Long Pounds Poems
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It is easy to forget that in the main we die only seven times more slowly than our dogs.
Jim Harrison (1937 - 2016) - The Road Home
First Bobo, a cocker spaniel,
I remember only from pictures.
He ran way before we moved
to Canada when I was four.
Second Kizzie, a cockapoo, Mom got
when the family moved to Texas.
I only saw her on holidays and such
as I stayed in Canada. She lived
long and was with the folks when they
retired to British Columbia and was
into her teens before they put her down.
Third Sadie, 3/4 Newfie - 1/4 Bernese,
a big black dog, with a big appetite
for apples from a special tree and
the socks our daughter, a toddler
cast off around the house.
I still chuckle remembering
the scattered remnants lining
the farm lane that spring.
She was over ten, and in pain
when we put her down.
Her ashes remain in an urn in the garage.
Fourth Rizzo, a fencejump cross of
Gordon Setter and Belgian Shepherd,
my wife and daughter got him from
a friend, while I was off on a canoe trip.
A headstrong dog who would take off after
a scent or car to return when he pleased.
On leash, he'd almost pull you off your feet.
With age, he grew territorial and
after the third biting incident, I took
him to the vet to be put down.
But she gave him to an older lady
with a fenced yard who put thirty
pounds on him and he lived to
fourteen or fifteen.
Fifth Hailey, who was five when
we got her from the shelter.
A Border Collie - Shepherd cross
and definitely our daughter's dog.
She'd bounce foxlike through the fields
and on evening beach walks, loved
to fetch sticks we'd toss into the waves.
She was over fifteen and failing when
we put her down, days before
our daughter's wedding.
No urn this time.
Sixth Xena, a Shepherd-Collie cross
and beyond doubt a princess
but more sweetheart than warrior.
She has the canine equivalent
of ADD and a bark first policy
when something new appears
and will retrieve sticks or balls
until your arm falls off .
At over eight, she's running strong.
Seventh, Sam, a mostly Shepherd mix,
she's our most 'rescue' rescue dog,
smart, loyal and obedient
a wantobe lap dog with a feral streak.
She responds in kind to aggressive
dogs and we muzzle her on walks.
Now five she'll be with us for a
good while to continue the tally.
From Tampa Florida And Still Living Near By
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Camp E-How-Kee.
?
Autoplay
Camp E-How-Kee
as a child
had it's dark side as well.
Paul Butler is doing life
for robbery
i know.
He was black and seemed
like a nice kid back then,
he was the token
in our small group of whites
with him it numbered ten.
Fat Jack..Jack Thomas
died
in Florida state prison.
George Walker abused by
his father,
Sexually, psychologically and
physically life a living hell.
kicked in the face by Chief Snell.
He may have weighted
seventy pounds soaking wet
five foot one perhaps.
While Chief Snell,
wearing size thirteen and standing
six foot eleven in bare socks.
Kicked him in his face one early morn.
George in and out prison as well
perhaps by now, 'maybe dead.
He had courage.
Robert Sykes, whom wet the bed
every night.
Lord only knows,
the demons and monsters,
inside of his head.
The abuse that he suffered at home
was his fault we all now know
but a child as well.
is he alive..Amen.
The boy with the epileptic seizures
so bad
I remember his name..
as Dwayne Robinson..he shook and he
screamed all night..
putting the pillow over his head.
While the counselor poured buckets
of cold water on him.
Screaming be quite.
where was 'God'..then..
Must I go on..yes I will.
All of us between eleven and twelve.
Maybe one was thirteen..
mighty frontiersman were we.
Angels, were we heavens know, 'no.
being allowed to use axes
and draw knives
we kept pocket knives to do our work.
And Wally Otting was like Frank...
Michael Berro...
none thinking back then were like I..
When it got to bad
I would take most away in the middle
of the night to escape..
what we thought we escaped when it was
we left our homes.
Most would not listen and then get caught
I always made it back home fifty miles
of eating berries or nothing at all..
just to be sent back again.
Delila after dark..this was then...
you were a tender Ronnie and
I was a boy of twelve..with no
moss or beard..
and my parts even then were coveted
by others as well..
This is my confession for them..
Donna Black...H.C.S.D.
Doing this to us was what..........and
where is Gary Anderson?
