Long Ogre Poems
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You Never Know What You’ll See on Elm Street
Take my hand – follow the plan,
Let’s go for a walk down wide Spruce Street;
Friends to play with and neighbors to greet
But now that we see all that we can
Let’s turn the corner and go to Elm Street.
Questions run all over your face
Where is Elm Street – a magical place?
A kingdom where marvelous wonders live -
Where fairytales dance and marvels sing?
I can only say: “You never know what you’ll see on Elm Street.
Your eyes now look like giant white saucers,
Glowing and shining in the moonlight darkness,
Not a word, not a bird’s song, breaks through the sunlight
Look very carefully so you won’t miss the delights…
Our hearts beat loudly with wild anticipation
Every hair on our heads stands up in great animation
Peek round the corner! Open your eyes! Tiptoe lightly!
Don’t disturb the surprise.
What’s that on the corner – I can’t believe my eyes -
One of Santa’s eight reindeer all decked out in lights;
What is he doing here at the end of July?
Do we see snowflakes in the summer sky?
There in the sidewalk - a long jagged crack!
Where will it lead us – how will we get back?
Look – red ripe tomato plants grow up through the sidewalk
All we can do is wonder and gawk.
Who is that calling us – how do they know our names?
We’ve never set foot here - we’re not even famous;
Our friend Mrs. Smith from the village bookstore
With snickerdoodles and lemonade at her front door.
There on the parking strip flags of red, white and blue.
Fifty bright stars flutter on a field of dark hue.
How did they get here from Main Street in July?
Did they walk, skip or run just for our eyes –
Sit here on the curbside – rest from your quest
What’s coming next – only a guess -
Way down the street more adventures beckon
Pause just awhile – wait just a second.
Now a scary fierce giant stomps high in the sky -
A high flying ogre – dark as the night;
Only a cloud ship gliding on frisky breezes -
Heave a great sigh the giant can’t reach us.
At the end of the street we’ve finally come.
Turning back now -look at all of the fun.
The reindeer, tomatoes, flags, clouds and the cookies
All wave good-bye and with wide-eyes you ask looking
“When can we come back to Elm Street?”
A walk down Elm Street with G-Man and AJ
July - 2008
this own lee bro' thar of yars
dashed analogously graced
on par how a marathon runner raced
to Macbook Pro laptop computer post haste
soon as he goat back
to his domicile nestled and encased
in the bucolic, democratic,
and fantastic spit non defaced
woodland partially hydrogenated oils baste
surrounding Highland Manor Apartment our ace
in the hole, whence he i.e. mice elf
(Matty Mouse) with threads of gratitude laced
within a feeble attempt
to burble, cobble, fiddle, easy as gravy,
an insrutable letter placed
in the output queue
soon as all
the typo O graphical errors erased
and, though struggle to convey love
for such an endearing older sister,
which digitally squawking,
aye did not cut and paste
boot doth admit to allowing,
a saucy bit of small potatoes sayest
in ma trademark (truemark)
stuffing of fluffernutter (that taste)
G---R---R---E---E---A---A---T
(courtesy of flaky Tony the corny tiger),
which gimmerish aims to waste
juiced spare moments,
and tubby direct, earnest and frank
lemme communicate without resorting
to caginess,
but free roaming thoughts to thank
ye and Rich for welcoming a small group
of family and friends
to your Woodbury, New Jersey abode,
page number two:
somewhat near Redbank
to relish the salad days of times gone by,
when as kids,
we tricked each other with a harmless prank
such as hiding a fuzzy wuzzy Willie,
or scaring the other
with the molded Creepy People that doth rank
as laughably innocent, these topsy turvy times,
when faith no more
eroded cameraderie
among fellow Americans to tank
especially as the world wide web
iz going to fill in the BLANK
thus moments to share
a tasty repast did help me to crank
out this artichoked gibberish,
which when placed
atop pyramid of cranberries sank.
as didst this heart of darkness
within soul asylum
of papa and momma genes
to two beautiful young women
re: daughters, whose absence
felt as gloomy fiends
similar to the Ogre encountered,
when goose that laid golden egg stolen
by Jack of beanstalk
of story book fame as a cash cow means.
