Long Ominously Poems
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Diversity explores
both resonant and opposing positions
with nearly predative anticipation
And such perversely curious
reverse revisioning diversity deplores
with monoculturing anxiety
quietly crossed
and boldly violated boundaries
of personal
and familial
and municipal
and EarthTribal
indigenous integrity
Sacred space expands
mindfully perceived
this Business As Traumatically Usual place
too lose/lose dark
and too win/win blind
to keep faith with dimming starlight
Celestial Glitter Rivered Ways
majestic
yet ominously silent
shunned Spirits
of ancient silvered sentient bright
Yet momentary mortal time
feels reflective light received
sufficiently reassuring
mythically alluring
for transient transportive pleasure
tenderly insufficient
for full-ripened organic measure
depleting dissonant self-disenfranchising
failure to complete
integrity's potential Paradise.
Occasionally, I taste wakeful infinity.
It creeps on me at night.
There I lie in all kinds of positions,
while sleep flies away silently, ominously,
over the rafters and out into the starless night.
Fear grips my soul,
My worries taunt
for tomorrow will come,
eyes red, bags will hang beneath the lids,
and a body rigid, stressed, and tired.
Fatigue is in my very bones.
How fragile our lives can be?
Why can't I conjure visions
out of the darkness of the night?
Even the moon went to sleep.
I count sheep,
unending fields, trains,
or gentle breezes that help sails into port.
Nothing works. I just give up,
lie back and hope in vain.
Thoughts fly, ugly at times,
I strive to remember the gentler moments,
but fail miserably. I feel faint.
I turn, I stretch, I count, I pray.
I feel like an insignificant pinpoint
in the universe's expanse.
Can't do anything but wait for dawn.
She’ll be leaving soon I see
The ambulance has arrived,
Waiting for another guest
To take a long, hard ride.
A malicious, microscopic serpent
Invaded blood and bones
Leaving this sweet young lady
Ravaged, scared and ominously alone.
Looking out her window now
At the roses she planted and pruned
Hospice is her final stop
Before sailing past the moon.
She takes one final, languid look
At her weeping bedroom walls
Before they load her listless life
She does her best to stall
Those made to come and carry her
From her house of torment and tears
She bows her head and genuflects
Fighting back the fear.
Knowing the end’s inevitable
Yet staving off all she can
Smelling the roses wafting scent
Of a magnificently more preeminent plan.
Postscript:
The young lady left this world today
Floating far beyond sky blue;
Now nothing more to do or say
Except God bless, “Adieu.”
Gray matter subjected to accumulate
incessant overall slack heavily larded
earlier in marriage, viz Zison clan
evicted Harris family,
whose hardship unemployment did exacerbate,
neither me nor birth mother worked
both this sir, and mum mate
afflicted with psychological disability
where physiological torture did subjugate
our respective physical beings with inadequate
skills to cope with child rearing,
hence blissful dialect tickle
accent doth boldly punctuate
angst strum fretful das
chord dent mental state -
mein kampf pronouncedly scarred,
asper lifetime subjected to debilitate
ting panic attacks impossible to abdicate -
relentless whipsawing, hammering,
and fracking drilling would never abate,
ache ken to ten thousand maniacal banshees
nsync with mailer daemons create
ting bedlam courtesy (Olive)
garden variety silently kick starting freight
train recklessly coursing heedlessly
despite engineer hood handedly
madly, and ominously didst gesticulate
in vain, the loco motif
barreled thru one billeted gate
after another crashing, this soundless fate
driving me into marshy madness accelerate
ting an existence toward self destruction
in tandem with Sue S Side, I accentuate
time and again, yet self obliterate
ting this papa would eviscerate,
(albeit emotionally) lovely Punim
*Image of Julius Caesar by QDT.
The Ides of March
Spun spells pummel our Earth ... as a Sun scanned absence swallow,
vacuumed blues taxes light once deemed eternal ... plus righteousness,
escapism from existence ... edges evacuation,
Birth ere the latter days ... ventured the laurels that were Rome,
the incarnation of iniquity ... masquerade innocence,
like clovers and thistles ... lure eyes above the common grass,
Furtherance besought ... midst tossed bone for multi contentment,
parades that paralyze souls ... usurp minds to sweeping abandon,
celebratory hails the seasoned ... emblem of power,
The gods and goddesses' palms of warring pulse ... 'tis peacetime,
nonetheless ... tributes adorn the temples of Mars in abundance,
'tis time of awash hands of mere grimes ... toxic suffers freely,
Citizens housed upon Palatine ... the triumphant hill,
felicitations honorable legions ... protectors of Rome,
promissory constants ... declared Remus per Romulus,
Roman Senate played a chess game ... Caesar kept them in check,
every move was scrutinized ... made vulnerable and powerless,
autocracy trumps democracy ... seeds gangocracy,
Plans are planted within plans ... schemes are shrouded inside schemes,
the beast entrails read ominously ... Spurina forewarns the marked,
timely debts to be paid in full ... matters to be settled,
At the Courts of Pompey ... the assembly awaits for him,
armorless donning senatorial garb ... metals pierce a man,
till mute ... last recalls *haruspex, "Beware the Ides of March".
