Long Saga Poems
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THE LOST SOULS SALOON Page 7
I pushed aside the swinging doors
And stepped out on the street
My poor horse stood, alone all night
without a thing to eat
I led him by the reins
As we turned to make our way
In hopes to find some oats
Or perhaps a bail of hay
And as we walked so slowly
Just drifting out of town
I couldn't help but looking back
And so I turned around
For a moment, thought I saw
vaguely catching just a trace
In a window, 'bove the bar
Of a ghost-like woman's face
I'll never know, if it was real
Or just a torrid dream
But doomed to wander in a world
Where nothing's as it seems
THE END
Zack will be back In
SHOOT OUT at the KOA CORRAL
Erin was our young cleaning lady
Came in to clean our abode
Welcomed dear Erin in every fortnight
For her regular cleaning episode
Sweet Erin confessed her love for me
More love than her real Poppa
That was really quite difficult to hear
Never really knew her saga
Once asked if I could adopt sweet Erin
She agreed, with no hesitation
So sweet to know she loves me that much
But so sad to hear this revelation
Her Mommy and Daddy were separated
Many years before we met
Apparently he was never a good Daddy
Erin harbours the anger yet!
Such a sweetie, my dear dear Erin
Loved her to bits and more
A daughter I wished I had always had
She makes this Poppa's heart soar
You request him to travel to distant lands
on a quest to conquer the enemy.
A like-minded platoon battles beside him,
helping him achieve an ultimate defeat.
You keep him sheltered from tough weather
with electric lights, a warm balm on stormy nights.
You allow him to rest his work-worn feet,
and lend shade to summer's sweltering heat.
You give him currency in gold, and nourishment
to revive his life with virtual healing.
His energy pours into self-gratification,
chasing flashing lights and curvaceous shapes.
A natural born warrior, his instincts are achieved.
His guys need him, and he seems as Captain.
The adrenaline of the chase is his maiden.
The plot thickens, challenge expands, saga continues.
His self-image is tough, but his muscles atrophy.
His belly swells closer to the screen.
His shoulders point toward their goal.
His carpal tunnel narrows from "shooting."
Various wrappers stack below his chair.
Paper plates replace dirty dishes.
Neglected laundry mops the bathroom floor.
He strives to reach a high level of achievement.
Daily late-night brigades and early morning battles
rattle in his dreams, realistic combat scenes.
The game goes by another name, but by definition,
it may as well be called "Tunnel Vision."
5/25/18
In loving memory the saga goes,
or so they say when feint reminder culls a piercing interlude.
Remnant of an unfinished sentence,
broken shadow haunt awash with grief,
snapshot at the edge of a well.
Parachute of blinding insight on queue or on song,
paper mache angel deep within.
Verses, scrolls, smudges from that pink enamel claw,
whose back fold clip appearance left one reeling,
like some
tree house dweller rattled by a swooping hawk.
Gimlet sipping voyageur
adrift on ice pack yacht,
in need of solace,
yet wishing it to the bottom of his rusty bucket list.
Fragile human being torn apart,
funeral bound,
that once upon a time surreal biker skirting mountains.
A priori stunt man metaphysically divine on rocky ledge,
dare devil prayer when it suits.
Feat performance activist a sleight of hand jester,
yet despite this vapid mask of dumb amnesia,
he wanders blindfold down
an alpine peak while chasing after dim and distant keepsake
Date posted :31st January 2022
I am garnet Aphrodite,
vampire rose ~
the huntress of halcyon
wrestling with love and limerence
bleeding for the soul and spirit
of smoke-kissed sepals
stretching towards the sky
drawing you in delicate dreams
lost in luscious light
while these lips tremble
to taste the tight temperance
of true temptation…
and in the ache of aloneness
I still am fluent in
the dialect of devotion
the sacred symphony
to serenade a shield-maiden saga
choosing inner battles
for I belong where
the balm of burning balance
blooms to the sound
of thriving thorns
and murmuring myrtles...
I am not unstitched by silence
but tested by the trials
of wild-woven withdrawal ~
a sun-soaked sapphire
aligning the anguish
swirling through surging spells
connecting scattered
cosmic brushstrokes
to beautifully drape destiny
in pulsing pixels
pigmented with Seijaku...
I place my fingers
along the charismatic chest
of soft fuchsia walls,
tracing the tints of tremors
climbing as addictive vines
amidst cold crevices
to reach my skin
sighing to be within the
palms of patient passion
I will remain warmed
in the kaftan kismet
of a longing laced
in cobalt peacock promises
beaded with golden amulets
carved with cursive cravings
we are the wishful flares ~
the world cannot fathom.
but in the starvation
of collided touch
we do not phase ~
we fearlessly swell
into the deathless space of faith
where the spring breeze
phrases our
initials in sunset mauve...
O fragrant field to my mind,
paint me within the
stirring sentiments of your spine...
I own your signature ~
starry-silver strength
braiding my henna-hued hair
into a universal bun
of beloved blissfulness…
And they survive despite the rationed light,
Despite a failing clinic's empty shelves
And ruins where the tourist dollars bled.
The common people know to push ahead,
Just as the state maintains its steady charge,
Refusing to succumb to outside strain.
