Long Rashly Poems
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Such wondrous things that come to you from travels far and wide.
Trinkets and knick knacks you keep somewhat near at hand, and never too far from your side.
Throughout life's journeys You'll check on them for fear they'll be left behind.
Being of meaningful purpose; that's remembered whenever they cross your mind.
Naively not that you're rashly in love; although of them
your feelings are warm and kind.
Solely fond memories of notable times; ergo they're ne'er out of place nor ever hard to find
'Tis odd you must hold onto them whether your abode's a fancy home or merely a shared cot.
You realize as long as they're safely tucked away, in the place of "Forget Me Nots";
You're strangely better off with them__even if they're all that you have or got.
~~~ w 11172018
UNCEREMONIOUS CEREMONY
Will weaponized with wounded words,
Purpose unbound against all odds.
She shades shame showing sheer strength
in the face of a situation of "Life & Death".
Eyes heated and heart blotted rashly,
He's hunted, his hands harmonised hastily
So tired & soul-tied, settling for life,
even when he isn't looking for a wife.
Of his escapades, she has had enough.
Although no Blessing and no Love.
Welcome to the unceremonious ceremony,
Only a Contract named "Matrimony"
And a forced vow delivered under duress
Both couples with solo breaths — ominous.
In this ceremonial circus, he plays no cupid,
In playing her character, she acts stupid.
He never inclined to woo her,
In her man's world, she's the ruler.
Life advances for a grand finale,
despite running from Malawi to Mali,
tainted destiny still pushed Him to Natalie,
the one that he sexually eschews
But mentally and physically refuse.
Thus with mutiny in his mind
He's to marry & leave freedom behind
Forced to marry, and responsibility to carry,
The gun to his head makes his eyes starry
Cos those bullets are too close to parry.
She is a lover ready to hold him bound.
But she makes his young heart pound,
She is played, used but won't be dumped
This wedding won't be delayed but prompt
He's the bull that keeps bashing all the ladies,
And riding through & through each stages
So she took the bull by the horn
And humble the fool with her gun.
Bullevard couldn't take a hike
because he knows Natalie will strike.
She was bound to getting him to sign,
He was bound to her, never to cross the line.
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©? June 2023.
August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born.
The odd uneven time—Sylvia Plath
End Of August
The end of August is oh so near
Yet, another day of golden sun scorches
Another day with ruby rays that sear
Wild brush burns like fiery torches
No not an exaggeration, a flambeau
Blistering heat blankets my tawny skin
Sweltering August, I bid you adieu
Foliage dry and brittle; sunken in
Squinting eyes, blinded bright
Awaiting shadows that stretch and deepen
Sun flowers once vivid, lost in a haze of light
Autumn creeps in imperceptibly subtle, sublimely
Ablaze are the arid western skies
The evening west's sun takes its time, rashly, untimely
Yellow aglow, settling sights of fires belies
Lingering sun setting its rouge rage lust
Harbinger of the season to come
Equinox heralds a sign,
in the end of August
Laying brick by brick, with stickum in between.
A stone on top of another: dream quest and scene,
erected diligently, with a blueprint at the ready.
Each dot and line progression is sure and steady.
Despite storms, hurdles, and limited funding
With slow but steady aims, slanted rashly cunning,
with optimism, sharing in God's dream design.
Adversity shapes us to strive rather than repine.
God's will is a bunker, so every lesson is a brick
His word is final, and the walls of the friary are thick
Our foundation is the cornerstone of our existence
Lord God, the ruler of men, smooths the essence.
I savor being amazed; trust my full autonomy.
A heart full of hope gives way to honesty.
It's optimistic, soul-strengthening, and simple.
We stir up lies, and our ignorance is sinful.
Our love shrinks our hatred with each pulse.
It's tough to stay aside; must veins convulse?
I'm not sure what they'll do if we meet to shine.
Our passion for each other will be closer to fine.
Written: February 16, 2023
Closer To Fine Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
all you write about is them happy old days
before hair wore thin turned white from grey
rumour has it bad mouthing my name
wise men stay away while you complain.
what is it you don’t like
how I talk of real life
downhill sights
how life bites,
am I not herpy cherpy enough
wear a smile on my face
hurt me hardly not even fazed,
clearly I'm a vile taste
tough tea teas
at least I'm honest not slander committees
out to harm whilst hidden weak and witchy.
see you write of love and nice
but slag me off like a poltergeist,
behind my back throwing dice
shut your face my only advice.
cus me and you are different ages
I’m the internet you’re paper pages
in my prime you’re about to go crazy
spend all day spaced out and dazy
whoops the daisy
looks like you got a raise out me now rose
I'll bash thee rashly
head to toe bask then dash free feeding woes.
picking out a poet with less experience not close
all those your age make you appear dense in pose
so got to go low
shooting like a bozo
but you should know though
I’m a rascal make you dizzie in slowmo
you should never pull my lever
growing up you wrote with feather
mister cotton wool I'm the leather bull
you spread the word make your message fly
cus I’ll live for sixty years after you die
that's it conflict over
leave you old slumped over
nice to know ya
not really coward bye now
I am a baby boomer, father fought in World War Two
As a teen graduated high school
Left home joined the service called branch Navy
Left joined in a conflict called Vietnam War
This day, today still don't know why we were fighting for
Now I'm old an elder man
\and I can tell all you young men, (something)
I'm a pathway of wisdom, history, knowledge have been to where you're going
As I continue to talk to you, you say I'm boring
You are trying to come where I am
you the man, and young woman children boys and girls
elder man bridges the generation
Of the stories that need to be seen and heard
Pathway of honor dawn, from places of my past
I can tell you things history is my are (it last)
Rather old past middle age later life elderly
1865 somewhat aged aging ancient geriatric long lived old older over the hill
Senescent senior un young a certain age this is what I say...
