Long Scarcely Poems
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But the lover he knew this would not be enough
In such games as romance the going will get rough
And his youth had not abandoned him yet
Such failures monumental he would not so soon forget
And all had been less than this goddess on earth
No other had touched his heart so since birth
So amidst the glorious dreams of love in spring
The icy chill of doubt began to take its wing
The mirror told truths he’d never liked to hear
When faced with himself he’d rather disappear
Than bear witness to what he saw as a goon
A common ugly brute, spawned from a cartoon
With his disproportioned limbs and pessimistic hunch
Never had Ryan stood out from the bunch
His muscles had weakened from ailments past
And his metabolism sadly had deserted him too fast
His green eyes burned fiercely for his love had not gone
And sleep seldom reached him until long after dawn
Ruminating at length on the woman he desired
Wrecked his body and wracked his mind so tired
Could she ever love one as common as I?
He asked many times neath the midnight blue sky
His answer proved negative on most mornings young
And the tears had scarcely left him when the first sparrow sung
At last, the abused and depressed young pup
Decided he would go out on the town and drink up
Pounding beers with no regard for the consequences thus
Leaving him to stagger, cry, and flirt and cuss
And as sudden as the sun blooming on the skyline
The lovely Lyla was there, alone and looking quite fine
In an instant all sorrow was cleansed from his mind
And convinced him once more no greater love would he find
On that evening with conscious sobered by passion
My old friend took to speaking in a serious fashion
Only I was there to listen to his marvelous speech
Of the intensity he possessed, I know I cannot teach
With a storm gently rolling on a westward winter wind
The dark haired young man, chilled and quite pale skinned
Turned to me slowly with the look in his eye
That told I would recall this moment till I die
“Tonight,” he began, “I have chosen to wait
For this woman I love until some later date
And I shall stay to this, if months or years may pass
If that is the price of being worthy of the lass
If I must stand by and watch others lay
By her drunken side, while I have no say
And hundreds will flirt and many win a kiss
So I will remain in a life without bliss
The Luckiest of Men
By Rick Rucker
I called on friends yesterday,
They asked if I was okay.
They had never seen me move so slow,
They thought my energy was low.
I assured them I was fine,
I had merely drunk the wine
Of Love, my countenance was pacific,
I have no known disease specific,
Save an enlarged Heart,
Filled with sweetness, as from a tart.
They thought my symptoms somewhat scary,
They began to realize that I was very
Much in Love, no longer had to push, and shove.
My Heart was peaceful as a Dove.
I used to be so tightly wound,
My feet seldom hit the ground.
I ran everywhere I traveled,
My mind seemed to have unraveled.
Suddenly, I can stand,
With another, hand in hand.
She has caused the change in me,
She let my tethered Heart fly free!
How could this have come to pass,
That she could save me from the Morass?
With a little that, and some this,
But mostly with a passionate kiss.
It was our second date,
We had eaten, it was late,
At my watch, I took a peek,
Leaned in then to kiss her cheek,
Then, much to my surprise,
She looked me in the eyes,
And kissed me with a buss so sweet,
That I could scarcely feel my feet!
I didn’t want her to leave,
My chest had begun to heave,
The night was cold, but we were not,
I couldn’t believe that one so hot
Would show, to me, such passion,
In the open, out of fashion!
Finally, she drove away,
But, I was forced to stay,
Firmly rooted to the ground,
My head still spinning all around.
I had been on first and second dates,
Sorting through potential mates,
First, the normal couple’s sparring,
Then, no more dates, and some scarring.
She was the only one,
To have done what she had done!
She had left, and I let her,
But I wanted to practice kissing, getting better.
As her lights faded away,
I knew I couldn’t wait a day
To have another chance
To see if we would find Romance!
Now, we have been out many times,
When we kiss, I hear chimes,
Our dating is now exclusive,
The locations, more reclusive.
I have asked her to be my Wife,
Share my place, share my life.
She is much smarter than me,
She answered that we will wait and see.
I will try to let her see,
How wonderful our life could be.
