Long Paroxysm Poems
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"Have you ever drowned? Not once. But repeatedly. You drown ...save yourself somehow (includes if you had aid of another person) and then drown yourself again. There is a distinct thrill in even thinking about facing death. Staring at the void ...trying to gauge ...which memories will be showing up like they say... Whose faces will turn up...whose voices you will hear... Will you want to stop getting sucked in? Or will you enjoy the paroxysm of transition?"
Darn. The water is boiling off. The noodles are getting stuck... Hey...but I don't wanna pull my left hand out of my pocket. The view of a pretentious and closed window above the induction, carelessly oozing out a cool breeze which in turn is fighting with the hot steam exhumed from the frying pan always reassures me that they are waiting outside. Friends. Loved ones. Strangers. Casting their shadows behind my beloved closed window. Sucking my cool breeze. Waiting for me to be only left with the searing flame...until I'm forced to pull my left hand out and open the goddarned window... for them. No! Wake up! I don't have time to knit words out of this burning yarn of noodles! But my hand feels so safe in the snuggly pockets of my childhood bottoms. Oh wait! I can just keep the peg on the side, grab a cup, turn on the tap, waste some water, fill the cup, pour it on the burning noodles slowly meanwhile wasting some more water, keep the cup, close the tap, catch hold of the peg again and pretend I'm Darth Vader trapped in a woman's body with my lightsaber efficient only for flipping noodles. Ah yes. Even the re-establishment of my foothold runs a sweet satisfaction down my spine. This air of freedom ... Can I listen to some Nat Cole King please? Of course I can! Its all there in my head sweetheart... Couldn't raid that place yet, could you?
Is the fizz drowning the music? Yes...but that also means I'm nearing the end. A little disturbance to remind you that your time has come? Such wonderful these nuances are! As the smell of vinegar captivates the whole room, I pull my hand out of my pocket to pick up the plate and get out of the kitchen. Only to join the banter of the unwanted.
In the darkest of shadows
where deaths distress throes
where haboob cold winds blow
sandstorms one only knows
and where the heart’s a swindler,
a flame needs its kindler
The force of darkness ends
as sparking awareness mends
As the sun responds with heat
at dawn's rising we greet
Gratify light and energy
ratify our source of synergy
Life’s thriving in Amazonia
since days of Babylonia
Goddess Flora’s allure and beauty
fauna’s animated antiquity
Ravishing roots uncovered
medicinal miracles discovered
Flowers blooming bright
a bride’s bouquet, a rite
A rose scents us with love
purity of the white dove,
liaise and symbolize
God’s striking creatures are the prize
Planet Earth’s born native
our souls be collective
Baboons and macaques eat its figs
scarlet macaw’s perch on its twigs
An Amazon rainforest aerate
soulful breaths cognate
A tropical canopy perennially
and shall perish eternally,
sans the sun’s rays that carom
across a ginkgo harem,
or man’s deforestation at bay
Deforestation decays
Deforestation is our death
stifling the Amazon’s breath
Sun-loving deciduous
spiny forever green cytisus
While briny sticks and stones
in conjunction are onymous tones
We crossed its path and tripped
our life source stripped
Eremite, anchorite
inheritor of dirt a birthright
Of warm zephyrs in August
and enlightenment we trust
As final cadence alludes
a sequence of preludes
Velvet vignettes ponderous
our effervescence wondrous
Evolved body and spirit
sans any limit
Sans light, the soul shan’t rise
lest a spiritual demise
When all laden and encumber
burdened by the stark of slumber
As dark vs light torments
paroxysm laments
When in a verklempt presence
reach out towards God’s luminescence
I wonder, Little Eddie, hypnotized,
can it be true you felt no pain at all?
Ten years of age, a figure formed too small,
and that poor Roadster, a gift you so prized…
How could your brother have so despised
your car? to pop its tires,—and on the wall—
smash it, scratch it, do everything to maul
that toy.—Is it true, you weren’t agonized?
Though Harry promised hypnotism,?he quickly realized, putting you in trances,
that he could trash you—as he had your car.
and soon, he stuck mom’s hat pin way too far.—
To cover up his tracks, he took his chances—
his lie: epileptic paroxysm.