What could a child, 'i have done back then
but i tried, as
One group of five made up of tens.
Her eyes a sapphire blue,
An awesome sight to view,
Her nose aristocratic,
She was so charismatic,
Her lips a rosy petal pink,
One had to blink,
Or been seen as staring,
Her nature a sheer blessing.
Her hair pure black like coal,
Her ears so dainty as if she stole
Them from a pretty fairy,
Her friendly attitude quite flirty,
Her peeking bosoms such a tease,
Begging for a squeeze,
Her tantalizing always alluring waistline,
Her demure look whilst sipping wine,
Her legs, toned and smooth,
The actual truth,
Those legs were the best in town,
Caire lived in a cottage down
The hill, her ankles slim and slender,
Her speaking tone ever so tender,
Her teeth pearly white,
Her nails and toe-nails bright
Red, wrists strong, fingers slight.
She was betrothed to the mayor,
Was this beautiful girl Caire,
To be married next week,
By a sandy beach near a sheltered creek,
Excitement was mounting,
Two days to go, she was counting,
Claire had ordered a Dior designed dress,
This was the perfect wedding, oh yes!
Her parents arrived the day before,
They were excited wanted to explore,
Mark’s parents acted a little strange,
There was never any form of exchange,
Of phone calls, no answer to a wedding invitation,
Future husband gave Clair limited information,
She looked radiant as she walked down the aisle,
She turned everybody’s head, unique was her style.
Happy as a lark to be her beloved’s wife,
She looked forward to her future role in life,
Suddenly, police sirens heard,
The noise moving closer, how weird,
Two cars arrived and, four or five policemen,
Walked towards the couple, in fact ten,
Cuffed her future husband, read him his rights,
Clair fainted, Mark was a criminal, many nights
She often thought he was too secretive,
Which made her sad, certainly not appreciative,
Claire dear girl, you forgot, habits are difficult to re-arrange,
Mark was set in his ways, so hard for you to have him change.
Mark was wanted for fraud, millions of pounds
Involved, had cooked the books, so out of bounds,
Claire's mom and dad put her gently into their car,
And took her to their home which was far,
Claire took some time to get past this catastrophe,
Over a man she loved and about to relinquish her chastity,
Ralph a divorced writer was her parent’s neighbour,
Who soon stole Clare’s heart and her chamber!
The human being
(also referred throughout history
as 'long pig' and 'hairless goat'
in the case of younger specimens)
Observing the anatomy and skeleton,
one can see that the human animal
after death young tender meat.
The large central pelvis and broad shoulder blades
also interfere with achieving perfect cuts.
There are advantages to this however,
especially due to the fact that the specimen girl
will weigh between 100-200 pounds,
easily manipulated by one man with proper leverage.
Controlled environments like institutions or jails before.
Health and diet to outward appearances maintained.
Humans are not very kind to the dead here it is why you are.
You are an unknown to me
thus subject to an enormous range of diseases,
infections, chemical imbalances,
and poisonous bad habits, all typically decreasing with age.
I personally prefer calm firm caucasian females
in their early teens.
These are 'ripe'.
But the saw varies from cut to cut,
and again there it is a very large herd to choose from.
The M.E.)
Medical Examiner will need a fairly large room and sufficient space
in which to work (an interior location is suggested)
and a large table for a butcher's block.
A central overhead support will need to be chosen
or installed ahead of time to hang the young body from.
Large tubs or barrels for blood
and waste trimmings should be convenient,
and a water source close by.
Most of the work can be done with a few simple tools.
Sharp, clean short and long bladed knives,
a cleaver or hatchet, and a hacksaw and ribspreaders.
Body Preparation requires plenty of water.
This helps flush the system,
purging stored toxins and bodily wastes,
as well as making bleeding and cleaning easier.
This one I will call Jane doe 007
was found at a bar stunned into insensitivity.
Sharp unexpected blows to the head put her at rest
quite is best, tranquilizers being recommended
If this is not possible without exciting the body
and causing a longer struggle (which then pumps
a greater volume of blood
and secretions such as adrenaline throughout the body
A single bullet through the middle of the forehead
exiting the back of the skull here did nice.
For what ever reason her companion is here right beside her.
Is is called murder suicide I think it is two suicides.
