Long Plot thickens Poems
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Book One -- Dr. Manette's stricken
Pace quickens...
Book Two -- Monseigneur's predictions
Plot thickens...
Book Three -- Revolution kicks in
Guillotine sickens
Denouement -- Dueling vixens
Crucifixion
Characterization -- Miss Pross is no chicken
Major Criticisms -- Slim pickens
Critics' Rating - Timeless fiction
Book & Author -- Tale of 2 Cities ~ Charles Dickens
You request him to travel to distant lands
on a quest to conquer the enemy.
A like-minded platoon battles beside him,
helping him achieve an ultimate defeat.
You keep him sheltered from tough weather
with electric lights, a warm balm on stormy nights.
You allow him to rest his work-worn feet,
and lend shade to summer's sweltering heat.
You give him currency in gold, and nourishment
to revive his life with virtual healing.
His energy pours into self-gratification,
chasing flashing lights and curvaceous shapes.
A natural born warrior, his instincts are achieved.
His guys need him, and he seems as Captain.
The adrenaline of the chase is his maiden.
The plot thickens, challenge expands, saga continues.
His self-image is tough, but his muscles atrophy.
His belly swells closer to the screen.
His shoulders point toward their goal.
His carpal tunnel narrows from "shooting."
Various wrappers stack below his chair.
Paper plates replace dirty dishes.
Neglected laundry mops the bathroom floor.
He strives to reach a high level of achievement.
Daily late-night brigades and early morning battles
rattle in his dreams, realistic combat scenes.
The game goes by another name, but by definition,
it may as well be called "Tunnel Vision."
5/25/18
Torrid sunshine blisters reign on pavement,
that colour coded coffee stain slipway,
bearer of insole-laden footwear,
open source channel for glib hot air calculus from starchy social climber, stock market drivel flies off tongue,
strolling human morph blasé with pin pad digit as foundation.
Monumental science, deep seat hi tech driver,
gigabyte trencherman data daze diet.
Brain spur gourmet chew astride.
Former high school swot an Eiffel Tower skyline ace thrust upon a thrill weaver gold rush,
never found but one can always dream.
YouTube zeitgeist earthling
has this inner sense of being from another planet,
this quaint fast lane time zone voyageur.
Like house trained pets they watch their owner grudgingly abandon sham control.
Wafer thin leash a scrimshaw ornament.
The plot thickens but somehow comes undone,
bit part player yearns holistically for untangled bits with interlocking act,
in depth scene dialogue now bill topper if only it would last.
They long for blue flag coast escape,
homely hide out guest house fringe found loitering perniciously or otherwise.
Birdhouse green leaf copycat
assembly for well intentioned like minds that rarely think alike unless it suits.
Caught between ephemeral impasse and amber moon orb dalliance, their noble quest waylay but an out of date signage in urgent need of reinvention.
Head-heart conspire, the plot thickens,
slowing thought flow, ego quickens,
choosing thus to negate desire,
the plot thickens, head-heart conspire.
Soul’s sheet wiped clean, karma’s erased,
for we have been by bliss mists grazed,
revealing our heart’s lustrous sheen;
karma’s erased, soul’s sheet wiped clean.
Bliss elixir for us alone
becomes boundless joy we do own,
as nodes stir in our soul’s mixer,
for us alone, bliss elixir.
Propelled by bliss, vaporised self
dances in glee all by itself,
recognising that God is this ~
vaporised self, propelled by bliss.
04-September-2022
(Swap Quatrain)
Pages turn thin, thin as the plot thickens
Thinning knowledge as ignorance quickens
Spines crack from hunger, hunger for minds
Cracking under pressure of different kinds
Books starve for attention, attention spans wane
Starving for readers in this digital rain
Covers collect dust, the dust of neglect
Collecting cobwebs, respect they collect
Words go stale, stale on forgotten shelves
Staling wisdom as society delves
Into shallow feeds, feeding on quick bites
Feeding frenzy of memes and soundbites
Chapters close, close before they open
Closing doors to worlds unspoken
Stories wither, wither on the vine
Withering away, leaving no sign
Libraries fast, fast from funding feast
Fasting resources as budgets decrease
Volumes shrink, shrink from public view
Shrinking access to both old and new
Bindings loosen, loosen their hold
Loosening grip on tales untold
Leaves fall, fall from tomes of yore
Falling silent, voices we ignore
Ink fades, fades like memories lost
Fading faster at literacy's cost
Margins narrow, narrow like our scope
Narrowing pathways of reason and hope
Bookmarks slip, slip from neglected pages
Slipping away, the wisdom of ages
Fonts grow small, small in our esteem
Smaller still as we lose the dream
Endings hunger, hunger for new readers
Hungering for minds to be thought leaders
Bibliophiles crave, crave the written word
Craving stories waiting to be heard
So let's feed these books, feed them our time
Feeding our souls with rhythm and rhyme
For books may go hungry, hungry for touch
But starved of books, we lose so much
Digest these words, words ripe with meaning
Digesting slowly, our minds reconvening
With pages that yearn, yearn to impart
Yearning to nourish both mind and heart
Let's feast on books, feast like they're our last
Feasting on futures, presents, and pasts
For in this banquet of bound delights
We satiate our appetite for heights
So don't let books starve, starve in the dark
Starving for chances to leave their mark
Feed your mind, mind the feeding call
Minding that books nourish us all
I have discovered the undiscoverable
The plot thickens
Who would have thought?
