Long Methodically Poems
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Cuz existence among *****sapiens
extremely intolerable prospect
particularly sharing planet
with most violent species
courtesy hoodlums wielding
deadly firearms methodically gun down
men, women and children
ratcheting grim milestone
countless dead civilians linkedin
with hazards of war zone.
Upon surrendering this self
hypnotized faux yes ("FAKE") Earthing,
I noticed nothing amiss
(which temporary state of transcendent bliss
twice daily meditation strives to attain),
ah...before you dismiss
a non "FAKE" claim lemme juiced
apprise ye with a very brief hiss
tour re:, how this generally outlandish
(long gush fellow) doth wanna kiss
hippy, cheeky and buddy
UFO's (with chess
a mon bot of errant knightly -
je ne sais quois finesse,
Oh Henri Matisse -
yea artfully add a touch of Swiss
obviously predominantly
French laced politesse),
though up pawn occasion
this lousy manque non
rook key mutant doth miss
long disused subtle social cues, cuz I still
feel asper (in) a human aberration
always felt like an outcast in an alien nation
even though born on Mars,
(a distinct honorable station),
yet resided on third rock from the sun
what seems like forever damnation
yours truly experienced abolition
against supposed invaders from outer space,
and essentially targeted, kindled,
and bullied on par like an abomination,
no surprise while attempting
to escape imponderable,
and intolerable being walled din,
and trumped "illegal" accusation
crackled, snapped, and popped with abjection,
your honor (forgot to mention
earlier got picked up mistaken as invitation
from outer space by a kid prized
as some sophisticated surveillance drone),
within an etchy sketchy section
of town, and must avoid acquisition
by mad scientists (employed by NASA),
who will undoubtedly take immediate action
and disassemble me (carefully as if dismantling
Bono fide atomic bomb), hence activation
must be established pronto against administration,
sans powerful GMO firearm, emitting disinformation
(mine defense of last resort)
will definitely signal to nemesis
furthering my aggravation,
and Putin this webbed, whirled,
and wired woebegone
wysiwyg wordsmith at risk.
He'd come west back in forty-nine,
three long years had passed since that time,
and still he mucked 'bout rivers cold,
with pan and shovel, seeking gold.
Fa away from Sutter's Mill,
he'd staked a claim below this hill,
a bit far from the beaten track,
the others said that brains he lacked.
But he continued at his task,
the well-known streams had gone bust fast,
so he'd chosen to go afar,
out here with cougars, grizzlly bars.
They saw honest work hurts no man,
so he shovelled dirt in the pan,
and when he found no golden gleam
methodically he moved up stream.
The sun was up, it was near noon,
the heat of it could cause a swoon,
he though it time to stop for lunch,
but kept going, he had a hunch.
So he shoveled in some more dirt,
with stream water began to work,
mud washed away, and he did find
six flakes that brightly yellow shined.
Like that all thought of food was gone,
the prospector dug on and on,
he did not tire, he did not flag,
thirty flakes soon in his poke bag.
When the sun started getting low
he took his shovel, gear to stow,
planning to head back to his camp,
when from the woods out stepped a tramp.
His clothes were rough, his face unshaven,
he features vicious, young of ago,
a hardened man, raw-boned and tall,
held a revolver, cap-and-ball.
“All that gold that you found today...
take that poke bag, toss it this way--”
Then silenced by a mighty blow,
the shovel had been swiftly thrown!
The 49er, frantically,
has struck and knocked out half his teeth!
The tramp fell right there to the ground,
as prospector's boot heel rained down.
First came a sickening cry,
then muffled screams as the tramp died,
the 49er soon collapsed,
his panicked breath still coming fast.
He took the time to wipe back tears,
his reason burning through the fear,
he had been well within his rights,
but still...he'd killed a man this night.
He rolled the corpse into the flow,
the current took it far below.
Tossed all that night, he couldn't sleep,
thinking on life, twas so damn cheap.
That one would kill you for a rock...
but in the end, when he took stock,
when did life not bring with it pain?
He would stay and defend his claim.
Of Wolves and May Processions~
A Poem by Debbie_Philly
Why Did You Leave Me Here For Wolves To Prey And Feed On
You cherished me for years, your words not mine
I was looked on by your gaze in shadows that
had me unaware of your admiration
Day by day I walked the halls oblivious to your
stares,not because I was apathetic to your
presence but you hide it well.