Whom ever goes last gets the cellophane wrap.
Philippines, my country of birth,
one of the countries in Southeast Asia.
It is an archipelago or group of islands,
with more than seven thousand islands.
Luzon, the largest island in the northern
part of the country, is where I was born
and where Manila, the capital is located.
Manila, the city known as Pearl of the Orient.
Magellan, the Portuguese explorer for Spain
claimed the archipelago in fifteen hundred
twenty one, named the islands Las Felipinas
or The Philippines, after King Phillip II of Spain.
Philippines was colonized more than three
hundred years, from fifteen hundred sixty five
until eighteen hundred ninety eight and ruled
under Mexico-based Viceroyalty of New Spain.
Manila was called Pearl of the Orient Seas
by the historian/Jesuit priest Juan Jose Delgado
in seventeen hundred fifty one for being a way
of sea transactions during Asian trade of goods.
However, in Jose Rizal’s poem “My Last Farewell,”
he wrote before his execution by the Spanish
government for rebellion through his writings,
he stated his country as Pearl of the Orient.
So, Philippines, the country and not Manila,
the city became known as Pearl of the Orient,
upon the discovery of his poem after his execution
in December thirty, eighteen hundred ninety six.
Philippines is known as Pearl of the Orient for
its strategic location in Asia, rich biodiversity or
different kinds of plants and animals, natural
resources and its natural beauty and splendor.
The Spanish Crown called it Pearl of the Orient
for the country was a precious source of spices,
other resources and trade of goods, even prior to
their colonization to acquire a share in spice trade.
Philippines’ natural gem is south sea pearls
and it is renowned for cultivating south sea pearls.
The famous pearl in the country, known as The Pearl
of Lao Tzu, was considered the largest known pearl.
The pearl weighed fourteen pounds, found by a
Filipino diver in nineteen thirty four and later, a giant
pearl, the Pearl of Puerto weighing seventy five pounds,
found by a fisherman, both discovered in Palawan Island.
No doubt why The Philippines is called Pearl of the Orient,
the two biggest pearls were found in Palawan, Philippines.
Isn’t that the most obvious, sensible reason? I wonder……
Well, what do you think?...... Just asking……
These castle walls are cracked and moonlight seeps through, i hug my knees to my chest as
a sob threatens to break out of my throat. My skin is pale and thin; my bones stab through
my skin-nearly breaking it, I would look like a scraggly porcelain doll if I ever looked
in the mirror, but being trapped in this damned place for however long I have no access to
such a luxury.
My eyes are wet, my hair is tangled and knotted-unbrushed for at least three weeks. My
fingers resemble the bone underneath. I hear wolves call from under the ten foot tower, I
shake in my corner and wish to get a nights sleep that I know would never come. The marks
on my back from the whip stings like hell.
My limbs hurt; feeling stretched as if they were pulled by horses. A pain in my skull just
behind my eyes pounds rhythmically like hoofbeats galloping drunkenly on the hard
cobblestone streets of London.
The silver glow of the moon glows brighter as the silver orb centers itself in the sky.
The pain in my limbs grows more intense, the urge to scream in agony is tempting, but I
don't. I should, but do not. It will get me nowhere, and it will not help me. So, I sit in
the corner and suffer silently through such torture. The moon rises higher toward the
center, the pain grows; soon enough, I am unable to hold in the screams.
I scream.
Granted that citizens below can hear me; do they come? Do they wonder what or who could be
enduring such torture and pain? No...they do not. Never have.
I go through this for six centuries, no one looks up at the thin, slanted and dark window.
No one comes clambering, clumsily up the stairs of the tower to where my screams grow
louder and are the dominant instrument in this dark, cobblestone hell. No one comes-some
may wonder, I do not invade their minds-nor have I tried.
But, I fear not that they do wonder, probably are just afraid of what dark, evil creature
awaits them to their death. I am but a nightmare, not exactly a dream, but neither a
nightmare shrouded in shadows and hidden in scraggly, ugly branches like long, clawed
fingernails.
So, yes, I am nothing but what I perceive myself. What others perceive me as, I know not
what to think; I scream, no one comes...yet, my life is lived more for me as I am living
locked up in this hole. Locked up, and suffering. No one to hear me scream.
