Long Leers Poems
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Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
(Or ... I Know What I Know)
(Prov. 1: 29* / Prov. 1: 22-33 / John 15: 19 / Matt. 7: 3-6 / Prov. 3: 7 / Prov. 9: 7, 8)
Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
They Either Get On Your Nerves
Or Make You Climb Up The Wall
They Come On Like Squalls
Their Opinions Sprawled
We Shake 'Em Off Like Tattered Shawls
... Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
So, If I Happen ... Across Your River To Row
I Don't Mean To Come Sounding Like An Old Crow
Or Waste Your Time If You Say No ...
But Listen ... I Know What I Know ...
I've Read & Studied & Meditated
Perused & Pondered & Got Educated
In Reason & Rhyme - I've Ruminated
My Thoughts Into Rooms Are Relegated
Raised Questions & Quizzed & Investigated
(Even Made Some Folks Uneasy & Agitated)
but GOD Said That 'That' Knowledge Would Be Hated
(John 7: 7 / John 17: 14 / John 15: 17-20)
So With All Due Respect -- So and So ...
... I Know What I Know
... of Innocence & Intelligence
Ratified Ideas & Reference
Cataloged Diligence & Resilience
Always Bravo'd The Beauty of High Brilliance
In Conventions' & Congregations' Confidence
& Assemblies & Achievements' Evidence
In Citadels of Archives' Residence
In Colleges & Scholars' Licensed Competence
In Trust's of A Counselor's Expert Guidance
and In The Word of GOD's Reverence
With Lessons' Continuance' Vigilance
In Meaning of Life & Purpose & Spirit's Significance
and Carpe' Diem When Possible and Patience ...
So, That Even In Philosophy's Status-Quo ...
... I Know What I Know
... From Countless Hours - In Half A Century of Years
In Conversations From A Constellation of Peers
About Life & Death & Future & Fears
About Love & Passion & Lust & Leers
About Laughter & Joy & Pain & Tears ...
About Mercy & Justice & Truth So Clear
About Fame & Fortune & What's More Dear
About War & Peace As World Totters & Veers
About Freedom As Kingdom of GOD Draws Near
About Why We Cheer & While Others Jeer...
(Part 2 of 4)
Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/20/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
(Part 2 of "Nobody Likes A Know-It-All" is the serious side of addressing "Knowledge ... ... So, this free verse is really about Godly Knowledge, Biblical Learning and Spiritual Intelligence ... (first) ... and then about education and different areas of study in an academic way. So when reading this write - that should be kept in mind, to get the most out of it ... MoonBee
It’s Christmas Eve; there’s someone at my door!
But with the horrid sound outside my window,
I wonder who is knocking and what for!
Midst violent wind I see a surreal snow!
Within it’s haze, there is a grotesque sight -
gigantic and so out of place, I quiver!
A snowman leers at me, and frigid fright
goes through my bloodstream like an icy river.
Again, the knock! Whoever could it be?
This morning I wished Christmas would be gone!
A premonition now is telling me
that nothing good is out there on my lawn.
My friend had warned me that I really ought
not curse this season. Oh, what have I done?
More pounding at the door, but I cannot
go near that door; there’s nowhere I can run.
I look out at the snowman. He is more
enormous than a tree, and now I hear
a sound like laughing elves outside the door.
I stand as thought I’m paralyzed by fear.
That movie! There’s a movie I heard of.
A boy hates Christmas, wishing it away.
A storm brews suddenly in skies above,
heralding a deadly Christmas day.
A Shadow Santa comes. This wicked soul
is known as Krampus, and he brings with him
an evil that can swallow people whole.
If I have summoned him, my fate is grim.
The storm keeps wailing; now there’s a new sound
of scratching on my roof, but there is no
more knocking. Oh, who’s walking all around
my roof? I run out to the blinding snow!
At first I can see nothing till my eyes
are drawn to where a great big bag was put
beside my door. What’s this? More Santa lies?
Though filled with dread, I push it with my foot.
There jumps out from the bag the strangest thing -
A tiny man; he’s made of gingerbread!
He laughs maliciously, and starts to sing,
“Before the night is over, you’ll be dead.”
Out on my lawn, I see beneath the snow
there’s something creeping fast and right toward me!
What creature slithers underneath the snow?
I can’t escape, so back inside I go!
I shut the door and bolt it, then collapse
Upon my sofa near the fireplace, when
I hear an eerie sound above. It taps,
taps, taps. It’s something on the roof again!
