Long Lashings Poems
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The grand madam wore double strains of opal perils,
Around her collar of white lace, in eloquence personified,
She’s cultures Lady of utter refinement, curtsying to noble
And high brad’s aristocrats alike.
In fragrances of memories I’ve drifted backwards,
To a time of Lillie’s corsages tied upon white gloved
Wrists, long gowns of silk that trailed behind ladies
Of status and grace.
Glided carriages adorned with opulence’s wealth,
Lined these main streets busy thoefairs,
Drawn by horse powers elect.
Pulling these beguiling vessels beneath oil lamp light,
Did the pampered horse flesh travel, delivering the
High born royals, from fancy balls, to posh dinner
Parties and the rich man’s society clubs.
Gentries Gallant dapper Dan’s went a courting,
Seeking beauties ungloved hands, with sweet kisses
Of vows promise, yet a dowers riches blinded their
Eyes, to the spoiled countesses true nature, so these
Court Jesters with mouths full lies deceptions,
Got their own back lashings tongue, in the end.
In these arena of wealth and fortitude, did Madame
So travel, amongst the crimson carpet walking
With prides stride, holding her head held high,
Never exposing the lower birth from which
She’d been birthed.
For she knew the truth hidden behind these
Fanciful fans of lavender and lace lay masks
Of masquerades charades, and games of
Fortune were played by dollar’s gains, not
The feelings of heart.
True class exudes not from ones pedigree,
Or families wealth and power, but instead
It comes from within, honor, duty and a
Soul’s valor of spirit.
At the evenings final climatic hour,
This mistress of the wise, seeks her humble
Shafto’s warming bower, sitting in her chamber
Of isolation, she smile at the portrait hanging
Above her mantels fire place.
Whispering slowly, soon beloved, she blows him a
Final kisses farewell, then drifts into infinities
Drifting realm of for-get-me-knots.
Behold its Madame’s last curtain call,
Let us all throw red roses at her feet,
For if a lady of true elegance ever existed,
On this earth of ours it was her, Madame
Of lavender and white lace, let the opal
Chains of perils thus be broken, as her eyes
Of classes distention, close for the last and
Final time
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Perhaps you see me
it may be your gift to see
or merit for hard work
or maybe you paid for it with the lashings you endured
but surely it is now your inescapable wretched curse
as the truth haunts you
but you cannot close your eyes
like me.
It is my fault I am as this
to be as false as I am
false is my name
I cannot love that
I have buried it inside
and run away
because it is too ugly
easier to smile and pretend.
My grandmother saw it in my blackened soul
clever and easy to lie
she hurt me
made me ashamed
and broken
to protect the world and even me
but her tricks did not work
because I have killed too many hearts
and poisoned those that survived
even my own.
I am cold
and it is right I have suffered so
because I lost my heart
and replaced it with a ticking clock
that pretends to beat like a happy butterfly
and tries to convince me I have feelings
that I cannot reach
I am a masquerader of abundant hollow emotions
that laugh and smile and cry
but I never face myself
in the dark alone
because there is nothing to see without a light
my flame has no fuel
unless I suck it from another's bloody neck.
I do not know myself
because I cannot bear to look
but I hate myself as much as you hate me
and you should
because every love I'm given
is less for the world
I am a black hole
I give to get
like Hansel and Gretel's keeper
I only give love
to fatten up my lover
and open her precious tender trusting heart
so that I can consume it in eventual flames
and steal all of their future hope
and faith in humanity.
And I don't know how to stop
and am too afraid to stop myself
with the knife I keep hidden
but never have the courage to use
because I am a dark monster
that pretends to be inviting
like a pristine beach
on a boxing day morning
beckoning humanity
to my shoreline
so I can consume them
with my hungry tsunami
and leave them writhing in pain
with all hope in shambles.
Rescuers arrive in love
one after another
I greet them with open arms
as if I am deserving
needy
blinded behind my veil
pretending to myself until it is too late
and just as they almost open my heart
I swallow them under my next crushing wave.
