Long Leered Poems
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Rarely did the family speak
of secrets and knowledge weak and indiscreet
but as we all know, shared laughter and tears wept
draw out our secrets uncontained, never kept.
For years, my aunts were mysterious
talking of our origins quite serious,
deciphering was impossible unless you knew
a few words to interpret better as you grew.
Little ears often strained
to know what grownups held hidden in their domain;
listening for the words more easily understood
and in that revelation of not what happened but could.
Aunt and uncles, cousins too, disliked aunt Jean most intense
and distanced themselves from the family name in their defense
of the stories never to be told except in quiet retrospect;
Aunt Jean, you see, was wild, restless, behaving most incorrect.
She danced in bar room halls
discarding her clothes for all
as drunken men leered upon her naked form
she was that way from the very day she was born.
She was a free spirit, bipolar, un-diagnosed back then
freely taken in and loved by many men
the black sheep shunned by our family
looked down upon because of her own sense of sanity.
Why? The children never really knew
except to follow the elders set cue,
but as I look back over time
sanity may be found wanting in the selfless climb.
He walked into the dusty saloon,
maybe an hour after high noon,
his face still smooth with the touch of youth,
eyes dead-set on seeking out the truth.
He saw him there, two men at his side,
looking just like his mother described,
the scar, gold tooth...the cold countenance,
Silas knew that he had found his man.
He strode up and said, “You’re Dalton Wise,
you killed my father, so now you’ll die.”
Dalton and the two men looked amused,
said Dalton, “Who’s gonna’ do it, boy? You?”
They laughed again, and young Silas seethed,
said, “For his death, you will answer to me.
You took Joe Hamlin from my mother,
and brought no small deal of pain to her.”
The name caught Daltons attention quick,
“You claim your pa was that weak-willed twit?
Oh kid, your mother has told you tales,
that fool Hamlin did nothing but fail.
“Joe was a coward, a sniveling fool
tuck and ran when we treated him cruel,
a pasty lunger, barely could breath,
much less attract a woman to breed.
“There was a woman, Lauri, I think,
who screamed that we did terrible things,
she pitied the fool, got in the way,
girls shouldn’t trifle with men at play.
“I told her as much, but she kept on,
blathering how we treated him wrong,
one day while smacking that fool’s face in
she dared to stand between me and him.
“With hands on hips, she flustered and fumed,
‘Stop bullying him!’ he small voice boomed,
thinking we wouldn’t lay a finger
on a woman, that’s why she lingered.
“I slapped that yapping to the ground,
took aim and shot that fool Hamlin down,
dragged her to a barn when it was done,
I took my time…had a lot of fun.”
He leered and the other men both laughed,
said Dalton, “What you think about that?”
Silas felt his rage slowly turn cold
as more of this cruel story was told.
“Hamlin couldn’t be your pa,”he said,
“’cause when I took young Lauri, she bled.
Just looking at you, it becomes clear,
Joe weren’t your pa, he’s sitting right here!”
He thumped his chest, just to emphasize,
supreme confidence blazed in his eyes.
“So wipe that bravado off your mug,
we both know that you won’t kill your blood.”
He smirked at the two friends at his side,
not a one showed real fear in their eyes,
said Silas, “If there’s truth in your words,
then I’ll have to get revenge for her.”
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Rumors spread like a flood seeping through the streets
That an adult black panther, kept as a pet, had escaped,
And was now prowling around the back alleys in town, according to the tweets.
Big cat far too black to see in the dark, lights and shadow play the beast undraped
To show slinking sly shadows of a panther silently prowling for kills and meats.
Kids and wags made things worse by feigning panther roars.
Soon all sorts of sounds prompted fear and flight,
Cats sounds, dog howls, owls, yells and screams all caused uproars.
The rumor mill was rampant, the streets declared unsafe at night
People were forced to stay at home after dark, and hide away indoors.
People started reporting that their cats and dogs had disappeared.
Bones and dropping scattered about, surely signs of panther.
Police patrols were joined by hunters who volunteered
To rid the town of this menace, as jokes and laughs grew to anger
The torrent of false sightings triggered near-miss shots as sheer panic in the streets leered.
The town Mayor became desperate as the situation got worse.
Sightings grew, shots rang out, every shadow had a panther in its tail,
But clearly there was no panther, no sightings, no true signs to ever confirm the curse.
Secretly the Mayor began a search for a panther skin to fake a shooting and so curtail
This urban legend myth with a fake dead panther, fake news, and a fat reward in purse.
A panther skin was found, a trophy hung with lion and tiger in local hunter's room.
The skin was stuffed, dabbed with blood, and snuck into dark alley in secret.
Two blank shots were fired and photos taken as crowd gathered in the gloom.
Reporters primed to fake the news: "Panther found, killed and taken away in casket"
It was all done and dusted, urban legend lingered on, but fear was gone, a lie lying in tomb.
He Sat On His Favorite Bench,
In Their Favorite Park,
Cracked And Crumbled,
His Eyebrows Knitted Together,
He Leered,
Sadness Clouded His Features,
He Drew His Lower Lip Between His Teeth,
From Memories,
His Thoughts Clouded,
Fighting Back Broken Tears,
An Old Woman Appeared,
She Gave Him A Dirty Look,
Her Nose Stuck In The Air,
She Sat Down On His Claimed Bench,
He Scrutinized As She Peered.