*Haruspex; reading of omens from the entrails of sacrificed animals. The subject of Shakespeare's title play came from his thorough accounting of Plutarch's writings.
2022 March 30
*1st Place*
This or That, Vol 11
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2022 April 22
*HMS; 14,16,14 syllables per x 8 stanzas
On a walk after the worst of the Sandy storm
I slogged down the still dampening
Green grass valley rutted between
The moldering fences of the shadowed alley.
Under the low, ominously rushing, soggy gray clouds
I saw so many black birds silently
Clinging against the stiff breezes
To the broken branches of the skeletal oak on the corner
As if they relished the fate of the cruelly stripped leaves.
I saw a hundred crows there.
How many make a murder?
Black pointy wraiths;
Scattered commas lined up like
Iron shavings stuck
To magnetic branches.
Dull steel skies slid in vast arcs around them.
Sprinkling windy foreboding,
Their clouds reached down
To Collect their talons.
So many eyes I know they see
Spiny black needles poking out of me.
Bloodless murder, muffling gray gauze No need to caw…,
A hundred crows see it all.
the valley of horror
On my way to the shops in the charming one horse
town called Benafim, I took a shortcut through
a narrow valley like a mensur scar in a high ranking
German officer’s cheek
When down, I regretted my rash idea, airless and still
no birds sang there, and no rabbits crossed the path
sharp floret bushes ominously murmured veiled threats
The trees were pale and long since deceased.
The sun didn’t reach fully here; deep shadows were
dark, murderous spooks waited, the soil was rusty
the blood of those who didn’t find the way out.
I froze and sweated, the track appeared endless and
my dog had disappeared.
Finally, at the exit, I ran the last 50 meters, the dog
waited for me, sensible she had taken the old road.
I was told by the villagers no one walked the there
a massacre from a war forgotten the evil continued.
A continent we haven't yet worked out,
it may be barren, may contain high worth.
The more we learn, the greater grows our doubt.
A place of poison spiders, clot-red earth,
it's huge. Marseilles to Moscow isn't quite
the space which separates Penrith from Perth.
When first we meet it, promise glitters bright.
Its sun is strong, its vegetation lush ...
Harsh truth defeats analysis so trite.
This beauty is skin-deep. Sweet waters gush,
but only on its gaily-colored fringe.
Interiors are ominously hushed.
Just scratch the surface, there's an ocher tinge
which speaks of life extinguished. Dead rocks seethe
beneath cruel radiation. Reptiles cringe
in crevices. There's nothing here to breathe.
Majestic flight sweeps up from lobby sprawl
Mattress padding pink carpet creeps corners
Bannisters ornate in century's old discussions
Omit disclosure of grim history above
Uniform scuff tread flat railed staircase
Stretches ominously into third level dim
Each step taken fades from life the stepper
Cobwebs claim frames of dust dampened portraits
Compressing is staircase from dingy third
Wide shouldered folk hunch, tunnel encroaching
Trapdoor top is a shock to wood tread traveller
Rejoicing of stiffened hinges, solitary sound
Huddled roofspace floods intrepid with doom
Heanous endings leach from panelled attic walls
Slivers of snowdust rays showcase eye sockets
Emptied in skulls committed to fourth floor torture
6th September 2020
The Fourth Floor of Nowhere Poetry Contest
Craig Cornish
Hiroshima n Nagasaki – Seventy Five Years Since 1945
Robert Oppenheimer manned
"The Manhattan Project",
a top secret World War II mission
which constituted "Little Boy" codename
for a uranium gun-type
atomic bomb dropped at 0815
exploding 580 metres above civilians
with 15 kiloton blast yield
reduced 400 year old city to dust
Colonel Paul Tibbets,
the pilot/ bombardier
of the Enola Gay,
(the Boeing B-29 Superfortress
unleashing nuclear warfare
seventy years years ago today)
gives cause for this baby boomer to revisit
mentally, the annihilation,
extermination, incineration
the first of two storied Japanese enclaves
realizes how trifling my current bout
with mania paranoia, pneumonia
(from northern exposure)
contrasted with sinister
thermonuclear reaction
malevolent evil tower ushering
thermonuclear age epitomizing
coup de nada so graceful
means maximum military mutilation
though unwell, this inflammation poised
to be cured unlike subsequent generations of victims
who survived atrocious, egregious, hellacious,
judicious slaughter can only poorly be described
by this mortal with curable bacterial/viral infection
aghast at such wanton killing, more-so
via weapons of mass destruction
more devastatingly grisly
than those "experimental" bombs
loosed upon the innocent population,
whereby 75,000 people killed or fatally injured
with 65% of casualties nine years of age and younger
whence offspring of survivors
evincing excess genetic anomalies
with fiery windy surface (think towering infernos)
temperatures topping 4,000°C
upon terrain hallowed by ghastly
horrible deathly dominance
amidst shadow of sinister mushroom cloud
wickedly, ominously, and eerily looming.