I have emerged from the shadows
The truth goes deeper
Who was the target?
I was, all along
As the rain starts to fall
May my tears be heard
As the thunderstorms starts to bang
May my truth be told
As the wind starts to blow
May my soul be at peace
As the rivers starts to flow
May they pronounce my name
As the ocean starts to move vigorously
May they know my legacy
I have imagined the impossible
The bearing of succession
Who would have known?
I have accepted who I was born to be
The human being, I am
Who is the target then?
I am
Denouement
The plot thickens broadens in plastered confused juxtapositions
over time there and then weaves tapestries lost unfound caught
Viscous tears dried out shed rivers searching oases oceans of love
squeeze suffering hatred solid misconceptions scripted resolve
Crocheted dreams unsnarled in disguise colour rainbows stain-bows
stain blows and arrows offer inkblots from coiled council reconcile
Waters cascades cataclysmic beginnings alleviate alluvion’s weight
skirmish tease entice droplets of truths splashing change alteration
Naïve native losses childish unadulterated tangential torrents unfold
allude inundate delude adulthoods’ illusions commence from afresh
Under the bridges of ricocheted echoes trickle drops from Styx to
Ganges feed and contend with the seagulls and vultures of life
The story line concocts and conceives tell retells and remembers
the past as it blends narrates a misty final initiation’s webbed spray
Resolute resolution wets the gills washes clouds spins them around
until springs guzzle project thoughtful narration to entangle once more
Denouement Renewal De-new-ment confer contain depositions repositioned
as some tangling wisdom posits one swims in the same ocean never again
09th August 2016
Originally entered for contest 'Denouement' judged 24th August 2016
The Plot thickens
As the wicked, evil one;
Lucifer;
Mankind says it was an apple;
That lead Adam astray;
That lost Eve that day;
but it's ticking. . .
The sounds of the bombs that linger on
Imposing, expelling, I found
doesn't matter what king of fruit it is;
Wasn't an apple
It wasn't bout' the fruit at all;
It was bout' man fall;
His disobedient, led him to faint;
HOW YOU GONNA LOOK GOD IN HID FSCE SND TELL HIM IT"S HIS FAULT
Because of the WO-Man He brought. . .
I believe that this was a blessing first;
Until Lucifer Saw this and cursed...
As a symbol to the lamb;
God made man first but those please understand;
The devil tricked Eve first
The Eve showed man;
and that is how Adam cause the first sin;
It was more than a soldier was;
more than a lamb
more than admiration
more than a plan
The tree of good and evil
No on knew what that means;
IT WAS MORE THAN, MORE THAN AN APPLE TREE
Trust the Father this wasn't ever meant to be;
We're more important that the birds and the leaves in the trees;
Even all the masses of the great seas;
God knew, God knows God choose....
IT WAS MORE THAN, MORE THAN AN APPLE TREE;
It's not about what kind of fruit it is;
It was totally all about man being obedient;
But sad to say, he fell that day
It was more than, more than an apple tree;
Even tho the tree of good and evil;
MY choices, my decision what's that got to do with fruit?
no one knew what this means;
it was more than apples of an apple tree;
IT WAS MORE THAN, MORE THAN AN APPLE TREE;
written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2007(c)
From Anthology "More Than An Apple Tree"
“Life pulse renews, radiating bliss hues ~
Bliss elixir sublime, becomes heart’s muse”
~ quote by poet
Mirroring guru, our third eye glistens,
wooing the head ovoid to come along
and with heart joining in, the plot thickens,
leaving us lost in trance, as bliss beats gong.
Enlivened spine holds erect magnetism,
that suffuses form with bliss mists sublime,
leaving no chasm in our mind-body prism,
ensuring our pure soul’s heavenward climb.
Our void centric presence, free from desire,
simply rests in awareness self-aware,
there being no goals for which we aspire,
our emptiness is laid before God bare.
Polarities rotate; we are the flame ~
Give it any name but we’re not the same
Amidst all the maylay we emerged
like growing seeds immune
to the harvest
Time spent in darkness bought
us things we needed
during the purge
Missing the past is absurd for
it's just a memory of
retained but forgotten
words
A grain of sand in an hourglass
clearly shows us the material
isn't meant to last
What we do take with us
are lessons of the past
that mirror
reflecting glass
A reflection only seen when you
internalize the lucid dream
that is your life
I ponder while saying to myself
this can't be right
because that means
all we're left with are
the results of our acts
Solid facts in & of a world
not really solidified
but made so by the strength
of our minds
My blind rhymes are in fact
all seeing scries
meant to enlighten eyes
made dark from dreaming
You wake up steaming once you
realize the pot is calling
the kettle black in an attempt
to keep you from rising
This is a form of tithing for I'm
giving back what I've earned
in a world where
I've worked religiously
I'm suspiciously close to a gross
level of charity but
it bothers me not
How else would you build
strong foundations if
there's an absence
of rocks?
The plot thickens on lots
made sturdy by persistence
& vision
Don't knock if you aren't ready
for insistent answers to questions
regarding current
conditions