(to Peter Straub)
At the risk of coming off turgid
I offer this tale esoteric
Hoping it’s not found insipid
Nor causes one to be apoplectic
But rather received with alacrity
Without the need for paroxysm
My word there’ll be no chicanery
And avoidance of anachronism
Far from being sesquipedalian
Nor need for any razzmatazz
The tale of the slubberdegullion
Who thought himself full with pizzazz
Though being so supercilious
His affect stirred only dudgeon
Any good was so very fugacious
From this untoward tatterdemalion
Yet still he persisted a mumpsimus
If you will, and worse a panjandrum
So aggravating and rumbustious
Redeeming qualities not a modicum
An unquestioned snollygoster
Given to being quite vagary
An ill-reputed hugger-mugger
And a voice of such cacophony
But I see that you are insouciant
And consider my warning malarkey
Since you wish to be recalcitrant
My apologies for being persnickety
I end my tale of the rapscallion
Without further ado or rigmarole
Avoiding becoming ultracrepidarian
I have met my supererogatory parole
The battle between body and spirit
Housed as I am,
in this earthenware vessel
I witness,
the raging between body and spirit.
My mood- sullen and morose,
a telling sign-
a flashing indicator-
pointing to a weakness in my will,
a slow debilitating decline in my convictions-
indicating a buttressing of my resolve-
is urgently needed.
This paroxysm has been a body blow,
and my spirit is reeling.
I am cloistered, incarcerated now these three years,
having served a portion of my sentence.
What is my crime?
These four walls,
such contemptible, wretched creatures-
mock me, taunt me, deride me
as weak and worthless;
but I know better!
I am shackled to the two evil twins-
misery and myalgia-
myrmidons- secret agents of the devil
serving at his pleasure.
Hell-bent they are on a wicked crusade
raping and pillaging the golden storehouses
of my treasured faith and hope.
Sacred vaults protect my integrity,
my zeal is still intact.
As I wrestle with my afflictions
I throw tantrums-like a feral beast
charging towards the drawn sword.
However, I succumb to the inevitable.
I sense the folly of the fight and submit,
although-unwillingly to this intransigent,
auto-immune disease.
How do you fight an enemy who is
entrenched in your marrow?
This enemy is coercing me on this death march
and it is unrelenting in it's insistence.
The gates of Sheol* beckon to me to enter,
I resist the clarion call, although the gravity
draws me ever closer to my sealed fate.
I see visions of paradise, here on earth,
where pain is no more,
and all suffering is a distant memory
until eternity erases it from my mind.
Unfortunately, for me,
looks like I'll be taking the subway,
instead of the train to paradise.
December 17,2018
For Misery contest Edward Ibeh
*Sheol Hebrew for the grave.
Not hell as a burning place of torment
as is commonly taught and believed.
A poet exposes scenes to explore new horizons
unfolding under expansive or confining domes
We slow it down, decelerate, discern
unveiling are a fable's morals and concerns
taking pause to commune with fauna and elm
serenely does nature speak throughout her realm
our phrases linger with new colors
hues vibrant encompass as skylines
our dimensions broaden anew
sentences chosen carefully carry more import
with words nuanced, renewed
with a more sentient bite
with emotions more candid
abashedly bare, a despair founded
with paroxysm of catharsis we quill
weeping of our dormant essence shaken to life
confessions deepening, plunging in thought
letting the afflatus of passion flow
I Am Anaya
quill & inkwell love
11/14/25
while luxuriating in the boughs aching
to imbibe solar raiment golden this summer like
february twenty first two thousand and eighteen
when old man took a mandatory brake
from mister sun spilling forth
unseasonably balmy temperatures
equated from this human drake
swallow wing hard taking
respite delighting, holistically
lolling (nar gagging) obliviously par
taking paradise magical optical pulsations,
a desperate need to succor dehydration
that found me relinquishing
a coveted reading nook and cranny,
this explanation not "FAKE"
excuse withholding appeasing,
an unrelenting paroxysm
watering parched palette
suck ceded to abend
imagination immersion
linkedin radiant nirvana basking (like a robin)
while feeling spell bound by this warm weather
unseasonably tropic teaser came to an end
drew the analogy how indomitable
joie de vivre kneading love intend
ding, sans partaking draught found wealth
between bounded pages doth mend
moe so than any medication
(akin to placing a wager sparring rivals)
desire for on par,
when body needs replenishment of fluids
thus...deferring self
for healthy pleasant liquid to slake
in an effort to curtail parched mouth
felt as if being scraped
by a lab bot tummy sized rake
thence entire corporeal being
didst shimmy and shake
analogous within mine
so many dozen square feet parameters
thee earth didst quake.
thence upon gulping sweet pineapple juice
(to evade dole drums)
a poem yours truly decided to make.
