Long Played out Poems
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© 2011 (by Jim Sularz)
(The true story of Frank Eaton – AKA “Pistol Pete”)
At nearly twenty-one, Pete knew he may have out-run,
his luck as the fastest gun.
This would be the ultimate test of his shootin’ finesse,
only a fool would stay to be outgunned.
But Pistol Pete weren’t no liver lilly,
and he loaded up his 45’s.
He rode into town with steely nerves,
maybe no one, would come out alive!
Pete knocked through that swingin’ bar-room door,
Wiley stood there with a possum eating grin.
He said, “Hey there kid, who the Hell are you?”
and Pete shouted, “Frank Eaton! You killed my kin!”
All four men drew quick, with guns a’ blazing,
Wiley got plugged first from two 45’s.
The bar-room crowd dispersed in a wild stampede,
everywhere, ricochetin’ slugs whizzed by!
When the shootin’ had stopped, there was just one man standin’
all four men got plugged, includin’ Pete.
But only a shot-up boy rode out of town that day,
and a Father’s curse, that played out complete – was a bitter mistress to bury….
At the headwaters of the Red Woods Branch,
near a gentle slope on a dusty trail.
On an iron gate, at the Twin Mounds cemetery,
a bouquet of morning glories flail.
In a grave, still deep, is a father’s heart,
that lays quiet in a peaceful sleep.
And six men dead, who now burn instead,
compliments of Pistol Pete!
I made lots of plans and vision boards
And lots of New Year Resolutions
On how I'd swim in bullion wads
By the Christmastime celebrations
I'd promise myself a new PC
And new clothes and shoes and new outlooks
That I'd stop anime, Marvel and DC
And focus more on all my books
I said I was gonna be a programmer
(Well I made that one I got my cert)
I promised myself a life of Futurama
(But it still feels like Ernie and Bert)
My vision board really overflowed
Of all the things I'd love to do
Many crazy ideas, some borrowed
To eat and eat and travel too
I said maybe I wont be single again
But then that angle was a blast
Cos everyone around called dating a pain
And so it never came to pass
I feel the whole year went to zag
At every point I wanted to zig
Cos in every quarter, I lagged, I lag
And I'm still such an unlucky prig
Yet there're things I've got to thanks about
I became better than I was last year
A programmer, a no-code guy and all the doubt
I had was erased out my ear
I guessed this was supposed to come much later
When the year was fully done and done
Cos right now out there there's some hater
Rejoicing his ass that I've not won
I wish my vision board all played out well
That all those deals didn't go sour
Still wish I didn't have to have this hell
My Recollections at the eleventh hour
P.S. Don't think this is a rant and complaint
Just taking the year as it came
I had fun and joy and memories so quaint
It reminded me of my otaku game
This empty callous country of ghosts
That has drained into a polluted ocean of regret
Where vain venomous demons rise from the constitutional Sea
Swallowing our political fire and passion
Disabling our wounded words to abstain false promises
Suffocating the breath of truth from our desperate voices
Singing the stifled anthem - the ode of passivity
To echo in hollow empty bunkers of helpless intent
With dogma and doctrine that drives our ego
To cannibalize its own usurped power
Played out in the broken songs of sympathy
Slain in the snow covered silent fortress of evil
Our love of life now bitter, frozen and isolated
Like the woes of the blind and deaf
Addicted to apathy and led like sheep to the slaughter
Can we remember our origins - our birthplace?
Where men and women from different beginnings joined together
Working through the potential of divergence
Standing together on common ground for the common good
Forming the brotherhood of man
From every corner of the world
The United States of Utopia
A land of peace and understanding
Of tolerance, forgiveness and compassion
United within our destined kinship
Honoring the union of all hearts, minds and human spirit
Free to be One
August 9, 2019
Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.” (spoken by Jesus)
Mark 12:30-31 NIV
TOO MANY TO COUNT
Life most precious, but what about our souls?
We see our lives played out in innocents.
Too many to count -
too many is one!
One child wept over
by many - too many tears,
even one that falls to account.
What to teach?
What to learn?
Why must the Holy Book be burned?
Turn about…turn about.
We are encircled by our neighbors.
The hurts, the cries, the tears,
the resounding wails.
They come from the North, the South
and all about. From Buffalo,
from Uvalde — their innermost
pierce, pervasive, catastrophic.
Too many to count, too many is one.
Too many to count, too many is one.
5/25/2022
Across the years, 400 plus, my stories endlessly play out their parts.
I played not on painted stage, but I knew the human heart -
I captured, with quill and scratch, the passions of laughter and tears.
I held up a mirror, in doublet and verse, to things unbound by years,
like the weight of grief, the lightness of love and the serpents of ambition.
The music of verse, the lilt and fall of words, hold a strange enchantment,
brief spells where fools, princes, witches and kings shared a selfsame planet.
Though my bones lay in hallowed ground, the stories I spun linger yet.
They've played out, in age after age, on a thousand, thousand stages.
It’s well done, If I say so myself, to live on, in millions of minds and bookshelves.
.