As I run it all through my head again,
I am sure the luckiest of men!
I woke up one morning in a world full of lost things,
with no recollection of how i got there.
They curled around me and taunted me, examined me carefully with their hands so that they could better see me.
And when they found my ears they whispered in voices so soft I could scarcely discern if they spoke at all,
and told me of epic lovers until we bled together.
They shared with me what it would be like to be a lost thing too.
So full of inaccessible power, of sinful yearning, wanton longing, so full of empty space.
And then they presented me with a second hand clock,
small and brass and on a chain for my pocket so that I may never lose it.
They showed me and told me "fill it."
Then they felt behind my eyes and turned my senses higher,
Made everything so bright and lovely that it caused me terrible pain.
But with it I made life. I made such wonderful oceans,
I fostered worlds and tried to use them to follow out what I had been commanded.
And when the hands on my watch no longer ticked beneath the weight,
I forgot there was ever anything before my silent command "fill it."
Their voices ring out like angels,
they still sing to me of lovers. I want to sing too.
But the next thing they touched was my mouth,
and from it removed all its memories
yet left and burned in it the faintest ghost of what it would be like to ever have felt.
So that in its efforts to resurface,
it forgot how to speak.
At night, though less over time, (and I had long since lost track of that),
the other lost things will weave themselves around me like slippery shades,
and nuzzle into my neck as a purring kitten until I let them into my arms for the evening.
They'd hold me down and keep me awake as they sang to me foreign folk songs.
Occasionally they would break their song, and wait for me to pick up their melody,
and when I would it sounded too conspicuously like wailing.
They'd be gone.
I am not ready and I am not even sure for what.
I think about deliverance,
but less so with every passing phantom tick.
It is beautiful here, or so I think. I have no comparison.
There are so many oceans.
It's a wondrous case of Stockholm I'm sure,
but nonetheless a purposeful one.
One of vivacious heartache, of my own design,
When the lost things, my strange companions, come for me again and find me,
and we find other lost things -like me,
And we make worlds together.
Baxter was born in a meadow
under a rotting plank
with hundreds of brothers and sisters
in a home both darkly and dank.
His momma was a June Bug
and he was a June Bug too,
schooled in all the sorts of things
that June Bugs love to do.
He grew up fast, it was time to fly
and leave his happy home,
his momma went to the book case
and pulled out a well worn tome.
She read from a chapter called "Hazards"
to each of her children dear,
“Stay clear of birds when you’re flying
or you won't last out the year."
"And one more thing that you should know,
and this you must absorb,
beware of the light in the evening sky
that's called the purple orb."
So he left his home behind him,
went flying all around,
he saw some birds in the tree tops
and headed right for the ground.
After landing in the tall grass
he met a stink bug named Dwight
who told him wonderful stories
of an light so purple and bright.
"Forget now what your mother said,
I'm here to set you straight,
the orb is just a doorway,
you know, it's like a gate."
"When you enter into its brightness
you're magically swept away
to a lovely world of happiness
where forever you can stay."
So Baxter started searching,
he looked both high and low
and if he found the purple orb
straight to it he would go.
But the light was very clever,
it kept its secret well,
but Baxter kept on looking
as if he was under a spell.
Finally on an August eve
just as darkness was appearing
he spotted a distant purple glow
across a meadow's clearing.
"It must be the orb,” he said to himself,
so he flew with all his might
across the meadow with all due speed
toward that beautiful purple light.
Soon he hovered before it
and bathed in its eerie glow,
what wonders lay in store for him
his mind could scarcely know.
Gathering up his courage
into the purple light he sped,
crackle and zap was all he heard
as he fell to the ground near dead.
He lay in a growing pile
of other bugs who'd seen
a purple orb up in the sky,
but it wasn't what it seemed.
So if you meet a stink bug
who goes by the name is Dwight
don't believe the tales he tells
of a beautiful purple light.
Remember what Baxter's momma said,
"and this you must absorb,
beware of the light in the evening sky
that's called the purple orb."