The rosa blanda embroidering your face
will become the veins in my tongue reaching to clog my throat
go past the tonsils and vocal chords and windpipe
down and down still, burrowing into the esophagus
relentless in its pursuit, just, just, just to lay seeds in my chest
tumor a pea, peanut, grape, walnut, lime, matilija, peach, grapefruit
straining muscle surprising itself with the ability to withstand the stretch
craving asphyxiation, those lungs may covet paroxysm
but grieve not the fulfillment of a destiny
this ache, this devastation was meant to be
no, they won’t be careful of what they wish for
you’ll become the air I swallow, and the organ that inhales and exhales it both
viciously lush beauty anywhere and everywhere
so when you see the body that used to be mine,
you’ll gasp in horror or awe or both: which one? I’ll never know
the garden you planted nurses no speech, nor soil, nor hope of infertility
just a promise of bloom and perpetual harvest
a pretty letter from dainty lips, viscous honey quenching its thirst
a giddy blush warming embryos out of stout cases
a brush of apple-sun cheeks dawning moonlight-budding leaves
just a gaze and my heart will melt,
sand that brazenly melds into laminated glass
gifted to strong hands smothered in peppermint lotion
who will keep it safe in their loops, whorls, and arches
brindle cedar irises roots to this infatuation
their existence cruel to a poet who only knows
words mere facets unworthy of describing
fields of cosmoses a cosmos itself
choking on fantasies and tears of scarlet drupes,
I retch out garlands born in guileless meadows
and as the last petal falls,
the sweetest rose hip takes branch
its only sin a love too big
Paroxysm of pain inflicts this pen,
tears cry poetic allusion.
When petal hearts are misunderstood,
life is full of confusion.
Distasteful thoughts set camp in my mind,
an unwelcome intrusion.
Virgin pages innocent in white,
yearn to wear this mind's effusion.
Too many deep unanswered questions,
lead to a false conclusion.
When judgement lacks honest intellect,
darkness defeats diffusion.
Sun is cautious to cast my shadow,
intolerant in inclusion.
Forever immersed in freezing rain,
victim to their collusion.
When metaphorical daggers scar,
they say it's an illusion.
Melancholic lacerations scream,
ignored by deaf delusion.
I'm bleeding, but you ignore this blood,
it's too late for a transfusion.
Silently sad soul seeks solitude,
far from sound in seclusion.
Silent One
Simple Musings
1 February 2018
Bedlam and mayhem in the mistress's boudoir
(Nsync with variations on a theme:
various and sundry
pseudo lurid fictitious escapades)
mostly I did merrily wet
whet madness aye ever did dream.)
The missus personal trappings
strewn helter skelter
every perilous step fraught
with danger analogous
riding as passenger
with death cab for cutie
'course thy quasi bohemian rhapsodic Queen
of denial feigns ignorance
attributes hazardous condition
linkedin with accident prone
little lord Fauntleroy's
double doppelganger, me
trumpeting pet husband,
her unrequited germane Liebchen
willing to risk life and limb
doting hand and foot
as proper husbandly duties.
He (ahem... me) exhibits drama
whimsically visiting slapstick pantomime
especially pretending to remove sneakers
pulling with all my feeble strength
off little feet of wife
half-heartedly struggling,
lamely denouncing marriage
nevertheless conveying jollity
regarding marital entrapment
er... rather unbridled wedded bliss
constituting fits and starts enduring
about two dozen years.
I reciprocated amorousness,
whether toward MaryAnne,
(his long ago coldly dismissed
sagacious enchanting first paramour,
(half a dozen years my senior),
whose astrological forecast
accurately predicted promising
acquaintanceship/relationship
potential soul mates
(two score years ago -
gone to naught),
which latter aforementioned humble lass
decried he fomented
incessant emotional grief,
he cruelly (albeit unwittingly)
doled out nothing
but lackluster lovelessness
attributed to identical zodiac signs (Capricorn)
(matter of fact shared same birth date
January 13th - six years age difference)
stubborn misconstrued perception,
whereby fancy free and footloose
selfish nasty short brute nevertheless
deemed himself undeserving of love - humph!
Addeneum: Approximately four decades
re: one quarter century after
aforementioned baptismal initiation
love stricken paroxysm
forty fifth president of United States
took (i.e. plagiarized) many pages courtesy,
cruel playbook authored
by Matthew Scott Harris,