Long Poisonous Poems
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Snakes And Mr. Baines
By Curtis Johnson
The phrase, “A snake in the grass”, has often been expressed toward certain individuals. Such a powerful and direct metaphor of treachery, is it not?
Among the first stories ever heard by me involved a snake that was up to no good.
Perhaps from that point, my opinion of snakes was sealed, and I have avoided them if I could. Growing up in the country, I saw them occasionally, but was not unduly afraid of them. Because of heavy chemical use on the farm, being bitten by snakes was probably slime.
I had lots of friends, lots of freedom, and a good dog name Jack.
We hunted for blackberries along the banks of the railroad tracks. We roamed the country sides, and played fearlessly in the grassy weeds. We had things to do and places to go, and never any time to worry about snakes.
There’s a wild kingdom out there, and may all of God’s creatures survive and forever be. But the hissing, crawling, rattling, and the twirling are out of my comfort zone. Nevertheless, there’s a place for snakes, as long as that place is away from me.
I once saw a snake curled up in a bush. Nearly touching him, I was startled.
My boss and I were gardening. With little concern, he said to me, “He’s just a chicken snake”.
Whether chicken or king, rattles or moccasins;
Whether harmless or causing deadly pain, I prefer to keep my distance all the same
My father had a friend who lived just up the road from us in a big house.
He looked mean and sometimes acted the part, but I liked him and thought he was brave. He was one snake slinging man, and I was his biggest fan.
Back then, if my father’s friend Mr. Baines saw a snake, he’d grab it by the tail, sling it around, and pop its head off. But the world has changed; wild life is well protected, and many things have been banned. How sad, is it not, that there is not a ban on “snakes in the grass”? Perhaps the day will come when they can be caught and have, not their heads, but their poisonous venom popped out of them. Meanwhile, we best keep avoiding all snakes; and I do miss Mr. Baines.
Cj08052015
DOSAGES AND PROCEDURES
We should not hepatize
the situation...
We should not sulfatize
in vain...
We cannot intoxicate
the reality...
The truth, however
poisonous whatever,
is therapeutics ...
The lie, yes clog
veins and thoughts ...
Pain and exaltation
are not synonymous and
if one can be a cure,
the other does not serve
as therapy ...
Let's do more anamnesis
of our mistakes and successes,
suture and cauterize
the wounds, the inconsistencies ...
Prescribe the elixir
of resilience and the serum
ethereal hope,
and we sipped the love
drop by drop to
make sure
of cure... !
A Life Crashing Over Hatred Or Love (A.L.C.O.H.O.L)
A mind that is broken, full of dreams that are dashed,
You can’t break a heart that’s already been smashed.
So exhausted and my bodies aching,
Can’t stop drinking this poisonous medication.
Hating who I am more and more each day,
Wish I could go back and do things a different way.
And as the smoke from the ashtray dances for me,
The demon inside romances me.
Leave your mind behind and have another drink,
This is your life, who cares what they think.
My thoughts get darker, and my heart gets colder,
Because I only listen to the devil on my shoulder.
Should I give up or put up a fight,
Would anyone care if I died tonight.
Looking in the mirror, pain is in my eyes,
The reflection isn’t me but a man that I despise.
The dark thoughts and feelings are no longer,
I’m not better yet but everyday I’m stronger.
Mainly good days, the occasional black cloud,
People really care about me; I’ll make them proud.
My mind is focussed, determined and clear,
I’m making up for lost time, every second of every year.
Eyes blurred by drink but now I can see again,
My friends and family have the real me again.
I love who I am now, I do want to live,
I do give a now; I’ve got so much to give.
We can’t change the past, but we can make a new start,
Piece by piece I’ve fixed my once broken heart.
It’s a shame it took being so close to death,
But I’ll live my life happy with every last breath.
The dark days are over, from addiction I’m free,
I can always be happy, just by being me.
Remains of the Day
Sometimes one has to fail: or live with a constant search for a something-someone-somewhere. Then fail. Or take more years dreaming of that old flame or the new hottie you espyed in the bookshop. Sometimes we get at least something before killing it in the sad eyes of your backladder. Or Blackadder. My snake coils through my belly hissing tongue to tail tumbling under my gutteral vertabrae.