One winter eve I walked out with my dog,
The way was dark, unlit by moon and stars,
My flickering torchlight failing in the fog,
To pick out tree roots,crevices and rocks,
To cause a stumble, and a muffled curse.
Whatever else was lurking in the trees,
Silent and still, in my mind grew worse,
As an unfolding midnight dream turned sour.
I knew the the path. We trod it every day,
So filled with pleasure and delight 'til now.
My step quickened. I could not shrug away
A feeling of disquiet and unease,
Palpable amidst the encircling gloom.
Nocturnal creatures scarcely made a sound
But it was magnified, a crack of doom,
A falling twig, or rustling dried-up leaves,
Predators unseen, darkly eyeing prey,
Their evil presence almost within touch,
Waiting the chance to carry me away,
To drag me to some foul and putrid nest,
Never again to see the light of day.
With tensions high and senses all alert,
Out of the dark, a touch upon my leg.
Startled and fearing, a step back I lurched,
And then relief. It had been but a nudge
From Ross. Perhaps he sensed and shared
My fright, but then, from out the stillness of the night,
A fearsome roar. My feet turned into stone.
Blood curdling, heart stopping, the monstrous sound
Echoed around us. Frozen to the spot,
My breathing stopped. I could not turn around
To flee. And then again it came, so close, it seemed
To set the very trees a-quivering.
What beast was this, what wild and hellish fiend ?
More furious bellowing, on and on
And on, and still I could not see the source.
Turning to run, the path had disappeared.
Crashing through entangled briars, ditches,
Fallen trees, scratched and bleeding, soon I feared,
Mud-soaked and stumbling now, that i was lost.
Still I heard the creature, somewhere behind,
Roaring, bellowing, angry with the night.
I fell into a muddy ditch, half blind,
And scrambled through the slime, hoping I might
Emerge at the wood's edge, so close to home
But, helpless, I was sucked into the mire,
Down,down and deeper down, now filled with fear,
Breathing in mud, heart pounding, lungs on fire.
No hope, no light ahead, my end was near.
I reached the bottom. Now let truth be said.
What did I find? I'd fallen out of bed !
And that, dear reader, though I am not one to brag,
Was my encounter with the rutting Lyth Hill stag !
King Henry VIII and His Wives
By Elton Camp
When Henry’s brother was too young to care
He was made to wed a princess from over there
But you must do just what we say little fella,
Catherine's the child of Ferdinand and Isabella
Catherine had not been Queen for very long
When things with her mate went badly wrong
Medicine was weak. To save him, doctors tried
But despite all they did her young prince died
With Spain, England had a pact
The agreement must stay intact
Henry was then a child of eleven
Hardly a betrothal made in heaven
Henry married at age eighteen
And Catherine became his queen.
Though it is quite sad to have to tell
The queen’s babies didn’t fare well
To bring her husband true joy
She must give birth to a boy
She bore him just a single son
Who died before a year had run
Though married for twenty-four years,
Henry gave voice to his greatest fears
“I have married the wife of my brother
When I should have waited for another.”
But he said this with a sly grin
While he kissed Anne Boyeln
She refused to go to his bed
Until the two were set to wed
Anne produced a baby right away
But ‘twas a girl to Henry’s dismay.
He thought she had done a crime
When both babies died next time
“I’ve been down this road before.
It’s clear you are just a whore.”
No more shall you see my bed.
Rather, you will lose your head.
Jane Seymour was next on the list
So that Anne was scarcely missed
From Jane, virtuous and fair,
There came at last a male heir
Infection was the reason why
The queen proceeded to die
Henry at her death was distraught
But the new child filled his thought
Anne of Cleves was next to arrive
Had a problem, managed to survive.
Henry found he didn’t like her well
“This German woman is ugly as hell.”
The next queen to unfurl
Was just a teenage girl
Catherine Howard was her name
But she was not free from blame
Culpepper was her boyfriend
She had confessed at the end
And unlike the wives before
This one truly was a whore
Catherine Parr became wife six
She did not try to use any tricks
To her, duty came above
Even the man she did love
Of this bad background cannot be any doubt
It is how the Church of England came about.
