Long Publicize Poems
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Past psychological development
describes zigzagging mama's yoyo
casually, aye publicize, (asper
mein kampf) personal woe
unpleasant memories indelibly
etched, jagged, scar outlined like ticktacktoe
solitary games invariable resultant
draw between every “x” and each "o"
metaphorical of course for this poetic,
formerly non opportunistic
generic Joe Schmoe,
hoof hound cathartic airing emotionally
rocky terrain, whereby floe
tips of icebergs with poetry I tool
examining, excavating, extracting, et cetera hoe
ping to discover ring visa vis,
why this ordinary fella did not want to grow
up, when on the throes of puberty lugging
"FAKE" nostalgic memories in tow
markedly heavy impossible to shrug
Atlas off (as if yoked with an albatross) also
weighted with Taj Mahal size fountainhead
gushing with emotional phlegm like no
buddies business shockingly deadly toxic
sputum nearly killed me, the only bro
their too hoo (owl right) untwisted sisters
one older, the other younger dough
ting on this then suicidal, impassive, and
ambivalent depressively sullen self burrow
wing boy within my own wormhole unresponsive
to overtures of sincere love - self castrated
particularly social maturation grew
ming this present day subdued chap
still smarting from ravages of anorexia
nervosa, particularly wrought hardy brew
of schizoid personality disorder self
deprivation excruciating frame of mind
as I mercilessly flayed and never grew
to experience ordinary relationships,
hence though married with grown daughters,
nonetheless...pay penance forever rue
man hating price hermetically
sealed wharf from humans,... thus you
cannot reach me, - now adieu!
twas the bright idea of zee missus aye air
and dedicate this poem
(yes tis correct, if you bare
lee remember this mister
did formerly she push duck clear
addressed said spouse
"my little buttock blaster" en dear
ment - for obvious reasons,
and before she begat two 'ere
rip press ably lovely daughters),
anyway thee wife I fear
to publicize contracted a benign
strain sans incurable glare
ring housecleaning malady
(thus far no unpronounceable hair
raising name affixed
to non contagious nonetheless
accursed malady,
whereby to keep at bay,
scrubbing stubborn stains
from clothes, dishes,
and gamut of hibernating
Ursine horde (nee motley crue)
that come breathing alive
Nsync with beastie Bay
City Rollers Culture Club bing babes
upon first spring day
engrossed in this, that,
or some other sweeping floor foray
(analogously to Velveteen Rabbit)
shedding gray
winter coat when warmer temperatures arrive,
where humungous fur clumps would lay
comprising sudden empty raft
of shelf space minus a may
zing globules, oh...lemme get on track,
whence frenzied fever "cleaning bug" nee
major virus afflicting wife,
would necessitate impossible task
strapping former
feisty Norwegian farm gal
in straight jacket livingsocial every
would be no game to play
boot tiring and cruel task of her life Yukon say
24/7 daily challenge,
which unpredictable timeframe
thine remaining lifetime sans wife oye vay
would frank lee zap
every last oomph of mine
if able twin door remaining with spouse
meanwhile 'til she obliviously
plucks persistent sprouting stranded follicle
tiller broad forehead resembles
a minuscule tarmac way.
La Cavalera Catrina 1910-1930:
An etching by cartoonist and lithographer, José Guadalupe Posada
Of a Garbancera, elegant skull, an upper-class woman of the Porfiriata
Has become a character icon of the Mexican “Día de Los Muertos”
A celebration of life in which it is much believed or “muy fuertos”
That the spirits of the dead are to return to their home
with relatives on these two days to spend time, it’s well known
Writing “calaveritas” which are short, humorous poems shared
With family and friends who show how much they cared
About a living person, how they died, then published to publicize
In magazines and newspapers, mostly celebrities and politicians to satirize
There is art that is added to the light-heartedness of the occasions
Skeletons drinking, dancing, and celebrating, depicted in humorous situations
Sugar skulls or calaveras made as edible or decorative skulls for the day
Another tradition, they are baked from either sugar called Alfeñiques or clay
It is custom to see sugar skull makeup on children, adults in array
to represent departed souls for Day of the Dead and All Souls Day
I accidentally let one loose
A ripe for roasting, fattened goose!
The ganders in Orwellian mode
Honked out the news in gaggled code.
Rash Farmer Giles, blood red with rage
Would not be easy to assuage
And goslings flapped their wings in fear
As if to say ‘Get out of here!’
The rooster crowed with all his might
To publicize my sorry plight
And terror-stricken piglets squealed
As rifle cocked, he left the field.
I turned and fled: there’d be no grace
For farmer Giles had picked up pace.
But then, a crack, a curse ; a whopper!
Old Farmer Giles had come a cropper!
This close escape I did embrace
For he had run a wild goose chase!
And as I raised a thankful sigh
A cackling form went flying by!
Competition entry : I accidentally let one loose : Charles Messina 22 July N/A
Applicable Not Applicable Contests Poetry Contest : sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
19.05.19
the angel had a surreal glow that astounded me
I felt star-struck; was she my guardian angel?
She or he? It was impossible to tell which.
The angel’s voice gave me no clue either.
Androgynous angel, so I shall call her A.A.
I wanted to speak of the violence.
But I did not want to alarm her.
There are many good people here.
I did not want her to get the wrong impression.
I told her about the school shootings in the USA.
She listened, without comment.
I told her about New Zealand. They had a school shooting once.