Past Christmases with family go through
my frantic mind; I cower there and wait.
It’s Krampus, and he’s up there in the flue,
and soon to be delivering my fate!
Written Dec. 24, 2015/ Inspired by the contest of TAMMY REAMS
and the current Christmas horror movie Krampus.
I am the newly born face of munificence, unquenchable beauty.
My tides are full with bountifulness, like an orchard to the table.
My fleece radiates guiltless white, bestowed like a lamb, fresh
upon its mother. And the flight of a newborn world is upon the wing
My once childish demeanour has grown into a handsome face,
with the offer of a pristine horizon as dowry. And the fruits from
the fleur de mer are bound for the land, to walk amoung its forests
and cultivate its soil. Free of tarnish and burnished by a new sun
As the cloud's rivers carry food along my valleys, carved
by mighty glaciers, the King Fisher learns its trade and
apes are low in prominence. As yet to chase the flame
and its future dividend
But, as with any river, there are two shores upon which to live.
And there are signs that a sheep in wolf's clothing stands two
legged and tall upon the other shore. And like the changing of
the seasons, too soon its cold has become warm and its warm
become hot. Wrapping a ring of savage finality about itself
On that bank, benevolence has changed a once accepting face,
to one of prideful leers. And the once responsible mien of its
manhood has lately become the childish game of a drunken
fool to be frittered away, like so many coins
And changing tides recede onto unredeeming shore lines, as a
water fall's once prized cascade becomes scorched by a pitiless
sun. And yet. My heart still resonates with the cries of a dying
humanity and should our eyes and ears only perceive it, there
is time to nurture this changeling yet. To cross the river and
force back the spears of gluttony that have breached this paradise.
To grasp the hands of an entire peoples despair and lift them up,
like a father to a child and the righteous to the atoned
For without this change of games pursued, we leave behind a
dessicated husk of rock. To become one of many such trinkets
that orbit the lights in the night sky.
She's out in the rain, on the verge of despair.
The smoke is twirling in fresh autumn air,
Ten cigarettes stand for three-four minutes each.
She's waiting for him - he is out of reach.
At last he shows up: "Hey, I'm sorry I'm late",
She sighs with relief. What a wonderful date!
He looks like a tramp, and she looks like a whore.
A flawless match. They accept and adore
The real each other with no pretending.
But if they could simply imagine the ending!
Some casual sex, brandy, vodka and weed -
The days of the youth. They are perfect with it.
The twenties will bring unforgettable nights,
Mash notes and roses. She'll be mesmerized
Unless one damned ring is the end of the end -
Routine will ruin their castles of sand.
Today she is only the pride of his pride,
A bit of fluff. Sex? Well, they two never mind.
But they are the victims you can't really blame -
Tomorrow this story will have a new name.
They'll have their freedom eroded by oaths
Of love, so pristine. I'm sick of them both!
It's time to grow up if it's not way too late -
The concept of love stands for fear and fate.
Love is alcohol multiplied by their tears,
The number of both will increase in some years.
Some casual sex, brandy, vodka and weed -
The days of the youth. They are perfect with it.
The twenties will bring unforgettable nights,
Mash notes and roses. She'll be mesmerized
Unless one damned ring is the end of the end
Routine will ruin their castles of sand.
Ten years have passed, she is still in despair.
She lies in their bed, breathing close heavy air.
Ten cigarettes stand for three-four minutes each.
She's waiting for him - he is out of reach.
He shows up drunk in his torn baggy clothes,
She leers at him. What a night for them both!
She looks like an ugly and worn-out whore.
They're no more able to love and adore
The real each other with no pretending.
But they had a way to escape from this ending.
Night time rituals, that little space of time,
Cathartic relief, along with sweat and grime,
Tribulations of the day wash away, too,
Pool down the sink hole, tomorrow starts brand new.
Night time rituals, bring with them repose:
Weary souls long their weary eyes to close.
Strange to remember, I once felt that way,
Now pain too hard to overcome must still be kept at bay.
So, from night time rituals and sleeping I abstain,
Wild is the gallop of a mind that's slipped its reins.
Sleep is when it gets me, I run for my life,
Run from myself, dreams twisting like a knife.
Drumroll in my ears
Signal danger nears:
Like an arrow I am off,
No spluttering nor cough,
Scaling each fence,
I revel in my strength,
But the faster I go
More obstacles grow.
Hidden in tall grass,
Bold as brass,
I'll rip him asunder
The hunted now the hunter.
