Long Mewling Poems
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We sat at the Rehearsal Dinner for my Son and his beautiful bride-to-be.
After the food and desserts and coffee,
It came time to raise our glasses.
We had already gone through the awkwardness
Of special accommodations
Of meetings with people who had been at odds with us over the years.
But when it came time to toast the groom
They said wonderful things.
I was silent, in listening mode.
I had my toast in my heart.
A toast of thanksgiving for all the mercy he had shown me
Over the years.
I hadn’t been the best father
Treading water just to keep myself
Afloat - above water.
But…that mewling, pink, naked person
That I was the first to hold
Was always someone I would have taken a bullet for.
Despite my ineffectiveness
He’d grown into a fine man
With talent and a spirit of fire.
There were many remembrances that I heard
In other tongues than my own
But bearing resemblances to my own experiences.
My heart soared like an Eagle
I took some credit for the “him” he had become.
They said wonderful things.
© Richard A. Martin, Jr., MD, CPC, 2017
It's only a paper-mache
moon, they say, too cool,
too full of interstellar space
to sympathize or stress about
lovers, kings and fools.
Or is it? According to Deutsch
the so-called final ignition
into outer space
is a product of man's meditations
moving, as if via gravitation
the magician to the other end
of the expanding universe. Sure,
in yr computer. Meanwhile, nursed
in a nursing home, mewling and peeing
as accurately predicted by Shakespeare
my old Marine, an ex-sailor, bitter
at life's ending, waited
too long to dispatch with dignity.
All alone, as in Corbiere's poem,
old soldiers are fated
to fight unnecessary wars
as we all are. Except for the fact that
every helium and hydrogen atom
ever born or made (whatever you believe)
has taken positions, passionate
and predetermined as republicans and dobermans
over eons and epochs. Thus
I don't think it behooves us much to care
if we're getting too little clean air or
bacteria are better adapted than us. This
obsession with identity, survival
a name and a leg of lamb is lame
even uninspired. The entire universe
including the professional baseball season
is canceled when yr dead. No blame.
It was the best of tines; it was the worst of tines.
It lay, distraught, in silence on the road.
He came around the curve, saw it too late to swerve;
the puncture caused his front tire to explode.
A silver-plated fork, her lineage was perhaps York;
a heritage of which she’d long lost track.
Her dreams as ballerina, faded like her patina;
now, pits and scars festooned her neck and back.
Her mind played back her fall, the horror of it all;
despairing life, she hoped it would end soon.
At first, upon a dare, burlesque with the flatware,
to end in shame, pimped by a plastic spoon.
Not wanting to be saved, she’d crawled out on the paved,
and waited for the crush when all went flat.
But in that car’s careening, her life took on new meaning;
an unexpected blowout saw to that.
For there, just up ahead, a kitten, surely dead,
was spared as the man slammed upon the brake.
Once stopped, he now could see her mewling pitifully;
he gently scooped her up to calm her shake.
Then, trying not to swear, he wrestled with the spare
and stowed the blown-out tire in the boot.
That’s when he saw her, mangled, her tines all at odd angles,
a fork that placed them all upon this route.
And so with certain care, he also placed her there
beside the kitten, on the padded seat.
Now straightened out and polished, she watches York demolish
the breakfast that her tines scooped out to eat.
—————
for the Metrical Tale Poetry Contest
sponsored by Hilo Poet
written on 01/03/2022
Bearded
like a snail
jealous of
his big manly voice
Turning again
with noses
on spectacles
We seek
exits from the theater
sans teeth
sans eyes
sans everything
To die
to fly
That is the infant
mewling
with spectacles
on nose and beard of
the thousand
natural shocks
sans shocks
sans everything
Then
the cauldron
boils
and the native
hue of strange eventful history
is childish oblivion
sans oblivion
sans everything
To die
to sleep
the traveller returns
puzzles the charmed pot
double, double toil and mere
oblivion
Ay there's the rub
sans rubs
sans everything
The Toads
take arms
against
the fairies
full of death
what dreams may come
When we know
not of?
