Long Knee high Poems
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You can't imagine what its like to march on a sacred city,
to plunder and pulverize a Peoples' promise to Deity,
demolishing centuries of lavish labor, wasting offspring of ancient heredity,
destroying flesh, scriptures and stone with a savage Roman military synergy,
a discipline determined in it's destruction of dissention, inspired by ancestral victory,
politics was not our purview, methodical punishment was our specialty,
We were War's royalty, we were Legio XV Apollonaris,
monsters of Mars, messengers of Apollo, the juggernaut of Jupiter,
along with 11 other Legions led by General Titus, 60, 000 cuts of glory we stood,
for 3 and a half years we fought through Jewish guerilla ambush
asymetrical urban warfare welting our progress like a pirate pestilence
district after district, hell spell after hell spell we bled with chilled maneuver,
the Zealots were pyromaniacs, burnt sacraficers, their zeal and our bodies zesty wood,
in the Kidron Valley they flooded the streets " knee high " with oiled water
as the Cohorts waded through the lanes leery, a torch was tossed, flames rose in rush
240 men perished like spazing stars trapped in a box, our grief agape with a horrified crush,
as reprimand, Titus made the Legate sit in a tent with his chopped off ring finger
smoldering like hot sand in the hand of a marooned man aware of error in his plan,
the insurgents had men we called Fox Tails, desperate demons who knew how Hell began,
as a skirmish succumbed to our skill and number they would run into apartments,
dragging the fury of our blades into rooms of Hades revenge, these were fire entrapments,
the buildings would blaze like windowed volcanos, screams salting us with panic linger,
It was not uncommon to discover a missing Brother Legionary
castrated, and decapitated with a headedless eagle carved upon his chest,
don't speak to me about morals and mercy for I have seen and dealt the damage of rude death
hate becomes your Father, vengence your Mother, aggravated murder your cause
when everything you revere and fear merge to make a leviathen of life,
the " Chosen People " of God became the chosen target of annihilation,
Mount Moriah, mansion of Yahweh the Pariah would become capital of Divine crucifixion,
J.A.B.
This poem has been entered into the Roman Legion Contest
to honor Ancient Rome and the Poet who sponsored this historical subject.
Twittered Via Chilled Wren
At Valley Forge, Pennsylvania
Prior carte blanche to confessing illicit
extra-marital affair
I embolden tomb ache
elicit, and baldly bare
faced laid out some
of the sordid details clear
embarrassed at one escapade
in particular constituting dear
peppy's questing randy romping caper
necessitating vigilance 'ere
a park ranger, (or other unsuspecting
winter weather way
Farer attired in gear
adequately bundled
cold as a witch's tit
seasoned trooper)
reluctantly repeated here
(unforgettable if only be
cause this "FAKE" Casanova ace
thee Missus i.e.wife)
did conversationally chase
beseeched, hen pecked,
and implored me NOT to erase
boot to recount with (itty bitty)
Monty Python glory, a straight face,
that one particular amazingly grace
obviously penned up,
and not in the write
mind (pre poetry daze),
which scurrilous anecdote
did (and still does) in vite
guffawing, sans
peculiar public philandering,
with atavistic cave man
designs tried to unite
where daunting phallus spite
confronting Arctic Vortex when right
lee let loose from pants
froze like a little popsicle quite
purposely remained flaccid
leaving me in a penile plight
when trying to hump
(standing up like a good Knight
comically ridiculous travesty)
With Barbara B****, light
of adventurous Green Beret spirit, the
Unabashed MILF about average height
fifty years, whose busty bosom
silicone breast implants
tell tale viz radiation
and chemo therapy fight
(resulting from post
Ductal Carcinoma in situ)
needless to tell
nary an erectile spell
Asper tinker soldier
tailor spy didst quell
basic animal instinct,
and feral gonadal horniness
with intent to consummate sexual intercourse
according tummy ought to occur,
cuz that blustery air
mirroring said day when hell
nearly froze over invoking
intervention from Cain and/or Abel.
Thus when prick remained
limp and nearly frost bitten
(at a boulder christened cock rock),
aye frostily smitten
slogging wet sneakers, thru
knee high snow...now, no mo' tubby written.
Form:
Oh beautiful Gypsy,
I see you there, in amber campfire mist.
On the banks of a crystalline pool, a bronze skinned lovely moving with intoxicating rhythm to the strum of guitars.
Sable eyes, gleaming with wanderlust, transfixed on distant dreams. Raven hair sheens cobalt blue, in glow of a pale full moon.
The tethered babushka and brilliant layered skirt, your banners of freedom. Knee high boots clad dancing feet, in a feverish itch to perform on new stages. Your opulence, jingle jangling from dainty wrists and pierced lobes, echoes the hypnotic song of rattling tambourines.
