Long Rags Poems
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If I should get punctured, laying leaking Crimson Tide,
call me Deacon Blues as I slowly start to die.
If they miss me, take it easy.
All is as it should be.
It's best to cut losses, cut ties, change your name, skip town, and grow a beard.. Like To-day, act now before patience sells out in turn I act out of character, and when I leave this is all that you'll talk about.
Our natural satellite departs slow.
Binds of the parasitic plant; first love ties.
The pulse on your neck is chattering, It's slurring its words.
Downtrodden, ragged, in rags soaking drenched and sitting comfortable in combustible liquid stenches.
Oblivious even in the question, oddly aggressively asking,
a straggly demand, expectant to be handed the light to smoke himself a real 'Death Sentence' cigarette.
The late moon is stunning, floating, acting like you're here and really you're staying, we all know that you're leaving.
What are we even thinking?
The only finger on the pulse plays to the beat of a night that reminds me of older days.
Guarded adversaries; imagine that.
The Heart Elapse.
Collapse.
Old and Grey or Rob the cradle to the grave.
You bought it , and everything
you hoped it would lend to your
appearance
you worked so hard
to land that idea
that you could own not
only yourself …………..but what others
might think of you ..
me ……….I’ve inherited what is old
and has been handed down
for many millennia
an inheritance ……so old
that many have regarded the hand me downs
as rags …
That my character ………..our origin
was to be that which our father’s DNA
would determine …
oh did I forget …this particular father
has more qualities than can be counted …
when one is lost in things they think are
new ………….oh but so old …
because they trade you like stocks
up today …and bankrupt tomorrow ..
you really don’t own anything …except what
the world says you do ….
Me , I accepted I own nothing ..am only
a care taker of the glorious room
I currently occupy ..
and those whom are the gifted
occupants for whom I care …
Bankruptcy ….not of money but
of every quality that determines
the value of
a man …(or woman since you count us out)
among men , only those whom
have taken learning
to a whole new level
ever become someone …………….
that is a voice worthy
to whom others may follow…
but this voice is old ….older than
any of us can know ………….or comprehend
me ….I just like to listen
wisdom
and understanding …………is to be preferred
over all knowledge and pursuit..
but those who hold my
heart
are likely those to whom I will give
all that I know…
Mined …
All rights reserved © 2015 C Michael Miller
Poetry of Providence
It’s 1914, and Hollywood star Mabel Normand has just
helped new boy Charlie Chaplin to develop his “Tramp”
character. She is wondering if she’s done the right thing.
I gave him everything – even the walk.
He’s too priapic for his baggy britches!
Arriving here still tarred with charred old cork,
this fraud who jawed of Avignon and Sitges
while knowing neither, has the crew in stitches.
Dexterity is not the same as grace:
he’s shaping up for all-time rags-to-riches,
the parasite who rose without a trace:
but we can see beneath the comic carapace.
He’s carrying himself now like a star.
If glibness were the same as eloquence,
I haven’t any doubt that he’d go far.
The talent, if untutored, is immense.
I wish he’d just – when not before the lens –
acknowledge what’s been done for him. That loud
theatricality I tamed. The sense
of something intímate, less harsh, less proud,
I think I gave him. But his eyes are on the crowd.
He’s trying to direct us. We’re his bitches.
That script he wrote permits him to molest
some seven women, like as if his itches
are there to be indulged. The man’s obsessed.
I nurtured him and now, at his behest,
I’m served up as his plaything. I’m incensed!
The cuckoo kicks the babies from the nest,
but still the mother feeds him. My defence?
A woman’s love survives a man’s incontinence.