The time is here. Of black-clad orphans singing into darkness moon shadow where I kiss the lips and mouth of love found; if not for good but for now. NightDark Witch-her title or the more casual Vampiress- Morgana. She/It meets most of my requirements minus a few unimportant items. Shattering glass with those poisonous green pupils she spooks me and I know it’s deliberate. Only having met her through the window her whispers caress my neck and I feel my throat being held. Really tightly. ‘Hail oh dear Lord you are doomed I will stalk you til your very heady death! Wait your time oh fearful yes fearful not fearless nobody’s friend!’
Chandeliers crash thrashing onto the floorboards opening her entrance the formidable one. We stalk stumbling through the grounds of the church blood-red sunset stays and shadows with lights on my body. She’s a Goddess as well. Coming for the circle of life and me.
I’m tied up and stranded. Come hither my mistress! Holler into the night..as the light remains. Falling star landing in Texas. Missed us by a second. I rest my head on twigs bound like a sack.
Waking up to her kiss and the first bird call who is received by a lover’s coo. A deer runs past the lake. It’s morning in underground hellfire. Hell here or be free over there! Quick make minds up two minutes before choking time.
I shall never believe in one other’s charms. Go forth with your dogma.
I fly out onto roofs swooping across grand hills tree-topped inner forestland I perch.
Belief is the nemesis of uncertainty,
in times of torment we keep faith
in God's gift of blessings bestowed upon us.
In a world without morals
Children of summer seek refuge
in colder climates; leaving behind
loved ones in the care of the almighty.
In days of Devilish darkness,
sad stars hibernate like somber souls.
Upon the return of solitude,
whilst shaping strings of silence,
a troubled tongue becomes a soundless voice.
Reminiscing unredeemed memories,
heartbeats echo gently at nightfall,
as a black blanket covers indigo horizons.
Shrouded shadows in manipulative mirrors,
shield the sensitivity of sincere speech.
Without words, embodied emotions,
integrate into invisible inflictions.
Perpetual pain from a poisonous past,
repeats in an unrhymed repetitive rhythm,
as fragile fingers trigger hidden trauma.
There are secrets in suppression,
with so much lost in a suicide of expression.
Spiteful spirits reappear, reflecting like
neoteric neon drops on midnight shores,
washing away forlorn forgotten footsteps.
Trials of time leave behind trails of truth,
as facts of fate fail in this false fairground.
Reflections of regret resonate a reality,
where the world is working on its own worries.
In hollow nothingness, no one offers holy hope -
only silence remains.
As snow covers frozen shores,
hearts look to horizons of higher powers.
Hope for a prospect of principles
from our creator, creates
realms of reverie offering refuge.
Lost in a moonlight dream world,
dormancy evokes pale hued horizons.
A serene scene of saffron, scarlet shades,
glowing gloriously in a devotional dawn.
After an advent of adversity,
ascending in adornment of appreciation -
born again blooms blossom to butterfly breaths.
dusk settles on an Anglican Shrub
vespertine is downy down upon the vertical horizon
spring like frost is unraveling
toward a sunset on its late afternoon decline
at this stage of early-black twilight
a cygar shaped delirium is seeding
its exotic fragrance sweetly empowering
will linger until the crack of dawn
tenderly grown staked and supported
the poisonous angel scrumpet trumpets
a crepuscule's sundown into darknness
a pitch illumination begging to brighten
bathed in orange moire reflecting
by her petaled drowsiness unfurling
a day dream and a nightmare
time travel in tandem
lying dormant now in a trance
like flesh inside a nutshell
vespertine pulls away from early-bright
she's never this reflective in the sunlight
9/1/21
You need to know
To each their own
Fast to treat you like cattle
Tempt you with a poisonous caramel dipped apple
Quick to pick a battle
Thinking I've been fragile
On me they would tattle
Because they think it'll rattle
And cause me to unravel
But that will
Just push me further on in my travels
I'm not surprised, it never baffled
Or left me bedazzled
Since you caused such a hassle
Choke you out with your own tassels
Or just make you eat my dust and gravel
They love to cackle
And prattle
Funny because they're nothing special, like a king or queen in a castle
The way in which it was done was sloppy or surgical
As I move around horizontal and vertical
They always try to make it personal
This world can be unmerciful
There's more to it than you and your convertible
Wow
In each and every town
Is snakes and clowns
So quick to put others down
And to turn the whole conversation around
I'm going to hold my ground
Your B.S. and ignorance will not be allowed
The smell of cherries, stem and all, sours the quiescence of the room.