Exhilarating chase across a ravaged mind
Preyed upon so long, soon now I shall find...
A bench so familiar, leers into view,
"A wooden resting bench" but now there’re quite a few,
Important, sure, to someone, but that person is not me,
Misfiring neuron in my psyche
I wake up happy, I love to push my body,
Even in dreams, I'm proud of my dexterity.
Doubts creep in, so stealthily at first,
Recalcitrant swimmer who slowly must immerse
In waters so freezing she could die from shock
Can't bear it any longer, I'm diving off the block.
First hits dread
Limbs made of lead
Wasted muscles
Unsteady shuffles
Rasping breath
I'd rather death
Than be pushed around
Wheelchair bound.
Cruel apparition
Subconscious admission
That from my dream those benches
In reality, are trenches,
Where bloodied I fall
No further steps at all,
Scrambling up a battle
My body just will not tackle.
But my own will grown so strong
I'm toldl I’m hearing wrong,
That I won't mend
I cannot, will not, comprehend.
illanelle: Whose voice so insistent and so early to whine
(I have just found a poem I wrote three days before I was tossed up
and knocked down by a speeding car while I was mid-way on a zebra-
crossing on an entry-road to a mosque. I had the right of way. The curious
thing was/is that I saw no car approaching from the right. The driver - a Tunisian in a hurry to pay his respects to Allah - did not, according to him, see me either. Curious! P.S. The car hit me right where there is a 30km speed limit signpost in front of a primary school, and the driver is still driving around in a postal services delivery van. Vive la France! Viva la Francia! The emasculation through isolation and the strangulation through noise nuisance continue unabated! The Brave New World! under Socialist management!)
Whose voice so insistent and so early to whine
Jabbering heads rap on the panes of my ears
Can howling winds meticulous eke out Nature's design
Last Exit to Brooklyn not by rote every line
Requiem for a Dream's stream of consciousness leers
Whose voice so insistent and so early to whine
Do my words madly rushing winds now entwine
Whose bones rattle in the shutters of my fears
Can howling winds meticulous eke out Nature's design
Does the magic fridge's realism pop pills divine
Make me look the svelte creature the world requires
Whose voice so insistent and so early to whine
The Algebra of Need's burning cold in my vein
Black dealer king's piston bursting through dry tears
Can howling winds meticulous eke out Nature's design
The gaping hunger in my soul sickens in my brine
Spoon-fed needlefuls bloat attention in dears
Whose voice so insistent and so early to whine
Can howling winds meticulous eke out Nature's design
(c) T. Wignesan, Paris – February 6, 2015
There are some days when night crawls in
and I fine myself afraid
and alone;
darkness gives way to darkness
when I open my eyes.
The light has left your eyes
so what is leading me home now?
What is home?
Shadowy tendrils grip my wrist
burning along the scars
ghost pains.
I tremble, shake, trying to keep my will firm
but inside I can feel it building up,
and the monster howls at the cars of his cage
she is compliant
very willing to open the door,
the shaking increases.
Her voice continues to whisper inside my mind
outside, I suffer the silence
night remains dark glass around me.
I know inside
what letting the monster out
will mean,
I try to beg my mind elsewhere.
Yet feeding the fire, my memories turn to you
And she and the monster gather strength in my distress
"Please hold me," my voice begs in a broken tone
but the dark,
has no hands to offer solace with
simply encompassing me
with nothingness.
All around.
I continue to hope
until the buildup leads to an eruption.
A silent scream
tearing away at my vocal chords
with the pressure of
silence
feeling the weight of what it is to stay
silent
then to simply
surrender
to the scream.
She slips in between the cracks that begin to show
and opens the door to his cage
allowing the monster to plunder
through my veins
I can feel him,
the rush of blood past my ears,
he longs to get out, to be let free
to slide along my flesh
and taste the air
all through the jagged lines across my flesh
slippery red tongue tasting the air.
One, two, three, four, five, six,
white smiles leers back
from two subdued wrists
Our flesh smiles like the monster.
He takes his fill,
torn skin, blood, and gore
I am left to sink below the static numb
mixed black and white,
with the hue of red along the edges.
