Long Scrawny Poems
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The town I was born into was a grit incubating slum.
It was the worst of places yet had some gruff-faced
high-headed days.
On those few times
(days that did not seek to hammer me down
into the brick and rubble strewn ground),
I would walk like a lord-ling
in my own spit-rinsed and grubby manor.
I would swagger, daring all to cut the throat
of any withering word
or to blast the staring eyes and ogle-mouthed louts
as they came at me, only to ski-daggle or sidle.
In those long hours, in those dank drenched daylights
I would fight knuckle-hardy and win
then wear a trophy cut on my chin
that ached in the stony-breathed air.
I was a tough and scrawny king atop of his small heap
and the town bowed down to me until the next day
when it sought once more
to murder my rough-hewn soul.
Come walk with me
in this wind littered park,
please don't kick the skimpy rose bushes,
God is everywhere watching,
lipreading your foul words.
We can be romantically attached
to our thoughts,
share, collaborate,
speak each other's words before
we know we have.
Pond life chokes upon its own thriving.
Savage are the dunking ducks
who write nothing worthless
and yet that 'nothing'
is ignored by every city gent
whoever pissed against a tree.
Sit upon this graffitied bench,
rest your disappointment
under this scabrous oak.
There is beauty here
research yourself
there is poetry at your feet,
a hurdy-gurdy symphony
in the slimy fungus rings.
If we rest long enough
our red fanged hearts
may eat themselves.
The scrawny daffodil's
burst into prayer.
Please don't grunt so loudly,
my own windbreaking flatulence
is a natural response to your ugliness.
Our sincere attempt at urban poetry
has unearthed the buried bones
of a divine muse,
and look,
pure white doves are carrying them away!
In the city dump, God assists the raccoons
with His large, clawed paws.
I confess, no deliberate intent, yet often wonder
what spurs me to nudge, goad, coax, et cetera
despite modesty regarding
ably linkedin words for others to ponder
more often than not experiencing nonresponder.
Without lofty literary ambitions,
more so stream of consciousness abandonment
yours truly rests content
to cobble, gamble, noodle... courtesy
swifty tailored stylishly harried element
mild mannered modest gent
bumbling along boulevard of
broken (po' whet) dreams intent
far less superman than Clark Kent
exercising mental cogs and wheels meant
merely to liberate momentary overconfident
zealous spontaneous inspiration,
albeit ordinarily quiescent
ex post facto concluding
equals time most salient
direct object lesson learned
lame, insipid, feeble resultant
effort generates undercurrent
aghast how rapid (think lightspeed) went.
Yours truly his own worst critic aware
how avast mein kampf replete with bare
inducent to tap into latent fledgling clear
propensity to express creatively, I declare
bonafide potential to join pantheon excelsior
reserved for established authors within their
respective canon, genre, league...,
nonetheless an obvious flair
seemed evident perhaps coalesced
when in utero biological gear
yielded wiggly, ugly, scrawny,
quirky Harris heir
(sole son and second of three offspring)
an older and younger sister,
which introverted brother bullies
did constantly jeer
token scapegoat suffered
one after another kingly leer
pushing psychological state near
precipice off into dock side of moon,
who sought (wharf far art grim reaper) to pier
without naked qualm evincing
one very bony rear
without sympathy merely spells severely
pockmarked psyche therefore
impossible mission to set tattered self esteem
tacked toward in opposite direct where
dark shadow of doubt doth not veer
me into apathetic, horrific, pathetic...
suicidal mental state of yesteryear.