Long years of drilling offer stark relief,
Their culture claims historic, central name--
Resistir—the revolutionary code
Sustained through seven decades of defiance
To stand against the heavy, crashing wave
And outlast wars that stretch across an age.
What choice is left to helpless nations now
Save learning to endure with empty hands?
This trial bred a singular facet
That tried the patience of their enemy.
Each barrier and blockade only served
To steel their firm resolve to resist more.
They bend to fast-evolving, adverse times.
Since nothing stays eternal on this earth,
And nothing is forever cast in stone,
Let ancient poets sing their praise aloud:
Survival is no badge of bitter shame,
But human art that swims through fiercest floods.
The seeds once sown within the human womb
Lives on to sprout when sunlight finds a way,
Despite dark clouds, life chooses not to die;
It may be true that death awaits us all,
But saying not today, remains the step
That forces Death to reckon with the truth.
______________________________
Happenings | 02.08.2026 | courage, death, life, survival, Bank Verse
Frankly, My Dear
Oh, yes the saga of scarlet O’Hara
She was a spoiled little twit
She never had a lick of sense
No not even a little bit
She let all her raw emotions
Rule her every day
No matter the cost of it
She would have her way.
Finally she married Rhett Butler
A carpet bagger they said
But she used him all up
All his love for her gone and dead.
But in the end she loved him
But would deal with it all tomorrow
He had all he could stand from her
Later she would deal with the sorrow.
Love doesn’t conquer all
A lesson here well taught
Too much pain and sorrow
Is what their feelings brought
He had loved her through everything
But finally just threw up his hands
As he walked into the mist he just said
“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.
Connie Moore
8/6/13
written for contest
A chain of events has lead me to this here and now,
it is a twisted chronicle and woeful history;
but, I will spare you the complete saga of my life.
I have spent part of my journey barren and hallow,
my tears have been full of empty whys and weeping;
grief is a prison- I can affirm and attest to that.
It is amazing that my spirit had a chance to grow,
but, with temerity and recklessness I kept creeping;
in the dark of night unable to sleep I have felt flat.
Yet, I think the overtone of my life is my wow,
the nuance and shadows are all part of the mystery;
I survived- although I have known life's knife.
Somehow, I always find the crevice and the sun's glow,
through a crack in my life the light comes seeping;
an aperture opens for me and I shake off my past.
I have known great love, friendship and too many a foe,
and yes, I do have a proclivity to weeping that I like keeping;
but, in my innermost marrow there is a strength vast.
_________________________
November 2, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/This Here and Now
Copyright Protected, ID 11- 1082-312-02
All Rights Reserved, 2018, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Eight Word Challenge-9
sponsor, John Hamilton, Judged 11/2018
Second Place
They found each other when time changed course
unhindered, at destinations that had never known routes
drawn by the call of their karma, they dance blind,
the saga of two universes, and their thirst for one another
songs get rewritten in the brilliance of their mystery
worlds left behind helpless, from earlier times
ruthless in their hunger, they are destin to bury
old promises and hopes, disappearing from forgotten futures...
They had known each other through Time's fatal force
undaunted by the wreckage of starved stars,
magnetized by the miracle of electric love ore,
a Master and a Mistress of cosmic kiss, serving one another
appetites of ancient arousal flourished between their flames,
cravings becoming concepts of breath with logic lost to instinct,
living commandments of creation, lightening and comets at their command,
shadows and sands besiege many plans, yet their universe withstands -
A Collaboration From The Quills of Bindu & Justin
Third Reign:
Her feeding heart and cold command
Enough to make you quit your band
Well, there’s only so much frostbite one can take
You’ve heard her bitter orders before
To leave your sandals outside her door
And go skating on the Ice Queen’s lonely lake
I’d save all my lovin’ for you
If only I knew what you would do:
Let me loose or condemn me at your frozen stake
I’d be a martyr if I could
And stand where the burning saints have stood
On the altar of wood by the Ice Queen’s lonely lake
It’s like a prison in this room
With the cigarettes and hot perfume
Something’s got to thaw out our mistakes
But I feel like a fish in a waterfall
One of these days, I’ll sprout legs and crawl
Away from the banks of the Ice Queen’s lonely lake
We’ve been up all night on this powdery binge
I can still smell the lust that the wind drags in
It’s the only habit I’ve got that’s worthy to break
We could check into rehab and seal the deal
And feel what the super-celebrities feel
Or turn the wheel straight into the Ice Queen’s lonely lake
Her reindeer are bridled; her peasants are gauche
They are starving in line: she offers brioche
But winning their naïve trust is a piece of cake
They’d float to Alaska to polish her nails
Come back bloodied and tied to her sails
Back from a crusade on the Ice Queen’s lonely lake
The bar of demarcation is set
Once etched in the earth, it’s hard to forget
So stand where the poor young Confederates once did shake
When our scorched-earth policies have failed
And your Mason-Dixon address gets no mail,
Just surrender yourself to the Ice Queen’s lonely lake
From Sierra Madre to Branson, Missouri
A blizzard is coming, she’s showing her fury
to you – this is no false alarm, no fake;
Like the perfect conquest of the abortion pill,
like the simple saga of Jack and J---,
It’s a cold moment till the Ice Queen’s lonely lake.