Darkness is he, soulless totally
It's abyss he commands, desiring what he sees
In front of him stands a virgin, pure as the driven snow
For white he knows it is, upon she his darkness will show
Long haired and silken clad, his lusting eyes allure his own
Is it fear that makes her pert, or the fear of being alone
*~*
Upon his lap she stands, so minute to his ogre mass
Her silken attire now torn, talon fingers on she he grasps
Innocent flesh he craves, to satisfy his empty soul
In his lusting abyss, his darkness will soon unfold
*~*
Petite, pert so perfect, ageing hands of his darkened past
Cup her porcelain charms, so grotesque is his grasp
Leering eyes of void, now alive to this virgins flesh
Excitement fills his wants, this maiden near total undress
A strangeness falls amidst this darkened scene
Has she succumbed, is she in the middle or has she seen
*~*
To his torso of centuries old, attention is drawn to he
Reciprocating she kisses in touch, with drooling eyes he sees
This virgin standing in front of him, allured now is she
So minute to his ogre mass, content she appears to be
*~*
Lips touching taste, eyes closed, are they in wonderment
Has she entered his darkened abyss, or is he now heaven sent
Lashing tongues, like a fencing épée now drawn
When his dark met her light, I struggle for the forlorn
Breaths are seldom apart, it's as if magnetic, they are
This join of abyss fuelled white, seems so bizarre
*~*
Lecherousness in his tasting rush, her scent he delves in deep
This virgin, this maiden so taken, to him now she seeps
Like diamonds, her pertness rises, en-capturing her charms
So different when she stood before him, all in alarm
*~*
Tailored they are not, such a difference in size
This virgin maiden so white, soon to be in firm cries
Thralled he now becomes, induced in his darkened dark
He now revels in his taken, amidst thighs of perfection arch
Forlorn has now become, a joining of lustful desires
Black locks now sway with delight, the dark now afire
*~*
Positioning, seasoned they are, in joyful joining crave
Now the darkness has seen the light, in typical deprave
Sighs now resonate, amidst his darkened dingy hell
The allure of purring white, increase his darkening swell
*~*
Neptune:
I believe what I endowed the earth
with the swashing foreland when
the arogant waves strikes and take birth
of gentle ripples while flashing back
To the oceanic abyss, the sapphire peace. But
Where are you my marine fille?
Come and spread your crimson caudal fin
on the swashing foreland
dress your long aureate hair with
the white shells of the long dead snails
those gliding away with the ripples flashing back.
What haunts you?
The black ugly Ogre?
No fear! Don't be afraid!
Your beauty will reflect a blaze
And the Ogre will no longer come on your bay.
Ogre:
When the ocean is rough
and the tide is high
with the moon I rise with my malign wand
I savor the beauty to ruin
that you endowed with your charming wish.
And your marine fairy?
She is confined deep down in the blue
Lonely and in the dark
In my drear world of torments and fear.
Her little cry with my laughs
brings the rising tide and wakens my pride.
She will be cursed, she will shed with blood
Even your divine words will be her
birth of a daemon's life.
Neptune: 'Ogre',
You will never see the moon again
once she finds her way out
The fear of her what you are laughing at
Is the sword of her liberty
And when she is done withal her anguishes
Is the form of her divinity.
Oh! My marine fille
Come!
Come and fight this evil
Your beauty with your agony
is the only weapon of Ogre's demolish.
You will then sing along with the splashes of waves
you will swim with the seagulls coming from distance
you will dive with the Delphinidae
and hide, seeing the boatman's fish net.
Fairy:
I suffered a lot, a lot more than what you felt for me
'Mother Neptune',
Forgive me for I could not trust my own beauty
As it's the only treasure that makes my lofty.