1. Non-fiction
The bathroom faucet gushes nectar
drowns my hands in never-laughter,
"Sorry" is a specter
when you told me "0" I felt disgusting,
hopelessly deluded,
naked.
Last night I dreamed
that New York City was nuked,
another Twin Towers Lost,
everyone radiated.
But then I dreamed of you,
in a tight blue dress,
glaring,
cute pout,
"Is this right?" you asked
as you flawlessly played
Beethoven's "The Tempest."
I smiled. "Perfect."
I hardly smile these days.
2. Satisfaction
Deflection of your image is essential.
The closer I get, the more
those spiders right there
don't you see them
slipping on the stucco wall?
They remember the feeling
that satisfaction brings
of outsmarting us all
as the sky reflected in my fingernail
is a storyteller of love's plastic rings.
Is it summer yet?
This doesn't feel
adventurous, heart-warming,
sunsets, beaches,
grandfather, innocent crush,
my eyes in sugar rush,
and the books that told me much
so that I could die one day in your hush.
3. A Loss of Inspiration
Midnight's soon, the day's been wasted
thinking of worlds aside from This,
the walls' three dents from my broken fist
and the postcard she forgot she posted
in this odd room I fill
with jackets, wisdom, thrill,
come sundown I rush into wishes
that my jealousy could be just,
yet it's "brand-new in a landfill"
restoring your horrified webcam look.
Since you've gone and my love has died,
this pen's bloodstains have been my pride.
4. Medicine
Maybe you don't realize
you've crushed that tiny bug.
His funeral will not be held,
not until the walls cover their ears,
and blood diamonds ask for fears.
A refill
and a terror,
I can only see your purple sweater
bending once for all my vice;
Maroon Dream City is waiting for us.
These med heavens.
So addicting
until I relapsed into your eyes,
I'm still sick of it all:
the horizon never reached
and darkness perched and ready.
Stop confusing me already.
5. Hideout
Hey, why did
I miss you
Your smile from last June
And no girl will ever
I wonder
I wonder
Slow down, run me over
And laaaugh
Come walk beside this faster incompletion
On a chilly night of sirens
Hey, why did
And my head pounds from lack of
Hey, if I were to go forever
Come to me in my hideout
and I'll kiss your scream
with eternity.
I might be able to bring an end to all of the world’s turmoil and strife,
Because I think that I have stumbled upon the one true meaning of life.
It seems it all began a long time ago when Adam got his Eve,
Let me tell it to you right away so that you might soon believe.
The Lord made Adam fall to sleep and then He took from him a rib,
He said “From this I’ll make a woman,” He wasn’t trying to be glib.
If there’s one thing in this world I know it’s that ribs should come in racks,
And they always should come in one of two ways, St. Louis or baby backs.
I prefer the baby backs although St. Louis style has its fans,
You should be able to enjoy either one you like with dry rub or sans.
You’ll need to coordinate the type of wood you want to use for smoke,
That reminds me I wanted to remember to tell you this woodsy joke.
It seems there was this young tree hugger, who chained herself to a tree,
She told the logger who came for it that you’ll have to cut through me.
He said, “Lady, with the chest you’ve got I’ll need to get a bigger saw,
You shouldn’t be aloud to wear a shirt that tight at least without a bra.”
Now that I think of it, my own shirt is getting kind of tight,
I think that the time to start a diet might just about be right.
With what I’ve been through I’ve added on one or two extra pounds,
Maybe this weekend I should try to golf one or two extra rounds.
But golfing is the kind of sport that takes up so much of my time,
Perhaps to get myself in better shape a stair master I should climb.
When I climb the stairs to go to bed at night, I really am so tired,
Sometimes I start to think about the things to which I have aspired.
And I wonder if the things that I’ve done will ever add up in my life,
Then I turn out the bedroom lights and I kiss my ever-loving wife.
That’s when it dawns on me that no matter how my mind is leaning,
At that precise moment it’s the thing that gives my life its meaning.
That gauzy speculation may be as fleeting as a whisper from a dream,
But the next inspiration waits in line for its turn, in my eye to gleam.
So please remember that the life you have is a gift from our Creator,
Enjoy every second you’re given and live it like there won’t be any later.
I hope the meaning of your life is clearer to you now and this can be a sign,
But if you’re even more confused, at least you’ve found the meaning of mine.
