Long Purse Poems
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The situation that my pappy is in has gone from bad to worse.
It all started on the day when he began to carry a purse.
Things got really bad when I went to his house and saw him wearing a dress.
He says that he's a woman who's trapped inside a man's body, it is a mess.
Pappy has also started wearing high heel shoes and using make-up.
It's embarrassing when a man's dad leaves lipstick on coffee cups.
My pappy said that I shouldn't feel ashamed because of his new clothes.
But it really draws attention when a man wears a mini skirt and panty hose.
When people see my pappy, they point and laugh at him.
Then I get arrested because I beat the crap out of them.
Pappy asked me not to beat up anybody else because it's an awful sin.
I told him that I'll have to fight until he either has a sex change or behaves like a man again.
(This is a fictional poem.)
There is no right way...
there are only wrong
ways – there is no
Luke-warm love, for
love is not a portion
nor temperature...not
a two-step – but a toward
You Step. And we know love
when we see it...let it
happen~yes, free it!
Too often we flee it;
failures leave a lasting
mark – making us Leary
of future spark – once a
flame ignited, and then
smothered out, can leave
a nasty ash; better to make
the dash~yes, run. Before
the heart is barbecued~
overdone....
But no one has ever won
if not a wager on the board
of life – just ask my very
wise wife – who made a purse
out of a sow's ear...her headlight
on my deer.
I don’t know how to pen this verse, I just cannot find the correct words, they are trembling on my lips, and I must place them in the correct order to make them fit. Pants without shirt gorilla wallowing in the dirt; black bear eating honey from the tree and the lion is in the den waiting for thee. The three musketeers are here, and they are on a global mission to start a new life in the middle of a painful sacrifice, and so the fight for their life. Anthos, Porthos, and Aramis demand satisfaction and so they wasted no time and start a duel packed with action. I am trying to pen this verse without pen or purse. Come with me to the hill and you will hear the nightingale sings, with its robust tail, it sings day and night in the thickish and woodland and across vegetatious land. The male cannot resist their counterparts for they gather after dark and establish their territory across the land. They are migratory birds with seasonal taste, and they enjoy the breeze with a different race. I am trying to pen this verse, while you dress in blue jeans and skirt, looking for work. There is no paying jobs around and the hustlers are running around in town; you have got to create many projects and make the earth wet. Listen to the melodies in the skies, summer is slowly passing by, breakfast in the sun is shaking in my hands. Release the dollars in the street so that the people can have something enjoyable to eat. You make requests that are absurd, and it leaves the scavenger flying in the air causing the people to fear. Breakfast on the sand and the nightingale on the land will make life real when you break the seal. In ancient Greece they are a symbol of love, melody and beauty; come and help me pen this verse and get me out to the dirt. Breakfast in the sand is walking hand in hand.
Out of the mist appears a ship
Out running the tempest grip
Her forty guns show her strength
Her stern to focsal show her length
The crew cold with hard looks
Quickest bunch of cut throat crooks
Captain Red Beard is a kind host
Of the dreaded ship Posidons Ghost
Black sails and a succubus figure head
Call to sailors alive and dead
She was given to the captain by Hades
Made out of souls of despicable crazies
Flag of fire is a defining mark
Sly and cunning like a shark
Soundless motion through the waves
Porting always in the bay of slaves
Innocence and age have no bearing with her
Death is option for any purse
The plank is open to all who fight
Against the ship of darkest night
Lines of magic course through her mast
Like a play with a sturdy cast
Planks of wood that cannot scare
no matter the force or who you are.
Remember this when you see the ghost
Hades welcomes you to his roast!
Form:
Now let's begin
This tale I'll spin
Took it on the chin
Never thought I'd win
Honeysuckle
Boot belt buckle
Scraped up knuckle
Raspy chuckle
Kicked my ass
Soft green grass
Still I sass
This too shall pass
Knew I'd lose
It was no use
I had to choose
Handpicked noose
Before I fought
Tied a knot
In the rope id brought
For justice sought
But then a sound
Shots rang out loud
Eyes search the crowd
Never been more proud
To my rescue
My only nephew
To my opponent says " I can't let you."
" I should be the one that gets to."
With those words I shut my eyes
Feel the lump in my throat rise
Purse my lips choke back my cries
Really though it's no surprise
See we all had a common flame
All three had tried to stake our claim
Yet all we did was bring her shame
Upon my lips her sweet name...
Form:
An anti-resolvent-fume-
of-infest-chokes-out-integral-yield of humanity.
Thick as molasses, blackstrap morass of emnity.
Blight is apathy, and apathy is blight.
A Void, a claim farming the abyss.
Marketing it's lie, on sale.
Though it has a monopoly.
PolyEntropy.
In the garden of life; an empty field of dreams,
lays unintended on its side,
untended save for the shadows
that yield a mock harvest.
Decay on display of manifest.
The sky, descended as a Judas Ascendant,
it's belly gorged with malfeasance.
Exotic particles curse the ground
like wormwood in ritual burn, cache of ashen incense.
Libra sells you back your rye, mildewed and palmer wormed, to bore in at the destitute
at double price, double dealing
with the wages of Sin and Death.
Doubled down.
Doubled over.
So the pendulum swings
in shadows deep, a soul did sleep- in
Crimson and Clover, over and over, so over
the Lords of Plunder.
Its essence lost, a memory weeped as it counts
the costs.
Whispers of sorrow, a silent scream,
in the Wilderness-
under project Blue Beam/Warp Speed.