The day begins as the sun rises up
Like a big orange ball from the sea
It’s the bluest sky that has ever been seen
So pack up your bags, don’t forget the sun cream
For the seaside is calling us loud and clear
As we make our way down
As we make our way here
The children arrive with their buckets and spades
Their parents arrive with their Chardonnays
They carry a towel in case they get wet
A blanket to sit on, sun shades to protect
With lashings of sun cream and sun hats to wear
There is so much to carry, will they ever get there
The children arrive and throw off their clothes
And run to the sea to paddle
They scream with delight
When they get their toes wet
But they don’t feel the cold
Well at least - not just yet
Their mums and dads lay out the food
Upon the rug – laid on the sand
Calling their children they shout out loud
“Will you come here and give us a hand?”
But their request falls upon deaf ears
As the children have fun in the water
Oh dear, will it all end up in tears
When the children don’t do what they oughta
As they swim and jump, making castles in the sands
Holding yummy pork pies in their sandy little hands
Drinking homemade lemonade
With an ice cream to follow
They begin to feel hot
As they sick up the lot
On this Sunday by the sea
They’ll feel better tomorrow
Time to go home now, so gather them up
Children all tired and grumpy
As parents sweet-talk them, whilst heading for home
The children are whining and whinging instead
So kiss them goodnight and send them to bed
At last there is peace
The children are sleeping
The sea air has knocked them for six
So now is the time
For a nice glass of wine
With some olives and crunchy bread sticks
Reflecting upon their day at the beach
So lucky to be within easy reach
And able to visit and able to spend
Sunday by the sea - on this glorious weekend
Written in Summer 2018
Contest Strand Select T
Sponsor Brian Strand
HONORABLE MENTION
Hungry for munchies, on his way to the lunchroom,
a rambunctious, persnickety,“fuss-budget”, elderly
jittery, fidgety, geezer, named Cassidy…
whose questionable dexterity, aghast by a massive sneeze,
teeter-tottered precariously.
at the edge of the thingamajig, ...jigging one way, jagging the other!
Minding his own beeswax, without any rigmarole,
topsy-turvy on his feet, he reached for the balustrade,
became quite flabbergasted, and very discombobulated
when the doohickey provided for his ambidextrous aid
jiggled free from its screws, and found him footloose!
It seemed the doo-dad, put there by some nitpicking pipsqueak,
some flat-footed, hooligan, who knew diddly-squat, who obviously,
recklessly, constructed a railing, only worthy for failing!
Such foolhardy shenanigans! Was it some practical joke
to lambaste aged codgers, eliminate lodgers, and boondoggle the old folks?
Cass, was an old rabble-rouser, considered a blabbermouth,
was thrown off his epicenter, while his cane went a'sailing, appendages flailing
Onlookers, were outraged, ....in stage of amazement
but laughs grew contagious, and cock-eyed hilarious!
Those carpetbagger carbuncles of society….can’t stop this old fogy
Cass, brushed off his hinny, would not be blind-sighted..
Barbaric bedevilment, won’t halt his felicity!
Some even predicted, with his acid tongue lashings, and his eccentric behavior,
he would stir up entanglement, kibosh the haranguers
and strangle the caboodles, who hooted and hollered!
His face turned beet red, but no meltdown,......instead
He held his chin high
to the dining room, ahead....he ordered French bread
Ordered some bouillabaisse, toasted with balderdash and a shot of rye
He dined with the multitudes, ordered some strudel, and one snicker-doodle
Then he told folks a riddle, "There was a man with a cane, who slipped on a noodle, a handrail came loose, he injured his caboose….and cooked his goose!"
.....................................................
Leading his horse in the heat of the day
Been gone a long time but he still knows the way
Just a few shacks when he went for the gold
He’d found a few nuggets but now he’s too old
So, home to the town that he’s heard has expanded
He’s also aware that the town’s been rebranded
He knows he’s too late to catch up with the guy
Who’d bid him farewell but now lives in the sky
He stops on the trail by the boundary sign
He don’t read-n-write but he knows the design
He knows that the words on the board aren’t the same
Must’ve been changed to display the new name
“Howdy, Old timer,” a passerby said
“The hotel’s just yonder for resting your head.”
The prospector said, with a big toothless grin,
“What’s the new name of this town that we’re in?”
“It’s now ‘Milton Creek’, as it says on the sign
It’s new name remembers a good friend of mine.”
The old fella, grinning and shaking his head
Said, “Milt said he’d live on long after he’s dead.
“I used to tell him he was being absurd
but he always was just as good as his word.
To be sure that fella deserved the ovation
But can we just rename the towns in this nation?”
