Long Mudslide Poems
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Nick's descent,
his thoughts neutralized
words that spill out, hobbled
nonsensical
dementia stifles all intentions,
reason eroding
wounded bewilderment
sometimes he slips into Greek
his first language that crosses an invisible
border
self propelled
unexpected
a weightless swim through memory's deepest weeds
once was the warm smell of happiness
once he had his footing
a toughness that knew few limits
warrior worthy,
an emblem of defiance
but things creep beyond the fence of normal
he holds his proud visage still
Athenian brow, marbled composition
complex dynamics to fight submission
a gentle dignity
even as the recognizable world moves
like a mudslide
pressing in
Poem written November 21, 2021 (revised Jan. 1st/22)
Contest: This or That Volume 8
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Overcome by hurricane or tornado?
Ran over by a train or a big rig?
Will I be flooded over or burned out?
Avalanche or mudslide? Which will it be?
A friend boarded a plane when close to 80.
He was afraid of dying in a plane crash.
Some years prior to his first flight,
I said to him, "We are all going to die".
His reply? "But I will not die in a plane".
Sometimes, we are able to choose our way of death.
Sometimes, unfortunately, all of our choices are evil.
Sometimes, we have no choice but to pick our poison.
When such is the case, our best choice is to pray,
"LORD, DELIVER US FROM EVIl. AMEND".
092724PS
If you ever visit South Wales do go and see
The location of what was an awful tragedy
Famous for the wrong reasons the town of Aberfan
Suffered an unspeakable horror that was caused by man.
On the twenty first of October at nine fifteen
Was the worst mining disaster that Wales had ever seen
A spoil tip that had been piled high just above the town
Was loosened by rainwater and came crashing down.
Pantglas junior school was just below in its path
Children ready for lessons at their desks' they were sat
The tip hit the school a hundred and forty four died
When the news was released the whole nation cried.
Volunteers came and they dug down quite deep
The teachers and children were already 'asleep'
A farmhouse and cottages with people inside
They too lost their lives in the thundering mudslide.
In the horrific events twenty five did survive
Were found by the rescuers shocked but alive
Painful memories they have of what happened that day
It's a terrible burden they carry that won't go away.
A memorial garden marks the spot where they died
And on a hillside they're buried side by side
Their little white markers are harrowing to see
A stark reminder of that awful tragedy.
(Dedicated to all those who lost their lives at
Aberfan on that fateful morning of 21st October 1966)
Written on 21st November 2017.
I’m gobs smacked; I thought I saw it all,
I said “Rub your eyes Sidney Hall.”
There’s jelly at the Beach,
There was lemon, orange, banana yellow, and my favourite peach.
So much jelly all in one place,
I wonder how they could fit it in such a small space.
One thing I must say and I'm glad
To you when you hear it might sound bad
Here we go: I’m really concerned
For the freedom of these colourful bikinis is justifiable earned?
With oozing jelly bellies hanging over the sides
Some one please dab my watering eyes
Oh the chaffing and squeaking from their thongs
Sound like a bunch of strangled birds singing their last songs
One thing I must say for certain
One bikini could make a duvet and a pair of curtains
Jelly bellies, hips and thighs
This beats an optician’s test of the eyes
And when they bend over it happens so soon
A total eclipse of the sun and the moon
When they lay on the beach, the direction to run I don't know
For it's like a mudslide or a lava flow
Well to some men this might be a terrible sight
To others the jelly at the beach is a beautiful sight
*Ok it's not quite jellyfish but I must admit*
*but there is loads of Jelly not a little bit*
We lived apart from each other
and became strangers,
we went down the lonely path
forgetting we were lovers;
did we realize what we missed,
all the closeness we held dear?
Time can be a reminder
of our joy and our worth...
that's what we have wasted!
Ah, taking the losing side
isn't always the best choice,
when we get so angry
words don't make any sense:
they hurt on the inside,
they only cause misery!
Ah, taking the losing side
it's admitting the guilt,
it's denying who's at fault
and expect much hurt!
Days don't have
the same outcome as our intention,
they are different in their perception,
don't take them in stride,
live them out;
whatever they promise
little or a lot,
breathe and feel alive!
Ah, taking the losing side...
is putting away all pride;
first, consider how much it will cost
and be ready to expect the worst!
Ah, taking the losing side...
is going down the mudslide!
