Long Machinations Poems
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iv.
By Thanksgiving, their machinations no longer discreet,
Voices from the walls and vents, betrayed their deceit.
My family revealed as demons in flesh-and-blood guise,
Christmas Day was the day they had plotted my demise.
My nightmares more horrific, as that curséd day drew near,
Every morning, drenched in sweat, consumed by my fears.
So, I wore the mask of loving dad, right up till the Eve,
One last dream of the woman offering my reprieve.
"Your family is wicked. They'll kill you while you sleep.
Take the axe from the shed—when you swing, bury it deep."
v.
Christmas Eve, bright and early, I quietly left the room,
My family still sound asleep, silent as a tomb.
They awoke to hot cocoa, crackling fire, freshly fallen snow,
The smell of gingerbread, apple cider, their faces all aglow.
We spent the day playing games, told 'em how much I loved them,
Then kissed my wife off to bed, grabbed my son and hugged him.
"I care for you and your mom and would only do what's best.
I'll come wake you when Santa's gone," his head against my chest.
"I can’t wait! Goodnight, dad!" He bounded off to bed.
As soon as his door had closed, I headed to the shed.
With gas can and axe in hand, I moved with hurried stride,
And kicked open wide the door, where the first demon I spied.
With the axe, forty whacks, when I saw what I'd done,
I kicked down the other door, then swung forty-one.
I moved from room to room, possessed with righteous purpose,
Made the sign of the cross as I doused every surface.
The last drop, the living room, tossed aside the can,
Where among the gifts, an envelope, signed with child’s hand.
I removed a card and read—To The World's Greatest Dad!
With a photo of our family and the happy life we had.
I slumped beside the Christmas Tree with lit match and tearful gaze,
Then screamed as it and my wretched soul went up in hellish blaze.
As the flames consumed the heavens, a woman cackled with delight,
Disembodied laughter, that faded with the night.
Can you hear me? Are we connected?
As people born with the penetrating organ
What was growing up like for you?
What did it mean to be a "man?"
For me, my models were bullies
Testosterone masses who swung at any slight
"Quit your crying, men don't do that"
As another path was closed to a clenched fist
Fist to face, fist to chest
Bone on skin and repeat again
The endless scraps those boys desired
As I retreated as far as I could
Hounded down to Earth's end
A victim himself rained blows upon me
To "fix" what was perceived as feminine within me
And merely building resentment that never cured
So here we are, so many decades later
Having achieved just as much in life
Yet we sing to therapists
About how masculinity harmed us
What, to you, does it mean to be a man?
I couldn't wait to shed that shell
No matter how buff, burly and bearded my body made me
I'd never be what your father wanted for us
So what has it done for you?
Rich, but alone
Wandering with only a predator's praise in your ear
Praise you've long learned is just bait
So what does it mean to be a man?
What did being born with balls do for us
Beyond be victims to a keyboardist's vile machinations?
Why did I have to bleed for your struggles?
Our final hour draws near
As the pillars of the earth
Are raised above the threshold
The human condition of primeval primitivity
It's tribal, and civilized devices
Our cherished, but brittle
and unstable societal constructs
Have been refined and pondered upon
By wisemen for a millennia
But they remain all the same
of gold and jewel hoarding merchant swine
Or the Lord of the land which still
Holds in his hand the peasant lives
have existed Since the days of Christ.
Fortunes and prestige was made
On backs of the slaves of man
No longer slaves of one color race or Creed
Be it the blindly led masses, or the ones
Who exist to fill a pair of Jack boots
To crush any who oppose the will of few
Imposed upon the liberty and lives of
the inumerable many
Kept in listless contention
like precious cattle cargo kept in comfort
In the moments before slaughter
No use for livestock who no longer can be soothed
By the noise of the static which has kept them subjugated
Slaves, by whatever name designated
As a product of which the era produces for them
Today still remained shackled
Even as they no longer have chains
To bind the spirit or flesh
The forgotten
Will not be extinguished
They writhe in ancestral rage
Their enemy oppressors
Shall be cleansed as pennance
In the fires of retribution
But the end will be swift
with coming winds of changes
Which will blow with the sands of time
Eroding the stone inscribed with the epitaph of humanity
"What hope could there be, for us, when the light that we possessed
Our compassion, the goodness of man,
is something learned and not inherent in our souls
And bring the torrent of uncivilized upheaval
Tearing us like weeds from their earthly respite
Grinding and rending us in our vessels
back into the soil and seas.