This Ogre, I was never afraid of
But I used to belive I will lose my valuable dignity.
But no more tear that ruins the beauty of this earth
I will wait for the next early morning sun
And the rays will blaze to the demolish of the being
of Ogre's evil aspires and I will once again
live to your heavenly endowed world
and swim from the foreland to the distant horizon
without being the traitor of the faith of my own beauty and shine.
Contd. "The Tale of a Fairy and an Ogre - II"
7/20/19
"I'll be your Joker"
Still a registered voter
Signed up to be an organ donor
And finally became a car owner
I rarely use a controller
When it's time, I'll man up and buy a stroller
As well as panels that are solar
Near and far from areas that are polar
Doesn't matter if I ever get a Range Rover
Or Roadster
I'm barely ever sober
Always been a loner
And stoner
3 months away from another October
If you want to be my Harley Quinn, I'll be your "Joker"
Not no poser
Where are you Scully? This is agent Mulder
Anytime you want, I'll be your shoulder
To lean on
From here to way beyond
For eons
Where's my Marge? I am Homer
I'll be your rock over and over
Since I've gotten nobler
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder
I've seen it so much, I could compile a folder
Life's one giant rollercoaster
It's really revving my motor
All these women giving me a b***r
And then the cold shoulder
As if I am an ogre
I remain a soldier
Drinking high end coffee, no more Folgers
Getting wiser and older
Becoming bolder
As the world gets colder
I'm not feeling dolor
Just multi tasking, while a fire continues to smoulder
Maintaining my composure
Finding closure
Getting closer
To greatness instead of being mediocre
I enjoyed the work I did with several growers
As well as trapping some gophers
Occasionally I'll partake in poker
Even though I'm not the best hoaxer
Once or twice I used a fire stoker
When it came to Mary Jane, I was a doter
A fan of it's fragrance, it's not what I'd call an odor
I consume some products made by Clover
And am usually in places considered remoter
It's time I get a toaster and holster
I don't really need a Flame Thrower
Or to get my face on a most wanted poster
Suit yourself if you want to wear a boater
Or choker
Houses in continual foreclosure
Not always wise to go for the price that is lower
Someday my mind and body will be slower
And one day it'll all be over
10-4 over and out
And now you know, what i'm really about
Not just by word of mouth
As they say don't look a gift horse in the mouth
Regardless of if you had your doubts
By: Dalton Ogletree
Lifeblood of democracy hemorrhaging
ousting the "FAKE" president only recourse
to staunch impending grim demise,
since forefathers drafted
United States Constitution
ratified more'n two centuries ago
hoi polloi must take to the streets
denouncing severe curtailment
impinging sacred freedom of speech
linkedin with paramount bedrock provision
accessing unvarnished flint stoned "truth,"
nonetheless commander in chief
he quakingly, staunchly, vociferously...
excoriates, lacerates, repudiates...
one damning hermetically sealed,
iniquitous airtight, vacuum packed
flagrant misuse of power,
(not to mention nepotism)
invidious, insidious, injurious... infractions
incontestable, incontrovertible, contemptible...
significant melange in führer
re: hating deplorably
crooked basely barren
factual exposé after another,
deft correspondents all not quiet
along western front
(I heard Maria - mull remark)
bring "to light" execrable,
lamentable reprehensible...
gross transgressions
commander in chief
significantly overstepped
Pulitzer prize winning
prestigious storied publications
scathingly trounced, pillaried,
lambasted, insulted, denounced,
butchered, critiqued, demonized,
fricassed, gored, humiliated,...
pummeled, quartered, reviled
courageously expounding fiend
ensconced within his Taj Mahal
impregnable donjon, whereat he trumpets
laurels asper, nonpareil administration
laying groundless accusations
baring his white fangs,
twittering, naysaying, mocking.. supreme
renown gifted by "honest Abe"
recalcitrant commander in chief,
who refutes objectionable
dogged investigative journalism
every step of the way,
where dedicated news gatherers
risk life and limb
firing line reportage troopers
ferreting (foxlike) he/she
doth gopher precious nuggets
uncover alarming undisputable details
impossible to refute raw bits
agent provocateur freely colluding
immediately hashtashed poppycock
smarmy, snooty, snappy
beastly capital one ogre
blatantly castigating diligent endeavors
oblivious pie in sky
delusional egotistic haughtiness
bobblehead vilified by silent majority.