A blissful celebration in your enchanted home of nebulous walls forged of the four winds.
Oh beautiful Gypsy;
Last of the true migrants, paying homage only to purity of your clan. The devout mystic, whose babes suckle the nectar of white magic.
Your larder bulges fat, having labored a deconstructed nine to five.
A harmonious oneness with nature, your forte, honed to perfection in compassionate artistic crafts. With gentleness, you bring calm obedience to the untamed steed. In thoughtful consideration, parleying the fate and fortune of the gadjo, eager to lay down their silver and gold for charms and spells.
You trade in good faith only to be slandered in whispers of vagabond and theif. Your colorful lifestyle, jaded to a monotone hue of envious green.
A hopeless romantic smothered in Judas kisses.
Oh beautiful Gypsy,
Even as you celebrate in this newly discovered place, it's freshness grows stale to your delicate senses.
A bohemian lineage begs you go before the next cock crows.
The insatiable hunger to feast your eyes on unfamiliar lands pangs your very essence.
It has proven to be far too great for you to abstain; for it is the morrow.
A radiant sunrise reveals an abandoned starry eyed reflection lingering on a lonesome pond.
The scent of pungent garlic, rich brew and sweet tobacco hovers, as a perfumed phantom, in the desolate air.
Tracks of your wagon wheels flow through emerald meadows like a lazy river, avoiding stagnation.
Conformity lies choking in the dust of your painted caravan.
A nomadic soul in dreamy persuit of the horizon that looms forever in the distance.
Till we never meet again,
Oh beautiful Gypsy
I guess you could say I was more than just devoted
I guess I could say I was your true friend till the end
Like every Soldier never left a fellow Soldier on the Battlefield
That's not how we do this
And when I seen you in a predictament I could'nt help it
I guess it was my own fault
I guess we had to really be selfish
Never acting out of kindness
Always bashing on each other cause we're so angry
and frustrated at the way that life is
And I know that he's not really like me
He could never replace me
That's okay - I left - I had to leave
It was'nt my fault, I guess you could say it was all part of my destiny
Cause if I did'nt feel the pain and I did'nt experience the hardships
How could I sit here and give you anything heartfelt
Of course every since I was knee high
I have suffered more than many, many, many times
And many lives and many sufferings
And many pains from many mothers
That was born and the child was stillborn
But he was still formed and his heart throbbed
But we never seen it because the Life never breathe the air
And the oxygen just goes back it's like backdrafts
It's like I'm coming back and I'm bashing
I guess you could say in hell they tried to grab my soul so many times
That the devil - bad, real bad - like the Lord said He chosen me
Like I got more demons they just coming over here
Falling and coming off people that's surounding me
That's okay stack em up\\\\\\\ Baby I got an Army of Angels
That's - why - I be on the beat
Be looking like - The Golden Streets
Th Mansion the Lord has for us
Yes I believe - I will receive - Eternity
Yes I believe God, He is Loving me
And I tell you I'm the worst sinner
I'm the least of men
But Jesus said he'd be the greatest in The Kingdom Of Heaven
And I'd be happy just to be the custodion
Just to be the one, just to be the Janitor
To clean up the mess I made
I guess it would - take - many Eternity's just to clean it all up
And the pain I caused and the mistakes I made
And every thing I think about
I geuss you could say everything thing happens for a reason
Why? Don't tell me that
Don't try to break it down
Just make it simple like
Like I needed to be a simple man
But I'm so complex and complicated
Just like the layers is!
Look past
the faded little girl braids and bows
in a polaroid picture
buttery yellow skirt
curtsying a smile
frog prince
imprisoned in her palm
under a creamy pound cake sun
(her grandmother’s recipe
sugar and spice folded carefully
with love and guilt
into a thick summer sky)
daisies like polka dots
piecemeal on her bonnet
seem to stare down
her face with jaundice eyes
slanted above ensnaring weeds
swirls of sorrow linger
in knee-high field
where flowers grew wild like
freedom once felt
Look closer picture fading
She is running
legs bent shouting from the page
stockings peeled off
lanky legs running
through her pain
till her heart detaches
from a barefoot soul
She still feels spiky burs in her heels
drops of blood
zigzag numb
beyond the treeline
memories meld
love and loss
euphoric rush warm winds fuel
an urgency her creation
until lightning strikes
her grief rushing to catch up
through crushed wildflowers
fragmented patterns
under paths at her feet
tears flooded her field overgrown
She remembers to forget
Her mother
buried under
a distant willow
She was taught
by her grandmother
to be composed
poised like other girls
wad up unpleasant feelings
slip them into a corner
of the cedar chest
under layers
of afghans and quilts
she laid them to rest
long ago but
never stopped
her fidgety legs from weaving
through floral tapestries
of field and meadow
wild brush turned emerald green
in mourning
Her daddy passed away
ten years ago today
He was buried with wildflowers
tucked softly
in his lapel and praying hands
he always said windswept blooms
reminded him of his girls
If you look closely at the picture
of that faded little girl
you will see her running
from the graves
as the wildflowers crush
beneath her feet
I was at the drive-in
with two of my good friends.