Relinquished to the warn embrace
of our celestial mothers womb
As she plants the cosmic seeds
Sowed in the brilliance of her aeons
And which grew the bountiful harvests
that fueled our creation
And let us to thrive
as we found our way
through a cruel,
but natural order of selection
The anomallic flux
In a fluid plasticity of
Biological machinations
I must take umbrage with this phrase
I’ve heard it stated in multiple ways
The essential nature of it goes like this
I’ve asked you to do this already
The implication that one is obligated to perform
Simply by the act of asking something of them
What kind of self- important attitude allows
That your request out ways the consent of the asked
And even if consented to the asked party should
Lose control of the time frame to complete the task
I’ve heard parents, teachers, bosses, politician’s, preachers, husbands, wives,
All succumb to the notion as if it was a magic potion
I asked therefore it creates an obligation by which
I should be obliged in my machinations
Well You’re not!
We are travelers on a cosmic journey, stardust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity" ~Paulo Coelho
Am I dancing in the eddie's of infinity,
Swirling stardust on a cosmic journey
Without beginning, without ending ~
In whirlpools of light and color
And unimaginable glory?
I feel helplessly small
Trapped in this body made of clay,
Gazing up into the unattainable height
Of stars and galaxies
And light at the edge of the universe.
Infinity cannot be measured
By the finite machinations of mathematicians.
How do I measure the ether?
How do I become stardust
Swirling and dancing in the eddies
And whirlpools of Infinity?
Am I a traveler on a cosmic journey,
Or simply a dreamer of transitory illusions?
Hatchet in the tree
Hatchet in the snow
A snowman’s hand gripped
A snowman slashed low
Low falls the timber
Low level UV light
Light reflects white
Light will then entice
Entice by photoelectric effect
Entice by photons in cadence
In cadence with yuletide
In cadence with Christmas time
Time is itself a gift
Time and time again
Again the winter solstice
Again the world will spin
Spin on it's axis
Spin by angular momentum
Momentous holidays will come
Momentous mementos prior
Prior to the feasts
Prior to the givings
Giving a beginning
Giving an end
Endpoint to point
Endpoint to position
Position the world with bows and ribbons
Positioned in a box
A box of dark matter
A box of hot rocks
Rocks wrapped in flavour & colour
Rocks wrapped in gravity & electric charge
Charged forward by a vacuum
Charged forward at 0 dollars cost
Cost just a kiss under the mistletoe
Costs just an open heart, does it not?
Not if not genuine
Not because it ought to be
Be because you ought to be
Be joyeux noel
Joyeux noel Deus ex machina
Joyeux noel God by machine
Machinations of generosity against greed
Machinations of compassion against apathy
Apathetic the inanimate object
Apathetic indeed
Indeed life is an incantation
Indeed the miracle we need
Needless to say
An incantation speaks atop the tree
November first two thousand nineteen...
abuzz with Autumnal thrum
Divine myriad biota amidst
heavenly Lily of the valley
(Convallaria majalis),
he didst imaginatively greet
Edenic heavenly terra
incognita immeasurably sweet
nature's ensemble proffering
Gaia's quintessential orchestration
resplendent sensational treat
natural splendour regaling,
this fellow wayfarer
happenstance gifted autochthonous peoples
espied proud specimens unobtrusive
planted armada, viz sleek bodies fleet,
of foot while me accidentally
risking, schlepping, traipsing... offbeat
winessed unschooled tribe,
yet verily synchronized,
primed, muscled... athlete
their soundless rhythmic swiftly tailored
flit to and fro upon poetic
unshod calloused feet
carefully, gingerly, lightly...
