Long Poke at Poems
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Deep pain bores into scalp as eyelids struggle to open;
Glaring sun menaces eyes as they face the sky boldly.
First thought dawns on me like elixir; I'm alive!
The vast blue sky seems to smile upon my spirit holy.
Hands try to grasp hot sand as I wade to turn on stomach.
Pitiless grains escape between my fingers, mockingly.
In tremendous effort, I crawl to nearest patch of shade.
My heart pumps heavily while sweat oozes out profusely.
Images flash; I'm pushed off yacht by lover unfaithful.
Mock inability to swim; I acted it wisely.
His satisfied grin is all I could see before diving.
Skills of past champion revived, I swam courageously.
This virgin island, is haven to me now;
Life's strong in me! Branches I shove away, decisively.
Cautious exploration; Travelers trees welcome me.
With stick sharp I poke at it, water flows abundantly!
I do drink to my content and refresh myself while hares
jump around; I whisper to them and one stops daringly.
"Angel" I mumble as I follow it; on water melon I stumble.
Food! Hit with stone; humid sweet red flesh to wolf greedily.
Twigs, I gather and "SOS" I draw on the white expanse.
Angel from hole, under branched tree, beckons me temptingly.
A red bird hovers; branches dry and green, some Ravenala leaves,
enough to give me most desired tree lodge, marvelously.
"Now, some thorough exploration." Angel nods approval.
Disgust filled heart softens and I long to hug her fondly.
On other side of island, I land in a rocky area.
Good heaven! Rainwater is trapped in a pond; so lovely.
The sun sets the direction and I venture inland.
Swarm of mosquitoes invade my burnt skin, voraciously.
I run like a mad to land among wild peppermint.
No mosquito here…repellent herbs! I deduce quickly.
Handfuls I pluck, to rub on my body at night.
My watermelon shell, now dry, serves me efficiently.
Pipik, my red bird and Angel watch "friends, how to light this tinder nest?"
Eureka! here, my heart shaped glass pendant gleams suddenly.
Settled nearly for a week now, hope never leaves me.. I'm to live!
2/02/17
2nd and 4th line of each quatrain has 14 syllable.
(checked on howmanysyllable.com)
Placed 4th on 6 winners (judged 7/02/17) Tropical Island by Shadow Hamilton
Like the famous Stonehenge across the pond
(where it is rumored that worshippers of Satan danced)
the Georgia Guidestones (though not proved to be
a place of Satanic rituals)
is cloaked, nonetheless, in the kind of eerie mystery
of Stonehenge.
Built in 1980 at the behest of an anonymous donor
calling himself, ironically, Mr. “Christian,”
the documents for Georgia’s Guidestones’ plans
were supposedly destroyed.
Its granite stones (including the capstone) number six,
a fact not too surprising
considering that Satanists enjoy
flaunting the obvious
in front of us (we the “vile” humans,
as they call us behind our backs),
for we are the nothing masses of sheep
at the bottom of their Illuminati pyramid.
A monument the Guidestones are said to be
to a “Post-Apocoloyptic World,”
and its stones are meant to withstand all catastrophes.
Engraved on it are ten commandments -
a poke at Christianity no doubt -
10 commandments meant for a world reduced
by 90% from what it is today.
How telling!
Its Ten Commandments, as they read,
do not seem too insidious,
but to the eyes of those with knowledge,
the intent of Luciferians
can be surmised.
Four ancient languages appear above
the momument’s Commandments,
something I find befitting
a monument to evil, for the devil
is older than the world.
I cannot deign to know with complete accuracy
Mr. “Christian’s” total purpose
by “gifting” us with this strange monument
that stands on barren land.
But like its twin Stonehedge
(which built 5,000 years ago, most likely
expected to stand forever too!)
the modern monolith in Georgia
will fall to ruin as did Stonehenge,
for Christ will not be mocked.
In a world ravaged by the evil that men do,
one day Mr. Christian’s monument to Lucifer
will be destroyed.
Nov. 21, 2021
for Joe Maverick's Georgehenge Stone Cold Minds Reflect Poetry Contest
March is a time of transition
winter and spring commence their struggle
between moments of ice and mud
a robin appears heralding the inevitable
life stumbling from its slumber
it was in such a period of change in 1905
that the House of Physics
would see its Newtonian axioms
of an ordered universe collapse
into a new frontier
where the divisions of time and space
matter and energy
were to blend as rain and wind
in a storm that broke loose
within the mind of Albert Einstein
where Brownian motion danced
seen and unseen, a random walk
that became his papers marching through science
reshaping the very fabric of the universe
we have come to know
we all share a common ancestor
a star long lost in the eons of memory
and yet in that commonality
nature demands a permutation
a perchance genetic roll of the dice
which births a new vision
lifting us temporarily from the mystery
exposing some of the roots of our existence
only to raise a plethora of more questions
as did the papers of Einstein in 1905
SAN DIEGO 9/05 Philosophy of Science Portal
Tim Ray Poet Colleague
i was working as a "Stringer" for the above blog searching the Internet for articles on physics and philosophy and was asked to write this as part of a celebration of the 100-year mark of Einstein's papers. i do not do requests but i conceded for reasons. my claim to fame herein is a poke at Einstein's statement that God does not play with dice, however, was not he a permutation in the scheme of things? and lest we forget he objected to the Big Bang theory holding onto the Steady State with other scientists because it was too much like Genesis. and lost to Bohr over Quantum Entanglement, settled by John Stewart Bell...but who is counting? and these peccadillos stand in little shadows of those papers in 1905.