You were young and shy afraid to let me
know of the lump in your throat every time
you wanted to speak...or so you say.
Funny isnt it, you thought I was untouchable
to high to reach, yet you were just my size
and I was shy as well.
School boys fantasies played out in your
mind school bus rides of frenzy undressing
me with your smile and look up from the desk
glances.
A soft brush of the shoulder between classes
May Processions celebrated with held breaths
will I see her.....will she see me....
I Turn to smile at the boy who's nervous eyes
wandered down in a red blushed tone.
One day I will tell her he says in his mind
and one day she will answer he hoped
yet that day does not come for 25 years.
When that day arrives like a gift in disguise
we were not so shy and innocent as in days
past yet love is still stead fast proclaimed.
" I told myself once I found you ,if I found you
I would never let you go " he says
"I lost you once and never again"
Now it is her cheeks that blush with red tones
with heart racing because he was always the boy
she quietly glanced up at in the shadows long ago
But things were not the same...how could they be
he now has a coldness inside that will not be warmed
the chill is not always there...but when its felt it is ice
vain deep.
Where he once wanted her heart he now only wanted
a taste and when that flavor got old so did she.
She could not compete with unclaimed baggage
reeking havoc in the tangled wires of the mind
It's almost as though methodically planned and
waited out for all those years.
She lays alone now waiting for the spring breeze
and small comforts to set her free but the air lacks
passion and the validation never comes.
You Left me here a bloody mound for wolves to prey
and feast on ,ripped apart..... heart scattered
to the wind.
By Debbie Mills Kelly
2/22/2011
gushing through, rushing in,
hearts will move above all sin,
you cannot see, you cannot fortell,
as it pushes you by force and sound,
whipping in, you whip around,
keeping your feet on solid ground,
by faith pointing from the direction it came,
practicing balance through storm and rain,
it takes you here, it takes you there,
like a trap it pulls you to its snare,
you see, you hide, but then come face to face,
you find the mask behind the face,
you stand in the middle, he takes you there,
this heart will pierce its hardened stare,
he sends you angels to guard and fight,
to protect you with his strength and might,
these warriors stand guard, and with armor can withstand,
they block its force with their awesome wingspan,
with beauty and love, you see these gentle wings spread,
with feathers made of iron they protect love instead,
as the storms force rushes in, its deceived by its look,
for these wings of beauty cannot be shook,
as it approaches full force, it thinks it can win,
it looks weak from a distance as it rushes in,
but as it draws near, it picks up its pace,
the force can't pull away from the speed of its race,
it believes it can conquer its weakened prey,
until drawn in too close, it cannot run away,
methodically planned to tear this house down,
but it cannot see into this holy ground,
its focus, its charging with only one eye to see,
until it steps in too close, the iron breaks its debree,
love and honor stand strong, beat at its own game,
for the righteous overcome its winds and its rains,
it captures the heart and puts it back into place,
praising him in worship as you sit through these rains,
know your protection, stand with its ground,
speak it in, and then speak it out,
confirm with the heart, his words are alive,
allowing the spirit to fill and then rise,
the battleground shakes, these chains break and fall,
with the words of his spirit, winds whispering call.
Tis' the age of twitter
and sharing social status
Often quite bitter
that tech apparatus
A new kind of Christmas
That seems to just dis us
empties our pockets
burns out our sockets
Take me back to the time
Berries twisted with twine
A simple pleasurable dine
Perhaps a splash of red wine
A bushel of our loves
A new pair of gloves
Dancing elf upon a shelf
Mistletoe to add a glow
After the freshly fallen snow
When passwords were for forts
And Santa might be heard
with his jolly ol' snorts
reindeer that methodically stir
prior to blue screens that blur
Take me back to the time
Berries twisted with twine
A simple pleasurable dine
Perhaps a splash of red wine
A Christmas carol
Gleefully received new apparel
A possible dreidel for thee
Without a never-ending membership fee
Cards that wished genuine love
from heaven above
Not a book with a face
But an ember glowing fireplace
Take me back to the time
Berries twisted with twine
A simple pleasurable dine
Perhaps a splash of red wine
Not a Pinterest party
Just an Interested party
I'm not in a group
But I am in the loop
Without an insult or like
putting together a new bike
With kisses and courage
that nourish and flourish
Take me back to the time
Berries twisted with twine
A simple pleasurable dine
Perhaps a splash of red wine
When tags were for gifts
Not a computer sharing multiple grifts
Sleigh rides, jingle bells, snow drifts
Glorious melody that instantly lifts
My Christmas past is antiquated, perhaps
So much time spent on these screens
Political posts caused friendship collapse
So, on this Holy Date, I will wean
for a day
Wishing you A Merry Christmas
and a possible New Sleigh
300wd.