They did not publicize the name of the perpetrator.
They did not give him notoriety or fame of any sort.
There was no spread in any magazine about him or his family.
No one raised money for his defense in a go-fund-me account.
Why doesn’t the USA do that? She asked me.
We are crazy here, I told her.
We have a convicted felon as our president.
A man who said he wanted to be a dictator and now he is one.
Our laws say even the criminally insane can purchase guns.
the NRA rules us in the USA
The angel was speechless
He dreamt of car races and our sunny California beaches.
Of tanned women playing volleyball. Yes, all were within his vibrant reach.
Porsche-mania, though was his all.
Some talk endlessly of dreams coming true, but Bruce, followed them. He
packed up his things and left his freezing Chicago neighborhood.
Blond, tall, amenable with the most beautiful eyes of hypnotic blue.
My cousin, Bruce, so determined to develop his effervescent, glowing manhood.
He was par excellance at selling Mercedes Benz, and,made a substantial living.
He married a beautiful woman, bought a home with pool in Anaheim.
I have never known a man so unselfish and totally giving!
A Porsche Race Car driver, he did become!
Standing there in his white racing suit,blond hair waving, holding a helmet shining in the California sun!
He was living his dream come true.
He became manager of Porche dealership,bought a ranch house with pool
in Malibu. Then, he wasn't feeling well,something was most askew.
Indeed he battled cancer for two years, but not once did I hear him complain, not even a grumble.
People complain of smaller issues, "victim acts" are their thing. Oh, how they do publicize their suffering!
But cancer got the very best of him.He became yet more thin and more than ill.
Bruce celebrated his fortieth birthday in that California Spring!
Eleven days later, God tapped him on the shoulder. And said, " come home, to me, your soul, do bring"
I have quite never gotten over this loss.
I miss his humility and laughter and helping others, no matter the cost!
Bruce did not come from money at all.
He loved, people and life. That was his true legacy and call.
My Highest tribute to my Cousin Bruce.
April 3, 1947~ April 16, 1987
Such joy, generoty and humility!
Always in my thoughts,
Cousin Pangie
3/11/2021
~2~
You are the conqueror, you always conquer
on your fingernail seats the victory home
in your head dwells all tactics
for halting
for bending
for cutting
for slaying the truthful mouth
yes, with lies the power
you can do
you can undo
a giant lion that shuts
lion in the glade
a giant prey that makes
prey walk on the ground
when its hover above the earth
a giant fish they runs fish a distance length
yes, you can do
you can undo
what you step upon none dare moves close it.
you are a evil yourself
evil is you himself
what suffers others laughs you hysterically
you the fear that fears the fear
you the fear that fears yourself
who dare faces you and says you do right none
perhaps one that wants to lick the cup of life
one that wants to live beneath the soil
'I winder
do you at times wonder
I am really the conqueror'
'yes'
do you do and say I have done?
do you publicize your scheme?
do you kill and say I have killed?
can you kill truth in people's heart?
who is the conqueror?
Power and Form
Are the two elements of a human life
Our words are sweet and sometimes sour
However it’s a deadly trace throughout the human race
We say yes too often to satisfy our so-called rational minds
Is the life of a poet/poetess more fulfilling than a farmer?
Are we the expression of nature?
Or victims of a regimental affiliations
We are as you know impossible and unpredictable
Because we all are crazy species
Power and form
There is no more secret society
The secret of man is publicize under watchful eyes
The world looks into our families’ photos
Looking for the perfect quota,
As each and everyone one of us partake in online revelry
Like an disciplinary cavalry
However, within our soul lies the truth.
I lost one year, one birthday
I rebirth and lost my power and position
Atlas! I am in the lower realms
Now I am in heaven
We must never of each other forget.
Remember that, or buid a world of regret.
Each man or woman is your sister or brother.
No matter what their beliefs or their skin color.
God did not make one race better than another.
So best we realize that we are all sisters and brothers.
I realize the not-so-chic news hides this obvious fact.
And loves to publicize differences, those political hacks!
Turn off the news, if you wish to remain truly sane.
Love all others, perhaps lift a glass of champagne?
2/6/2021
~ 1 ~
*Image of Me Flirting by Gfycat.
Tatiana Needed Support To Come Out
Lil' Tatiana her stomach like butterflies,
Could not speak in public, had doctor analyze,
Prescribed taking lessons and try to improvise,
Instead, the butterflies started to colonize.
Insecticides were used by helping euthanize,
It did the task but still, she could not vocalize,
Her parents told her story so to advertize,
Many had read it and started to empathize.
Experts arrived and the masses did galvanize,
For now, they concentrate just keeping localize,
They trust that this way it will help to minimize,
And help her focus, what is best to maximize.
People she knew made her calm and help sensitize,
The experts aware there's a need to emphasize,
That her mental status best needs to stabilize,
And bring to bear her priors and visualize.
Raising her mettle, edginess will stabilize,
Obstacles aside will help her to verbalize,
The lower her fears fulfill and not traumatize,
So the need to practice and do more exercise.
She is set and on her ways, all will recognize,
Placed all her thoughts and energy to harmonize,
That her realm attractively has gone neutralize,
And she will be good to come out and stabilize.
Her folks were talked out of it to not publicize,
The audience did come out and desensitize,
The conditions and all have her epitomize,
Her Shakespearean reading, a soliloquize.
2020 March 01
HMS; 28 lines x 12 syllables per = 336 syllables total