Long Severed Poems
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Why do we have such trouble
trying to explain
the height of ecstasy
and the depth of pain
when to you I am connected
the blossoming of joy
where upon it being severed
hollow emptiness deploy
I hear your cries in the vagaries of night
but your distance prevents the healing of your plight
your pain has saturated every cell in my soul
but only can the embrace of Love make you whole
My heart aches to hold you to my breast
to see you lifted like a kings treasure chest
wish you could see in mine eyes your own reflection
and take away that you aren't precious misconception
I have never spent my time tearing you apart
but sought those qualities shining in your heart
who keeps telling you with a derogatory voice
that you're valued less than any other choice
I have loved you from the day we first met
my promise until the end I'll you not forget
I exerted to support you every drop of energy
though would have rather had you very close to me
There is no treasure over you I cherish
count them as nothing that my Love should perish
an espoused sentiment will not a tummy feed
I had to work to roof and clothe your need
The only family at the time that cared for you
two grandparents who tried to help me through
they saw to it every school year you had clothes
and when I lost them how my sanity then froze
I'm required to forgive those who threw us away
and the father who never supported you in anyway
also the men who hide those who violate
until our God by Christ does away with hate
Sometimes in Life there is no indication
the path required will receive its vindication
I already know every place that I have failed
and my own inadequacy which upon I've railed
Someday perhaps You will understand
Gods requirement to care your needs demand
if I hadn't been alone might've been easier to stand
and in myself what I've lacked not to reprimand
1 Timothy 5:8
But if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith
and is worse than an infidel
COPYRIGHT © 2011 C Michael Miller
The bats in the steeple were feeding on people
By sucking the blood splattered wood
That came from the coffin a vampire dropped off in
When he’d drunk all the blood that he could
Here in my basement, my permanent placement
I lurk since the day that I died
At rest in my casket, my skull in a basket
My hideous grin gaping wide
Rats and mice squeaking a rusty hinge creaking
A slither of light from outside
My long severed head was rotted and dead
But gasped as the door opened wide
I lifted my lid as some hooded kid
Crept sneakily into my crypt
He soon spun about and he might have run out
If only he hadn’t have slipped
As he hit the deck he shattered his neck
I thought he was bound to be dead
But then as he stood, he lowered his hood
And then he un-swivelled his head
He gave me a wink as a hideous stink
Came gushing with smoke from his ears
He then started hissing through teeth that were missing
He looked like he’d been dead for years
I climbed from my tomb and stood in the room
Where demons would hide out all day
Until in the night they’d screech their delight
And frighten the vicar away
But this little fellow with skin that was yellow
And nails that were long curly claws
Let out a howl, an unholy wail
Then went back and bolted the doors
Like rattles at Wembley, my bones were all trembly
My teeth were all chattering too
My wee wee was dribbling and let’s not be quibbling
I thought I was going to poo
It’s usually nice that we can’t die twice
So people down here dwell forever
I then realised that everyone dies
And now I’m not feeling too clever
For my turn came first, to enter the hearse
My beautiful love left alone
In these years apart she’s been in my heart
But hell’s darkest hole has no phone
So how could it be this thing before me
Could desecrate my sacred rest
I needed it banished, It had to be vanished
Along with the worms in its chest
I watched every worm wriggle and squirm
I jumped at the twelfth hour chime
In life we take knocks through the ticks and the tocks
But we can’t fight the passing of time
So...
In spite of the stink, I started to think
Which gave me the fright of my life
I had to make room in a new double tomb
For that hideous thing was my wife!