nature's way of saying
I love what you do with your tongue
mom used to lick her hanky
to clean my face I want to kill her
aided by my only allies
the hobo armies of doom
resulted in a sweet tooth with no answers
for the impenetrable slits of her eyes
the crowd was aghast
so I knew we hit the glass jaw
now back to the scheduled program
our man Swigheart Backhoe
reports from Flat, Nebraska
on the next Heads of Kings exhibit
down at the Crusader camp
I'm trying to figure out why sperm motility
hasn't created a master race yet
The best of millions fighting upstream like
Steelers' running back Don Quixote
over a million years and we still end up with
politicians with red putty noses that go honk
and readers of the Weekly World News
who renew their state of alarm by the minute
we're not one step closer to kingdom come for it
sperm motility then is as effective an indicator
of Darwinian uber selection
as a chicken on a rotisserie spit
is an indicator of barnyard vitality
you are alive right give yourself a pinch
let's use sperm science to give the 2nd raters
and mediocrities a chance at the brass ova
the modern science of magnification
can certainly arrange for a
shiftless layabout sperm
to take a poke at the moon
enough with this Mother Nature swill
put the couch potato, the hysteric
the derelict pants pissing wino sperm
up the beanpole and see who salutes
Mother Nature eats her young
and writes checks for the
Eugenics Foundation of Savannah, Africa
does God have someone
telling him what to think
so go for it you little tadpoles
get in there you little champions
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.site11.com/
If I were you,
Then how would I truly feel?
If I were you,
How would I view life in general?
If I were you,
Would I have a heart of steel?
If I were you,
Would I still be a boy that's delusional?
For days on end,
I have been lost in thought
Thoughts that poke at me questions that are meant to break or mend
Will I survive or rot? Where's the faith I sought? All for naught? Have the battles been fought?
If I were you,
Will I have peace in mind that goes on forever?
If I were you,
Would I be a happier guy with wings of flight?
If I were you,
Will I have a handsome heart that pumps me up with pleasure?
If I were you,
Would I be more motivated with deep passion and might?
What would I do in your skin?
Where have you been again?
I'm spiraling on my last straw while I'm dreading the fact that you're gone
Negativity is a temporary gum that I chew on and yet, I try to welcome the sun
Sticks and stones will not break me
Your words will not break me...I wish they would repair me...
Your body language won't brainwash me...
Illuminating scars fill the void in my heart
Tearing my love towards you apart
Preparing for what lies ahead in my life...
Is easier said than done when dealing with strife!
If I were you for the years to come,
What kind of fears do I have to overcome?
If I were you from this day on,
Whom shall I look upon? Would my battles be won? Would my strength be full or would I run out in the long run?
If I were you,
Would I feel accepted or rejected in society?
If I were you,
How long would I live to achieve my heart's ecstasy?
What if I miss out on the opportunities that life offers me? Will it still throw at me curved balls of dilemma-indulged reality?
I don't know about Archbishop Justin Timberlake,
He’s jazzing up the church,
Making Jesus controversial,
Leaving life in the lurch.
It’s fine to have excitement,
About any religious thing or assumption,
But when you poke at liberal creeds,
You’re with the discontentment presumption.
The liturgy does not gel with Sankey hymns,
Which parishioners should not be made to sing;
Fundamentalism is on the way out,
Of Christianity’s credibility wing.
It is emotionally abusive,
To atheistic in-house kids who want to aspire,
To tell of the insanities,
Such tunnel vision requires.
Although I am glad of his enthronement -
It lets evangelicalism out the bag,
I hope to return to a more liberal clergyman,
For the future church ‘mag’.
Fundamentalists won’t admit to the speeches,
Given to their kids who are silent prey;
It’s not fair to live in a society,
Which allows only the understood to convey.
Pluralism is the glasses by which we all see,
Humanism, atheism, religion, and irreligion too,
And the Archbishop is therefore acceptable,
As a beacon of what fundamentalists do.
Freedom of speech and expression,
For some, will only come when we know such acts,
Societal change comes simply from people,
Who’s concepts and ideas become assumed facts.
He was not that successful at decking Wonga,
Anglicans can't quite compete,
With open market transactions,
Which have seemed to withstand the heat.
I don't validate high-interest lenders,
But the church should stick to God,
It should be more into caring,
For the elderly, all on their tod.
About the Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby, UK
Early in life, I found you so cruel.
There was never a day that you wouldn't pull,
tear at my body and poke at my mind,
terrorizing me with whatever you find inside.
