Long Prolonging Poems
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That dormant feeling of insecurity arose,
when travel journal got thrust adjacent
to my tattered (holey tattooed) clothes
while I knew with crossed eyes
aroused anger from peaceful doze
my younger sister felt about her
globe trotting exploits, an over expose
jour ever since voyaging out on her own
after graduating top of her class
where mine hatred glows
indirectly snidely sneering
at ma dough less brother hoboes
(a 1979 Methacton High School alumni),
unanimously chosen valedictorian
dressed in Calvin Klein
Harris tweed, couture
and silk panty hose
like me prolonging, promoting
on par with quasi staff sergeant, who knows
artful disciplinarian gingerly launching rules,
asper formerly commanding G.I. Joes
and pronouncing, predilection
exhaling natural highs no lows
traveling solo, with surviving Wilburys,
or just mows
zing nonchalantly
(though a foreigner) with swarthy skin color
easily camouflaging as civilian
all points on the compass,
where minute needle doth nose
upon returning home (being honorably feted
at once glorious estate of Glen Elm,
where she did propose
to the Lord Taylor (swiftly), which location
situated at 324 Level Road, Collegeville,
Pennsylvania 19426),
thence a great huzzah a rose
an immediate nauseousness welled
within from me head tummy smelly toes
I did not want to here, or see any details,
which would accentuate personal woes
popping, snapping, and smarting,
and slapping skin raw tib bits,
ache'n to yanked strings
of mama's heirloom yo-yos!
Poet Script:
trials and tribulations,
visited upon head of young
concocted ("FAKE") gusty and gutsy
kid sister enterprising ingenue,
christened easy on the tongue
Sharodd (not her real name),
to top off talents sung
like a professional opera singer, which rung
a shiver along small hairs of spine did tingle
heard all the way to Lake Woebegone
where bachelor farmers did mingle
every Christmas, a decreasing
number donned Kris Kringle
hit with blitzkrieg of yawping brats
hoof pranced to bell weather jingle!
As I gather my thoughts, I can feel something break,
a prolonging absence that makes my heart ache.
I have many fond memories of which I hold dear,
but there is nothing I can do, but wish you were still here.
Every time I would fall you were always right there,
you would pick me back up, with a breath of fresh air.
With the sound of your voice and your kind gentle touch,
you always made me feel special, Mom, I miss you so much.
You now dwell in my heart and live on in my mind,
in my hour of need, you’re still easy to find.
With patience and love you brought my life joy,
even though I grow old, I am still your little boy.
You were my light in the darkness, you shushed all my screams,
in a cold evil world, you brought peace to my dreams.
You made the sun shine even brighter and the sky a deeper blue,
I had the world’s best mother, all because of you.
3/17/23
Writing Challenge – ‘M’ Words – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
In a moment of euphoria
You offered to erase my past
While prolonging the present.
You promised eternal life
Played me for a fool
Deceived me into believing
That time does not count.
Yet, the infinite ticking
Of the clock spells betrayal.
Now you run away from me!
Disillusioned, I struggle
In your wake…breathless.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
1. time 2. Moment 3. Clock 4. Ticking
5. Past 6. Present 7. Eternal 8. infinite
Time - 8 Word Challenge Contest
Sponsored by A Dear Heart
Placed 3rd
© 5th July 2020
The bricks were sweating, nervous. Icy slime
had soaked his coat-sleeve, much to his disgust.
Tall baulks of formless timber seemed to climb
towards the bulbous shadows. Guido, trussed
and pinioned, tried to scratch the saline rime
that nagged his upper lip (for scratch he must),
using his shoulder. Someone’s hand-held lamp
was scouring crazy patterns on the damp.
As Fisc officials fidgeted and fussed,
Count Guido, motionless, gouged free of Time,
stared at the torture implements. Nonplussed,
unravelled, unaware of glare or grime,
he saw steel jaws, unsoftened by stale dust.
The hanging chains, when brushed, gave up a chime
as sinister as that serrated clamp
which dominated all the waiting ramp.
The irony was utterly sublime.
They’ll “put him to the question”, as discussed.
As fitted the prevailing paradigm,
They’d tear his vitals, gouge him, drill him, thrust
their white-hot spikes quite through him, till his crime
was suitably admitted, as was “just”.
Some may withstand the pincers’ chew and champ,
but Guido knew he wasn’t of that stamp.
His eyes had hardly started to adjust.
Prolonging this perverted pantomime
would only satisfy the sadists’ lust.
If necessary, he’d recant in rhyme.
His knuckles scraped the carapace of rust
of some utensil, which this fetid clime
so soon engendered. Turning to decamp,
he felt no pain beyond necrotic cramp.
Fog, like a shroud, hangs over the valley,
muting the morning's voice, soaking the ground.
Droplets cannonball, trying to rally,
base jump the downspouts, raise echoing sounds.
Scarce is heard but a chorus of crickets.
Runoffs form rivulets, quiet joined mirth.
Does skip breakfast, stay tucked in the thickets,
waiting for sunshine, enjoying warm earth.
Silent, it slips like ghosts through the forest,
leaving no trace but a sheen on the bark.
Seemingly endless, in the aorist,
thwarting dawn's progress, prolonging the dark.
Alone, a sorrowed lover seeking trysts,
a sodden, tear-soaked spirit in the mists…
—————
For the 2020 Poetry Marathon Mile 14 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
Written on 9/10/2022
All everyone saw was my happy face,
But inside was a heart as delicate as a thin glass vase.