Entered October 2021 in Your Personal Favorite No 2
Sponsor L Milton Hankins
Begin at the beginning is a good place to start
It makes this poem less tart
sliding from oozed cocoon box
the lions have dens, the holes for fox
screaming is the first noise issued
followed by the orchestra, snap of tissued
help, first comfort, live source
growing, crawling, helped by guiding force
noise, turns to speech of understanding
running with friends, heart finding new palpating
severed from Mother, put into class
many hours of sunshine day passed by glass
innocence and imagination creeping
in Mind, sponge of perpetual learning
Ten, innocence flirting with early romance
ending child-like state, maturity dominance
father gone, replaced by foreign rule
never seen someone so cruel
Middle and High, progress to Schools
thrown into pens with some fools
many friends, smorgasbord variety
some try maintaining sense of piety
learn more about self but not all from schooling
secret meetings of passion, extreme heat, then cooling
growing both physically/mentally
stress where to go, what possibly
JC, CSU, UC?
sometimes they don't let you see
more to life then this madness
never seem to reveal or confess
Robe, with tassel hat and gown
some stand up and some go down
scattered pearls among swine
some go far, some stay close, all fine
some going here and there
some make it with bruises, some skin fair
becoming adults, transitional line
hardships or smooth sailing we will fine
working and schooling
but who are we fooling
it can be hard, stressful for sure
sickness, flu season, try to find a cure
death, taken without warning
all of these memories consuming
had to get this out to you all
before my brain-kept fall
seeing life and all its glory
all its pitfalls, sometimes gory
side, summarizing here
shell-shocked there and there
flowers all in a row
my mind will grow and grow
internal struggle through Academia and depression
the world, external, reflecting recession
we will pull through, hope
Don't let them simply say, "Nope"
life, roller-coaster up 'n' down
spin, spin, Dervish gown
everything turns this way and that
skinny, bloated and fat
but Joseph crawled from the well
after being pushed and fell
light returns after cycle, night
sometimes we must throw-done, fight
don't give up, keep going
keep doing what your doing
So when the webbed-tide snares the lunars nether recesses in its glow casting shadows that arise among the craggs wedged beside some cliffs of common confirmed debris of the unnamed fallen heaps of mucked mired forgottned decay of worthless grime not meriting the struggles of a just reclaim promptly caused to fester including the residue of the reprehensibles whose lacking morals that from some particular decedent, intrusive spirit of Ne'ermere that steer souls to the steppes of the moors, where thou commands those hounds that wish to sever your sensitive skins and drain your spirit waters down that moat where your convictions will spark a lifetime of despair, honors the ambling of the blood moon of its wayward course of trailed afflictions that you wished and begged for death's swift visit for the determined inklings inscribed on petals of the columbine and their guarded secrets, steeped in the devil's brew of stirred concoctions meant for the hags of Ne'ermere and the warlocks of destruction and mayhem who pounces playfully on their prey of the misguided who are filled with disillusioned words that are as hollow as you, e'er stretching the imaginative liquified existence exposing a mirage of iniquities galvanizing its hold of treasured happenstance of certainties lost, fulfills a page of the intrepid who is but a shimmer presenting hope a hand of salvation gathered up in a smotherance and they'll all flicker away, anointing souls spared the vacuum of insignificance for doomsday is here bridging the channeled souls in their mortal state of decay of their tenous grasp of withered mass of fiberous veins where remnants of vigourous life succumbs to their true demise of the incredibly hideous and the indescribable now in the passage way between dying and death of their heinous acts of torturous screams bellowing throughout the chamberous pits of the unwanted dead where the lame, mute, and deaf search the living dead for their body parts, of severed limbs, eyes that hang out of the eyesockets, the unjointed tendons that flay about ever so freely, stenched air that festers while not only choking of whatever remians, seemingly an act of deceny, bestowing on the residue of assemblage from the former occupant, might be afforded an instantaneous journey into the sunrise of the...everlacking.
2019 September 18
"you are more than I deserve. It's a love I never dreamed I'd find. Happinesd like this is worth dying for..."
- Yasunari Kawabata-
Looking down, while flying midway between sky and earth,
I saw a dog on the grey tongue of an abandoned road,
Licking its genitals under summer-noon's hot slogan.