Incomplete metamorphosis of this stilled adolescent...
petrified, sheltered, and mortally wounded prepubescent
I consider myself
analogously buttressed, cocooned,
garrisoned, hardened, insulated,
where cell baited jumping frog
o' Montgomery County ne'er
went leaving larvae stage,
now no divine providential
power can assuage,
yours truly metaphorically locked
within invisible iron bound cage
every occasion to shower
validates steep wage
permanently doled out,
yet tis futile to rage
against this human machine
i.e. body dielectric rampage
clocking three scored
orbitz chronological gauge
forever fixed feigned fodder,
when unlived uber story
of mein kampf writ faint
chicken scratch final page
gin hated anorexic
regressive toddling cribbage
deadly game of mine Life pampered
post infancy attended
Aladdin (a lad in) his hermitage
late childhood marriage
with grim reaper as
coefficient co-inhabitant
feasting emaciated lovely bones
verily scrawny, puny, and
nerdy, yea easy to lyft
courtesy lost livingsocial scrimmage
trademark spindleshanks -
stagnant embarrassingly useless
two legged equipage
at childhood's end...,
me skinny package then
weighing, eh no
more'n half dozen stone,
these days when
undressing to wash
forced to espy physical
*****sapiens wreckage
constant visual reminder
this spare rankled, stunted,
tendered ship of state,
yours truly nah oh sage
enlightenment gleaned i.e.
20/20 hindsight kickstarted
quickened, leveraged, mortgaged...,
principly unbalanced worthiness
anatomical disparity
impossible mission to salvage
accounting rent permanently askew
fixed APR rendered
amortization sabotage
irreversible penalty suffrage
escaping serfdom volunteering
self as webbed vassalage
til death do me part.
Remember that scrawny little tree in the front yard. A tiny shade for the children to play on summer days. Its protection of wide limbs adorned with green still remain firmly planted. Fifty years have really brought about change with thoughts wondering what will come next. The tree is no longer a sapling clinging to the hillside for it securely holds back floods, wind, rains.
spring rains bring rivers
flowing to the creek and sea
deep roots help sustain
Slowly that sapling grew higher, spread its strong limbs, caught the cool breeze, rebuked the sun's strong rays. It has survived through several minor tornadoes and
continued to grow reaching many feet taller than the home it has protected. In each spring its tassels of chartreuse green release pollen that irritates eyes and nose. We have lived to experience the growth of that tree with its changes each season..
bare limbs exposed naked
come alive with buds popping..
allergy season
Summers brought life to the red oak. The bright yellow sun, summer rains and thunder storms made it stronger each year. The pointed green leaves fed the tree with nutrients necessary for survival. Now English Ivy runs up the trunk higher each year. Could this suck the life out of the strong sturdy tree over 50 years old? Will great grandchildren dig at its roots with their shovels and fill their buckets or swing in the shade of this grand oak?
laughter echoes now
down the hollow to the creek..
fall's cool days outside
Winter is on its way once again. Will a noreasterner rattle your aging limbs and rip some of them away causing serious damage to your weakening limbs and roots? Trees are unpredictable no one knows what the future holds. We can only live in the moment for that is all that we have to hold onto.
rain and winds still come
autumn with many gray days..
acorns rain 'pon the roof
Written over several days November 6, 7, 8, 9, 2015
Inspired by contest of Charolette Jade Puddifoot
Finis'
Cut to the chase after tan hat man!
Though reading horror stories
gearing up as strawberry spring fest
full throttle danse (macabre),
an only every now and again predilection
genre crazy wave
washing over me like
a killer tsunami,
harboring pier rill less night surf
(subsequently fueling figurative
hair razing close shave
critical desperation) to save
thine scrawny ****,
(a derriere laughing stock,
and hence cheeky of me to rave),
what you put
in a Margarita,
those rare occasions satiated, when
hung over insomnia heavily bulging,
rheumy myopic blood shot eyes
nonetheless lock into
vital opening sentence determining,
whether adroit kingly author
nimbly setting the stage and pave
ving what thenceforth, pro
misses tubby a cell out ace
in the hole captive audience
skeleton crew exhuming a grave
grim reaper they crave
(me, this apt pupil), doth brace
himself by all counts once
a bad little kid deserving, well...now...
