Long Oozing Poems
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An infinitesimal slight speck tickled
nostril follicle – activated via an itty
bitty, nitty gritty dirt band noah bigger
than a mole luck yule set in motion a
chain reaction, whence mine sensitive
proboscis honker (wheeze - hilly little
bridged fine tuned pug nose aroma
sensor), got unexpectedly in gauged
(in holy matt trim mo’ knee) to achew,
and eschew pledging troth (in favor of
hanky-panky) found this chap feeling
phlegmatic because an endless string
of faux allergic emanations, which
upon subsiding left me throat rather
raspy and voice some octaves deeper
akin to a coterie of celebrated jumping
frogs from Calaveras County, California
took residence and refused leaving
stranglehold upon math rote upon
awakening from a hard day’s journey
into night across the outer limits
of thine twilight zone resurrected
during slumber, yet upon awakening
felt much refreshed and hungry enough
to eat a horse – nee – make that forced
whore – gulped down within a hoof
n hour and now recount how back in
the day when zooming thru the Lilies
of the Valley (whooshing mass elf tubby
an aeroplane) frequent bouts with uber
twittering snapchatting sinus attacks
besieged crinkled, doppelganger expeller
for germs hunting with his clean X
instantaneously for nasal passages
to enter surreptitiously the fecund
effluvia dripping, oozing, and seeping
clear liquid as wintry cold air looses
droplets from out a near frozen nose,
which bloke knows not why frigid blast
stimulates gallimaufry of sniffling
to spurt into a volume of one after
another gesundheit donning, snorting
trumpeting unwittingly confusing
Canadian geese, who misconstrue
the honking from midway centered
facial organ, which angry birds
in tandem with flock of Seagulls
quite perturbed to espy one curmudgeon
chap clapping hands over (what feels
like Smashing Pumpkins on face)
in an effort to stifle subsequent gummy
emissions, which residue expectorated
with heave hoe shove
schnoz el tov blowing into snot-rag.
When you know you will die alone
The dust will be your last standing friends,
Your ashes will be the memories which you kept so safely
And time will be your priest,
Not standing by your side and giving a heartfelt speech
But digging your grave, shoving your corpse and walk past by
Because of the sheer loneliness of it.
When you know you will die alone,
The sky will be blue,
Still.
You will remember the walls that nourished your soul
Christy Brown's left foot,
James' imagination where you could find your dreams
An odd Sarah strewn here and there
And of course, Ripley who could always love a cat forever.
When will you know you will die alone?
When? 'I will not answer' said the Universe.
This is something which I know,
This is something we all know,
And the plants, the grass, the worn out table lamp,
Even the white paper staring at me,
Sang in a wisely, agreeable chorus.
With every word oozing out from a heart beat,
I am carving my tombstone,
With every thought exhaled with smoke,
I am ornamenting my casket,
With every fake smile,
I am inviting people to my funeral,
But...
I know I will die alone,
I will depart quietly from the stories,
Like an unsung hero,
Or a delusional villain,
Laughing the last laugh,
Later joining the priest for a funeral dinner.
On Halloween, I heard of a guesthouse
advertising stays in a haunted house.
Spend one night, get a year's lodgings for free,
I was sure it was mere hyperbole.
Its decrepit looks failed to frighten me,
so I decided to ask for a key.
And upon opening a daunting door,
my footstep drew squeaks from a creaking floor.
There was no hydro, only an oil lamp,
and the furniture felt filthy and damp.
But I proceeded to explore the halls,
checking out smells seeping out of the walls.
I heard garbled whispers and muffled screams;
the kind of things one hears in nightmare dreams.
A stench was oozing from cracks in the floor,
as I searched the attic spattered with gore.
My heart jumped; when shadows started to shift,
causing reality to bend and drift.
And as fear fuels the panic, I feel,
I'm more and more convinced ghosts are real.
I soon concluded that this wasn't funny;
my life is worth much more than free money.