In the void, the soul did dream of cover
by militias of truth needs to redirect the beams.
The sky, a jumbotron of betrayal and lies,
false witness to commercial treachery
portrayal in its thespian guise.
Cursed particles dance in the wind,
like venus flytrap babys breath.
A haunting reminder of the wages of sin,
the touch of death.
The scales of justice are unbalanced and frayed,
black judgment, jury, executioner-DOJ.
Truth and falsehood in a deadly coliseum
where devouring Lions roam.
The rose of passion, its petals torn,
as humanity's innocence is forever shorn.
As the pendulum swings, a dance of despair,
seduces in masked charade in the wings.
Hope dwindles
in the poisoned communications air.
Ploughshares turned to weapons of hate,
In a world where love is overshadowed, here,
eclipsed by the tech magistrates in monopolistic
fare synods.
The farms bought by syndicates who will use starvation as cattle prod,
obedience broad, shock and awe.
The World Economic Forum is a synod,
a syndicate of Lawless Ones using purse strings to strangle us into submission.
Submission to their Fallen Angel false Gods.
I had just retired to bed
Around midnight, perhaps
Soft strokes of guitar
First I got startled
It was a one room facility
Not a mouse in sight
I alone was on tour
On my office duty
Puzzled, I looked around
A velvet soft tune
Almost intoxicating
Coming from a little far
I can't recall
When exactly it induced
In me a pleasant sleep
A soft palm on my forehead
Made me spring out
With my heart pounding
My hands hit a milk can
It clattered on the floor
The musical notes stopped
Was someone playing guitar
In the adjoining room
But that would be unlikely
It was an old bungalow
Built by British rulers
In early twentieth century
The walls were pretty thick
I got frightened
Was it a haunted house
Was I dreaming
The guitar again started playing
I pressed the calling bell
A weird old man with a Fedora hat
Sporting long white beards
Guitar began playing again
I ran downstairs
The main gate was lying open
I spent the night in a park
My purse, cell phone
and credit card was missing
The care taker failed to explain
According to police
The building had a history
Of mysterious visits of spirits
The sound of strings was enthralling
As the evening was drawing near
Someone pulled me toward the house
I tried my best to stop my feet
Come, I'll put you to sweet sleep
A velvet voice whispered into my ears
_________________________________________
September 21, 2019
Note: I wrote this poem for the contest with the theme of haunted. As I was submitting, I came to notice the prescribed line limit of 16. Perhaps presbyopia.
A Diamond In The Rough
A great coat of wool, wrapped the old man, as his only home
A treasure, a badge of courage, shield against the freeze
Found it in a dumpster near the mission while fishing for some food
Searching also for himself down in the refuse
A diamond in the rubble
Was this a man at all?
An ancient relic of the past, Ill, with no reason to go on
World and wardrobe gray as his day of birth
He meanders down the road, dirty and uncivilized
Rejected by society as being less than civil in their eyes
He stumbled into town one night at last light fading
A stately lady dropped her purse outside the restaurant
Engaged in conversation with acquaintances, oblivious to the loss
The old gray man by chance
Found it but did not abscond with it
There, returned it promptly
The dainty lady drew a gun hidden in her pocket
Shot him dead on the spot and screamed
“One less curse upon humanity!”
As he fell on her, returned her purse and sighed, “You’re welcome.”
6/22/14 Diamond In The Rough contest entry
A Girls Night Out
Girls talk. It’s what they do
And shoes….Yes…They do that too
Some girls are thirsty after breakfast
Coffee’s good but never lasting
They have this thing that they invented
Involving other beverages of certain measure
Adult drinks at night clubs brings them pleasure
Perhaps some alcohol makes things brighter
It might be safe…but then again….
They’re heads are lighter
It’s A Girls Night Out
An innocent party
To talk about, control and brand a man
Cheering with a brandy in each hand
When girls gather after hours
Congregate and “play” to gain more power
They hit the night clubs in high fashion
Looking for a little action
Mary had one too many drinks
And a man’s underwear in her purse
Discovered when she went home
What could be worse?
She forgot his name….and for the record…hers too
Girls talk. That’s what they do
She ended up marrying underwear man
And still goes out on a girls night out
For fun and pleasure
And shoes…Yes….They’ll use them too
On your head if you refuse
5/18/14 A Girls Night Out contest
Add a coin to the coin purse
It's both a blessing and a curse
Some people cry for it
And some people surely die for it
It poisons the mind
And it's how we're defined
A dash of greed, a dash of glory
We're bashing heads for it, oh so gory
Some shelter themselves beneath bridges
Looking up at the iron gray clouds, like ridges
When everything turns to money, everything falls apart
We're so broken we've ripped out our hearts
For this insignificant inhumane thing
The moment it touches our flesh we feel the sting
We might as well walk with numbers overhead
But in the end we all wish to break bread
So add another coin to the coin purse
It's both a blessing and a curse
Add a coin to the coin purse
It's both a blessing and a curse
We're no longer black and white, but green
And we're the sickly sheen
That promises this will be terminal
We'll piss away tomorrow in the urinal
And sacrifice tomorrow's youth
As our government clouds the truth
We've got quarters over our eyes
And dollar bills taped to our mouths like lies
We're damning ourselves again and again
The American Dream shattered by pain
There's still time to save the broken
If we unite and show we've truly spoken
But in the end we'll all probably be dead
Wiped out by the emerald warhead
But go ahead, add another coin to the coin purse
It was never a blessing, but always a curse