Long Laggard Poems
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The wearing of the green
damn, if it doesn’t remind me of you
of the swashbuckling laggard you were
and the ripple of muscle across your broad back
the salt and pepper curls on your chest
and whiskers tickling my ear.
Ireland’s proud son bereft on the shores of
New England, sullen as only the Irish can be.
Black hearted when you wanted to be too.
Ah, but I saw the pot of gold
The twinkle in your eye, the swagger of
your copper tone hips, your tree trunk thighs
and the strength in your smiths hands.
Always a good ride you were.
Sure’n even the devil could takes tips from
your mischievous heart.
Yet, you were Mommy’s boy, only one woman
good enough for you and none you’d let near
enough to her throat to cut the cord.
A right fine banshee of a woman, a toothless woman
with a vipers bite. And she’ll keep her bonnie boy
lashed to her until the day she dies.
A seasonal malaise plasters
stray tendrils of wayward thought.
Another dreary gray day hovers.
Vacant is the sky, as empty as the
surface of an unwritten page.
On days such as these the mind strays
through the attic’s dusty remnants.
Times freezes mid tick.
Stale…and salt less..simpering day,
humming to the background noise of distant stars.
Age has brought with it a leathery sensation,
as crusty, picked over bundles of brashness
failing to ignite the fires of laggard thought.
Severing the ties, the starched cotton strings
of apron which held the crumbs of motherhood,
hopefully, causes a rising of, if not a phoenix...
perhaps, a cardinal of a different Spring.
Juices from a dry well, well, perhaps not dry?
Crisp, precise, if unpunctual, cookie fortunes
flutter upward, on curled strips of sugar coated white.
Who is to say, who is to be, the center
the jam in the depressed hollow of my life?
Let the mind soar for a settlement of glee.
Let it roar for the loss of flexibility and
trumpet a coming of age so rare…
for it is not madness which hovers
in the grey of dawn, or the wet bleak day,
but, the elegant solace of silver strands
their tendrils spreading unhindered
cuddled among the cue, not vacant at all.
Waiting…waiting to breathe.
Oh laggard maid, why do you
harangue the night with your longings
the void greets the multitudes
with the same ashen face.
Only the shades of fleeting joy
can brighten the monochrome
to the richness of sapphire
only bliss can brighten the or soften
the oceanic surge of night.
Oh recalcitrant mother, give way
let the waxing and waning moon
sooth the harshness of your all to human plight.
Let moonlight bathe pearl
the silken sheet of skin upon your out-turned limbs,
refresh the ruby red jewels of your parted lips.
For you are not alone, the stars of heaven
shine before and through your jet black eyes.
The angels wait and watch and croon of love.
Retrieve the youthful loves of yesteryear
to comfort and bless once again those loved so.
Oh aged crone, upon your bed of bone
fear not the coming of the night.
Recast your form in dreams once born
arise within the sacred fresco of burgeoning starlight.
Belay your tendency to rail
resist your anxiety and ease your weariness
within the fantasies of forward flight.
*dedicated to Cyndi MacMillion
Bewitched again by autumn's laggard spell
Like alchemy, green leaves are turned to gold
Although the summer still has dreams to sell
I watch fall's silent sorcery unfold
Brisk morning breezes hint of coming cold
Forgotten are the yellow daffodils
The grass is brown where robins once patrolled
Who now, I'm sure, are sunning in Negril
And yet it seems leaves change almost at will
As fall performs his yearly slight of hand
Replacing summer heat with twilight chill
And leafy green to russet on demand
While autumn draws attention from my eyes
It tricks me not to notice how time flies
by Daniel Turner
Negril is a tourist destination in Jamaica
Myopic muddle
as beauty swirls
hues of heaven
yet bypasses
static statues that
pose as sentient
beings beknighted
dawn’s divine dream
seen as bland mirror
on ebbing eyewash
cathartic colour is
a universal uplift
even for low level
lustrous earth dweller
Immersed in skewed slant
I bandy icicled retort
as though taut timing
ever swayed rigid
stone age postures
elysian echo a speck
in azurite caves
to auditory aloofness
allied to blinkered
whim ‘s wanton
plight with dull
and dim twist
dispersed among
trivial terrains
alienation personified
vessel vacuous and void
rehabilitation of
the wayward faculty
a burst balloon blip
outsider ostracised
from gilded gardens
and sumptuous bloom
of ripe recrudescence
still limp laggard
on hackneyed cue
might yet stumble on
the fig of wakening
I await your coming
for the flowers are blooming and the grass is high…
lilac branches still bare and shivering
in the laggard lion’s breath of March
they await your kiss, Monarch of summer.
purplish buds
sprout from gray lilac branches --
daffodils bloom
Though all the tulips are gone
having served as desert for gophers,
the worm and the grubs stir in the wet spring soil…
and the hyacinths have replaced the crocus’s blue
the paper narcissus now, scent the air.
red breasted robins
hop between hummocks of grass --
bird bathes fill with rain
From the within the green pupa, soon
you will stir ..the membrane will thin, sheer as a curtain
in a spring breeze adorned in polka dots
and wings like the crinolines of spindle legged
virgin daughters at first communion...
you will emerge with lash long antennae ready to fly.
leaves of cone flowers
push through the brown soil of spring --
anthills rise
I await your coming
for the flowers are blooming and the grass is high…
lilac branches still bare and shivering
in the laggard lion’s breath of March
they await your kiss, Monarch of summer
butterflies born.
