Long Irradiated Poems
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Alice and Alex always ate apples.
Bobby brought baked beans
Carol cooked cleaned catfish
David decorated delicious donuts
Ellen endured eating eleven eggs
Freddie fried five fish
Gina grabbed green grapes.
Holly had Heavenly Hash
Ivan indulged in Ice cream
John just jostled jello
Kim kept kool aid
Lisa loves long licorice
Mike made mini meatloaf
Nan needed new napkins
Oliver offered olives
Peter preferred pumpkin pies
Queenie quietly quit
Rosaline roasted ribs
Sharon sampled strawberry sauce
Tom tossed the tomatoes
Ulysses used utensils
Valerie vegetables varied
Willy wasted watermelon
Xavier x-irradiated xacuti
Yolanda yielded yellow yogurt
Zack zested zucchini
UNDERSTATEMENT
language
confirms
the
familiar
even a weakness
angst
melodrama
wonder
the
significant
reciprocated
precisely
a
modern echo
momentarily
a
slight
foretaste
vibrant
elegant
twirling
surreally
&colourfully
rendered
an avatar
of
estrangement
in an
unmistakable
panoply
of
glowing
visages
eyeballing
sallow
isolation &
unsettling
existence
animated
swirling
fathoms
of
fantasy
irradiated
with
innocence
exuding
the
will-o’-the-wisp
influence
expressly
apparent
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Who defended Jews from Nazis in WW2
A few brave souls here and there
Foul-smelling smoke from crematoria arose
The masses turned aside, held their nose
Only dirty Jews being gassed, burnt, chopped up and flayed
Only unclean Jewish women being gang-raped by the SS night and day
Only Jewish genitals being irradiated in sexual experiments
Only 'Jew-dogs' ~ their essence, filth and excrement
Today, Islamists shout 'Allah Akhbar,' then slaughter
Jewish grandmas, wives, babies, sons and daughters
The West cowers, labels them 'militants,' not terrorists
Israel, retaliate: Shoot every Hamasnik dead
~ Not a single one can you afford to miss
Alternately titled: Get out of my head mister chatterbox!
While inside me noggin legions
of monstrous demons abhor
protest being force fed
arcane and obscure
assaying into religious dogma
hence mind chatter goes full bore
thus crafting poem quite a difficult chore,
one lightweight bag of bones
basketcase weave gotta deplore,
nevertheless mine tincup rattled
courtesy garden variety eyesore
athwart slip stream
of space/time continuum
twenty two minus
seven years and fourscore
orbitz around black hole sun
scattering cremains galore
camouflage ashes colored like hoar.
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" sexual exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia
finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
gook suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
I’ve often heard people declare
that "it is only property!"
And something about that hand-wave
has never sat quite right with me.
Youths fooled by socialistic lies,
academics in their bubbles,
power-hungry politicos…
they all say it, and cause trouble.
None of them seem to understand
what your property represents,
and act as if some random force
is handing out dollars and cents.
They never seem to really get
that property equates to life,
particularly what you gave
through work, aggravation, and strife.
The equation’s not hard to see,
to get property you need cash;
in any sort of moral state
you’re going to have to earn that.
Provide a needed service or
a good that other people want,
whether you’re in a big law office
or a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.
Which means you’re gonna have to work,
give up hours you can’t get back,
sacrifice your limited time,
money as the reward for that.
The money you hold in your hands,
or the property that it bought,
represents a chunk of your life,
that’s why you should keep what you’ve got.
Because when some fool comes around
and demands you give it to them,
they’re choosing to invalidate
part of your very existence.
They’re taking all that time from you
by taking the hard work’s reward,
there is a word for such folks: Thieves,
and the bastards always want more.
They forget that when a worker,
be it waiter or CEO,
gets not reward for the hard work,
they will throw up their hands and go.
Why sacrifice hours doing
labor they might not eve like,
if they get nothing for the stress,
I tell you, that just isn’t right.
And if these people up and quite
the goods and services collapse,
fancy coffee, your slick new phones,
they’re all gonna disappear fast.
And some may thing the government
will just step up and take its place,
Russia tried, killed twenty million,
irradiated half the place.