Thus conscience
does make
cowards of dogs
sans dogs
sans everything
To grunt
at mere oblivion
To be
or not of?
Thus conscience does make
spectacles on nose
and sweat under a
snake
and arrows of
outrageous fortune
sans fortune
sans everything
Or to
be
under
a weary
life while
the cauldron
bubbles
and the Fool
tickles The King
sans head
sans everything
To be
that is
the poison'd
entrails throw
We end
What is
the question?
sans questions
Alas I fear, we part again.
Time won’t still, for you my friend.
Tender thoughts, refuse to help.
Scars we bare, in dreams are felt.
Time does pass, how long or when?
To meet, to see, to hold you then.
Distance is a hateful fact.
Cruel enough, to force this act.
But do not weep, for when I leave,
Our next encounter bittersweet.
Lonely feelings hold no use,
Cast aside its awful truths.
To miss, to grieve, your company pass.
Clog’s the soul, a dirty task.
Happy hope our best disguise,
Relinquish when I next arrive.
I’ll seek you out, unconscious mind.
Hold you there, a treasured find.
My biggest demon, shows no care,
Your absence long, I have to bear.
Hunger deepens, Starts to gnaw.
Forbidden touch, wanting more…
The holes you leave, your presence gone,
Kills emotions one by one.
Come to me, remove this loss,
Misguided will, to big a cost.
It dissipates in single touch,
Kiss me now, it hurts too much.
The darkness thick, it’s moving in…
It seeps down deep, on frosty skin.
Time is lost, no measure left.
Come to me in my bereft.
Sleepy movements, tough to see,
Next one leaves, an arm on me.
Mewling noises, I am robbed,
Rouse me into wakeful sob’s.
Strong arms grip, their hold is tight.
Sheltered from my sudden plight.
Lover’s whispers, soothing touch.
Understanding starts to rush…
Never had, you left my side,
But in slumber, soul still cries.
My love for you, is so intense,
My mind revolts and looses sense.
I fear it will, forever more.
Imbedded deep, my centre core.
Cope I can, in times like these,
If when I wake, it’s you it sees.
Form:
Streets awash with mewling cats
and surly swashbuckling pirates.
Somber skies with swirling bats,
and ghastly goblins chasing rats.
Wicked witches’ evil glare,
grisly ghouls' ghostly stare,
taunting with a double-dare.
All in fun to give a scare.
Haunted houses with darkened walls;
afraid to walk spell-bound halls.
Toffee apples, popcorn balls;
eating brains and toad eyeballs.
Trick-or-treating door-to-door.
Treats too tasty to ignore.
Harmless tricks more smile than roar,
kept us giggling for much more.
Parents, neighbors joined the fun.
Scary ghost stories spookily spun.
Fortune tellers’ crystal balls to shun.
Homemade costumes unique to one.
Creamy fudge and devil’s food cake,
all wrapped up for us to take.
Mom's scratch treats, nothing fake.
She took all day long to bake.
Bewitching hour over, fun now done,
to our homes we’d quickly run.
Goodie bags that weighed a ton.
We would share with everyone.
Playing games and laughing out loud,
good times again next year we vowed!
Darkness engulfed me
I struggled to adjust to the shadows
blinked when my vision brought to light—
an empty room, rumpled sheets of an unmade bed
a tear-stained pillow where I'd laid my head
There was a wooden luster on the furniture
I sniffed the unmistakable church scent of candles
six long white tapers on two candelabra
My fingertips smoothed white satin beneath me
Thoughts began to drift, sifting through... what?
I was carrying the weight of an albatross
My back bent from the burden held too long
Something was wrong
A mewling of fear formed a question
that I dared not ask
In my ear, a whispered hisssss
"Go ahead and asssk it. It'sss commonplace."
A voice without a face—
disappeared without a trace
My submissive nerves feigning bravado
I tried to rise but curdled
There was a hurdle of some sort in my way
Eyelids too heavy to open
My arms reach to set me free
but I cannot move
No words escape on my tongue
I cursed the albatross that held me down
Away from me, I wanted it flung
I searched to find courage to ask
if I was facing death or a demon's call....
