Long Raucously Poems
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NOT CONTEST BOUND
I stood upon a rocky shoal, regret lingering across my mind
Its fingers traced the blood-filled lines along my bare arm
as if they were the brittle veins of leaves fallen from a tree
I was not blind to fear or its impending threat of harm
Its whispers felt like the breath of death, washing over me
How brief the moment seemed to pass, between light and dark
Shadows fluttered and were cast in ebony depth of night
This was a foreshadowing tale of danger, imminent and stark
A pale moon had risen, a silvered orb staring at me from high
as a cyclops beast waiting to feast when the moment was right
A scarecrow stood in fallow field, upon his arms were perched
ravens whose brothers danced on his head, raucously calling
Death rode upon an ill wind when suddenly they took flight
Such was my fright when in the sky a pair of red eyes lurched
I stared in disbelief, knowing I had no chance of forestalling
Within the barren branches of each maudlin, leafless limb
Regret stared at me from the forlorn eyes of Edgar Allen Poe
I felt my knees begin to tremble, my eyes filled to the brim
Frozen with terror, I was deprived of taking a life-giving breath
A chill made me quiver, and I realized it had begun to snow
How brisk was the Winter wind. The flock of crow took to the air
after sending me a warning glance with fierce beady eyes
An eclipse veiled the face of the moon, filling me with despair
I heard the caws, and despite my flaws, denied Poe to take my soul
From the waters edge I walked away from death on a rocky shoal
i.
I had lost the entirety
of my muchness
I watched a white rabbit
dart in my peripheral
as walkabout found my feet,
the Red Queen laughs raucously
dangling me at the end of a Scepter
ii.
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle dum
know I am not Alice,
and that this is not my home
iii.
Arnhem calls to me
as the earth trembles
briefly,
I feel the beating spirit
through the bush,
and it tempts me with magic
flowing from the Dreamtime
iv.
so I wait
stroking the rainbow serpent
but ever watchful
of escape to a place
my heartbeats home
in the land of Never and Oz
Agony, grief and particularly anger
roil these lovely bones
life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness
exempts those graced with darker skin tones.
Rather than raucously riot,
I craft emotions courtesy poetry
mine feeble attempt to agitate and protest
sublimated thru scathing poetic indictment
lame contrasted against violent protests.
Peaceable methodology,
(viz printed word) versus war
preferable mode to conflict resolution
opposed to explosive uproar
angry frenzied mob scenes as seen online, or
alternate mass communication medium
valiantly, yet vanely attempt to even out score.
Tipping point evincing breached injustices,
(whereby persons sporting greater melanin)
triggered spontaneous outbursts
(bedlam witnessed while safely sequestered
within Highland Manor apartment
unit B44 May 31st, 2020).
Innocent lives, particularly
those who proudly identify themselves
purportedly black targeted merely because
genetics crafted them darker hued skin
unwittingly and unfairly
site them in crosshairs
where strong arm of the law
indiscriminately takes their life.
Despite genetics bequeathing me Caucasian
(predominantly Eastern European - Semitic features)
with one percent Neanderthal man
thrown in for good measure),
yours truly dispirited,
dismantled, and disgruntled
née disenchanted linkedin
with *****sapiens.
Neither railing nor ranting
can alleviate injustice
visited upon heads and torsos of innocent
Americans, whose genealogy traced to
Africa, Australia, Haiti, Melanesia, Papua
New Guinea and South Asia.
Because they and/or forebears
hailed from areas with highest ultraviolet
radiation in the world,
subsequent generations automatically
serve as fodder stigmatized cradle to grave.
CLOUD DWELLING
I choose to dwell among
sailing clouds for a while
here fleshlessness is style
silver state of bliss I soak
to return is to freshly cloak
no lungs or liver have I here
don’t sleep weep or sweep
sing rapturously without song
laugh raucously all day long
revel in endless coy joy
free from poison fumes
iPhones or laundry dunes
dancing on air without hair
meditate in floating temples
without belly or fat dimples
here I weave in and out
touch fingertips of Beloved
fluffy vapour has me covered
forward leap or backward flip
celebration calls with blip
Flower of Life sweet I eat
a point of no return bleat
fortune specks appear
like silver sequins dear
in etheric dew no fear
rain shine forms changing
quenching dry Earth bathing
watch her birth red flowers
as naked I ride long hours
wild waves in cloudy sky
here I am t i m e l e s s
pay no bills no negations
negotiations or pretensions
nor empty dramatic speeches
just floating creamy peaches
mythical magical misty
know out of body fisty
before descent to finish
cold black coffee watching
version of self super arching !
Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!
Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!
Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.
Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.
Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first,
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.
Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.
Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow,
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.
Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)
one fine sunny morning dazzling golden sunrise
dancing with rays of magical sunshine
dewdrops on silver webs glistening drops
he began whistling and dancing
picking wild mushrooms on the forest floor
to make magic wonder and happenings occur
he begins building and stoking the fire
throwing turf on until red hot
sticks the pot over the flicking flames
stirring emotions inside bubble and steam
throws in a mountain of carrots, peas, herbs
with lots of other sorts of raw veggies
adding a rare drop of mountain spirits . . .
next freeing a soul adding an alchemic fuel so rare
making himself a most magical and delicious stew
as he cooked he began devouring the stew more and more
then slowly he felt himself floating high so high
in a bubble so wonderful and dear and so clear
picked up by a pocket of air and floating even more
when . . .
a lovely fairy princess appears gossamer wings your light
and then appearing again under a radiant rainbow bridge
and with one cherished and most special romantic kiss
he began waltzing with her to a melody so haunting yet pretty
and while lost in this mystical trancelike moment of splendor
the fairy princess stole his heart that was pure gold
and when he came around alone—so alone
an icy cold shiver then ran down his very spine
it was just a silly old leprechaun dream and all he thought
as I see her magic sparkling potions cast on someone else too
the big ethereal and mystical bubble of fairy elves just burst
wide open for him and all others to see while the elves
laughed raucously so hard with little warm tears running down
their little rosy cheeks . . .
the leprechaun pondered—next time Me thinks Me be more
careful with them mushrooms Me happily picks on the forest floor—
and stick to drinkin’ the old mountain forest dew with some
lovely luscious shots of the oldest Irish whiskey with a stout nip o’ gin . . . .
Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem, Copyright ©
All Rights Reserved (December 3, 2014)
I stood on a rocky shoal, regret lingering on my mind
Its fingers traced blood-filled lines along my bare arm
as if brittle veins in leaves, fallen from their tree
I was not blind to fear or its impending threat of harm
Whispers like the breath of death washed over me
Brief the moment seemed to be between light and dark
Shadows cast then fluttered in ebon depth of night
Twas foretold a tale of danger, imminent and stark
Pale moon risen, silvered orb stared at me from high
A cyclops beast waited to feast when time was right
Scarecrow in a fallow field, on his arms there perched
ravens who then danced on his head, raucously calling
Death rode on a pale horse and scavengers took flight
Fierce, my fright when from the sky, red eyes lurched
I stared in disbelief, knowing I'd no chance of stalling
Barren branches of leafless trees, maudlin limbs
frowned at me with forlorn face of a grim poet, Poe
My weak knees trembled; eyes filled to the brim
Frozen with terror, deprived of taking a last breath,
'twas not snow made me shiver; an ill wind did blow
Brisk the Winter chill when murder of crow took to air
after beady eyes sent a warning glance my way
An eclipse veiled the moon; and I, gripped with despair,
heard their caws, despite my flaws, denied Poe my soul
At water's edge I escaped death's claws on a rocky shoal
Night has cast her darkened net
over the sphere of the bold,
gently laying out the black
starred with orbs foretold
Sheets of mist bedaub the earth
glistening strands of green,
second shades stain the trees
daubed with a greying sheen
Golden flowers rise to greet the night
opening their petals of soul,
swaying slowly with no might
within this a story unfolds
Cicadas croon to the southern Imps
it echoes along a tight string,
the grasshoppers not to be outdone
begin to raucously sing
Eventide sweeps across the skyline
in moving shadows of light,
in it dip the sleeves of my soul
within is the body I write
Across the cusp a half moon of life
begins to spill into day,
retreating from the growing bright
down my being must lay
Oh, the red bits of swollen tongue
upon the gray of maple have plumped
like the cheeks of small children red with run!
The bangs of pussy willow frond
will soon tickle the noses of man swept dust,
baring the fragrance of balsam-pine leavings
scattered with the golden tinsel
of Christmas garland.
The ripening earth cracks smiles
toothy with tulip spears and narcissus cones.
The wind is sweet with kisses
and the jays laugh raucously
in the grasping branches of maple.
The dust of days past dances joyously onward
dreaming of cozy eddies amongst the violets.
Oh, Spring of the golden tongue
play poet to my pen.
one fine sunny morning dazzling golden sunrise
dancing with rays of magical sunshine
dewdrops on silver webs glistening drops
he began whistling and dancing
picking wild mushrooms on the forest floor
to make magic wonder and happenings occur
he begins building and stoking the fire
throwing turf on until red hot
sticks the pot over the flicking flames
stirring emotions inside bubble and steam
throws in a mountain of carrots, peas, herbs
with lots of other sorts of raw veggies
adding a rare drop of mountain spirits . . .
next freeing a soul adding an alchemic fuel so rare
making himself a most magical and delicious stew
as he cooked he began devouring the stew more and more
then slowly he felt himself floating high so high
in a bubble so wonderful and dear and so clear
picked up by a pocket of air and floating even more
when . . .
a lovely fairy princess appears gossamer wings your light
and then appearing again under a radiant rainbow bridge
and with one cherished and most special romantic kiss
he began waltzing with her to a melody so haunting yet pretty
and while lost in this mystical trancelike moment of splendor
the fairy princess stole his heart that was pure gold
and when he came around alone—so alone
an icy cold shiver then ran down his very spine
it was just a silly old leprechaun dream and all he thought
as I see her magic sparkling potions cast on someone else too
the big ethereal and mystical bubble of fairy elves just burst
wide open for him and all others to see while the elves
laughed raucously so hard with little warm tears running down
their little rosy cheeks . . .
the leprechaun pondered—next time Me thinks Me be more
careful with them mushrooms Me happily picks on the forest floor—
and stick to drinkin’ the old mountain forest dew with some
lovely luscious shots of the oldest Irish whiskey with a stout nip o’ gin . . . .
Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem, Copyright ©
All Rights Reserved (December 3, 2014) (Free Verse poetic format)