Whether a totally
tubular ordinary day, or...hmm...
perhaps at the
approach of yuletide,
one need not go
far and wide
across the webbed world
to experience being unified,
this quasi motto maxim of sorts
analogous to auld
sanity clause trailguide
motivates me to
seek if necessary
all the way to Telluride
to attempt Swiss-side
enlightenment with every stride,
thus please feel free
and clear to chat streamside
ideally at springtide,
yea your welcome, yes do
respond to this snide
loner if game to chess das side
to accompany this gadabout
(once pawn a time) rook
key nada so longfellow
wordsworth king rustler,
yup, who still attests
to occupy ringside
available vacancy for queenside
guest of honor, (gnome hatter
if ye happen tubby pride
full favoring an effeminate
poetic guy), also...provide
ding no aversion toward
this moon face planetwide,
Martian hood doth bleach blonde
his hair with peroxide,
this lapsed lose zoo lee
errant knight well,
that could pose a minor
drag) hubble restraint,
I would override,
but actually this ring
around the collar, (sans whiskey
perspiration at noontide),
drunkard, (that's when
my late morning gets broken)
yea...way offset from nationwide
conformity, nonetheless huff
fain tuff fellowship with me,
a chap who doth not arise
before the crack of noon
lest inside his noggin
oozes like a mudslide,
(which on May 31, 1889
washed away Johnstown, Pennsylvania),
the damn burst (like
a Led Zeppelin),
and roared down the mountainside
triggered (human sited) landslide
decimating, leveling, and uprooting,
every friggin gabled
house along hillside,
which essentially created massive graveside.
DUNKED
I feel like a badly dunked and broken biscuit
Sweet icebergs floating in a warm cup of tea
What was to have been a favourite texture
Now a mudslide with soft submerged blobs
Abandoned now as the drinker walks away
Is this how people always are at the end
As hopes for something good are dashed
Beyond any recovery, left to sink unseen
Discarded, bereft of earlier anticipation
Despite all good intentions, now failed
However solid things were at the start
A confection constructed for a soft bite
Now just a sludge with no pretensions
Not having made it to teeth or tongue
That missed taste opportunity now lost
But the other half still between the fingers
Perhaps a chance for some redemption
Not risking a further failed attempt
But a crisp bite is now just acceptable
And avoidance with a careful sip of tea
I am standing in the middle of the road, deciding which way to go, the traffic on my left is speeding down the street and the traffic on my right is disrupting my heartbeat.
I am standing in the middle of the street, waiting for the story to complete but you keep adding chapters upon chapter and the story expands covering the entire land. If you walk in the middle of the road, you will get hit by traffic coming from both sides. So, upon wisdom you must abide.
What started off as a private story with one person and the family has touched the entire universe and invokes a traditional curse.
Everyone starts walking up and down the street in the heat, repeating words and verse and meddling in the stranger’s purse. The lion is stuck in the den and the people are waiting for manner to fall from heaven. It has not eaten for several days, and you must be careful how you approach it or it will drag you down in the dirt and rip out your throat.
Nothing that is going on makes sense and the organizers have packed the boxes with hidden lies, the men are prowling around in the street looking for an alibi and a short cut to reach the sky; but the clouds keep rolling by
I am standing in the middle of the street and I have an important message for thee, meet me at the corner of the dam and climb on top of the swinging bridge and crawl on your belly and whisper a silent hymn, if the way is clear you must walk slowly to the other side but if human traffic and vehicular traffic are present you must abandon the trip to heaven.
I feel a sense of a sense of longing, and where am at, I just don’t belong and the journey is extremely long; the road in front of me is filled with debris, and the mudslide breaks down in the middle of the road and big trees are rooted from the ground and lying across the road,
water is rising from both sides of the street and the wind is adding pressure to their sins, they abandon their vehicles and climb out of their shoes and stood in the middle of the road reminiscing their soul and so they began a journey in their native country spreading the news about the fox, the wolf and the mule. When the way is clear you must meet me at the corner over there.
i
I am not from Lancaster ain't no tumbleweed rollin through my backyard or brain. when those beautiful snow capped mountains show up in the morning on my front lawn in a mudslide..is not me.
rollin down the dark highway road a sudden thud-a crash into a wild boar crossing the road..how many times do I have to say, that's not me. course I will admit the lightning bugs at night sho nuff are a sight to see and the crickets chirping in the early morn mo pleasant than any alarm clock I know.sometimes the going down of the evening sun provides a skyline that's simply breathtaking, course when I pass the pig farm down the road..i keep my breath whew! and that says it in a nutshell why um not from Lancaster. when my wife said let's move to Lancaster I said whoa now, let's rent a spot for a week 'n the events of that week matriculated to a conclusion..
that's not me.
The gentle Wind whispering through the trees
Tornados and cyclones expressing ; rage
Watch sailboats floating on the ocean breeze
While violent Hurricanes take centre stage
A gentle Rain in the early morning
Tsunami destroying all in its path
A monsoon starts without any warning
Hot water drawn for a relaxing bath
The gentle Fire Blazing in the wood stove
Keeping you warm on a cold winter’s night
The black ashes of a once luscious grove
The countryside glows, a hellish red light
The gentle Earth yielding all to mankind
Mudslide cascading from the mountain tops
An Earthquake : death and destruction combined
Vegetable gardens have flourishing crops
The elements to sustain life
Also create momentous strife
Inspired by Barbara Gorelick's Contest "The Four Elements"