Long Quailing Poems

A blitzkrieg wipes your innocence away
and only heaven’s hand can help you now.
Your counterparts lie trepid to the fray,
for they can sense the wolfen on the prowl.
Oh dear Poland, there’ll be no recompense
as death, unbridled,...

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Outside the gladiator's window, outside in the growing gloom of night,

The nearby volcano is almost invisible, only smolders silently now.

Inside his room, he can almost tangibly feel the darkness gathering about him,

Can almost tangibly feel...

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Gratitude suffuses me today
at prospect to plumb the depths
of a fledgling friendship
(respecting fidelity to wife)
even one bound 
within the parameters of cyberspace,
I feel courtesy your amazing grace
figuratively stitching omnipotent binding
with virtual satin and lace
proceeding cautiously...

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Sending the tending to an unfriended ending,
 yet somehow suspending from rending a newly offending recommending.
Logotype monotype linotype,
overripe stereotype,
 teletyped an unripe heliotype. 
Guttersnipe snipe,
 stipe snipe ripe,
 a wipe type a tripe, 
unleash a...

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Night and day, a thrashing
     like an invisible whiptail
surge van hail,
doth swell me bosom
     excruciatingly, doggedly blackmail
capriciously be-numbingly,
     aggravatingly assail
mine conscience in

 ...

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How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806 - 1861

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling...

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Father, my insides are vomiting.
It’s quailing all my strength, to not split into insanity.
This does not want to leave,
But please, come here and reprieve.

Whatever it is, let it all fall out,
And replace it with Thy...

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(Patterned off the famous folk song 'Men of Harlech,' which is in the public domain.)

Men of freedom hear them wailing,
from the truth they’re always quailing,
scared of work or real travailing,
not like free-born men.
Men of freedom...

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One can almost hear them whispering,
knowing they are linked to us
and more intense than memory
they cannot stay within their tombs,
for by some sort of grace not understood
we lack the power to leave them
to their faded...

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Last seen in the newspaper shop.Susan.Susan
Deakin.About 11am.Small blonde girl of eight.
An impassive constable was recording the statements
Inwardly weary with the usual hysteria.
Inwardly quailing at the thought of her daughter's reaction,
Her frantic grandmother was stumbling over...

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(the following piece I wrote, the anniversary of lost friends, their sons, and daughters lost for the lies of war.)

Father wondering, sons permanent sleep. Oh, the forsaken, the harassing song. When one has passed on....

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The unwanted passing

Father wondering, sons permanent sleep. Oh, the forsaken, the harassing song. When one has passed on. True deep depression, washing eyes, failing innocence, words never spoken, the lacking grasp, empty self, world flaw.

Ah,...

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The raptor and the peacock hence,
Sit pensive on a rambling fence.
The first, inclined to be the host,
Jumped down to claim the nearest post.
The pea averse to snubs or quailing
Moves closer on the weathered railing.

Both immersed...

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Choking, churning dense river of clouds.	
Vengeful, raging, wrathful airspace,
where seraphs and cherubs are murdered,
where cold torrential demons are unleashed.

Dank deep noons and nights interbreed,
incestuous and quailing, unholy waters
wailing, exploding, spilling specters,
erasing, defacing, disgracing all that...

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To the ship they row
Pirates Pete and Bo
Sea prowess to show
Sailing!

Argh! They proudly crow
Greeting all they know
With a 'Yo-ho-ho'
Hailing!

Sea terrors, heigh-ho!
Stolen treasures stow
Overboard men throw
Quailing!

Storm winds fiercely blow
Apprehensions grow
Enemy adds woe
Trailing...

Formidable foe
Tragic overthrow
Sad, their ship's...

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