Suddenly,
Recognition Dawned On Their Faces,
Her Mouth Curved Into A Smile,
His Eyes Glistened,
Beneath His Almost Tears,
They Were So Much Older Now,
Unrecognizable At First,
But A Love Lost,
Had Prevailed,
And Was Found,
After So Many Years.
~Vickie Thayer~
How quickly our world changes
filling the minds with an allure!
The clothes hanging in the closet
are no longer stylish and hot;
the new trends are for the elite
who are exploited by the designers
creating the latest fashions
not appealing to the masses
who have eyes set on modest prices,
not on meticulous attire made to compete.
What's so strange and confusing
is that men once had a dress code,
and looking sharp they assumed their role
by charming women as they leered.
Today's eccentricities are irritating:
would a real man wear something weird
that looks feminine for the sake of fashion?
Is he comfortable with this transformation?
Hubris and centrism are forever hook and mitt
A myriad of players does seemingly afflict
Resenting green eyes now focusing in
Rocks tangled with glass and taken square on the chin
Petulant stance, the recreants cry
Transitorily deuced with an inquisitive why
Posturing accepted, a haughty delivery in the night
Furtive and devious, and not very bright
Mystified clearly, network disrupted
Vista on essence, simply corrupted
Spiteful in pattern, indifferent and rude
Coercion les enlist, poultry and crude
Yeah lesson concluded and left to reflect
Degree obtained, autonomic architect
Every posterior, leered and showcased for thee
Closing of view and this third degree
She was like a big doll, he thought,
As he watched her standing stoically
So prominent in the window display.
A window shopper looked in. So attractive, he thought.
Suddenly all reminiscent ideas fled,
As she had disappeared from view.
He walked towards the window display.
There was the dummy wearing a coat
With a large mirror behind it.
Not a coat of fashion, though around the neck
It had some expensive fur, a mink no doubt.
It was not beyond his means really.
He mused whether he would dare offer it to her.
But he hardly knew her and was not rich really,
Just a poor latrine attendant with no schooling.
Dreams! He was a fool for out of the shop
She came wearing the coat and she was not alone.
A hunk of a man strode confidently with her.
He looked back at the window now without the coat.
Only the mirror remained. His face leered back at him.
Was his face that ugly that he resembled a mink?
Ah well, even minks have a loving mate!
Climb inside and buckle in
Anxiously twisting the key
As a mechanical symphony roars to life
Setting nine hundred horses free
The machine becomes an extension
Of my own flesh and bone
My heart beats in choppy rhythm
While eight cylinders scream in tone
Launch sequence initiated
The green bulb’s affirmative glare
Release one button as I depress another
The front tires suspend in mid air
The mechanical cavalry stampedes
While the pipes cry out their siren song
Defiantly embedding rubber into asphalt
Parallel stripes running dark and long
Every gear change seemingly effortless
Acceleration that flattens your chest
Control of the beast seems impossible
While every sense is put to the test
Heads swivel and jaws drop open
The earth quakes as I roll past
Vanishing into the darkness
Redefining the meaning of “fast”
For I have stared fear in the face
While others stood back and leered
I stomped my right foot in defiance
And clicked down to a lower gear
This - the Divine Unity
Of Man and his Machine
In water we may be baptised
But in horsepower we are redeemed
As a child I went surfing at Freshwater Beach in Sydney
Renowned for its great waves,
Swell waves for body surfing.
Beyond the breakers, furthest out, were the 'Heroes'
Old, leathery tanned surfers who waited hours and hours for 'the wave of the day'
They only caught a handful of the biggest waves every hour or two.
They spent hours lolling about beyond the break, waiting for the big one to leer up on the horizon
Too proud to catch the small stuff, the run of the mill waves not fit for 'heroes'
It was scary at first for a kid to venture that far out into the 'heroes' realm
They leered back throwing daggers and sighs with disapproving glances
But you could survive by giving them plenty of space, to avoid interfering with their rare big wave catch
The challenge was to 'show them up' by surfing down the waves they just missed,
Or staying on the wave for longer than they did.
To earn mere morsels or crumbs of reluctant respect.
They had a nasty way of ridding the blow-in boogie-boarders from their patch
They would duck down as flippered boogie-boarder passed overhead
But leave an arm and hand up
To grab the boogie boarder as it passed, dipping the nose in
Flipping the board and rider over in a somersault
This shooed the boogie-boarders away from
The 'Heroes' patch of sea just beyond the breakers.
there was a punctured potter
whose wills strained shuffled shudders
meagre muds moistened massive moans
dark traces drooled, gaunt glows
hoisted zeal hankered hampers:
eerie efforts pruned pulpy pesters
lanky labour leered, futility feigned lame
crushed contractions, callous confetti's crave
damp death drilled his plague
sumptuous suck, nosy nectar's crest
potter birthed a son,a generation then another son
whilst masticated malady mimicked, poring pawns
the keener he carved a shape,
soaring swifter contractors come for claims.
'20:05:21:17:26
Note: of punctured potter.