I shod dully tread nsync
toward drumlins upbeat
mouthing, kneading, imbibing... glorious
ebullient choral unadulterated feat
extemporaneously kickstarting crisp and neat
pow hour full rhythm across
analogous macroscopic excellent spreadsheet
inducing their sonorous symphonic
roundelay unfamiliar tweet,
whereby flora and fauna future meal to eat
oblivious regarding mine seat
dated existence, which quiescent aesthete,
yours truly basked,
froliced, luxuriated... complete
as once innocent hymnals kindled atrocity
this observer, spectator aghast white as sheet,
how civilization's machinations didst deplete
terrestrial firmament within one fell stroke
eradicated once pristine unbroken
promises chiseled to cheat
rightful owners expansive swath
over yonder til ocean and land did meet
Europeans scoured seas one after another
lumbering bulwarked fleet
exhausting resources while simultaneous
mowing down aborigines
grotesquely analogous harvesting wheat
indiscriminate deliberate genocide
decimating indigenous tribes beat
defenseless against microbial
weapons of mass destruction,
thus only within third blind eye
courtesy invisible paleface with tenderfeet
strictly envisioned Perkiomen Valley
once abundantly populated
with ample game during cold and/or heat
paradise unbroken stretched hinterland,
where place names mock to pay hollow tribute,
where native peoples no longer replete
vinyl city amidst amidst graveyard
lovely bones turned to dust
paved over by mainstreet.
Death and Time holdeth onto eerie and most frightening shadows
Whilst pervading deeply within that infernal region where the dark
Evil and uncanny mists occlude the terrifying presence of a great
Dark Doomsday cult of vicious and horrifying beasts that are now
Perpetuated from a putrid Hellspawn by Lucifer’s own command!
Corrupted with the presence of sacrilegious beasts of true violence
Who hate all aspects of humankind with their spirit of maleficence,
And wince not whilst decapitating the heads of those who disagree
With them, and creating a mindless havoc of unparalleled tragedy
That’s become an expected, sad occurrence of Mankind writ large!
Brandishing a razor-sharp, coal-black-blade is their evil incarnation,
Of a time, that’s totally indicative of their chaotic rampage of bloody
Burning attacks as battlegrounds are drawn into an eternal darkness,
From whence there may be no return since there’s a dark, blood-red
Poison, from the dark afterlife, in which every drop of blood is toxic!
Every drop of this spilt blood-red poison has a deadly demonic aroma,
That produces nasty swarms of ravenous locusts to torment all innocent
Victims caught between the machinations of Almighty God and Lucifer.
In this reality, these evil spirits cast their malevolent spells without any
Scruple, wishing for Mankind’s swift destruction by Lucifer himself!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – November 24, 2017
(Quintain)
UNSPOKEN CONFESSION
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
the words echoed violently in my ears.
I heard the grinding of the gears,
releasing the latches on the trap door
on which I was standing……
the machinations of interrogation -
and guilt - manifesting themselves,
increased eye blink rate,
uneasy scanning of the scene,
furtive attempts at indifference.
“Is there something you want to tell me!!”
the words the same, the tone different,
more insistent in its knowingness
less tolerant of the stinging silence
no plea bargain offered.
I stood there – crayons in hand –
my colorful new friends
standing behind me - backs to the wall.
John G. Lawless
6/27/2015
submitted to – Is There Something You Want to tell me – poetry contest
sponsor – Judy Konos
Aghast at explosive industrialization/
urbanization once sacred wild woodland
whittled away overlain bumper crops
comprising trappings green lighted
supposedly signaling progress unwittingly
overrides avast enclave (teeming with
diverse flora and fauna passively cleared,
dominated, expropriated by dictate of
commercialization, exploitation, fabrication
fueling amalgamation, fabrication, lubrication
oiling cogs and wheels sustaining, murdering
guaranteeing production trumpeted at
expense native flora and fauna acquisition,
cooptation, extermination, gratification
decreed domination *****sapiens usurped
law of land i.e. eminent domain foisted
upon unsullied "new world" defining
European age of exploration, whereby
pristine undulating immense acres
indiscriminately partitioned, (despite
indigenous peoples unrecognized precedence
to remain holistic caretakers of Mother
Earth tendered, predicated, linkedin with
generations worth of sacredness, which
spiritual reverence meant naught to
unwelcome trespassers solely hell bent
to force acquiescence, compliance,
obeisance,... to warlords, whose cruel,
diabolical gall lee jeepers libidinal
incursions sought extinction toward
defenceless native inhabitants subject
to machinations spelling extermination,
yet their restless spirits infiltrate occupants
of once happy hunting grounds devoid
without a trace, when this bucolic tract
devoid of present schlocky vinyl zoned
abodes, whereby fast disappearing vestige
alluding to pastoral vista spurs overactive
imagination regarding yours truly, who
chiefly hankers he got born during
sparse population versus pell mell hustle.