So I quickly hightailed it out of there;
if that makes me a coward, I don't care.
You can call me nuts, but that house has spooks,
those who've fled there, aren't just a bunch of kooks.
And you'd be a fool to stay past nightfall;
for I've seen things that would make your skin crawl.
Blest with garments of varied hues and shades’ assortment
I practice an organized monthly color-scheme adornment…
January is greeted with vibrant green’s life-oozing zest
along moss, emerald and mint scarfs’ accenting best.
With blue motif of azure or cerulean in February
cyan-printed dresses match aquamarine-look accessory.
Pink for March as well as old rose and fuchsia of no doubt
makes watermelon lace with pomelo ribbon stand out.
April shimmers in yellow, gold and sunshine glow
showing skirts of mustard, canary with lemon flow.
May has cream and beige for modest apparel bliss
as blouses are pleased with flax and vanilla emphasis.
June delights in violet midst lavender and lilac beauty
allowing use of purple and magenta bags, surely pretty.
Cheering July onlookers are different black-speckled masks
parading shoes, leather or so-called ebony in mobile tasks.
This August* presents belts of bronze, cinnamon and brown
while wearing coffee or chocolate shawl without frown.
Orange awaits September with tangerine or amber trends
preparing handkerchiefs of carrot, squash and yam blends.
For October that highlights charcoal, ash, and gray
ready to be added is silver to my faith-anchored fashion-array.
November features raiment** that’s white or off-white
together with pearl, ivory and cotton polka dots on sight.
In December is red, alongside scarlet or maroon’s joyousness
with crimson and ruby attire, thanking God for His bountifulness.
*Next year will be another color-schedule.
**Revelation 3:5 He that overcometh, the same shall be clothed in white raiment; and I will not blot out his name out of the book of life, but I will confess his name before my Father, and before his angels.
August 21, 2021
7th place, "Kaleidoscope" Poetry Writing Premier Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on 8/23/2021.
RAIN SOAKED HEART
We wished to seize that wonderful rainy day
smiling and standing face to face.
Our book of love wrote the preface
Our steps imprinted on wet muddy clay.
That wonderful rainy day we wished to seize
spending rorty moments under showers
amidst redolence of rain- soaked flowers.
Muse flaunting in intermittent breeze.
We wished to seize that wonderful rainy day
Raindrops on us slowly slipping dripping
We wandered wishfully on zigzag stepping
or stood close to each other nothing to say.
That rainy day we wobbled to hover.
Mesmerized odor of pretty petrichor
flashed a familiar comedic folklore.
telling thrilling story of cheerful lovers.
That rainy day we welcomed love to start.
Bond of sweet love tied two young souls.
Promise of joint journey aimed same goal.
Pearly passion oozing from core of heart.
10/29/18
While Shuttered Up Inside... ©ozy
Snug Air Conditioned Demesne...
Analogous to my boyhood
cosseted and bereft, I assay
to poetically elucidate how majority
of mine years found me
deft keeping danger at bay
only thru the pour substitute
of my imagination
remaining safe within the causeway
of a quasi Norman Rockwell picturesque
unblemished near utopian day,
where trumped up "FAKE" danger
stoked courtesy of
anticipatory anxiety didst essay
when pinhead size
pores faux stressed
every epidermal square inch
populating skin oozing perspiration
along I-59 pro Roman
lix spittle sweaty freeway
precipitated, via illusory mailer daemons
unavoidably pitching me
into an inescapable fray
unlike late twenty somethings
(Jay Austin and Lauren Geoghegan,
whose cruel fate
at the hands of Isis militants
published online by Irish Times),
evinced carpe diem
existential Great Gatsby
live life to the fullest
created an extraordinary journey
(now forever immortalized as
daring adventurist trekkers)
with ample horseplay
deliberately, egregiously, fanatically
and wantonly killed,
when purely exalting in zest
promulgated by indomitable spirit
found me choked up,
a baby boomer i.e. west
tern civilized married bloke,
who opted to die vest
away from blatant uncertainty
never daring to experience unrest
outside a severely circumscribed perimeter,
exempt from a life
and death litmus test,
where very little harm extant,
when taking repast or rest
only ushering, venturing,
and taking, sans
quotidian cerebral quest
ensconced within four walls
without nary a pest
except...pet peeves of mine
within psyche built a nest,
nonetheless hounded by many a vicious beast
whose predatory cannibalistic feast
comprises thine psychological state greased
with until mortality expires,
asper being temporarily lend leased.
