Long Like the plague Poems
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PLAGUED BY MEMORIES
Some memories shimmer but don’t last
Yet others put down roots so very deep
Creating versions as dreams when sleep
And earn their place that they can keep
In the mind’s timeless universe, so vast
They cause an outbreak, like the plague
Hidden for years, then total devastation
Much more than any mere perturbation
One can wonder about their motivation
Always sharp focussed, and never vague
It’s torture, just explain it to me, please
The stuff of nightmare, but whilst awake
Tell me, just to stop, what would it take
Some blessed relief, for Goodness’ sake
Or am I still to be plagued by memories
Bartender, Bartender . . . mix me a drink . . .
and give me one of your alchemic, mystic concoctions.
Bartender, Bartender . . . tell me what you think . . .
as you give me your magnificent magic elixir.
Bartender, Bartender . . . I don’t want to think . . .
but I need that feeling of sublime nothingness.
Bartender, Bartender . . . I’m in love with her . . .
but only YOU know the truth of what I can’t tell others.
Bartender, Bartender . . . I’m really not a broken man . . .
and—believe it or not—I still have faith in my fellow man (sometimes).
Bartender, Bartender . . . I do love your alcohol . . .
and your enviable mastery of the alcoholic arts.
Bartender, Bartender . . . I dislike stupid people (immensely) . . .
and I avoid them (like the plague) whenever I possibly can.
Bartender, Bartender . . . my love of poetry is for all eternity . . .
and my passion for it knows no limits in the human imagination.
Bartender, Bartender . . . mix me a drink . . .
and whether one day I meet Jehovah or Mephisto,
please always give me one of your alchemic, mystic concoctions.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved - August 30, 2014
The blackness;
Thick and oppressive,
Cold and void of all that is pure and clean
Like a horrid gaping maw
Hungry to devour
Even the dimmest of light shining within us
Sinister and malevolent
As it washes over and slowly swallows the light
That illuminates all that is righteous and true.
Poisonous and vile, permeating and festering
As if born in the bowels of evil itself,
Hollow cries of abhorrence and loathing
Echo lost within the ebony abyss.
Dark madness oozing and penetration
Even the slightest of openings
Made available by the tiniest breaks
In ones emotional defenses,
And infecting all it touches like the plague.
Like a sordid petulant fiend stalking its victim,
Ready to pounce at any sign of weakness
And taking control of our sense of reason and sanity,
Feeding off our own insecurities and doubts,
And turning us into emotional slaves
To the dark force called
“Jealousy”.
Form:
Don't fear the blue man group
They're far less dangerous
than we are to ourselves...
but
do beware of carnivorous teachers
those harmless-looking
wire rimmed
blackboard preachers.
Wielding pieces of chalk
on the tips of 38 caliber tongues...
Turning classrooms into cancer cells.
Teaching the innocent that it's all about
color of skin and not character
after all-
Despite the truly oppressed
coming here by the millions
from every nook and cranny
on this cracking planet.
Children are being taught
that the USA is systemically
racist
oppressive
inherently evil.
If that were the case, would they not avoid it like the plague?
"Teachers," along with the politically connected,
are pushing socialism and mayhem.
The press corps. {short for pressurizers} are the devil's sword.
Pitting we the peeps against one another.
Always dividing by color, turning up the pressure.
Highlighting the worst of mankind.
Turning up the pressure to further divide.
Playing heavily edited clips
Turning up the pressure
over and over again...
for ratings
for revenue
for votes.
Turning up the pressure way past the red zone.
Until all the colors explode into a death rainbow...
Soulless pressurizers, dividers of souls-
Pay attention, parents; they're after your lambs.
Demand body cams for these teachers of mayhem.
Protect them from those chalk-wielding, scorpion-hearted thugs.
Lift your hog noses from your cell phones.
Listen to your children-give them a peck of hope
and a bushel of love.
Can this be the end of man
As coronavirus spreads though out the land
Authorities please, do not hesitate
Some claim it may be to late
China is were it originates
Now it effects every race
Possibly it is to late
Like the plague or aids it can be seen
The loss of so many human beings
Effecting country by country
It could be said the coming of the modern day plague
Cancelling event that congregate man
Effectively thought to elevate the spread, if it can
Counselling mans travels throughout the world
Thought to permit the spread abroad
Far and wide causing this epidemic to subside
Avoiding work like the plague is my main aim
Picking the low hanging fruit sounds very lame
The least I can do, at the end of the day
My hope is that this dog will have his payday
Critics will say it’s a shame and call me slack
It sounds like the pot calling the kettle black
You really don’t have to read between the lines
It’s not hard for you to find my clever rhymes
I believe laughter is the best medicine
I open doors to thoughts like a gentleman
Then I just add some kids from the candy store
and silver from a lining for a bit more
I live outside the box and find there laughter
I live for the happily ever after!