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*Written for a history poem challenge: to speak for a historical figure
When you awaken in the morning
Remember that you're lucky to be alive
You have more time in your Hourglass
For your loved ones and your Life
Whatever the weather outside
Whether rainbows, rain or sunshine
Know that it's all part of the process
Nature gives us through seasons and rhymes
We may have challenging moments
We may have pain and tears
But we need to focus on Hope and Faith
Love and Light, not Darkness and Fears
Every single Soul
Has a Purpose and a Path
We are all connected
Part of the Universe's Heart
When we expand our Hearts
Focus on the Light instead of Dark
We ignite the Power of Positivity
And extend the Light like a Sparkler
Like magic the World lights up
We discover Joy and Peace and Harmony
And when we go to sleep at night
Our Connected Consciousness inspires our Dreams
The stars twinkle and giggle and play
In the Cosmos so filled with mystery
For they know that Magic and Miracles await
For Humanity's ultimate Destiny
Take nothing in this Life for granted
Have Gratitude every single Day
For you are part of the greatest Story
That ever was played out on a Stage
One day when we've overcome the Darkness
When the Light sets us all Free
We'll celebrate our Cosmic blessings
Beyond Starlight and Stardust and Being
During the day
there's a deceptive lull
in the staid common parlor
when the home seems deadly dull
Stale air, disinfectant and potpourri
stirred only by the worried, hurried strides
of harried nurses down hectic halls
stuffy efficiency personified
In contrast to those, the steady repose
of regular residents
dressed up and posed
as odd antique mannequins
in fusty old clothes
like some bizarre storefront
window display
Obsolete, old folks
like aged birds perch
lean and lurch
awkward and angular
nodding and napping
half-waking, flapping
on various arm chairs
Others like basset hounds
lay the room 'round
eyes shut, drooping jowls
intermittent gentle growls
little subtle snores
comfy and carefree
bodies drowsily draped over
the sides of settees
Insensible to sound
and drooling a bit
sweetly sleeping all throughout
like innocent toddlers
with cookie-smeared faces
ingenuous and
all played out
Then eventually, nursing staff
bustles them awake
for activities, dinner
more medicines to take...
Then off to bed
as visitors leave
deluded and deceived
thinking that's all there is
pitiful old people, tragically perceived
in the arena of battle,
t.v. on snipe
drawing his long sword from its sheath,
every inch cacophonously sharpened
sinister with geared teeth
nonsense forms from ancient bowels,
utterance of a lion woken from sleep
roaring out profanity and analytical resound,
playback of every word she speaks
to ad nauseum
her smaller sword cuts the air,
pierces like acupuncture,
nonetheless irritates
the tongues of wobbling aluminum
footwork choreographed
as they’ve played out this scene many times
she licks her wounds
he rams his fist into the newly painted white wall
she runs to the bathroom, rolling out the entire roll of t.p.
now that he’s alone her words clang like a cymbal
clang clang over and over again
he examines his bloody sword, the bruises on four knuckles
and thinks he’s gone mad. who is this snorting bull?
he hears her tears flowing through the plumbing pipes,
the dirge of their fight. he says to himself “stupid..stupid”
cemented feet won’t move nor the ones that are drowned
in self pity. the sun dies, the moon howls
morning coffee’s poured with stinging eyes. regrets must
be sugared by teaspoons, forgotten with passing days
until all seems right once more. dark days pass slowly.
5/31/2018
On the plains in the Texas panhandle
The fight for survival is real
As I watched from the derrick
On a short smoke break
A scene rather harsh and surreal
A cottontail bunny was having his way
In a pasture of gold knee high grass
When a hungry coyote, prowling late in the day
Caught his scent on the breeze as it passed
The bunny must have sensed, the coyote was near
He ran circles and made figure 8 bows
Confusing the canine, wound up chasing his tail
While the bunny escaped down the road
But nature has a way of being quite cruel
As a hawk observed from above
As he swooped down, the poor bunny froze
In a scene void of malice and love
With the rabbit in tow, still kicking and screaming
The hawk not making a sound
Somehow lost his grip, dropping his prey
Who died instantly hitting the ground
In all the commotion, the old coyote
Had watched and raced to the kill
Snatching him up and never looking back
Running swiftly over a hill
I stood there amazed, as the scene played out
This microcosm of struggles and strife
Then thought about destiny, no matter how hard you fight
The unfairness and the fragility of life
by Daniel Turner
It was said I was born of quenched love,
almost vanquished by a storm along
the Red Sea in a din of gray November.
Wandering around dunes, a Maiden
kind housed me comfortably--
O she, laughing among lilies in the quiet
and wild current; nourishing my psyche
with keen sensibilities.
Time passed between rain and light,
as I crossed Earth and Heaven with a sacred
power of a growing woman that clutched
the mystery of unknown incidences…
And when bells of a day's time have played out,
visions sailed in my mind--
that our King drew counsel from my foresight
warmed by an esoteric fire that burned,
speaking of prophecies and omens vouched–
this higher instinct streaming from ‘ Maiden Mother’
who opened a celestial gateway that betook me.
So the tale of a Priestess newly arisen
where legend's moments fell on a gliding leaf;
a story half told of my telepathic gift
of mortal beings honoring me, ‘Sybil, Sybil’:
yet, though revered as a sage, my own destiny
was not mine to hold.
Not even where I truly came from.
Create A Character Contest
7/7/2017