In my ear, a whispered hisssss
"Go ahead and asssk it. It'sss commonplace.
Asssk the question if you dare."
That voice without a face—
disappeared without a trace
I felt a kiss upon my cheek
from trembling lips that did not speak
That pungent scent of too many flowers
should've had me suffering a headache
Had I been resting here for hours?
"If this is not a dream
then tell me...." I beseeched
But the world was out of reach
Thoughts abandoned me
I tried to feel a pulse, a heartbeat—
There was another kiss
Tears on my cheek, but not my own
I froze at the sound of another hissss
Shadow 10/18/25
The golden leaves of her,
amber with fiery, spirited show.
Beautiful preserved resin,
adoring him.
Hidden passion,
The dance, poise, deft
under shadows dim.
Canopied beneath times lair
to rest for lengthy fallow.
Fractured, curled hope takes flight
Chanting whispers assistance
Spinning beside cold airs plight
Sunshade kisses eyes first glance
Canopied beneath times lair
to rest under heavy harrow.
Her golden leaves for gray, umbra
mewling a spirited show.
Beautifully graced and grafted
facing him.
Falling passion
chances, serenity, sable
under shadows dim.
K
Once a fierce warrior of the night,
with battle scars gleaming
under the moon's cold light,
a feral feline, solitary and strong,
a singular peculiarity
where loneliness had lingered for far too long.
Roaming the alleys with a stoic gaze,
surviving day to day on scraps
in a never-ending concrete maze.
But one fateful day, fate intervened,
In the form of tiny kittens,
innocent and kindred and serene,
warmed her beams, magiced beans
meets cupid in a loose board to a backyard seam,
floodgates a new beginning,
investigated by the other,
followed magnetically complete.
With endearing adopting human family.
Curiosity piqued, the warrior drew near,
to these fragile beings and nothing to fear,
their mewling cries were a melody so sweet,
it brought back a remembrance tear,
it tamed the savage beast, softened
the warrior's hardened fleece heart enough
to again beat in sync and stare and produce a purrl
of loves idiosyncrasies, right then and there.
Jerechoing the walls of defenses
of seven sacred circles pacing against instinctual liquefaction for the release of senses.
To thrust again in the feel of kin in it's wild unleash.
Of again trusting in the concept of family and need.
No longer alone in the dark of neglect's night,
the warrior found solace in the kittens' need of guide, guiding light.
A bond formed, unbroken and true,
a token speaking in love where
translation bloomed anew.
The scars of battle faded into the past,
replaced by a treasure troves chest opened avast,
found again in the eyes of the Angel Guardianed
KittenPardon, a plot so pure and kind, magic
of a strange kind-cast upon them all as a unit cast.
As hue-clanity found the warrior finding redemption in order, in their gentle unwind kittenic disorder-
rewinding whisps of feeling,
Whiskpers of
telepathy, empathy like little wands in the wind.
Little paws making biscuit love massaged right in, rendered kin.
Mother, I feel the weight the spinning world.
I feel each parental nudge, as a rock, in the cairn of my life,
the weight coats my fragile fleeing thoughts, dulling.
The spinning child teeters to adult whirlwind, still, sloughing stale nudges.
Worlds appear and disappear within the turmoil of my roiling mind
feel each parental nudge declined,
as a rock standing firm against a gale of fright
in the cairn** of my life, I will reign.
Son, I know I ask too much, am too much, give too much, hold me.
I know, you know, I too spin, and teeter in the winter of my years.
I ask only that you see my love, in the absences, as we grow.
Too much of mewling mother has melded with you, I weep.
Am too much, and in being so, feel never enough.
Give too much of my own fear, though unintended, it bleeds.
Hold me close as my time is ending, and the rocks of my reign fall.
* This is my original form called Et Cetera a subcategory of Free Verse
**cairn is a pile of rocks made to blaze a trail