Surrounding this glass vase was a cage,
The vase was full of pain and filled to the top with rage.
All the years of not being able to express the mental anguish,
I felt like I had begun to vanish.
Who am I, I wondered?
All through life I blundered.
It felt as if no one even cared,
With every hurtful word to every physical hit, I became more impaired.
The more I became hidden,
I felt forbidden.
Always hiding in the shadows,
Clinging on to my sorrows.
Not belonging,
The inevitable, I felt like I was only prolonging.
UNTIL …
In the far distance I heard a sound,
I tried to run, but I had been found.
A voice, He called my name,
The closer He came.
I tried to hide in the darkness,
The closer He came, I felt so worthless.
Hiding behind years of shame,
Only, I am to blame.
The closer He came bringing a light of love,
There was such a peace that radiated from above.
I didn’t have the strength to stand,
Curled up on the floor I felt a hand.
With just a whisper He told to me arise,
With tears in my eyes,
And my stomach in knots,
He began to wash away all my dirty black spots.
One by one they fell to the floor,
To be remembered no more.
My name He called and said, “follow Me”.
“I have so much for you to see”.
He took my hand,
And I began to understand.
He loves me more than I could possibly comprehend,
He gave me a key to unlock the cage of everything that was penned.
I unlocked the cage to my heart,
With the strain of all the ugliness, the glass shattered and flew apart.
He looked at me with a loving smile,
And said, “I make all things new, and you are worthwhile”.
© Deborah Seale Schnadelbach 2023
The cowboy he rode on out of the hills
Slumped over his good horse Fred.
Covered in dust, the least of his ills,
Both he and the horse half-dead.
He took a long drink to clear his head,
And felt a shutter, then a long wait,
In the motion of poor Fred’s gate.
He looked back and saw no more foe
No sight of old Mad Dog Giles,
Who’d chased him hard, both high and low
For forty frantic and breathless miles,
Across endless, hardened, desert tile.
Giles had chased, determined to slay
The cowboy who loved a girl in his pay.
Over mountain slopes of broken stone,
Through a canyon of red-hued rock,
Through alkali sinks, scattered with bones,
The Mad Dog his prey had stalked.
The cowboy, his foe, could not out-fox.
But the good horse Fred was the best of steads,
And ran till the other dropped of fatigue.
The cowboy he climbed out of the saddle,
Glad to finally move his own feet.
Fred gave a whinny, the cowboy looked down
At a swollen and bulging knee,
It was broken, he could clearly see.
A flash of rage burned in his soul,
To see the chase’s heavy toll.
The cowboy fumed, ranted, and raged
He’d raised good Fred from birth!
This stallion had taken him ‘cross the range,
Through tall mountains and deserts adverse,
And now he was doomed to the Earth…
His only true friend, would soon be gone
Thanks to a mad man’s temper and imagined wrongs.
He saw no use prolonging the end,
He whispered words and stroked Fred’s face.
The gun quivered in shaky hands,
But the barrel, it found the place.
He squeezed, and Fred met his fate.
The cowboy fell down to his knees,
And roared out loud in agony.
When he rose again his stare was cold,
He made no effort to fool himself.
For the love of a horse, both strong and bold,
He’d sent that damn bastard to hell!
And through time the tales would tell:
That a broken cowboy, driven by wrath
Had made the Mad Dog breath his last…
past passions passed parting
present pains pleasured prolonging
love's longings lowered lingering
world's weight winded waiting
sadness's solo silenced singing
freedom forgotten feared freezing
brittle bones bruised breaking
taciturn tears tattered tumbling
mind's memory mangled melting
reason's remnants ruined remaining
kneels nobody nighted knowing
gutless ghosting gathered grimacing
careless cacophony caged constructing
mammon millions murdered meandering
demons divinity damaged dividing
hearts heads hooked hungering
chastised children chunked chasing
betrayed bought banned burying
jingo jeering jaded judging
kindness kisses kindled killing
quiescent quakes quieted quivering
vapid verses vanquished vaping
words' world wearied wounding
zealot xenophobe zeroed zooming
Poetry is breathing out
graces of the heart;
for unlike other writing,
such exhalation
transcends words:
whether scented with sulfur
or mint de jour
poetry is the soul’s lure
dangling immortality--
We are tempted to the brink;
whether dreadful fall
or bottomless sink
next step is uncontrollable:
rhyme with time
or proses with glows,
the shell broken
serpents and birds alike
released—poetry a feast
of both our demons
and saints--
So...with pen and pad
we come to the table;
some fable some truth
with manic greed
we plate all obsessions
imbibe the fatal drink;
not a writer dare blink--
both God and the Devil
transfixed, they are watching,
prolonging to eternal
some final call--
so long as the poet
amuses them all….
past passions passed parting
present pains pleasured prolonging
love's longings lowered lingering
world's weight winded waiting
sadness's solo silenced singing
freedom forgotten feared freezing
brittle bones bruised breaking
taciturn tears tattered tumbling
mind's memory mangled melting
reason's remnants ruined remaining
kneels nobody nighted knowing
gutless ghosting gathered grimacing
careless cacophony caged constructing
mammon millions murdered meandering
demons divinity damaged dividing
hearts heads hooked hungering
chastised children chunked chasing
betrayed bought banned burying
jingo jeering jaded judging
kindness kisses kindled killing
quiescent quakes quieted quivering
vapid verses vanquished vaping
words' world wearied wounding
zealot xenophobe zeroed zooming