A Visit to Graceland
By Elton Camp
Although Memphis is nearby
To visit Graceland I didn’t try.
Elvis wasn’t much older than me.
So his home I really should go see.
I followed the young tour guide.
“Stay together as we move inside.”
Critics call the house tacky as can be,
But it seemed quite luxurious to me.
No rightful criticism could I make.
In Elvis’ décor I saw no mistake.
I had no decorating advice to give.
It looks better than where I live.
“Now up these stairs is his private space.
The tour to go there would be a disgrace.”
The guide pointed on down the hall.
“On Jungle room, please make a call.”
I stared at the steps with eyes so wide.
“Up there’s where he lived and died.”
I stood alone at the foot of the stair.
Without any guard in charge to care.
Seeing a chance open to few,
I decided just what I would do.
While nobody was around,
Up the stairs with a bound.
In a large bedroom on the right,
Something gave me quite a fright.
“How do you dare to come up here?”
He asked in a voice shaky but clear.
He had a shock of dyed black hair,
But in places it was growing spare.
Then his great size next me astounds.
He must weigh three hundred pounds.
“Just who do you think you are?
Nobody’s allowed to come this far.”
I felt like I was about to faint.
Surely, Elvis the King that ain’t.
“Everybody thinks I died years ago
They must continue to think it’s so.
I can never be fat and old.
So that big lie I have told.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I cry.
“Before I would tell it, I’d sooner die.”
He looked at me with a trace of a grin.
“No way can you betray this has been.”
“Nobody would believe a story like that.
A claim you saw Elvis alive, old and fat.”
I realized it was all too true.
If I told it, the day I would rue.
Liar would become my name
For harming Elvis’ great fame.
“We know Elvis long ago died.
What type drugs have you tried?”
And right then I began to shake
Until it brought me wide awake.
My own bedroom I did then see.
In Memphis town I couldn’t be.
No matter how real it did seem,
It had been nothing but a dream.
But I didn’t really so much care
That it had only been a nightmare.
For if Graceland I ever visit for real
And find Elvis alive, I’ll never squeal.
Trim and handsome all want him to be.
No unfavorable image should they see.
Back straight, shoulders down. Straighten the computer. Stop staring at the purple walls.
Light the candle once, twice, three times -- why won’t it light? --
before the flame finally catches,
filling the room with the scent of pine.
Breathe in, breathe out. Start typing.
Sunlight slants across my fingertips, and I turn to face the source
impossibly far from the window.
The clouds are tinged the golden white of times flown by,
of the yarn of the Fates that winds tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter in your chest until you’re suffocating, asphyxiating, gasping for breath, panic turning your body to crumbling stone.
The mushrooms know this process well. It’s been inscribed in their DNA since well before humans were graced with the knowledge of how to care for their dead.
Over the eons, they’ve befriended Time and Death alike.
What would I give to have such an intimate connection with the two?
To sit back amongst shadows that drape me like a blanket rather than grip me like a vise?
Too much time has passed. Too many seconds lost. Time, time, time, slipping away from my scrambling fingers.
Can’t grip the yarn; too silky, too precious. The Fates wove quality too fine for mortals to grasp.
Clear thoughts like an etch-a-sketch, sending fireglow hair flying. Breathe in, breathe out.
Start typing.
The words that appear are damn near incomprehensible, shrouded and hidden by
ghosts of memories that weave themselves through my thoughts.
A dark lake house lit by candles and the fire in my eye as I take my grandma “exploring”
over forest-colored carpet and around oak tables,
a land she’s already familiar with.
How do I rectify that vision with what’s facing now?
112 feather-light pounds of gray hair and fading eyes,
reality’s cruel reward for a life of purpose and love.
I’m scrambling to keep up with all the changes, but my grasp is slipping.
Suddenly she’s falling faster than we thought.
The heater’s white noise is the only constant,
the handfuls of M&Ms the only distraction.
I’m all too aware of the bills I’m racking up,
too cognizant that synthetic dopamine only shoves away what’s real,
but I’m crumbling too fast to care.
Shaky breath in. Straighten the computer. Stop staring blankly at the purple walls.
There’s too much to do; the future’s jumping down your throat and running away.
Start typing.