We were watching the latest new
freak-show of a movie,
trying to figure out
the psychologically twisted plotline.
Needing to give my eyes and my mind a rest,
I turned my head to the right of me,
when time stood still.
The gravel on the ground
grew great under the grandeur of the sky,
almost meeting the horizon
with its coarse soul.
The clouds in the night air
were a dull purple, perfectly blending
the heavenly host and the city below
into a smear of forgotten nonsense
that hovered over everything
and made its second existence
on the gravelly parking lot below.
Scattered
around the perimeter of the area
were knee-high garden lights
radiating with a blue-white hue
that made them seem like
stationary orbs of hope,
only meant to be encountered
in small doses,
because such happiness all at once
isn’t supposed to happen in this world.
Limbo?
The place where
everything stops,
and for one second,
you can think forever,
let your mind wander
without worrying about
what you want and where you were
and who you are.
You can remember the past,
change the past,
change the present,
see the future
all between the height of your aspirations
and the pit of reality.
A place where you can relive
every relationship you’ve ever had,
the bad ones that make the good ones
that much more beautiful.
You see the music that you’ve heard your whole life,
except now you see it floating in the air,
making melodies and humming harmonies in the soft wind.
In the distance, you see
one point;
it’s a crossroads, an intersection;
the horizontal axis is
everything you could ever hope for in this life,
and the vertical axis is
everything that can ever interrupt that hope,
and you can’t help but feel that where you’re at
is where you’re supposed to be at that time.
You feel in control of so little,
and you feel overwhelmed by so much,
that the only thing you know you can safely do
to alleviate that heavy pressure in your lungs
is breathe,
in long, slow huhs,
and think about where you go from here.
I was at the drive-in,
and all of this happened
in a second.
I was thinking today
That in itself
Is a very scary thought
About all the people who
Crisscross +++++++++++++
Through our lives
Some of these people
Without any doubt
Are just people we want something from
Or
People who want something from us
And once that need is gone
So are they
Then there are other people
That we know forever
But wish we had never met
And lets not forget
The ones we only met once
Wish we would know forever
But never see again
Well this isn’t about any of them
This is about
The people
We loved and lost
But never should have
Please know that the love I’m speaking of is friendship
Our friends define who we are
More than anything else
In life
My best friend and I
Haven’t spoken
In now on 15 years
In all honesty
That is my fault
It is also one of the worse mistakes
That I ever made
I was so hurt
The hurt brought anger
The anger brought action
And it all happened so fast
Soon as I did it, I felt so ashamed
I think his father could see that in my eyes
The whole family was a part of my heart
Dennis was my best friend
Judy was my girlfriend
Kristin, Jeffery & Haley were my step-kids
Dale was my younger brother
Jack & Joy were Mom & Dad
We had all known each other
Since I was knee high
I learned a valuable lesson that day
I learned that no matter how strong love is
How many years of foundation it may have
Addiction will destroy it
--- It’s the nature of the business ---
One evening my dog and I discovered a nature enveloped trail and we went for
a walk. In the dandelion laden grass we encountered a grazing doe with two
identical looking offspring. Unexpectedly, a taller than average woman stepped
out from behind a laurel with her bow drawn and the arrow pointing in our
direction. Frozen with fright, I could not talk.
A golden arrow spiraled from her bow and whizzed by my dog and I. It felt as
though my heart jumped out of my chest and into my throat. With my heart
still racing-I turned to see her intended target. I had such a feeling of relief that
we did not die.
The arrow hit a black panther that had been silently stalking. Upon hitting the
panther, the arrow made a loud popping noise and seemed to disintegrate into
thin air. The arrow left behind a cloud of golden dust and flakes. I was reduced
to jaw-drop gawking.
The black cat shrieked, jumped, and bolted into the wooded darkness. I turned
again to look at the woman and noticed a dog at her side. Her dog had a
slender build, floppy ears, and a narrow face. The woman had long shimmering
blonde hair, blue eyes, and an attitude with a hint of starkness.