The passerby said, “There are them that makes rules
And then there’s the ones that behave like their mules
But sooner or later things get a bit rich
And the mules all rear up and scratch at that itch
“Soup Creek fell prey to the powers that scheme
With lynchings and lashings an ongoing theme.
There’s cells in the jailhouse where innocents dwell
Soup Creek’s reputation had heard its death knell.
“You see ‘Soup’ emerged as a four letter word,
And good folk would tremble when e’er ‘Soup’ was heard.
So we ditched the mouldy old cheese for best stilton
And renamed our town to remember our Milton.”
The prospector slapped on the passerby’s arm,
“You think I just ran from the old funny farm?
When you said ‘Stilton’ twas just for the rhyme.”
The passerby grinned, “Fella… got it first time.”
Pulled together
by a magnetic avoidance of loneliness,
fueled by an insatiable ardor
to evade a shortage of love.
Mutually splintered souls searching
for a place to embed and
implement a façade which conceals
mutilated minds.
Spurious attempts to disarm
the timebomb which is his mouth.
Futile efforts to escape
a mental cage
inflicting frightening fingerprints
on a shatter-able soul.
Cautionary writings on the walls
of his guise,
demanding subservient devotion.
Loud lashings from his slick tongue,
contradicting confessions of love and hate,
whilst ransacking an insubordinate mouth,
by extorting an opening through
quivering lips.
Transient,
insincere apologies
fall on deaf ears,
between briny tears plunging
down an anguished face,
debunking the reverie
that this is how love
is meant to taste.
A dismaying omen
predicting the dawn
of the end,
disguised as a single round, white dose
of insentience
aggressively shoved down
through tortured glottal wails.
Convulsive crying gives way
to comatose disposition,
displayed on a cold cement altar -
a sacrificial lamb laid out
for torturous vindication
of his deprived need
to strip of honor,
by forcibly desecrating
incontestable,
incapacitated remains.
An ungainly desperate last resort -
running with lead-like legs from a known enemy.
Flashes of head- lights and white painted lines,
don’t hinder a final attempt
at liberation or eternal rest.
Flashes of cold, dim swells of pain,
preferred,
over the clinging clutches of oppressive
maniacal hands,
lunging at the opportunity to subdue.
A harsh awakening -
in his lair.
A morning after like no other.
Hues of black and blue on
pale, dehydrated dermal layers,
serve as confirmation
of an undeniable recollection
of hair-raising anamnesis.
Painful retrospection
inciting an unrelenting
concluding confrontation -
never again
the victim will I be.
(Re tiny box-like homes lining the west side of
South Bundy Drive, north of Nebraska Street, in West LA)
The soiled feeling comes not
From the indignant paradise
Scurrying past their frontal lobes
It arrived in silence
Borne of being first to the party
And the ensuing, deafening wars
With the partycrashers
With their cranes
Their progress
Their eclectic sense of
Civilized degradation
Squeezing the life from
The Boxes Before Nebraska
That modest set of
Stoic pre-war cookie-cutter domiciles
Perfectly groomed
Impeccably aligned
For Ozzie and Harriet, and
Their silent parade of nasty
The Boxes, they struggle
To remain relevant in the haze of
Modernity's hammer and
Banality's autoimmune disease
To avoid temptation as
The developer's succulent lips and larceny
Get wider and wetter
To simply let be amidst the swollen busy
Not to mention a new cast of characters to contend with:
- The brackish bendejo careening in stride, unaffected by the Boxes' sidewalk's ill-timed permanence and oblique conundrums, left from quakes and lashings of yore
- The livid madman embracing his next lethal dose of humanity as he marches, barks and feuds with phantom nemeses camped out at the Boxes' doorstep
- The ragged cougar across the street, squeamish exterior gone bad, pounded into Angelino submission by the tricks and spells she conjures and endures
- The dual threat of LA Fitness night trolls, basking in cardio vampire glow, while the next morning's brew of rainbow children percolates into G-d's bitter latte, sipped cupless on fresh asphalt.
And yet...they stand
Together as one
By accident
By stupor of justice
By de jure
By no better place to go
Testament to legacies
Begging to remain
Living proof that
Bounty, modesty and sanctity
Can be achieved
When you stop thinking outside of the box.