Outside the walls stood a handmaiden gazing
Twisting her skirt between fingers so frail
Patches of burlap were sewn on the garment
Cut from a sack of a barley oat bale
Oh how she dreamed of the opulent palace
Silver and gold and the finest of lace
Gowns made of velvet with ribbons of satin
She spun around with a smile on her face
As if a princess, her blonde hair a flowing
Blue skies above now the tint of her eyes
Hearing a song on the early spring breezes
Never once noticed the coming surprise
Then saw him on horseback and blushed like a petal
Found on the reddest of roses that grew
Knee bent to curtsey, feeling embarrassed
Knowing this gesture is what she should do
“Good day my fair maiden, your dance was enchanting”
He said as he smiled, his kindness was felt
“So sorry my prince, I did not see you coming”
Again on the soil before him she knelt
“Rise up,” he said as he slid from the saddle
“There is no need for such formality,
for one of such beauty tis I who should bow”
Saying this he touched the earth with one knee
Once more she blushed like an apricot sunrise
Standing he reached out and taking her hand
Wondered, “What brings you by here on this morning,
adding such loveliness to our fine land?”
“Your majesty, I’m but a servant daydreaming,
Seeing myself quite the belle of the ball
Very much childish I know you are thinking
For I belong far outside this great wall”
He pondered a moment, his chin now he fondled
Suddenly grinned with the happiest glance
“Well now fair maiden, if thou would permit me
Please be my guest at this evening’s spring dance?”
“Oh handsome prince I could not even think it
Look at my dress, I have nothing to wear
Merely these rags and an old pair of high tops
Never to mention the state of my hair”
“Never you mind and I kind of like high tops
Maybe some jeans and a tank top in red
Pull your hair back and it will be perfect
Nothing you’ll need when we climb into bed”
“What’s that you say, you want sex after dancing
Beat it you creep, I’m abreast of your game
I’ll spread these legs not for anyone fancy
Damn it, you men, every one is the same”
As he departed, rejected and sneering
She stomped away feeling angry and mean
So here you find such an unhappy ending
The truth is she only had eyes for the queen
Shame has no fancy stroking
I write this tale with a bleeding pen and choking heart
For the character is a braggadocio person
A villain who wore his blinders like flamboyant apparel
Wouldn’t see the truth
It hurt his jaundiced eye he would say
And so he pretended the masses loved him
And if his deaf ear could open
He would hear the whispers of their acrimony
The sizzling embers of their rage
The ones he bruised and would not care
Clothed in rags and derided like his marionettes
But they saw his strutting nudity
A villain; a rascal; a buccaneer
Donned in suits of the white men he abhorred
Drunk in power that gave him his blindness
Bob the plunderer would not see or hear
That his end was nigh
And like the grime he was
To grime he would forever lie
And the nation he once raped
Shall piss on his rotting grave.
He was known as an eccentric;
Saving all of those bolts in a bucket
and for what?
No one really knew, except himself.
He kept numerous old jugs and cartons
around the house,
as if they were valued treasures.
Old string and ropes that he’d saved,
were tied in numerous knots;
each knot, the same distance apart.
There were shelves in his garage,
sporting old prescription containers,
full of small nails and tacks.
Old cardboard from laundered shirts,
and gardening magazines, stacked high;
reeking of must and mildew.
No one really understood why he saved everything.
His yard, full of buckets, sticks and…
old nylon hose, and torn pieces of worn shirts,
hung from the rafters in his garden shed.
See, he was a crack’in gardener;
his tomatoes were staked;
tied to the sticks with the old rags and nylons.
The buckets, he carried to the neighbors,
filled with luscious produce
and everyone in the neighborhood,
savored, the fruits of his labor,
for years on end.