"Beyond lychgate lies future death" she says,
cucumbered eyes slid back under cauliflower sky,
brimming smithereens of harkening demons.
Been in saddle some time since torchlight began,
a child's silent castle ago. Chaos-times cut alleyways
through rose-lettered circles, reads trashy maid.
The journey fell sword north along shield path.
Peninsula late to temple-crawling fiend
and settle princess patter dust. Like trick glass
the moon palace emanates, a chain works
its crystal door. A shore of bane swims world-sick
with fire-wing ticks abreast, dragon-headed air:
happens to be, as the world burns...
Spring chickens looked at first
grasshopper leaves, blossoms.
Empty saddles of burnt Autumns
sit with moccasin thirst.
One ruby night ago, vampire night,
made movie set by tail light.
Wrench of fog came loose and fell.
Eye of moon too close, well...
Winged skeletal open sheet,
sanguine collar of his neat.
Began by serving up the meat.
Legs he tossed, and arms and feet.
A rise and shine ago, luster of sight,
out of scene the farmer goes.
Steel machine cranks horizon bright.
Scroll up the title i suppose.
Barn stall features dingy leather
where lasting gleam slips by candle.
Recall adventure, mural by weather.
Motion eye attached to handle.
Scoot across encrusted bucket,
folded over the eating depth.
Put filthy Kraken atop it,
swished around the damn mess.
Brave journal follows company
down the water-taped steps
to where there isn't any.
Sealed flame lights diver's quest.
A cave away, keys of hassle,
swim to shore with hopes unravel.
Brute force thunders far within.
Exact the sword to have them send.
Enter bar stool and order takeout.
Hostess charm enhanced the make out.
Her fuel adds flames to very fabric.
Her fists were fiery, action: magic.
Out of dust broom closet knelt good
ole nuke we ended up sneaking places:
peaceful village of the caring hood,
small reaches, to parking spaces.
Twisted hair in castle braids,
scoundrel bristles painting raids.
Countdown pistol official use,
punching bag for ogre face.
Das papa anathema & furor he hiss toward patriarchal hierarchy
Courtesy mine eldest sister Amelie
Beth (thirteen plus months my senior),
whose maternal love equals heart as emoji,
she nsync with other kith and kin
painstakingly fleshed out family tree,
formerly severely uprooted, me
knowledge of ancestry
truncated, denuded..., bereft
any extended offshoots you see,
thus without doubt earned a priori
gene nee us award for peopling bee
silly decorative swallowtail and
wild asparagus coat of arms motif,
but particularly her artistry
paternal branch Harris and
maternal Russian limb named Kuritsky,
yet now unwittingly feel stumped
I ruminate, speculate, tabulate..., re:
garding one or more descendent did trumpet
objectionable bent with bias, decadent,
flagrant... haughty jarring averse trait
invariably patriarchal heir arch key
impossible impossible to hold figurative tongue
and rebuke stereotypical tendency
resigning, excluding, kraaling..., privileges
to any persons except Caucasian wealth thee
males, who fathered established, commandeered...
western civilization paradigm, I smart
with displeasure at gross injustice curtailed free
choice to acquire unshackled life, liberty,
and pursuit amidst avast booming population,
whose supposed inalienable rights blithely
usurped and denigrated creed, ethnicity,
and indisputably those with frizzy
hair still evident this late date two thousand
nineteen, I decry, grieve, lament,... particular lee
how women haint got no choice - chattel
to grand poobahs - to terminate pregnant sea
really irksome, when predicted on incest, rape
non viable offspring...violation this
garden variety poetaster recoils with knee
jerk loathsome, how young females jailed
if they undergo abortion
(with unwanted, unloved, unborn..., bay bee
thru no fault in their own stars),
punishment nasty, brutal and abhorrent
essentially enslaving the gentler sex lee
ving terror and horror, when peering into mirror
ogre looming ready to strangle gal lest she
obey mandate else...