On a hazy day, in the mid of the jungle
through the dense rain forest, we trek;
Where astounding waterfalls spread smoke
and the various birds sing melodious jingles
Swaying lofty trees filter the sunlight,
cause the shadowy effect inside ;
They do sieve worldly sounds and impure air
and so the serene surreal ambience stays there
The recent rains flattened some tall trees
but equally granted the unique mushrooms;
Though the route is really tough and rough
the fragrance of the fresh rains embrace
Those lush green fungi on the rocks
do try too hard to block our walk;
Rustling the leaves, snakes move to bush,
discerning the scene, the poor rats ambush
Oops, these leaches suck my blood
and my shoes often stuck in the mud;
Our signposts are those largest footprints
of the giant elephants and trails of these tiny ants
Dreamlike journey it is, to meet imaginary animals;
Our target is to encounter those ethereal creatures
that we often hear and see in comics and animation films
but other than those animals we have seen so many things
Lion tailed macaque, Nilgiri tahr,
Great hornbill, Indian Giant squirrels
and the other colorful birds that are rare
look cuter than those unreal creatures
Trancelike travel inside the jungle
make us behold the real beauties;
Finally reached the plain grass land,
where the sun leers amid the blue screen.
The footsteps we trace, not just taken us to the plain
The tranquillity they offer, help us perceive the heaven
It's the great hike that raises our energy levels
It's the toughest trek that weakens our stress devil
May 26 2021
For the contest Writing prompt- dreamlike by Constance La France
Flim-Flam dances to the beat of a drugged out drummer
Her moves are suggestive and sometimes vulgar
Her hands are soiled and damp holding onto the grimy pole
She’s topless and her dancing is like a listless puppet performing a role
She has a striking body and her hair is curly and luxuriant
It makes patrons’ thoughts lean towards prurience
As the evening lumbers on, Flim-Flam’s dancing slows to a crawl
She’s tired, hungry and wants to curl up and bawl
A huge man approaches the stage sneering at her with tight dark eyes
He’s obese, sweaty, dirty, and wears an obscene leather tie
Flim-Flam looks down and backs up in mortal fear
It’s her stepfather; he’s found her; he staggers as he leers
He hollers. “Got ya, Gal, you gonna be sorry you ran away – you hear?”
He grabs at Flim-Flam, but a bouncer steps in with a bone-crushing slam
Her stepfather pulls a hunting knife bellowing and slashing
But the bouncer is bigger, fitter, and not afraid of grabbing
Crazed bullies, liquored, riled up and flailing
The bouncer drops the stepfather to marry the floor
Disarms him, pins him while hollering, “Flim-Flam, get out the back door”
Slamming into the bouncer’s 4x4, Flim-Flam hunkers down weeping
She hears sirens, people shouting, cursing, tires screeching
She hears the Miranda given just before she slides into oblivion
A gentle hand shakes her awake, it’s the bouncer, his name is Jake
Her new husband smiles with kindness, his love shining forth
“We’re going north to the farm where I was born and want to live my life
With you by my side, not “Flim’Flam”, but Grace Marshall, my wife
He holds her close whispering, kissing, reassuring
“Va-Va-Voom” disappears; a happy ending, a promising beginning.
I live in a house where
all the doors are closed
they hide away the secrets
that can’t ever be told.
I live behind these doors
hidden away, no one knows
what goes on within my head;
or the monsters the closet stows.
One by one, the lights go out,
but the darkness cannot hide
I walk past closed doors
that monsters hide behind.
They shriek at the door,
it shakes in the frame
fumbling with the handle
wondering how they became
the ghost that moans
and the monster that leers,
trapped behind the doors
to cover up our fears.
Their hands reach out
in that space underneath
clawed hands, fumbling,
hear them gnash their teeth.
I look down in the dark
the closed doors line the hall
wonder how we’ve become
the secrets, the lies, the fall.
And these day dreams fill my head
though the hour reads late
I walk light so no one awakes
Aeolus knocks at the gate.
But, others hear what they wish
so even if I were to scream
they’d only hear everything else
thinking it a bad dream.
For we are masters of pretending
spending our lives shutting doors
hiding away our secrets too big
to fit in dresser drawers.
I can’t sleep with all their howling
so I’m left to wander alone the hallway
and pray I do not fall victim.
But old locks and frames so easily betray
me to the monster who is persistent
and the doors they all crumble.
Unleashed I must face what lies beyond
the madness that they mumble.
I cannot hide from their truths
the grotesque and the beauty.
We’ve made monsters of our secrets
and they hold us to this cruelty.
Forced to hide behind locks
I live in this house suppressed by sadness
victim to their bite, I suffer secret’s sorrow
only to end up contemplating madness.