Forms: Free Verse & haiku
A STORY OF TEENAGE THUGGERY, JEALOUSY, TEASING AND TAUNTING -
THE DESTRUCTION OF A PROMISING LIFE ................
Staggering down the rain-drenched street
I see you, reeling drunkenly
like a sailor trying to keep his balance
on a storm ravaged ship.
You stop only to vomit your intoxication,
falling to your knees, then wobbling back to
tottering unsteadiness as you roll
faltering, aiming for the safety of home.
Your friend tries to steady you, but
you push him away in a tirade of independence.
Sober insecurity magically transformed
into inebriated confidence.
Then, there she is - the teenage focus
of your immature passion. She doesn't see you -
she never does - she ignores you
as she teeters on her too-high-heels
staggering, like you, over the rain-drenched cobbles,
taunting her hormone packed companion
with her pert breasts and pouting lips,
until she stops to kiss him in your view.
Sudden sobriety steadies you as you watch
them jealously - touching, kissing, exploring -
you call out angrily to distract them: you swear,
you name-call, a juvenile torrent of verbal abuse.
The reinforcements appear from the shadows:
his mates, jumping to his defence.
They grab broken bottles, discarded wood, one has a knife,
and they chase you, full-pelt, down the rain-soaked street.
You are easy meat: your reflexes and reactions
still laggard with drink. They floor you easily.
Blows raining down in a frenzied downpour
of merciless, unceasing violence......
kicking, beating, spitting, knifing, wild,
like a pride of lions decimating their prey.
You sink into unconsciousness, your lifeblood
draining, trickling with the rain down the pavement.
She watches, silent tears snaking from
mascara-laden eyes. She notices you now:
for the first time she acknowledges your existence
as your very existence is snuffed out ....
snuffed out like a near spent candle.
Seventeen years obliterated by youthful hatred.
Seventeen years annihilated by needless thuggery.
What a waste. What a bloody, bloody shame.
....did I say this was a 'story'? No, sorry, it's true......
The sun shines again for he smiles dreaming.
The indeterminable day no longer flees or hides
for its end is sought, as is its beginning
as I lay beside him in love seeming.
Though at peace, confusion’s thoughts abide
waiting there as laggard servants shying
scolded by the Mistress Aphrodite
his form akin to Lord Ares lying.
Now, Want must find a different dwelling
and Need must now within my heart reside
for oh love, sweet love, has come a calling
on the wings of Eros it did arrive.
For he smiles and joy of sweetest joy, I cry.
to stay forever in his arms, I’ll try.
Poet: D. Guzzi
6/14/11
It was a long hike before they reached the campsite,
and sunlight was fading with the slight threat of rain.
Mandy was weary and Jeff's mood was quite dreary.
There was much yet to prepare before dark of night.
Tents needed raising, then fire and food to prepare.
Labors completed by the bright glow of moonlight.
Mandy gathered dry kindling while Jeff found water,
near a stand of cattails where dragonflies alight.
Gazing at the laggard walk of a red capped crane,
Jeff's mood was quite dreary, and Mandy was weary,
'til scared by trumpets of the sandhill crane in flight.
April 6, 2021
Abracadabra March Magic Contest
Sponsored by William Kekaula
Syllable count at 12 ~ checked with HMS. Rhyme with RZ
Rodents can be loquacious
That includes your average gerbil
They love to prattle, chat and blather
They really are quite verbal
Hamsters are talkative too
Just as garrulous as can be
With running mouth and wheel to match
They are a sight to see
But I am loath to squander words
Sparing usage is my way
I gather them like so many acorns
Against a rainy day
Yes, word collecting is the passion
Of this precocious squirrel
I garner adjectives, verbs and nouns
Be they singular or plural
The park is fecund land
There a plethora may be found
Vociferous, vehement and vex
I lately scooped up off the ground
The verb tree is prolific
Its discovery quite a boon
The other day it bestowed upon me
Flaunt, foster and festoon
All along the sidewalks
Concrete nouns lie strewn about
How blithely I did snatch up
A lummox, a laggard and a lout
To command a better view
I nimbly scampered up a pole
From this lofty perch I spotted
Wheedle, coax and cajole
Away in the distance
I spied a tempting pile
Heaped up for the taking were
Enticing, alluring and beguile
What do I with so much verbiage?
You would be fair to ask
Squirreling away so vast a lexicon
Must prove a mammoth task
The answer lies in my arboreal abode
Where these many words I stash
In alphabetical order they are arrayed
From zealous to abash
In a capricious mood one day
I grouped them by part of speech
Such a cacophony arose from clustering
Banter, badger and beseech
No matter how I sort them
The wasting of words I spurn
Reserved for rarest use I keep
Reticent, laconic and taciturn!
_________________________________
by Brian McClain - Feb 17, 2016
Originally posted Feb 17, 2016
Accidentally deleted Feb 22, 2016
Reposted Feb 22, 2016