sugar, sugar, Baby
I'm clouded like a bad man - ba-ad-man
Bittersweet those sugar highs
Behind your absinthe eyes
VERSE B
You share your social destiny
Your bitter wormwood heart
Those classic drastic emojis
Interrogated - interrogated ...
But all you have to give to me
Is that mossy smouldered look
The surest way to poison me
Contaminated - contaminated - oh
CHORUS 2
I drink you like a madman - ma-ad-man
With cubes of sugar, sugar - sugar, sugar, Baby
I'm clouded like a bad man - ba-ad-man
Bleeding heart for all that lies
Behind your absinthe eyes
BRIDGE
Oh-oh, I drink you in
Oh-oh, that sip of sin
Oh-oh, I'm lost if I begin
(Solo)
CHORUS OUT
I drink you like a madman - ma-ad-man
With cubes of sugar, sugar - sugar, sugar, Baby
I'm clouded like a bad man - ba-ad-man
Angels weep as heaven cries
Behind your absinthe eyes
I drink you like a madman - ma-ad-man
With cubes of sugar, sugar - sugar, sugar, Baby
I'm clouded like a bad man - ba-ad-man
Drowning in a sea of sighs
Behind your absinthe eyes
Behind your absinthe eyes
Behind your absinthe eyes.
* The music for this song has been written, and it WILL be on my upcoming
album/CD - watch for updates on my web site @ www.bahku.com *
This is a friendship I would like to develop
from their time periods so different indeed
Joan the brave warrior for God's cause
John valiant for truth poor souls to feed
Joan, John says what was prison like?
being interrogated before the final trial
well says Joan one just felt God's near
felt His strength to stand firm and no denial
Now, John, you faced such opposition
Joan speaks with such great admiration
what was Geneva like in your time?
well, John speaking it seemed a new creation
God was bringing conviction on so many
truth did effect even me deep into my soul
now, Joan, you dressed as a man in battle
your femininity, did you feel it was stole
Joan replies no it was my calling
God's will is always the safest place to be
I've just been reading through your institutes
justification by faith has set us free
John then relates to its real influence
when writing it he never thought it so
but God uses our weak efforts in His power
as in the reformation spread his word to go
Now John and Joan came so very fond
for each other and their own love for God
Jehovah Jireh means God will provide
both know this by the use of His sword
Gods provision was to work in both
appreciation for each other so clear
but I know in reality they never met
only 130 years divided them to be near
(I've brought together John Calvin the Swiss reformer(1509-1564) and Joan of Arc who rescued France from English domination. (1412-1431), both French by birth and both mightily used of God. I did a piece 'The coming together of John and Joan' a few weeks ago but thought there was more room to expand this theme and here is the conclusion.)
Humpty Dumpty's job was an important one he knew
a secret service agent looking for clues
sitting on the brick wall as a lookout man
as the kings parade caused horse traffic jams
Looking around for any suspicious suspects
he looked up and down, right and to the left
not seeing anyone looking to kill the king
he let his guard down not noticing anything
Before he knew it he felt a mighty shove
falling down he cracked open showing gooey substance
with the kings parade coming to a quick halt
running over to poor Humpty wondering who was at fault
Most of the kings men picked up his pieces of shell
trying to piece him back together which was sheer hell
suddenly the towns baker showed up with a huge shovel
saying I'll clean this up without any trouble
So they let the baker have poor Humpty's remains
who used his yolk and egg whites but not his brain
whipping up lofty delicious cakes, pies and souffles
Humpty's unfortunate death sure made his day
Which led the kings men to be highly suspicious
as the baker always thought of Humpty as mighty delicious
anytime he had seen Humpty Dumpty passing on by
you could hear the baker whisper I need him for my cakes and pies
So they interrogated the baker who was a nervous wreck
and after 48 hours he broke down and confessed
saying he was real low on eggs that fateful day
and climbed up behind and shoved Humpty without delay
Finally the case was solved and the baker sent to jail
while poor Humpty's remains were in cakes that were for sale
Humpty's best friend read his eulogy not believing he was dead
sobbing he exclaimed, man he was an awfully good egg!!
6-24-18