We stagger on the slopes heading home
We had been bar friends and home could be anywhere in between
As long as little comfort settled in, home we were
This time, in the crack of dawn,
Rudely woken up by the chirping of the birds over our heads
The cold stone which we laid on started moving
Slapping my able friend for moving the stone deliberately
A sure fight amongst cronies of high and low moons stretched our muscles, flinty hits
Before we realized it, the attack from the hippo is never an amusing matter
Unfriendly noise that came from the animal and smite on my bosom friend's butts
Spear oozing blood, agony and torment followed in his stony face and voice with a straight baffling stare in my eyes
His voice combined with mine at the top, the animal running back to its peaceful resident
Onlookers, mostly fisher folks from their night duty and the women racing for grocery goods only lamenting at the missed opportunity for the free wild meat
Our wail only earned us a grain of stare as I hurried my mate to the nearest facility
After that day, I met not only a nightclub friend but a partner
As I ring this partner of mine,
I stand in peace to piece the pieces that knit our life's lessons golden and deep.
Conversations confusing
Google bots are oozing as I type
Quiet yet quite the riot
Gents lament a Goddess rant
Counting Coronets that can’t…
Hailing comments that She shan’t
Whale her song from a ship of Pink.
While her telly was quite the philly
Her belly was shaking with quiet silly
A butter in the fly has stumbled…
Tumbling his tongue on a British bum.
She laughed as she came undone and
He remembers now, the dame’s name.
Especially, the special invented his game.
Peace and pieces were all to blame, so
Sasanova lost her shame… and went froth.
Up the Gemini and into the Earth…
Tales from the doggie, so Sirius at first
Said ales of Corona created Mirth.
Martha, is such a ham when she works!
Sang a song about six biggie wics
Five for games and one for sticks…
Dear John, Flame of my heart,
Your elip Tickles O’l Neptune’s part!
Dear Ed, did you hear of the start!
Two men in wigs… made a Casaba tart!
Logs only have rhythm… when they’re lagers…
Honey, pass my reed please… near the sandals.dear ;)~
Form:
He starts with the natural order of things,
thinks
wash bedsheets,
been pushing chores aside -
that's just natural.
Done with saccharine,
from now on
teaspoonful of honey
at least until
the year-old jar
stops oozing.
Corn flakes gone stale,
the days fall out of sleep
way sooner than they should,
and that's hard to do - naturally.
Order comes and goes.
Mold grows blue bread
nothing last as long as fungus.
It's the predicable
that catches him unawares.
Nature chugs along,
small birds stop singing by noon,
maybe he forgot to hear them,
natural orders arrange
his face
for all the foreseeable day
then bored with its cosmic game -
leaves him alone.
My heart's inspiration is mother dear...
Her nurturing love heals hurts of bruise pest
with grace-fragrance of radiant hope's best
that sweetly pervades in my veins with cheer.
Dad’s convincing truth abides in my heart
Reinforcing Mom’s dos and don’ts essence
Echoing parents’ marvelous presence
Securing me in God-propped home’s rampart*.
Throbbing in my heart is siblings’ blest care
Treasure so expensive I value well
Midst bliss exuding serenity smell
Oozing with love marked by kind give-and-share.
*Psalm 127:1 Except the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the LORD keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.
March 29, 2023
2nd place, "Creative Writing Prompts" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet; judged on 9/1/2023