Dumpster dive with me my dumpster girl
So nice to have a slice of life called home
An upgrade from filthy cardboard boxes
To cast iron cans with plastic flip top lids
Live side by side with me my dirty love
Grazilda lives in refuse too
Our intimacy in containers is taboo
Pink for her, a receptacle in blue for me
To while away the hours in primordial goo
Just behind the mall by the parking lot
Surrounded by debris and talking trash
Obviously we don’t shower
Our love will last at least an hour
On Sundays we climb the near by evergreen
To the tipsy top we go to hang out loud
Pounding our chests like Tarzan and Jane
Screaming obscenities as we sway
Swinging is a way of life and lice are free
I scratch her back and she scratches mine
One day we will move in together
Friends don’t need two dumpsters
We will sell the pink one to some stranger
Someone smart with a shopping cart
The mall is right there by the tree
People are always looking for bargains
Who could ask for anything more
A dumpster by a department store for sure
Look no more because Grazilda comes
Limping towards you in torn and tattered rags
A crooked smile with one good polished tooth
To seal the deal, to melt your hearts
And she speaks Latin with a slur
Buy one can and we will throw the trash in for nuffin
Morning newsprint
Wet soaking rain;
Bleak news today
~~~~~~~~~
Play school kids
Stare as I pass;
Curious eyes follow
~~~~~~~~~
New age cakery here
Exquisite creations;
Addictive morsels
~~~~~~~~~
Beggar in rags
Face soiled and weary;
Pleads for a meal
~~~~~~~~~
Our society is well-fed
Yet the poor abound;
Poverty of all sorts
~~~~~~~~~
Molasses and coconut cream
Desserts that enchant;
Another round please
~~~~~~~~~
Evening rain pours
Run for cover;
Temporary refuge
~~~~~~~~~
Worst case scenario
Business venture fails;
Try again later
~~~~~~~~~
Cheers!
One for the road;
Beery ways steer
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
11 February 2015
Singapore
“Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable Gift.” – 2 Corinthians 9:15
Another Christmas day has come
Greeted alike in city and slum
The King of kings is born on Earth
To offer the world the gift of mirth
Sing ye all men, a song of joy
For this is the holiest of holy nights
A night of magic when Christ is born
When Christmas stars brighten every house and street
Jesus is born to bless the earth
And all of mankind, the high and the low
Christmas brings smiles of sweet content
On every face and in every heart
Years ago on this day, Jesus, the Son of God was born
On a night so cold to bring us light
Word was made flesh on that night
And the world was blessed with the greatest gift
On that lovely night of great rejoicing
The moon looked effulgent in heaven’s arc
Among all the stars and starlets of the sky
A lone star shone brighter than all the rest
Seen in the East, it slowly moved forward
The three wise men following its trail,
Reached the manger and beheld the holy child,
Swaddled in rags and lying on a rough quilt of straw
The wise men had carried costly gifts with them
Frankincense, myrrh, and precious gold
Though he was born as the poorest of the poor
He is more revered than all kings of the earth
Once more the great star, its splendor spills
And every heart with peace and joy fills
Once more has dawned the day of Jesus' birth
Making merry each man on this gloomy earth
Nov.28.2022
~PLACED FIRST~
Writing Challenge- Write a Christmas Poem
Sponsor- Constance La France
I am just a filthy dirty human made of dust
Dirt formed as clay made by the hands of God
The only good thing in me is GOD spirit that dwelling in me
How can it be that I have intellect, blood flowing through vessels
And a brain the disciples like a computer I don't understand
Sin is a choice it's a nature that is embraced and covenanted
By man's desire to be of pride and be a lair
How could I have embraced such a thing for my great-great-great-great-grandfather Adam Caused the downfall he brought in this thing called sin through wretched disobedience
Then a compromise then he tried to turn it all around by blaming it on God
Mankind stinks this also includes women kind not as only by the nature of sin that we dwell
It's by this through disobedience that makes us stinks and smell
We stink and surely hurt the nostrils of God
Being with that said that a second Adam had to be created
Brought down to earth to be reinstated
And now through all the chasms He chose to save us
A filthy rag
But I am so glad
That He was on the right hand of the Father
And H e said let me go down to save your children
Save their souls
Let me go Father I go, I'll be liken a clean perfumed the aerosol can
Send me Father prepare for me a body
That I may redeemed them
Though I smell of rotten stinking flesh
So I may dry up and nothing but Dry Bones
Will be left once my spirit soul is separated from my body by death
I will be United with my holy Daddy, Father God in heaven
Where I will be brand new spiritually no more odor, no more decay
Mans no more dust for his God
So in the spiritual realm with Him while we continue to live in Trust
No more lies and mistrusts, stink and disgust
Amen