Who of the people could expect to be a winner
By adhering to a religion formed by a sinner?
**This is a special set of poetry written with my friend Justin Connor--we each wrote separate accounts of special companions. The ending verse we wrote together. These poems are meant to be one piece of work. **
Scarcely a year old, I remember with sad, sinking heart
But then I smile, because I remember all the good times
It was the night of Pentecost, our little kitten was found
My mother, happy to bring in the oddest of pets,
Curled her fingers around a small kitten, beaming
And there was sunlight in all eyes all the night
He had been crying in the bushes for a place to stay
And he had found one…it might have been destiny
There was something in his green eyes that dazzled me
Weakening and strengthening my heart all in one I held him in my arms,
A special cat on a special day
Pentecost is his name, and it is here he will remain
I remember everyone loved him because of his grace
That dreamy eye and soft-hearted face
I remember the first night and many more nights to come
I turned my music box, opened it up and sang him a song
He listened intently and soon was fast asleep
His small colorful multi-marked body breathing deeply
His tiny, white boot legs tucked under his chest
“You’re the best, Pentecost,” I whispered. “You’re the best…”
Even my father, who was never fond of cats,
Was won over by his embraceable charms
Pentecost would spawn an effort to make him smile
Stretching out on the floor making sure everyone was watching
Listening lovingly to my dad’s favorite classical repertoire..
He would ring around our ankles with his paws playfully
Causing us to scream in shock and skip away
He would jump back from the shriek making us laugh up a storm
And look up at all the noise curiously
Pentecost also liked small boxes to squeeze into
I would lift up a cardboard flap to see a whiskered jewel
And he would look up at us and wonder
Can we make room for two?
He favored no one and was friendly with all
Long and muscular, this cat had boundless energy
One point he’d be at the window
And the next in the laundry, his tail whipping
What I will never forget was how happy he would lay in the grass
I would watch him and pet him, the sun hitting his fur
Gray black stripes and swirls of art lighting all at once
His soft, sensitive ears rubbing against my arm
The affection was mutual as Destiny knew
“Let your light shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father
in heaven”
There is an eternal sight that lights the lives of men,
She is wondrous, full of rage and fury.
And with this turning of her page,
We stand at a crossroads of schizophrenic reckoning,
Of men and women great, vying for the mind of an era.
But to none I trust my fate,
For there is only one who can ignite me,
There is an eternal right that fights for all to see,
And in his gentle ferocity he knows the darkness that torments.
Some time ago, I was in a fallen mission,
And I knew a man whose light shined brilliant like my youngest daughter's gaze,
He died of Aids,
But let it be known, he raged.
I know a woman who lost her house, and back, and legs, and almost lost her soul as well,
But we prayed, and now she cries with tears of peace amazed,
Let it be known she raged.
I knew a racist spinster who gave my daughter diapers so that I could keep my lights on,
She died in bitter pain but not alone, for there is breathe that will not cease to breath,
It chooses whom it will to see the Son and so believe.
Some time ago, I thought that God would choose some souls for eternal flame,
And I raged on buses and trains trying to save who I could,
And when I came to see God’s love as I should,
I despised the shame, for still I raged.
I tell you, I’ve been wrong so many times, I scarcely know what's right,
But in blind sight I know this much,
That all of us will know his touch,
And together as one, the lot of us,
Will fight for a world with joy ablaze,
And when our salt has savored an age,
Then the world will know beauty.
But in the mean time,
We walk a line, between suicide and self worship.
Self Control and Paralysis,
Selfishness and Common Sense,
Service and masochism,
Fear and presumption,
We almost walk in darkness all together fearing the cross that saves us,
But in the end we shall say to that cross,
Come forth and take us for your fear no longer rules me!
For foolish things confound the wise,
And no price is too high so all might rise,
And we walk in the footsteps of a King from on high,
Who even death could not conquer,
And because he raged,
I rage,
We rage,
And when our salt has savored an age,
The world will know beauty.