When the clock ticks towards the end of July,
I begin spending all too-hot summer days painting the blue-jay,
A rare and almost-majestic mini, hard to find the right color paint
For. But on good days after sunset the air becomes crisp
Enough for me to enjoy the change in temperature corresponding with my change
Of mood or palette, all-encompasses occurring under
That unfabulous shroud of melancholy, that, under
Which I cannot keep safe-keeping in July.
When the colors on the page scream for need of change,
I ignore the plight of the real blue-jay
As he exists in this reality of crisp-
Air-fragility which causes my paint
To dry and crumble like the immature cheap paint
Of a five-year old hanging just under
My incomplete summer canvas crisp
With hopes of an increasingly hopeful July.
I stroke the brushed-over blue-jay
Feathers fake on canvas which changes
With every motion of my hand, changing
The color of my paints
As I allow them to drip over the image of my blue-jay,
The reality now out of sight making reality more clearly hidden under
The lie of a canvas in late July.
It lies hidden under remorse of lies, crisp
With not-yet-oncoming autumn crispness
Teasing me with surreality which changes
With every movement of a hand this time of July.
I methodically repetitiously move my hand to paint but what I thought was real
was revealed as not under
The surreal thought of the canvas as the actual blue-jay
Who fluttered his meaningless blue-jay
Wings a long time ago out of sight—crisply
Seen crawling around or over, when it should’ve been under
The hammock tree in the rain, recently changed
To my favorite willow peaceful-painting
Locale no matters the month, even July.
The time the blue-jay wants most to be changed
By the crisp stroke of a masterful painter
In the yard, under the hot sky just after mid-July.
Domestic
The lady was a goddess in her looks and demeanor. Very beautiful in every way. From the way she swayed her hips to her seductive smile to fluttering her eyelids. It was what wasn’t said that got men’s attention but the hidden and unseen, images placed in their minds eye. Only one man was lucky to own her heart. For a long time they were happy. Then he ballsed it up big time. They had a domestic, he beat her to an inch of her life. Bruising her goddess looks beyond recognition, making blood flow like a river, snapping her precious bones like twigs, leaving her to die. Only she didn’t die. For she really was a Goddess. Her wounds healed and she went after her violent boyfriend. She caught him in the pub with another woman. A punch in the face broke the other girl’s nose and permanently ruined her looks. The girl fled. The Goddess ordered her boyfriend to the car park. It’s over she told him. He looked dumbly at her. Then smiled. She was ready for his right hook, blocking it in a swift move. Following through, she twisted his arm and broke it. Like he broke her arm before. His scream was hideous. Dropping him to the floor, the Goddess methodically went round his body. His good arm was next and then his legs. All broke quickly and without effort. Her small frame belied great strength. Standing over him she looked down at him. He whispered one word: why? The Goddess smiled. And replied, revenge my dear. There’s one last thing I must do. It will hurt. From out of her outstretched left hand, an orange line of fire whooshed forth and devoured his corpse. He uttered the most gut wrenching scream of his life. And was silent. Angry flames shriveled his corpse and turned it to ash. A crowd had gathered, standing well back. Frightened. Let this be a lesson to all of you angry young men, shouted the Goddess. Then she was gone.
I just finished reading a new book
Which peers deep into human brains,
Methodically examining each sex
To see what is and isn’t the same,
And while men and women are much alike,
I was fascinated by the difference,
And how this could affect our world-views,
For example, I’m going to begin—
Sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
You’re a sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
But I’m talking about medical sci—
SEXIST!!!
Okay…so the other day I saw a report
About how hormones affect the mind,
Comparing estrogen and testosterone,
And both their effects over time.