I'm a road way over depression I am a time a means spanning built over life
Young man time when I am
Youth haven't fully become an adult yet, period between childhood and maturity
What am (am) I gonna be now I can finally see the bridge the generations
Rashly existence between adolescence and maturity
Haven't been here on this earth long enough to see anything, not anything I go to the things of elders past
Bridges the generations
I now go to the elders for ally they know my future and my past
Nothing new under the sun
This is what they begun
Now I am an old an alderman and I can tell all the new young men
I'm a path way of winsome history knowledge and light
Pathway of honor drawn for this is right I can tell you his things
History his story is my age, the aged
Rather old past middle age later life elderly
Now I can finally see the bridge the generations
08/18/15
Submitted to
" UNO Poetry book Poetry to Bridge Generations Elder & Youth 2015"
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
Am I fitful,
fluctuating, fluid?
thin compass waver
as I jubilantly weave
lilac tree vignettes
that weep or chortle,
rainbow figment curtain
rashly wished upon
in grain smudge zephyr
garnet sand raw vehicle
garden common opal
transit sidestep
to a multiverse
of sappy fruit drip
net bag of niche
mauve rim canopy
a gilt ring culprit’s
flashpoint conjure
stirring taxi cabs
of lavish spurt
woolgathering
a gold rush stray
footslog must
have steel encased.
undulating folds
entangled nomad feint
dwarf yellow scorcher
firmament fatality
dash for straw hut
casita or elm
wood cabin where
advertence on
turnpikes, trails,
woven tracks lead
trajectory abuts
plod along dry path
dust bowl swirling as
they spurn allotments
meek enshrouded lull
with unalloyed poise
to jettison narcolepsy
brief embargo on
spiral plumule
when one’s physique
has many harrowing
gasps, taut breath
that intrinsic quest
for glistening cascade
seems an urgent
void, crushing
diapason rudderless
mahatma clement at
Arcadias nascent
totem of egress
yet charismatic
terminal flag
as this sentient
hypothesiser on
emerald tint bract
beneath hiking boot
unflinching
wild clasp at
beanpole verges
riven from
shade burst cockcrow
lure an impetus
to meandered pretext
primeval boon-docks
whilst tranquil flit
discommoding tawdry
pitch or tilt
gaunt endowment
I must brood on
surreal moiety
of cerebral aspect
squandered
rude reckoning aside
lapse into sullen
vacuum found across
a link whose blind
velvet crush lingers
query later doused
in vapour whirl gush
inkling thin veneer
sheeny beadlet
brow sapped
nod and falter
to a childhood turf
shelter for the limb
victim of grinding
marathon on marathon
to relish glow hue noons
hermetically abeyant
sempiternal eves
avenue to wanderer
fatigued yet still
in broad pursuit
of deep quiddity
In ivory towers, oblivious reigns,
Blind to the weight of scholarly chains,
Reports unread, insights ignored,
The fruits of labour, rashly scored.
Heads turn away from midnight oil,
Unseeing depths of earnest toil,
Quality dismissed with careless ease,
As if research grew on trees.
Passion exploited, dedication scorned,
Complexity of thought, summarily shorn,
"Just another paper," they decree,
Failing to grasp what they can't see.
Understanding falters at the gate,
Where ignorance sits in high estate,
Dismissing years of careful thought,
As if such work was dearly bought.
In halls of power, a tragic play,
Where value's judged by yesterday,
And those who push the bounds of knowing,
Find recognition never growing.
O, the irony of learned spaces,
Where wisdom often hides its traces,
And those entrusted with the helm,
Fail to fathom their realm.
The lonely shadow aside from the worldly poles
Wrenching like an unhidden find to hold
And the horrible ink of dreadful poison swiftly mold
Eyes were injurious red like a bleeding bed
Thoughts of frightful threads wrap
and rashly roll the clutching traps
Shadow envelopes like a black door
Tears were tip and tapped one after more
Shadow of shades deeply shallows
Only the gist of suffering and melting melodies
Are fluttering over the sleuth of emotion
God knows the happening in cores of motion
Sometimes, a burial bleed on the surface
Lips bewail like a snubbing scroll
And silence echoes in the cavernous hell
All Alone in the stiff stage of sicks to bell.
The mill wheel wouldn’t turn until the Spring
when the ice melts perhaps they'll find my ring
It was tossed into the freezing water
when I caught my beau kissing my daughter
They both swore blind that this was the first time
but I pushed them into that icy slime
perhaps I acted rashly, with disgust
but I’d very good reason not to trust ...
Whispers ran through the town from door to door
friends told me details that I just abhor -
They’d meet in secret in a lover’s tryst
both acting like I just did not exist
their lust led them down a slippery slope
they planned to leave and secretly elope
Two bodies won’t be found for many weeks
ice melts, revealing secrets - the wheel creaks
No one will suspect me, they’ll think they fell
and met their maker in an ice cold hell!
One, nine, sixteen v3 contest
Sponsored by Viv Wigley
6/27/18