Nearly ten o'clock, Capitol Hill, inside the SCIF (specially designed for classified purpose): House Intelligence Committee chairman Adam Schiff was hosting an esoteric hearing featuring a deposition with Defense Department official Laura Cooper as part of Impeachment Inquiry into Dotard Trumpery. Suddenly a fit of ruckus flared up from the outside, increasingly nearer and clearer, then followed a string of desultory sounds of pounding upstairs. What's up? What happened outside? Over the puzzlement of those present, Schiff roughly learned about this supervention from a subordinate's brief report. He signed nothing perturbable and said: "It's the Gofers of Payolas that are crapping and monkeying around there. But do not panick! 'cause they're exactly aiming at the witness and me. Of course, the witness shall be put under rigorous protection, yet the rest may just stay here and sit tight." Then he turned face to Cooper: "Ms cooper, let me call over several robust escorts to ensure your personal safety." Cooper, remaining unruffled all the time, delivered to Schiff not just an assuaging declination but her deontic assertiveness: "Never overestimate those cowards. For most of them, the best way to varnish their guilty conscience is to howl loud, the best way to compensate their courage privation is to bluff big. What brings me here are the respect of law and truth, the loyalty to oath and duty, the faith in nonpartisan justice. But what brings them here? The blind deference to bosses, the obsessive wariness of watchdogs, or the browbeating practice against opponents? Just go your usual way, and go free of their distraction." "Oh, great! your frankness and bravery!" Exclaimed Schiff, getting up to seek to contact Dem House Speaker Nancy Pelosi. Right on cue, a few barged in, clamoring that the hearing lacks transparency and picking out electronic devices for its livestream with later nearly a dozen more joining them straggly. Although the hearing had to come to a halt due to the gofers' brazen violation of security rules, the present ambience scarcely turned tense, just plunged into weird vibes of twisting steadfast normalcy toward a kind of peculiar hocus-pocus that had continually sprung up from a handful of hopped-up harlequins who were hell-bent on hamming it up.
Form:
Our severe pain is unforgivable at eternal night.
I twist over, my brain hustling with mystic insight.
Cries made me exuberantly sad, letting my sting.
I felt bound that could never be fit of stirring.
Your gloomy yell penetrates the serene quietness.
Leastwise, I realized you'd befall a whiner pitiless.
You've arrived at my most prominent gateway.
Once again, it roused me up, as it had all sultry day.
I let forward a puncturing shout of agony.
Once again, I will not scorn the cease eagerly.
And reject the thoughts mugging my reasoning.
Grasp my once-living voguish is promptly dying.
The blade was in a distinct area to my brawny arms.
Reverberations of our ultimate hug hang my eyes.
Such much sorrow stuffed into a cramped space.
And all I lack is to regain a place in the audience.
I'd wisely prefer seeing genuine compassion.
Except for me, everyone is in repletion.
Afterward, why are you pounding on my door?
I was dodging, similar to the mild night before.
I'm going to have you removed right away.
It happened as soon as it was made defray
My supplications and asks for salvage were unmet.
I'm mindful of our dreadful period once onset.
How random do you admit your mentality?
But voicing regret isn't enough in this vicinity.
Remember me for a type of contact with you.
Sorry for the hassle, yet my choice is too true.
It was vital for me to do what I did.
I couldn't stay with you anymore; I want a slid.
I needed to awaken and concede my misstep.
That you'd follow me until the night with no pep.
We can scarcely improve anything right yet.
And I must say I'm right from the outset.
For the time term, "I'm apologetic" will not vow.
You've broken my soul and granted me a bow.
You can't undo the wrongs you've done.
You didn't opine over what you shun.
You had the only choice but to perform this.
But our relationship has cooled an abyss.
Can't you consider your acts have altered you?
Supporting for my freedom to cognition blew.
However, it needed lasting by till ends survival.
Rusty mind that deadly sins were unforgivable.
Written: November 11, 2021
''U'' Contest, New Poems Only Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France