Now we’ve known from the beginning
That these two do different things,
But it’s amazing looking at brains
To see their influence on thinking—
Sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
You’re a sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
But this stuff is well known. Ask anyone who’s had gender reassign—
SEXIST!!!
Fine…so the other night on cable
There was this great documentary,
About hold cold, ice age conditions
Changed and shaped our bodies.
Hey had a fascinating discussion
About how the musculature of males
Played a big role in mate selection,
And the food that was avail—
Sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
You’re a sexist. Sexist! SEXIST!!!
Oh, shut the hell up you shrill, whining harpies! Reality doesn’t care about your god-damn chants and propaganda. We’re like any other sexually dimorphic species, so use you damn reason for once and stop screaming like petulant children!
(Stunned silence)
Uhm, so, like…would you wanna maybe go do something later?
(More stunned silence)
Unbelievable…
What? We can go back to my place. I’ll put the cats in their cages and we’ll have the whole studio apartment to ourselv—
(Sound of running)
Hey?! Come back! SEXIST!!!
Form:
I Guess I Woke Up Too Soon!
The train was coming after me again.
I, a helpless little girl, the evil train tracked.
Like so many times before, the distant sounds warned.
Chugga, shugga, chugga, whoo whoooooo!
Off the rails down the trails, no longer on the track
It crosses the highway just like before.
Again…getting closer, closer, louder and louder.
Chugga, shugga, chugga, whoo whoooooo!
Terrified, I run around the house to find safety.
Looking frantically for a hiding place.
I scamper about to no avail…terrorized.
Chugga, shugga, chugga, whoo whoooooo!
I can hear it rumbling down my street, now.
My alarmed heart races as I run from place to place.
But there is no stopping that dreaded train.
Chugga, shugga, chugga, whoo whoooooo!
That incessant whistling getting louder…Louder!
Much louder than before, my…fright grows.
Strength perishes while fears increase.
Whoo whoooooo! Whoo whoooooo!
Across the lawn, through the front door,
The train barges in. But it doesn’t see me hiding
I breathe softly and crouch behind the couch.
My “evil enemy” in silence rolls into the kitchen.
No more chugging, no more whistling…
The train in stealthy pursuit seeks as I hide.
From one concealed place to another, I flee.
In silent horror, I run for cover…room-to-room.
The train steadily searches methodically hunting—
No more chugging, no more whistling…only seeking.
Finally, I scamper behind the couch, again.
The train heads for the front door just as I hide behind it.
He leaves. Chugga, shugga, chugga!
Chugga, shugga, chugga, chugga, shugga, chugga!
Finally, in the distance I hear it. Whoo whoooooo!
Thankfully, I escaped the dreadful...once again.
If only I could fly with the birds—
I guess I woke up too soon!
© © Dane Smith-Johnsen
March 13, 2010
Let us discuss the circus alive in the theater of your conflicts,
the Master of Ceremonies cremates caution
in the center of curiosity's conciet
where birds bleed songs of azure agony,
madness remembers the melody of a midnight march
to a shrine built from bricks baste with war sweat and stress
as Death sits solemnly thumping it's cranial cudgel methodically
atop drums taut with elephant hide,
a child approaches through the Hippodrome's east chamber
juggling three radiant orbs, omni, omega, ovation,
the audience of thousands uproars unanimously
when Hate, Love & Fate manifest as beasts of the best brutality
encircling the child with a primordial hunger in their bellies,
their handlers cocky and competitive, controls the animals with elements
such as air, fire & water, one by one they rush the child
with violent intent, in their hearts victim & victory are synonomous,
the tiger repelled by the fire of the child's imagination,
the bear repulsed from the whistle of his innocence,
and the lepoard refrains from the current of his youth,
in the balcony, Venus and Mars applaud proudly for sagacious survival,
acrobats appear, the grey one Fatigue, the green one is Resolve,
despite loathing each other they must be team or die from the heights,
gasps from a crowd caught in a conspiracy of soul piracy
as self destruction stands cackling on the arena floor with his anger crackling red,
attempting to whip the hands of the acrobats with a dragon's tail
encrusted with the crushed vertebrae of cowardice,
he strikes their wrists but they secure the dizzing stunt in defiance,
cheers collide with the chimera of acrobats transformed into an eagle's scream
while the Master of Ceremonies welcomes the women of warhorse wishes,
J.A.B.