just a bag of bones,
who fiendishly cackles
analogous to screeching
linkedin deafening banshee
when leaning in (Sheryl Sandberg like),
whereat after opening sentence,
an instantaneous big bang
possessive gnarly hand
forcibly grabs my attention
presaging and frightening
yours truly (juiced in case
ye did not know),
where within the bazaar
of bad dreams epic,
which seems like forever,
when I finally erase
and exorcise the bogeyman who,
regally, masterfully, immediately,
dramatically got woven
lady chattery teeth and all
withering wicked warp and woof
establishing (proof positive),
an excellently crafted
Chiral Mad heavily shades
of night are falling
gussying haunting place,
where the color of evil permeates
every cerebral space
with darkness, said
sub rosa prime evil punctuates
the mind of this dream catcher,
whence after four past midnight
the reaper's image appears
sending adrenaline rush,
surreal augmented moving pictures,
viz flight or fight
courtesy third eye blind
did, when firestarter alarm didst grind
passage of time manifesting dark forces
blaze zing atavistic fear itself lined
up battleground formation
from the borderlands of my mind
this even before turning
the first page where the eyes
of drag'n my afterlife
glowed with radiant shining
where suspense didst wind.
You were the scrawny little boy next door,
we went from enemies,to best friends fast.
As the years went by, you are so much more.
Many said our relationship wouldn’t last.
Thurs is our wedding anniversary,
On that day you made my whole life complete.
Couldn’t wait to decorate the nursery;
The next year, baby bump and swollen feet.
The glue that held us, was we were friends first,
Darling you're my one and only true love.
Your heartfelt wedding vows were unrehearsed;
We’re a perfect fit, just like hand and glove.
I love you more each and every new day,
these strong feelings, won’t ever go away.
Contest: True Love Sonnet
Sponsor:Brenda Chiri
February 10, 2020
I should have done this years ago,
after all this time he would have apologized
I felt sure.
The séance went well,
I had formed a circle of one,
just me and my sleepy cat.
I simply sat there
conjuring up left over images
on a far away dirt road.
His baseball hat squashed flat
at the back of his head,
the hole in his neck where he was
slowly bleeding out,
eyes not looking at anything now.
He took a long time to die.
I was hopeful his spirit would appear,
I felt I was being led to a wall mirror
where, ever so faintly,
and from within the glass itself
a scrawny man appeared.
He was still holding that old rifle,
still pointing it at me,
still trying to kill.
To that vague apparition I shouted:
"murderer!"
His grin was dark and devoid of regret,
his empty eyes held no compassion.
Cold words uttered
from that bullet hole in his throat"
"Apology accepted."
He spat out venomously
blood spraying from his wound.
After a while,
I loaded up a 9mm finger and just stood there
pointing it at the killer
until at last I was able to forgive the trigger
that had killed him.
However, now I often wonder
who shot who,
and for what?
Four little dirty kittens came to the house of the queen
The queen of nothing except prissiness and being clean.
My mother acted like they were dirty little scrawny rats
She held them by their scruffs as if they were China bats.
We followed the queen into the bathroom with a tub.
She proceeded to plunk them in without a bit of grub.
Should we not have fed them first? My brother said.
She gave him a look that made him wish he was dead.
The mewing was loud as she scrubbed them down and hard.
Sorry, I apologized, as they were rubbed with a weird lard.
Now we will feed the little mousers, my mother said, and she frowned.
Not the kind of woman to keep rodents, skeletons or cats around.
We found them homes in an amazingly crazy short time.
She had put them on the internet, and they did truly look fine.
I was sorry to see them go but I was told by cat name of Jelly Bean,
They were tremendously relieved to get away from this queen of clean.
chasing you
I left me
like I do
when I'm chasing a
hungry ghost
scrawny
with a distended belly
that's never full
however much
it devousr
nothing outside
fills what's empty
inside
longer than
the dopamine rush
it neglect itself
to sustain
as empty as
the bars I haunted
before you
these aren't the poems
I want to write
I long to be
alone tonight
with the stars
the moon
and the wind
wafting down
from a snow cap
smoke swirling up
like a cat's tail
flicking smoldering embers
sparking the night
with fire flies
snap crackle pop
I'm free (again)
from the trance
of the hungry ghost
I'm content
with the one
I most
need to know