Finally came a day that I was so tired of the noise.
I pulled at my hair and then raised my own voice.
“I'm tired of this. I won't listen anymore.
Talk to me kindly or walk out that door!”
Suddenly, all at once, I felt this shift.
Something inside of me finally clicked.
Everything went quiet for a moment or two
before I took the time to really listen to you.
“Take just a moment and let yourself forgive
all of the bad things that you think you ever did.
Only then is there a chance for you to see
that the one that's been cruel is you, not me.”
I paused for a moment to consider this thought,
this new perspective that my conscience had brought.
The next time it spoke, I was doing no good.
I was treating someone far worse than I ever should.
“My dear, please take a moment and check on yourself.
This isn't a judgment. I'm just here to help.
If you keep up this act, you're sure to cause harm.
Start acting your truth. It works like a charm.”
I kept myself quiet until it was done,
then took the words in without a feeling along.
Strangely enough, the message wasn't so mean.
It's quite nice, in fact, from what I can see.
Maybe all of this time, it has really been true.
I've been mean to myself and just blaming you.
If I listen to this voice while it guides the way,
I keep feeling more like myself every single day.
Written: May 30, 2021
The fingers of the upper hand
that never clutched a mound of sand
that sign a suicide command
with lethal scribbling tool
would better serve us as a whole
to grip a jagged lump of coal
and shove into a tiny hole
to squeeze into a jewel
And if you doubt this would succeed
not any more than wars of greed
then you are very wise indeed
well…either wise or poor
and though I’m not a pacifist
on this one thing I must insist
a man must only use his fist
for good worth fighting for
But seldom does war fit the case
of justice or almighty grace
to save a people or a place
of this you can be sure
Peculiar to the human breed
I mentioned once the sin of greed
which turns a want into a need
too potent to ignore
And so we poets wail of war
(when not of lovers named Lenore)
with words like “roar” and “gore” and “whore”
so dull and overused
they only bore and cause to snore
the ones who would commit a war
who gather up the fighting corps
with flag and cross abused
Who steer the murder ships to shore
who shatter buildings floor by floor
who summon hell from metal ore
who arm death squads in Salvador
who kill the children of Dafur
and other crimes I can’t endure
who poke at wounds to keep them sore
whose fingers twitch forevermore
until they count the final score
I see you’re not amused
But that’s my final word on war
so I will spare you Senator
from more of this insipid lore
I don’t know what I blather for
for I am but an amateur
now kindly show me to the door
and through this bloody corridor
and let me be excused
“I was locked up in my head
sometimes i wish i was dead
instead of filling my brain with happy thoughts id rather fill it with lead
nobody knows how i feel
mom wasnt there so i had to pop pills
tryna keep it real but im stuck in my feels
tryna figure out whats the deal like foreal
Im lost my own mind. I was trynna stay on my grind.
All these thoughts about suicide.
I just wanna break down and cry
but i can cause my emotions all over the place
tryna figure out whats real and whats fake
no kit kat but from you i need a break.
with you i took a chance
i supplied and she demanded
ripped my heart till i couldnt stand it
then you ask me why im damaged
Texting while your drunk you asked me whats wrong?
im loseing all hope tryna hold on
your a truck im an ant I guess I got rolled on
beauty in the mist
Why do i exist?
Problems i cant fix
even though im super rich
Problems on my hands so i tried to slit my wrist
had the weight on my shoulders ever since i was a kid
but its not like i could’ve changed
almost crashed the whip had to stay in my own lane
my surroundings made me insane.
overflowing with emotion like blood when you poke at the wrong vein.
trying to forget you but your stuck in my brain like a stain on a shirt
I write the best when im at my worst
at first feelings were high but now there starting to reverse
haveing you by my side is a blessing and a curse.”
We sit and talk awhile, It's hard to crack a smile.
I try to talk about my fears. And poke at the past few years.
I try to tell you what I need, While asking for help to succeed,
I try to tell you how I feel, But you don't seriously take it real.
I try to tell you to let go, And let all of your feelings flow.
But your to Vain to let it reign.
You where acting like a lovelorn male.
You made my heart sit and stale.
Do you really know what's the meaning of love? It's only sent from the one above. It try
and try to show that I care. But your to busy worrying about who what and where.
Please just tell me what you feel. Please stop letting my mind turn like a wheel.
Tell me what you think. Please lets take out this kink, That sits in our life.
I am your wife. Not another Lady.. So Stop acting so shady.
Can you say "Be married to me"
If not just let us Be
So I fell in love with another man
It you I love and came and ran.
So I slept and wept with this man
Its you I love and came and ran.
If you where to leave me would I go there?
If you where to leave me would you care who what and where?
If I where to leave you, Would you cry and take me back
If I where to leave you, Would it be feelings you lack?
If we where to stay what would you say
If we where to stay what would you pray?
We sit and talk awhile, It's hard to crack a smile.
I try to talk about my fears. And poke at the past few years.
Form: