Long Scorpion Poems
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Freedom ~ an inked kingdom
of macabre mirrors,
a vermiform lie
veiling the vehement suffering
amidst serpent estuaries,
surging within strangled skin,
as if I am the living sin,
jinxed by the crawling creatures
in the lamented labyrinth
of deceitful dreams,
inhaling venomous vapors
rising from the cursed creeks
that failed to caress
the brittle bones of delirious dawn,
where the nocturnal owl
sits, phasing stellar phantoms
on tattered twigs,
oblivious to the piercing pain I breathe,
as poetry feels like
a somatic hallucination,
a reflection of the phoenix crescent,
a dialect the naive can never comprehend,
the voice of truth,
the jaded outline of mortality,
can never interpret~
as the last sacred light of twilight
r e m a i n s
unmarked and lost to the Earth.
O wicked wind beneath
the crestfallen wings
of cruising constellations,
will this piece of paper save me
from the maleficent violets
in the spitfire blaze
of stigmatized stars?
I am stuck ~ hell-bound,
troubled placing my
tongue on Freyja’s chalice of tears,
for I feel oblivion closer than death,
I taste the flames of Tartarus,
I dance with demons,
I sing to the malevolent moon,
I see in distorted dimensions.
But would the ignorant know
I hear beyond what’s spoken,
in search of Eden and love?
I give gratitude to your God,
but the veiled care not~
this is beyond the making
of a self-forged inferno.
I am the harbinger of harmony,
my soul aches
to paint your scarlet spheres
in butterfly bliss,
praying in secret
that the deviant daggers in my spine
would blossom into russet roses,
their petals ~ like an elixir
to my paranoid psyche,
paralyzed in the
catacomb chaos of insanity,
as the scorpion Sun
k i s s e s
me one more time
with sweetened poison.
While you,
the spectators of this twisted spectacle,
condemn my insomniac aura
to stain the essence of my existence
with condescending colors,
unaware that
introspection is a powerful weapon~
all blood is blue,
and we breathe hypocrisy
scrutinizing the unknown....
He/him (ratty, scrawny,
and tetchy ugly villain)
scurried into dark recesses of hermitage
averse to cavort, frolic, inure himself
into the duplicitous schemes
capitalized, glorified, popularized
courtesy vanity of *****sapiens
lest imp of the pervert
already sacrificed as renegade
hashtagged heretic condemned
without merciful intervention
after being duped into capture
subsequently broadcast viz TikTok,
when turncoat quasi nincompoop
kook Harmet Harms
kickstarted, ejaculated, and blurted
out hideaway of sought after perpetrator
to burn (no small potatoes) at stake,
but fortunately falsely accused
unbound against immolation
and reprieve jumpstarted, issued, and hissed
eleventh hour granted clemency
commuted death penalty
criminal sentenced solitary isolation
rat infested dungeon
housing convicted prisoner
ultimate crime and punishment
(decreed as non establishmentarian)
doled out after protracted proceedings
courtesy amazing graceful puffed dragon
unwittingly delivered merciful respite.
After being shackled hand and foot
then dragged into vermin infested cell
cowled ascetic (an exceptional escape artist)
busied himself disentangling restraints
and suppressed giddiness
when successfully free.
Off behind fake facade
walled in imponderable bedrock
dark passageways tunneled off
into unsuspecting chamber of secrets,
whereby amateur (he) brewed
exotic gaseous/ liquified potions
tumbled, gurgled, bubbled...
lethal skull and crossbones
labeled mixtures especially intriguing
adept alchemist expert
possessed sixth sense
intuitively discerning deadly
scorpion stinging poisons
abracadabra wizardry
magic spell cast
rendered, kindled, eased
tormentors severity relaxed
spellbound granted salvation.
Hence busily engrossed at makeshift laboratory,
our mutual (of Omaha) friend
did potchke with vials; every now and again
referencing ancient looking tome
vaporous emissions served as smoke screen.
Hands of father time
painstakingly elapsed amidst
flickr ring torchlight
grotesquely accentuating
exaggerating ferociously
pantomiming silhouettes courtesy
hungry skittering varmints
hurriedly scurrying to and fro.
with natural binaural and visual ambience...
courtesy bumblebee pollinating clover
Diaphanous wings yield live airplay
vibrations undulate thru ethereal airway
rippling glorious edifications allay
gorgeous fauna and floral array
ears and eyes beheld
awesome buzzfeeding display
flight of the bumblebee laden with pollen
analogous to elegant performance
starring Faye Dunaway.
Crossword puzzle momentarily
distracted by amazing fete
observing crucial insect necessary
transferring pollen to pistils of flowers
with each subsequent visit
impossible mission to differentiate
one amongst countless
gently rumbling Bombus.
June 14th, 2020 thoughts
of doomsday far and away
pitch perfect afternoon yippie yie yay
I could squander hours
observing miracle worker relay
unwittingly alighting then planting pollen,
i.e. the male gametophyte
(DNA) of seed plants
transported to female part of flower
to enable plant to reproduce.
Quintessential lesson relearned
live life foreplay
until... hair turns
more'n fifty shades of gray
pronouncedly more noticeable since salons
and barbershops under lockdown
onset of coronavirus
(COVID-19) spells hooray
satisfying grim reaper
until vaccine acquired
meanwhile (back at the ranch)
think laboratory smart people linkedin,
qua advocating preventive measures,
a fancy word for test
iz pseudo synonym immunoassay
whispered to yours truly courtesy
twittering and tweeting blue jay.
How uncomplicated existence
allotted to birds and bees
simple straight forward purpose
additionally as by-product
to cultivate cheese
just cut away any moldy part
lest thee exhibit symptoms
synonymous contracting poison
(less painful than scorpion sting),
nevertheless nsync with illness
expanding thru body
on par with generic
garden variety archetype disease
ah, I sure wish being human
constituted less cumbersome complication
instead comprised
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious ease
as iterated with aforementioned
half dozen simple life forms
some of which can survive extreme temperatures
and/or even suffering thru a deep freeze
now upon reaching the end,
I expect nothing more emphatic
than ye to ejaculate Geez!
Issues, like mushrooms, spring up when two or more humans meet,
Issues start from how you are and what size is monkey's feet;
And thus my friend and I, like nail and flesh - same age - once met,
Debated on existence - theme fitting an intellect...!
Socrates, the thinking giant's thoughts on society!
Transcendence and idea-world of Plato’s gaiety!
Substance and categories of Aristotle - complex!
Theophrastus Botanical world - looked like an apex...!
Descartes –cogito ergo sum; Spinoza - sole substance,
John Lock - life, liberty, and property as confidence;
Discussions went endless like the flow of a stream fluent,
We had put a break and dwelt on matters very current...
Existentialism, like a thrilling tale, so exited us,
Concepts such as - God's no more - man is in confusing fuss;
Absurdity, null, void - A world filled with hell-like chaos,
If death puts everything at a standstill, what's not pathos?
Yet, there's no absolute end to creaturely life, I said,
Amidst death, there's the great resurrection and transcendence;
This theory, like a scorpion-sting, he soon reacted,
As though I'm an Orangutan, he got much protracted...
If so, will I rise, like Jesus, with my body and soul?
Or take rebirth into a dog or donkey or an owl?
Or from my ashes arise an orchid and multiply?
Or in soil or molecules of the cosmos will I sigh?
When I felt the arguments get heated like a quarrel,
And could bring in our heart cracks like drought dismally cruel;
I thought friendly relation is greater than life after,
And tried to replace the debate with some jokes and laughter!
Well, whatever way we exist after death, is life too,
Existence unblemished in heart, I said, is always true!
This too did not cut the cake, and he stood firm on his view,
I thought, within: if he holds to his view, why should I woo?
The world's vast; life's great; could I close growth in a cool cocoon?
Thoughts, like seas, are wavy and endless; is life a small boon?
My cat may have three legs; can't another have four or more?
Hence, in a world of views, should arguments have any shore?
08 October 2021
Difference in opinion Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shreya LN
Preacher E. Lye
He wears his white collar backwards
Piggy attenuated pagan wives’ tale
say the trigger Finger Man
has snake eyes in the back of his head
Got a gravelly-low, porcupine voice
that is cobra flatline prairie legendary
Using a lethal eighteen-wheel
hydraulic tongue roadkill,
he sermonizes with casket authority
Preacher E. Lye got one good eye,
and a black patch over his hollow socket
The last person who asked
what happened to the missing retina,
got buried
in an unmarked, dry gulch ravine pocket
Preacher E. Lye low rides
with malevolent, maverick posse power
Mister Pus Papal Evil Eye
walks double cross with uno orbital pallbearer pride ...
Hanging eulogy twine ties
from the BP church steeple belfry tower
His barrel jaw revolving lies
keep his baron territory on a fear cower
Terrified bottomless pit cries
of the weak townspeople reign hope sour
Preacher E. Lye loves to spew verbal caustic speech:
Potassium hydroxide vows
fire hot lead, full of lung roulette chambers emptied
Mister Pulpit Evil Eye, on the sulfuric snide,
preach yellow-belly worms give-it-up or die:
Collection plate extortion on the cactus side
E. coli talks with snow collar pestilent pride
Black Plague canon cloaked in blue gunsmoke attire,
Chesterfield veiled threats
got the long gun branding irons set in brimstone fire
Preacher E. Lye got one good eye,
and a black patch over his hollow socket
Bottomless pit bull preacher,
bullet lung blasting pie-in-the-sky,
got his casino hands deep in pew pockets
Lupus leper lip E. Lye
tear sow scorpion alibis,
thru his planted posse of doppelganger sons
Wil E. coyote clan cries —
dirt devils on a slithering bandito desert run
Preacher E. Lye got one good eye,
and a black patch over his hollow socket
Preacher E. Lye blows a dust tide
with malevolent, cougar bloody paw grit
Red Barren hope
flows down a cemetery canyon
White flag mope
leaves nary grave task undone
Blue metal smoke
is Preacher E. Lye’s kill clarion
Preacher E. Lye stalks the widows
with his condor one eye
Devour their body-and-soul vittles,
then bury their dead cry
He was a cowboy problem child
rescued by a mendicant sage brush sorcerer
resulting in his remembering everything
flawlessly insolently permanantly
birth death life things in space have a beer
owner of his own head at last
thanks to whiskey tainted improvisations
and the use of springs and levers
in order to bring the Almighty down to earth
for a patch job on his many severed limbs
he slept on a bed of maguey spines
combed his tumbleweed hair over the burn spots
and tattooed his many and fecund scars into
the outlines of zippers and pockets
Tex Lester was a lariat twirling minstrel
and undefeated Popsicle stick swordsman
subject to a chronic howling for pootang
Tex took me under his leathery wings
together we praised the pop up toaster
and often spoke of mechanics and luck
taught me to look at girls all anew
in the little red school house by the cactus patch
Miss LobowskI beat off my attempts
at humping her leg during her class in ethics
as if a description of total damnation
could repair the broken mosaic of attention
Tex would implore with the tact of a scorpion
madam cover your eyes in the name of decency
what could I do but wake the dead
and digress distressingly in the dirt
a heartfelt rain making non-sequitir
well kids are full of surprises
uninhibited by mystery or murderous rage
complete they are in a different way
but the more Miss Lobowski's convex mariachis
bucked and danced under her wet serape
the more it popped into Tex's ten gallon head
to teach her an old cowboy rope trick
round and round went his cowboy lariat
the desire to repeat pleasure unfortunately
is the desire to repeat it exactly endlessly
and that's the problem the big problem
at the museum of horrible deaths
you grab their ears and whisper
rest your head on a cloud angel
and hope they don't end up on top
of a truckload of flattened automobiles
he went crazy on her flesh
let loose his gila monster on her blazing ****
and together they began robbing banks
this is going to cost me my diploma
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
(okay, yukon axe me whatsapp pinning,
though beep pre spired, cuz mess sigh key
threads experience didst rub burr raw
as if spun as a micro spindle.)
Woolworth (Penneys on
the Dollar Store) Sears electronic,
dynamic and atomic weight
cumulative decades of suppressed
crackle, snap,
and pop, triggering
psychotic sans tete a tete
legal tender visa vis
bit coin block
chain payback daily
quotidian fits and starts
trigger torrential spate
impinging ability to relish potential
existential joie de vivre
finding me (I rate)
analogous to suffocating
unbearable pressure, yours truly
doth eek quate
to Metallica Mega-death
accessing, hammering, and pinpointing
(excel lent lee powerfully)
every square inch
of mine pate
strewing, sparking fiery
fingerhut sized explosions,
and slamming incessant
psychological torture akin to
a pernicious hidebound mate
and as of this date
November 20th two thousand eight
scored entrenched occupation
of my fifty plus
shades of gray matter
becoming more agonizing of late,
where suicidal ideation,
where repressed self hate
sprung from cumulative
(albeit cloudy with
a chance of at least one
meatball i.e. me) psyche subject
to verbal whipping (yours truly),
the gloating mean
bullies didst denigrate,
without doubt half life of
Matthew Scott Harris
aint at all great,
yet to some degree, this saturated
scorpion poisoned, mauled
and jackknifed fate
in some measure
duet hoo war ton internalized
emotions griffins
hound, feast, and delight
(more so ravenously
throve) on Hawaii,
and seamy to Maui
didst successfully, (particularly
throughout earlier decades)
emasculate, under estimate,
now (in retrospect) execrate
at invisible monster
on par with beastie boy
Doctor Frankenstein didst create
only upon death doom
he part wretchedness
will hoop fully abate.
When I was very young
I heard a story of a princess
She was someone
That enjoyed pain of others
She was beautiful and powerful
She had many knights
Whishing her hand in marriage
But she did not care for any of them
Her expression was cold as stone
And her heart did not have a drop of love
In addition she enjoyed hurting people
Animals and games of bloody spectacles
She decided that only man she would marry
Would be the one who won a tournament
Tournament in which knights would fight
As the tournament began
She calmly watched as knights
Tore each other to pieces
All for her amusement
Yet still
She had neither pity nor love
For any of them
One of the warriors came from the east
He was very handsome
He fought very bravely
Like a lion
But his expression was such
That even knights defeated by him held no grudge
The princess was amazed by his performance
And she actually started to care for him
When he won the tournament
She went down the tower with biting heart
And her cold expression was gone
She was ready to give him her hand in marriage
But to her surprise
He did not want her
Because he knew what kind of person
She was
This is how the story ends
Knight returned home with his honor
And princes who was antagonist
In this story was left with noting
However in real life things go little different
For example
Most likely winner of the tournament
Would take the princesses hand in marriage
Because she was very rich
And if he didn’t
She would have had him killed
In real life when someone goes out on a limb
They usually end up one who is hurt
Makers of Concord supersonic plane for example
Were unable to use their jet
Because of technical problems
As well as financial
And they were the lucky ones
Still I admire the knight
Although speaking from my own experience
It is very difficult to go out on a limb
And I don’t have a lion like will and courage
But to those who would try to punish me
I will be like a scorpion
Small and seemingly week
But that will sting like hot knife if someone tries to step on it
But wherever you are, I no longer want to be:
for you are thunderstruck moonlight,
and I am a scarred sunset ~ a secret in saffron,
melting into the myth that floats forever,
within silenced dunes of scorpion stones,
where the cryptic coldness of sand feels like~
Cupid’s daggers piercing through
my aching skin and bones.
Frost-kissed vines wrap around
my wintry heart,
screaming for a sacred release
from the tethered torment
of satanic sapphires,
breathing within the haunted caves
of unending nightmares ~
and the twilight that wanes
behind flatlined promises.
Tonight, I feel like arrows of angst,
ricocheting within these woeful walls
of my melancholic mausoleum,
mirroring the heat of a burning breeze ~
like an epitaph lost in the sweltering air.
The clover of golden green glimmers,
like fireflies around my wrists,
luring distant ravens,
croaking above paralyzed dreams,
to untangle the crooked lines of lies,
crawling within clouds of comfort,
oblivious to Lilith’s serpent slithering
around my fragile feet in slow cadence,
pushing me to the darker dusks
drawn above the prying
valley of putrid prunes,
where these wistful musings
will remain as mere voiceless ashes,
cremated in vain,
with flames of forgotten folktales
echoing as faded music within a glass urn.
So, if tomorrow I’m gone, remember me ~
I still breathe silver snippets of hope,
a frozen quiescence,
etched in seven arcs of stardust,
longing to be anywhere but here.
Perhaps as the last verse of your poem,
or could I be the lone rose,
forever thriving in the galactic gardens of love,
where hate and greed, tangled in
jinxed jewels,
dissolve into nothingness ~
like rusted ribbons of the crestfallen lunar.
I hope lilacs and lavenders will bloom
in hypnotic hues, to calm raging rivers flowing
within the arctic arteries of a dark poet,
longing for a home
away from hellish hands,
so I can serenade songs of survival
and rhapsodies of resilience,
while watching every tear I’ve shed
crystallize into pearls and diamonds,
like born-again stars in violet skies.
I see some moose running down the street with antlers sticking out like guns, bursting through the crowd sending people on the run and scavengers flying around the sky landing on power lines beating drums in the town.
Big moose little moose scale high walls knocking down metal barriers, poking the people in their gut with their metal antlers. They smash their faces on the wall and dragging their bodies around in the street and I lamented with grief.
Chaos erupts in the town and people began to run up and down, with bags and pans, dishes and fishes and scorpion legs saturated in their head. Screaming and shouting resonated from the sky and the little moose bid the angels goodbye, the eagle was just on time to take the launcher for a ride.
The moose rampage continues in the town and everything fell to the ground, trucks and buses holding hands and motor cycle skidding on dry ice they slammed into each other crashing down the slopes somersaulting in their water-less boat.
I watched with anxiety as the moose destruction draws near, they kept running around the town plunging into bars, cook shops and kitchen restaurant, leaving its owners in despair.
Everyone ran around looking for a place to hide as the moose antlers stuck in their sides, there was just nowhere to hide; destiny flew high in the sky and moose blaze through the town.
The villagers came on the scene armed with machine guns and assault weapon, firing and shouting, from, right left and center. Bodies fell to the ground like flies filling the gutter with blood and no one could escape this terrible age.
They shot the running moose dead and it bled and bled. Moose lying dead next to man searching for the future in the golden sand. No one was left to tell the tales of how the running moose rampage ends, and so destiny fulfills its purpose in the town, and the big screen fell flat on the ground and destiny sank deep inside the ground.
Everything was still and not a sound could be heard and so I crossed peacefully over on the other side and bid the town and its dead goodbye.