Even the best of governments
are rank with corruption and fraud,
men can’t design economies,
it’s well-proven natural law.
These rights are the foundations that
allow wealth to happen at all,
these people who demonize it
are trying to make it all fall.
So next time you see some damn fool
say "property rights don’t exist,"
know that they’re a thief and tyrant,
who’d gladly see free men perish.
Having failed yet another repair, on the leaking rods
I spit my liquified bowels all over the walls
Retching up toxic filth within
an expectoration of black lumpy phlegm
forms a pebbledash of grotesque sin
Some I recognize, some I can’t figure out
but it’s me, spewing cancer is my distinctive subtlety
carries my mark, the mark of a closet misanthropist
the splattered mucus develops into a mural
speckled with irradiated lies
Etching deep into the walls
a perfect reflection of my gangrenous soul
Instinctively eating the flesh off my hands
takes away the gnawing pain of paranoia
absolving my torments once and for all,
unencumbered at last, I now feel the truth, agony is real.
look at me, look inward at my outward humiliation
Bleeding out, upon his own sick soul
innards burning like hell
The walls turn molten
meltdown complete
By
David Kavanagh
As the Dime Store sirens flared
bolts of irradiated invite,
my query was denied.
Their pimp-striped pilots only moaned,
their lust fueled by encapsulated
stench carried only by toothless carnies
from the canyons. Canyons o’ Crazed Confliction.
And behind… the dull dynamo hum.
I screamed for the Kelp Queen to come to me,
her tresses woven wave-like in the wabe.
My demands were simple.
The scars of the trucker's she must carry
(as war carries death)
for inbreeding has tainted her line.
“Can Omaha be far?” she pleaded
and tugged at my inter-ache
as tin balloons tug with time .
“For you?” I replied in a
flatulent belch.
The boiling madness was by now
beyond the horizon but kept in check
still by the neon dogs crouching by day under the interchange.
It is they who will now stalk the disease plagued ports
I sailed from so many
days
and
images
ago.
Until her kleptic crew of vagrants and priests
sprint with me in postpartum harmony.
Hipsters for TRUTH.
Pulp wrung out of sunset squeeze
Chinese dragon clouds
make mandarin marquees
Purple curtain shrouds
Folks without homes nobody sees
Electrified skies spark dust to flare
inside a vacant apartment
Twilight society’s fabric tears
Cringe crimson impairment
Wealth shields from irradiated glare
Wishing star stuck in limbo, catapults
daydream sun, distant flung
Pigeon sprauchle sudden vanish jolts
Mortified moon, hopes hung
Crusted blankets magic carpet vaults
8th November 2024
Written for Contest:
Jolted by Twilight
Sponsor: Di11y Da11y
We are happy about the music,
a Mozart serenade that is not too dangerously deep.
Somewhere in the night
angels are falling off their nightmares,
black horse escaping on an ebbing tide.
Mozart is a skinny youth, his pink bubble gum
is happy, you can tell by the way his tongue pokes
through it, how he snicks the goo through
his front teeth.
Trick cyclists and other men in white tights
hold us spellbound, we beam happily
upturned faces shinning like full moons.
It is good to be radiantly irradiated from doubt,
cajoled by endless bouts of happiness.
The music is remembered as it plays
within the small organic organs of our love.
Good that everything fits now with no sharp edges.
Good to be smoothly functioning
in such a non-challenging way.
A harlequin struts, then bows obsequiously,
we are happy that his triangulated
three pronged hat can ring its little bells.
It is good to stand in the shallow end
and never feel the need to swim, sink or drown.
Good to rely on the orchestrated
dispensing powers that be,
good to be this happiness
measured out in prepackaged cups
for ease of use and no unsightly waste.
The devil is in the very fine print,
nobody reads it, and the Cosmos of All Other Things
snores on. Happily, we sing of he and thee,
run to the television screens for reassurance,
choose only the finest upholstery
to keep us from sagging for another year.
Let the soothing play on
our world is not perfect, but its serenades
are largely happy, and do not hound us out of our joy
like other darker compositions do.
Get Out Of My Head Mister Chatterbox!
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" sexual exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia
finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
gook suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!