Long Just deserts Poems
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The trash has been removed by wind and truck, by hands
much smaller and hearts much larger than his.
The twinkling lights no longer shine on the tree
or in my eyes. Scourer of malls, hunter of treasures
magpie to the crownless king, reveling in his “just” deserts?
The cold, meaningless, plastic gesture of his disregard lay
under the barren Xmas tree, barren, as his love for me.
His treasures piled high, exquisitely dripping with each
memorized desire, truffles melting on his thoughtless tongue,
scrapbook memories litter the pointless horizon.
Soon, he would attempt to hurl three decades of subservient
gestures out, out like the small flame of love left, in the empty
space which was my heart.
Drifting aimlessly
I have sipped the ladled blades
in this cold chicken soup
Set upon a table of just deserts
on the far end of the horizon
Spoon fed disappointments
staining a multi-colored tie,
hated for what it’s worth
and only half as much for what it means
Navigating a narrow hallway
of slanted photographs, framed and fading
Dripping down papered walls,
torn designs, baseboard gatherings,
stopping only for locked doors,
weather worn carpets
burning my hands and knees
The spiral staircase teeters on its polished axis
as I weave my way towards the furthest star,
carbon copied desires on an unending page
rolled and stuffed in my shirt pocket, mapping
each pie slice step, counted and forgotten of
crusted blueberry footprints…crumbs
falling through celestial cracks,
drifting aimlessly
Never ever will they forget, they swear
neither will we ever shirk their shtick, I fear
So it's with the dedication of a sinner to prayer that they dole out their perceived just deserts Fists kneading the skies, feet rousing the dirt
"WE WON’T FORGET! WE WON’T FORGIVE!’’
Sating us with a taste of their privilege.
Least we forget we are lackeys
Forever puckered up, tongues impaled as
the thunderous echo of our silence trumpets
our cheerful endorsement. Dedicated to drowning out the cobweb of protests rousing from the very depths of our down trodden souls where our own grief lies in a state of woeful neglect. Forgotten
like the fabled black poppies
"WE WON’T FORGET! WE WON’T FORGIVE’’
From their glutted gobs straight into our famished bellies while we continue to scour for sustenance in an endless sea of disparity, our weary backs, all the while, arched for their fragile egos to rest on.
When darkness finally rescues us, our souls finally unyoke, under its warmth we lick our wounds. In its depth we bury our shame and mourn the self pillorying of our dignity, as we nuzzle unto the source for restoration
We bow to the ones who swirl eternally in the dark belly of the bottomless seas, chained limbs still entangled in seaweeds, forgotten
the ones whose blood watered foreign lands just for another's pillage and plunder, unsung heroes, footprints long swept away by the winds of time. Spirits denied the tribal rites of passage home, their names only ever whispered by howling gales and ferocious typhoons.
Was it not your souls that put this fire in our bellies? Are you not the root of our resilience?
Author of our hope, though I have no banners to hoist nor a gavel to crack in your honour, my heart remains your monument
I breathe for you to live, your blood inflames my veins, your strength powers my loins, marrow to my bones, your wisdom quickens my step, even as I dance to the master's false tune, your gentle spirit soothes my aching soul
I now know you need no validation
that’s enough to see me through, the rise and fall of my chest a trusty reminder, least I forget
God looked and saw evil looming on the horizon—
so much evil and no sign of Justice.
He couldn’t believe what he saw,
not a soul around to correct this awful situation.
So he did it Himself, took on the work of Salvation,
fueled by His own Righteousness and Justice.
He dressed in Righteousness, put it on like a Suit of Armor,
with Salvation on His head like a Helmet,
Put on Justice like an overcoat,
and threw a Cloak of PASSION across His shoulders.
He’ll make everyone pay for what they’ve done,
fury for his foes just deserts for His enemies.
Even the far-off islands will get paid off in full.
In the East and West, they’ll fear the name of God,
in the North and South, they’ll fear the glory of God,
He’ll arrive like a river in a flooded stage,
whipped to a torrent by the wind of His mighty Power.
“I’ll arrive in Zion as Redeemer,
to those who are willing to leave their sins behind.”
God’s Decree, His Righteousness and Justice prevailed.
Religion or Spirituality
It's a mix, a blend,
the latest, last and final trend
subtle inuendos neither foe nor friend.
How many ask the question
and just who gets to decide together or apart
thoughts of our minds and souls and hearts
the answer is unknown and only tries to hide.
An author once said
Organized Religion is the detriment to finding God
some say you need not search, after all, isn't God dead?
I cannot accept that concept in my mind
my God lives, thrives, survives
the creator of all life, space, and time
no matter how much we might try to deny,
Perhaps for some, religion is a necessity at first
in the early years of childhood after birth,
to set a path of determination for any faith to win
formulating a routine for a seeker's self-discipline,
to know which direction we need to go
living life as best we can within its flow.
Perhaps, the path is less clear and more diverse
in an effort to satisfy their own thirst
where each individual must find their way,
and seek the path in which to pray
recognizing the reality of life unrehearsed,
everyone is given a measure of their just deserts.
I am convinced, having looked at all sides now
that each one of us must find their own truth somehow
be it a religion to give us a start
there to find the revelations within our heart
to touch the very how and why
we are born, live, and die.
Just breathe it all in, open wide the door,
it was never yourself you were looking for-
it is the Creator, alive and well
the God of your soul
the One, who you know and can tell
the secrets of your heart as you grow
waiting in the calm, for you to come home.
The Unseeking Seeker's contest
on religion or spirituality
5/16/21
The things which make my blood rise
surge and boil, bringing a witches cauldron’s
of hell fire, to the for…are not the natural things like sunrise
or the beauty of a pasture green, or golden
No, for me it is all, the daily injustices that men promote
as women implore…
Beauty soothes my heart and calms my ragged breath.