She was wearing what appeared to be ancient Greek clothing and knee-high
lace up rawhide boots. And, she was wearing a tiara made with golden leaves
and honey suckle. She had an aura of a goddess. I thought she must have
been reared in the realm of the gods with Mount Olympus being her roots.
This now gentile woman, knelt down, extended her hand, and summoned the
doe and her twins. To my amazement, they complied without hesitation. I
thought she must be a mixture of darkness and light. After all, it’s the
perfection of balance that wins.
After petting the deer, the huntress stood up, nodded in my direction, and
strolled off with her hunting dog into the fir ruled forest and disappeared out
of sight. My dog and I returned home and while doing chores later that
evening, my attention was drawn to a painting that I had of a goddess and her
dog. With wonderment upon my discovery, I grinned with delight.
Season of dream haze and arctic signpost.
Chill and chap brood whose scattered offspring plummet thermal values as welcome mat for “whiskered” chimney guest awash with bounty.
Thief of sun filled days without a twinge but that universal late December rendezvous can’t be thrust off-course.
Primal raw wind howl dissing summer’s distant memory - spotty and erratic though it was.
Deck chair, seat of toil free bliss now cold front recess blob.
Mirage or wishful thinking from a wet weather veteran.
We live in fear of reruns like Ophelia or
2010’s black ice.
Storm Force Brian, Mount Fuji on an airwave shrapnel carrier.
Dormant Loch Ness shadow’s fervent air mass plugging festive tunes.
To fuel dispatch and chimney sweep alike a sacred windfall.
For those who struggle just another inroad on an ever
shrinking pocket.
Yet this annual curtain closer has its grail and saving grace.
Dark art charmer lacing every patch for knee high boot crunch.
Architect of igloo closet ski cap.
Sleigh ride bell upon that maligned feast around our globe (Noel hark the alpine carol)!
Bizarre but only to us frostbite souls aloof from glacial beauty.
Deep freeze spirit canvass may not surface.
Christmas anthems booming over frolic footfall streets adorned by night owls.
Chaser lights that gee up gutted ghost town black spot.
Urban ice rink dome another fantasy or wonderland.
Toy shop stock n trade whose only trade is stock.
Colour coded gadget clutching every cell of window space.
Fashion fodder wizards magic spark a toddler’s glee at every turn.
Boisterous strains of Santa rousing inner reindeers - the sort beloved by children down the ages.
Yuletide decor gift band holly bush spike.
Log tossed on fire, kindling stick incendiary, leaping flame enshrouds smokeless polish.
Punch bowl nasal spice so aptly named rum do!
Skim milk skyline flaunts its snow fleck jewellery aloft.
Stars of astral compass spread their twinkle dash on human garlands.
Winter’s stepwise edging in a whirl plume of slush.
Christmas well and truly has arrived.
NB Polish as in Polish Coal,
Early Times
Panting through a few females.
Running on the spot mostly.
Go to Paris to find myself
find a locally made Gallic STD.
Have a Ringo mustache,
the prostitutes on the Montmartre
think I’m pretty cool for a kid.
Beach bum along the Mediterranean,
bare feet imprinted on sand do not last,
however, sun, sex, and cheap wine
should not be underrated.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Age Twenty
Took her home to meet the parents.
A good girl,
not much sense of occasion.
Stripy rainbow knee-high socks,
mini skirt, pink hair
deeply cockney accent
and prone to casual expletives.
Father kept grinning until his smile froze.
Mother took her cues
from the Arch Duchess of mucky-muck.
~~~
Age Thirty
In the used car lot
sleazy car salesman blindsides me.
I should have been ready
more alert,
driving home in a ten year old Mercedes
wondering
if my childhood will ever end?
I am now a professional,
nurses figure larger in my life
than they ethically should.
Head for The Far East
to administer to the halt and lame
including, metaphorically speaking,
myself.
~~
Age Forty.
Finally qualify for veteran status
in a marathon race.
My athletic son is also running in it.
I fake a sprained ankle,
then disappear for ages
travelling the world.
When I return,
my shoulders grow cold from icy stares,
wife is dating someone else -
family relief all around.
~~
Age Fiftyish
Fish diet, wife still unhappy, son married
and distantly related to Trotsky.
Adorable brats for grandchildren.
Got a mistress who thinks I’m great,
but maybe it’s too late,
testosterone levels going south.
My Boss hates me.
Adultery & divorce,
new wife, much like the old one
but less y.
We roam the globe again,
desperately seeking something -
anything.
~~
Autumnal Years
The police are getting younger.
Dental appointments are reaching danger levels.
I’m not holding any grudges
for I have been right all along.
Turns out I am a poet
and quite enjoy pissing folks off.
Life is good, but then again
it always was.
~~~