An ethereal tongue midair, lilting with laughter, daunting and petty.
Crushed, he turns the opposite of robust red - this poisonous groom,
Realizing he’s released the bloodroot from the bottomless pit of hell.
Tortured for his life’s eternity, he will remain under her vengeful spell.
With wickedness of a serpent-bride, venom in her veins - a pitiless betty.
The softness of her skin, golden wheat hair, rich and honey sweet.
A treasure he’d wear for a while, whilst a murderous plot he’d kindle.
He’d not counted on this country mouse developing skills to cheat.
Thus he plotted a slow and painful death with plenipotentiary pain.
His Eve, he’d drive her body with arsenic, until she’d go insane.
~ Nettles of incremental hours, the widower’s squeals ne’er dwindle. ~
3/28/2018
Laura Loo’s Rhyme Time 1 Contest
Kansas is the home of the tornado and the deer
I did not fully appreciate this until I moved here
I see them in my yard bashing my bird feeders round
When they break, the deer lick the feed off the ground.
Raccoon mamas come to my porch at night.
Their babies stay just slightly out of my sight.
The Raccoon mamas fight over cat food on the ground.
I sit and watch, and laugh, as they slap each other around.
I live next to a marsh, where boxed turtles live in droves.
They come up in the spring, and hide amid my bushes, rose.
I learned my lesson well, picking up one to help it go back.
He tried to snap my fingers off as I tried to help it track.
Fox is rare, but I have seen her white tail disappear into brush.
There are opossums all over this place, never in a rush.
Cardinals, blue jays, robins, and wrens appear at my feeders.
Eagles overhead, show me they are the sky leaders.
So Kansas is not all tornadoes, as I used to think before
I bought my woods, and began to see these animals I adore.
A bobcat once I did see here in the early morning dawn.
It ran like a dog, was silent, and ran straight for a fawn.
The deer are fast, and can out jump any kind of fence.
So I was not worried, and I have not seen that bobcat since.
Snakes? Oh, goodness yes, I have taken them from cat’s mouth.
Baby ones, not poisonous, is that one heading south?
I feel eyes peering and peeking at me every single day.
I live in a house surrounded by deep woods of oak, very gray.
Frogs? Yes. Toads? Absolutely. Skinks too, looking like newts.
The Kansas Wildlife seems to interact. always in cahoots.
‘What good´s permitting some prophet of doom? To wipe every smile away …’
The orator grins at his drunken audience through make up and mask
Opens the cabaret’s veil in the theatre of forsaken minds on the run
Champagne flows from magic fountains while Berlin falters from grace
The wild thirties dance to an apocalyptic sound of paralized conscience
Outside the toothbrush moustache commandeers Svastika’s march
Torches set light to mislead passion and houses of semitic prayer
Crystal breaks as brown shirts parade their poisonous conquest
Heil to the savage Führer when ‘reality is something to rise above’
Pirouettes swirl on stilettos while boots squash compassion and lives
Caviar evades judeo-bolshevik scapegoats and trains to the camps
Blond blue-eyed conception born to inhabit Lebensraum on the map
Feeds into industrialist’s dream of war effort and armoured production
The white flag of surrender stuck into skull bones and belligerent stride
No meaningful rise of resistance only raised arms and ‘following orders’
When God capitulated and sang his swan song to the sound of hell fire
And prophets of doom cashed in on gas chambers and golden teeth
It’s easy in hindsight to lift the pen from an immaculate ink-pot of courage
But where would I have been when ashes in Auschwitz were ascending
When evil tore into the last bit of humanity in a vile coup of disgrace
As I look into the mirror of history I reflect on the cowardice in my soul
21st February 2020
‘What good´s permitting some prophet of doom? To wipe every smile away …’
Line from Cabaret the musical base on Christopher Isherwood’s 'Good-bye to
Berlin'
Theme for the poem ‘Reality is something to rise above' Liza Minelli