But, a man who thinks he’s better than another
bringing his ‘truth’ to bear, with the force of power,
stepping on the crowns of those, seen as lesser,
now that…causes blood to pink the whites of my eyes
as a woman, I explore..
In a universal culture where men hold sway
with swaggering strides and violent threats,
the smaller, finer, delicate things like diatoms*
in water are crushed, destroyed, forgotten, in the roil*
of war…
Man who must focus worship on themselves
denying the wet, warm, womb of the Mother,
men who mouth protection, as the reason for their gore,
men who would have more than their fair share
and tout* dominion* as their just deserts*…
men such as these..these men, encourage war..
and return to us our dead children
wrapped in the flags of nationalism..
for with the self granted pride of man
they bring war..
Bring us back to the days before,
before we saw ourselves as separate
to the interlocked and laced days,
when each form was blessed.
Let my heart ease, let my blood calm,
take the taint of pride from me and mankind
and let each and everyone see the value
of peace through unity..
*untoward / causing misfortune *diatoms/ one-celled alga *roil /make somebody angry
*tout / praise somebody or something *dominion / ruling control
*deserts / something somebody deserves
Nopalero = one who deals with/sells nopales [edible prickly pear cactus leafs/pads]
Aiiiii, Jimmy --
what shall we say, now that you've gone,
worst fear realized: your body discovered,
days later, in your filthy Mexican rooms,
amid the soiled paper littering the floors,
reeking of cat urine and layer upon layer
of dried and fresher feces. These feral cats
were your most faithful companions.
You thought yourself their benefactor and,
perhaps, their savior. We were told that,
after your demise, when the door opened,
all 21 fled, never to return.
You left us, unbathed, smelly, shunned,
just weeks before your birthday,
having almost (but not quite) suffered
through 80 years, the last 30 spent in
bordertown Mexico. You, daily, crossed
the bridge to claim your mail -- which (for a fee)
promised to guarantee you would be a winner
of lotteries, sweepstakes, miraculous windfalls.
You subsisted on senior coffees at McD's,
and your pitiful government assistance.
You blamed your life on abuse by brothers
(all dead long before you) and you could not
understand why richer acquaintances --
virtually everyone -- were unwilling
to share with you their bounty.
In the plazas, you were a familiar sight,
selling whatever you could: you were
"el viejo gringo," "el Jimmy," "el nopalero,"
and other less generous but, perhaps, appropriate
"apodos". You knew animals, had some expertise
with birds. Your chief preoccupation was
yourself, and your main complaint was
that you never got your just deserts.
No one deserves to end as you did -- unclaimed,
a foreign body, interred in Mexico
in an unmarked pauper's grave:
a "fosa comun." You only wanted to be loved.
RIP my friend; I did not mean to be unkind.
James Milford Pierson, 27 February 1934 - 2 February 2014.
Poison ivy’s ruby kiss
Strip all the ink away
Do away with her kiss; ivy.
Ivy’s kiss still stings
clings to a heart that’s inked deep
deeply rooted ivy- spicy leaves…
leaves her mark on a trifling bum.
A bum brim full of hot air teases
kisses out of icy ivy, earns a rash.
A rush of Ivy’s ruby kisses stings
clings to his heart, inked deep
weep away her kiss, ivy, he tries!
denies he still cares: eyes stinging
Stringing her along- rather coyly
another oily tongue that love bombs Ivy
envy not it’s frolics in ivy seas.
See, Ivy wears her poison like an armour
Dour ego: Ivy seized its crown.
down in the dumps it stays
bays all day long, tongue wrung out
strung out, just deserts he gets
he regrets spitting at ivy seas.
See, Ivy wears her poison like an armour…
sour lour is a ruby kissed clown
Down in the dumps lives the clown.
Form:
I pushed the red button
The one that said don't push the red button
And ended up on the other side
Of something out of nothing
I was in another world
Another space and time
Where I appeared to see what looked like me
As I, me, and mine all intertwined
My guess is this is the universe
If I ever had my doubts
Parallel as far as I can tell
Or somewhere there about
When suddenly I walked up to me
Mono to Mono, Man to Man
Since I am me and he is me
Should we hug or just shake hands
That's when I asked myself to dinner
Where we had a pleasant time
I found out through all of this
That I'm a pretty likable guy
He as me picked up the tab
And me as he paid for the tip
As I insisted through all of this
That I'd get all of it
We talked about what I enjoyed
And much to my surprise
Everything it is I like
So do I
As we were both eating our just deserts
This info happened about by chance
That this wasn't at all a parallel universe
But the Southern most tip of France
I was wondering while I was out with myself
Why he was speaking French
Now that I think about it
It all makes perfectly good sense...
The Unholy Donut
Void, vacant, empty is my life
Of cream filled treasures
More value there than is the princess virgin
On Sunday where the need’s more urgent
After church and prayers
And rushing with a crashing passion speed
To donut shop with my craven need
Where is my cream filled donut please?
Did I not pay my last three pennies for my treat?
What’s this defeat?
Alas! My dreams are dashed.
The donut is there but not intact
Someone stole the sweet interior
Missing is the Bavarian cream
Absconded from the scene
Missing like a long lost love at sea
Lost like my mind and memory
And like my first love,
Pretty on the outside but empty within
Oh cold cruel world! Where could it be?!
What have I done to deserve such wicket fate and misery?
My just deserts snatched from me from the depths of hell
Some demon monster stole my soul and prize as well
And sold it on the internet I’m sure for pennies more
Advertised by shape, size and smell
Waitress? Oh waitress? Could I have another donut please?
But this time with a hole inside
….something to hold on to with no surprise
Till the day I die