-Kim Rodrigues inspired me to break some rules..not for contest-
The handwriting became darker,
And I imagined your hands pressing upon the page,
Wavering whether to write your thoughts or not
Soon, sure, the wavering became conviction,
And in your mind you decided to write,
“Always yours”
Tears sprung from my eyes,
As convicted as your burdened letters
I condemned myself to love again,
How cruel the ink seeped into my marrow
To flitter and flutter upon mere words on a page
Words with promises, confessions, and affection
I could barely read through the gasps of my soul,
The screaming of my mind, and the bleeding of my heart
“Always yours” . . .
Do not inflict me like the plague, oh destroyer!
Do not soon crawl into these open arms
That would not dare push you away
I will love you till the days swallow me whole,
Till the light in you bellows cold with indifference!
We are words, my corresponding dear,
Deepening upon a page about to break
We are words, nothing more,
That are always,
Always Yours
Creative Writing was my love,
a passion I thought highly of.
A freshman, I felt I could shove
one course in my school year.
Assignment 1 - simple indeed:
"Who broke your heart and made it bleed?"
I felt I nailed it; Prof agreed
(or so it would appear)...
I think I wrote convincingly -
"Winter is not my cup of tea,
it casts its bread upon the sea,
my saddest time of year.
I call a halt, enough's enough!
I clench my fist and call her bluff,
and frankly, speaking off the cuff
I wished summer were here.
"Dog days of summer make me smile
when, grinning like a crocodile,
my smiles are wider than the Nile -
Elysian Days with you.
With bated breath, I'd greet the moon
and croon you some soft summer tune
until that wretched day in June
when you dealt me a blow.
"My love, you had me on cloud nine,
now casting pearls before the swine,
you ran into his arms, not mine;
my baptism by fire.
You left me there sadder than sad;
there may be balm in Gilead,
but you left me stark, raving mad,
about to go haywire.
"To add insult to injury
you said I barked up the wrong tree
and so I sailed on glassy sea
I hope I'm not too vague,
or should I spell it out for you?
In light of your foul witch's brew
I should do as the Romans do:
avoid you like the plague!"
Thus it went on, emotions raw.
I hoped my prof would be in awe -
My last line was the coup de grace:
I know this, too, shall pass.
My gentle prof, he had his ways
of pointing out my bland clichés:
"You do enjoy a well-worn phrase!"
I learned a lot that class.
// Reminiscing on my patient Creative Writing professor indicating my over-reliance on tired phrases //
written 16 Aug 2020
She’d talk to friends about all this, and quickly say two trends,
the ones with children felt pity, the singles would not bend.
They’d still insist that woman did not need men or family,
and when Marnie raised up her doubts, they’d screech fanatically.
At least then Marine understood where she had gone so wrong,
she had lived life by their playbook, and marched right to their song.
She’d never stopped to ask herself: Are the feminists off-track?
It all looked so damn obvious now when she looked back.
They had led her to loneliness, to put off marriage’s call,
until now it was much too late, no time remained at all.
No man’s strong arms, no little feet, no grandchildren when gray;
like oh-so-many ‘strong woman’ she would just fade away…
The realization made Marnie face a hard, unpleasant choice:
Should she try to ignore these thoughts, or speak and give them voice?
Many people would just keep it all to themselves inside,
but having spent this long in the dark, that just felt like a lie.
So she made an internet show, a place where she could speak,
and when she put it up online a whole bunch of people freaked.
On social medica her friends avoided her like the plague,
and when her video went big the feminists did rage.
She’d known the net was a bit rough, but not quite to this scale,
‘Nazi,’ ‘Fascist,’ ‘Woman-hater’ were the words that some did rail.
Yes, the cancel culture did emerge, and came hard for her,
but she took it as a good sign, she was causing a stir.
Day after day she would pump out videos speaking truth,
wanting to keep nothing hidden from older female youths.
Explained it was impossible to go and have it all,
that men don’t looked at woman much once they’re hit that wall,
that this was human nature and was not going to change,
and if they wanted families they’d have to rearrange
a few of their priorities, and maybe put things off.
The more she spoke about these things, the more feminists scoffed.
They finally complained so much that they got Marnie banned,
but, alas, it was too late, and they did not understand…
CONTINUES...
That first cup of coffee what could be sweeter
It's starts the day right it's a sadness defeater
We wake up all groggy and stumble over things
Into walls and doorways to a table we cling
Lucky if we make it to the kitchen in one piece
Hopefully we won't get splattered with grease
While cooking up bacon and eggs and some taters
I'm wondering the cost of a live-in cook and baker
Okay back to the brew that revives us once more
Without it we're zombies with bumps galore
If the girls at the office could see us like this
There'd be no more begging for a passionate kiss
Pretend not to see me, avoid me like the plague
They'd make up excuses no matter how vague
So you see the importance of our morning brew
It starts the day off with a bright howdy do
That first cup of coffee what could be sweeter
It's yummy in the tummy and a sadness defeater