(4/11/15)
Raven Speak Not To Me, For A Plague Flees Thy Lips
Sadness came, in clumps of ripping hard, smashing waves
as if morbid thoughts could such sorrows ever save,
none but the blind and deaf could know a darker realm
or more lost ship with, blinder captain at the helm.
Yet even in such pains, one must seek out the Light
for the blind can see, if they embrace truest of sight!
Wayfarer now in hideous ancient abodes
mind burning flames, blasts of misery that explodes,
born of the vile demons that plagued Master Poe
from fiery depths they sprang, as savage and dark foe.
What greater black-curse can one thus be forced to bear
or evil that sends monsters that nightly scare?
Raven speak not to me! For plague flees thy lips
weeping soul, prays not to enter such ghastly trips,
save your epic lashings and thy horrific calls
as well as scalding-hot brands from thy torture halls.
We that saw deepest pains, you once sent Master Poe
enter not chambers or beg more accursed shows!
Your friends attack, forcing each soul to further flee
from hell's first dark levels, with its pitiful pleas,
into caverns wicked, filled with flesh eating beasts
with each new arrival cry, more food for our feasts.
Sirens lure fleeing lost souls into black-sea pits
always seeking, more blood, deeper cuts, harder hits!
Raven, thy terror-nights will soon come to end
for in bright flooding lights, I have found a new friend,
stalwart ally, armed with more than long sharp teeth
one whose true faith, will silence thy calls from beneath.
Dawn's shimmering lights, you shall plague me no more
I bow to he, his powers seals your wicked door!
Robert J. Lindley,
Dark Poetry, ( Poe, Raven and Nightmares)
12-18-2018
Who were those hoodlum, who wanted thy do lour ,
thou were revered by all the classes , honored by only colors' ,
thou ruled the entire family of the galleys , who looked like the great Hercules ,
who had a large amount of strength , whose strength was impenetrable .
Oh my great - Titanic , thou were the stage on which many lovers passed by,
those lovers who enjoyed their voyage dancing "Hula", which made thee more intensify,
there was a Capella sang by the silent water , which gave color to the entire dance ,
where have thy beauty gone , which have left us back alone , giving no further glance .
It was not thy carelessness , but the carelessness of thy master ,
thy master - underwent enjoying lashings , never thought the approaching disaster ,
in spite of loosing hubris , thou had been praised by all ,
nevertheless it was passable , but thy lifespan had become less and small.
Whom would I like to draw the blunder , for they were also in love with thy splendor ,
thy luxury would result winning bountiful amount of hearts , counting those spirits leaving the globe without blunder ,
I seek pardon to my dearest sweetheart , for my humble tears could sail thy gorgeous carcass ,
I have to get rid of all those pains , by crafting thy beauty to the late mausoleum grass .
I kept dreaming for thy creative beauty , but beauty never thought for my dreams ,
my thoughts try reaching the sun , but thy imagery covers all the sun beams ,
I promise to build a minster for thee , where my dreams and thoughts idolize thy existence ,
the minster would pray the poetic words of mine , never allow my mind-set reveal thy grieve disappearance !
Freedom
A dream he never allowed himself to hope
He couldn't have his heart broken
Not when it belonged to his black woman
Not when it carried his emotions
Not when it carried the love that kept him mobile
'You're free'
A prospect of a new life
One he had hoped to share with his beautiful wife
But
Nothing in life comes for free
That freedom meant leaving the one thing that kept him alive
The woman who gave him reason to live
The woman who's life to him was more important than his
The woman he would spend the rest of his life with
His decision to stay was instant
No thought. No question.
He would not leave his wife
The thought of a life filled with pain
Couldn't compare to a life without her
He would become an insane man
And for that he wouldn't complain
About the whips and chains
If it meant him and his wife stayed in the same place
A world without her
Was a life not worth living at all
And so he would endure years of torture
If it meant he could be with his happiness
Because a life without her wouldn't even be a life It would be hell
He knew the consequences this would entail
He knew his life on the plantation wouldn't be easy
But nothing ever worth having is
He would take a thousand lashings for her
If it meant he could stare In her big beautiful brown eyes
He would bear the weight of both of their label
If it meant her soft hands would go unharmed
From the harsh conditions of a slaves life
He would sacrifice his body in order to save hers
He loved her more than the fear of torture
So yes he would stay
And no he would never regret it