Just when they thought the house was pristine
They were blinded by flashes, purple and green
A psychedelic flare shot up through the roof
Then crashed back down with a loud, smoky POOF!
It hissed and it fizzled in the middle of the room
They all backed away from the kaleidoscopic plume
But before they could leave there was an almighty flash
Then an explosion that ended in an ear-banging crash
When the smoke cleared they all looked around
The house had been razed all the way to the ground
The cat's fur was singed, the furniture was dust
The guest's clothes were blackened, their expressions nonplussed
The goblin was fizzing, the ogre displeased
"Well this was a disaster!" the scorched elves teased
The fairy was frowning at her charred, blackened wings
Whilst the pixies were playing in the soot, of all things
Suddenly the witch burst into pained tears
This debacle had confirmed her very worst fears
She'd never tried to have a birthday party before
And after today, she wouldn't try to any more
Her sobs were so desperate, so sad, so forlorn
That her friends felt quite guilty for showing such scorn
They each gave her a hug and said not to fret
The party wasn't done; at least not yet!
"You see," said the wizard, "the house might be charred,
But we can always continue in your perfect back yard
The witch looked at her friends with hope in her eyes
And felt the cloud of despair beginning to rise
"Do you mean it?" she asked, her tears drying up
"Yes," they all smiled, "let's get it set up!"
They used all of their skills and magical tricks
To create a new party; it was really quite slick
Then for the finale the ogre did bake
An amazingly huge strawberry cake
The witch blew out the candles and made her wish
Before sampling the cake, which was simply delish!
She looked at her friends, her smile so bright
"I'm so lucky to have you, you're all a delight!"
The beamed at the praise too touched to respond
And nobody noticed the still sparking wand...
We read about the slaughter in a place far overseas,
where the multicultural blending has been there for centuries.
Where church of all denominations have been standing side by side.
Where neighbours have been neighbourly; respect seemed to abide.
Seems that politics and power can infiltrate a settled mind;
dig up and open wounds of what is yours and what is mine,
take citizens back into time and drag out all their roots …
be wary of your ogre neighbour, they have a gun that shoots.
Begin to see those simple folk who lived their simple lives,
follow restlessly and blindly as belief or race revives,
those that helped them yesterday really had a cunning plan,
all they really wanted was, to find a way to cut you down.
Throw them all out on the streets; run them out of town.
Ethnic cleanse the country to make it pure and sound.
If they refuse to leave our home and opt to make a stand -
build a force of vigilantes, to roam and cut them down.
What started as a trickle soon turns into a flood.
The cup that fills with honey can also be filled with blood.
The taste that once was bitter now is the taste that's lusted for,
when seeking out the enclaves to go killing more and more.
A house, once a home of peace stands a shattered monument,
to let the remnants hanging on know what to expect.
Heads displayed on pikes are cheered; graves hold hundreds more.
Babes are sport for bayonets; forgot is what we're fighting for.
Can't live side by side now; there's too much terror going on.
Battle lines are clearer; the sane have taken leave and gone.
Cannons roaring day and night; lines must stand holding fast.
For anyone that's over-run, that day becomes their last.
When the dust has settled and the criminals are hung,
Hate subsides back to the memory; the clean-up has begun.
Do we realize as bloodstains fade; we have a deep rooted call …
needing one spark to set us off - there could be murder in us all.