And I understood how badly I had drifted from your hills.
The hearth, that eatthen hearth, we often mended with butter-clay scooped out of a shallow river called "wahumkhra",
every time it cracked, pitilessly, after meals we managed to cook, sparingly though, will always remain as the only string that holds the chandelier of my fragile existence.
O that sweet hunger, how I yearn for it now.
The pallet of pine-needles stiched with old sacks,
on which we gathered dreams with smell of pine forests,
was no lesser than the priest's preachings on sunday mornings about His heaven's promised infinite sleep.
The narrow streets on which I doddered looking for work,
with constantly slipping away toes from outworn sandals,
while you waited for me with the blossoming seed in your belly, a future, full of honeyed beehives, over which I staggered drunk with restlessness of a beggar, for which I repent till this day.
I never knew, honestly, that I will become an irrelevant thread in the embroidery of jasmines on the hem of mekhala chaddar worn by a naiad, for the first time, shyly, when she attained puberty, and on the day of her subsequent gandharva marriage to an alchemist.
For the time being, I exist as a windless flag with no colors, neither white nor of any color known to mankind.
My soul and heart stay bled, like the butchered wings of Jatayu, but sweetheart, you will hear me flutter, sometimes, in the chuckling of a wounded squirrel and wailing of a cicada in the pine-hills where winds tease clouds, where you dwell reminiscing shadows of our silhouetting nonsenses.
Notes :
1. Mekhala chaddar, a traditional of Assamese women.
2. Gandharva marriage is one of the eight classical types of hindu marriage. This ancient marriage tradition from the Indian subcontinent was based on mutual attraction between to people, with no rituals, witnesses or family participation.
3. Jatayu was a vulture, in the hindu epic ramayana, whose wings were severed by ravana's sword, while attempting to rescue sita when the latter kidnapped her.
Form:
Your vision is clear
No longer deafened
But able to hear
Child to man, you stand
Your time is now
Lashing motion of your judgmental hand
Tongue and teeth gnashing a solid command:
'As a man forged flesh and bone
Of my native mother's land
Risen from soil and stone
Formed by my father's hand
Sworn by purity, prosperity and protection
Oppositional lines were crossed
We will not fall to, but fight this infection
As we sight this spreading viral sign
We become an antibody when barrel and skull align
Unabided are the restraints of government laws
Severed for our birth-given right
As men of white
To follow a greater cause
You say I am but one
Yet I am the face of the revolution
I am the hand of your salvation
The hope of this beloved nation
And I am a bullet inside a chamber of many
Justified death and destruction beside me as any
This bloodline of the swine
Inhale it's deportation
Standing pure and solid, we shine
Exhale it's existence
Rid this worldly contamination
They have no quality to bear such arrogance
Take this hand of salvation
Join our march to everlasting victory
Walk with us these winding roads of Hell
Fly this flag of truth and know our story
So truth is exactly what you'll return to tell
So that you will see what I have seen
And come to understand what we truly mean
When along with our hoisted flag
Bleeds the head of the Z.O.G. Machine.
So the Death's Head marches
Just like the sea before the storm
The darkened depths of destructive minds churn
A single motion of haunting form
To ensure that this scum will learn
A bullet among many, indeed
Columns of each an idea
Bearing seed
A mirror image of one another
Vengeance consumed for the rape of their mother
The cities burn as the S.S. discern the corpses
From the walking dead
Still forward marches the Death's Head
The tide rises in a hailing salute of hands outstretched
High toward the crimson sky
Carving a path toward gates Heaven bound
The streets, a tranquil lullaby of no sweeter sound
Eyes cast upward
Swastika pupils dance along a hellfire grin
Certainty that this can be no sin
A chant for succession in the hour of white power
Proud, bloodstained and pale
They chant, "Sieg heil!"
With grace and glory, our men of alike blood
Hold high both head and hand
Against this threat we'll never fail to stand
They can't hide from the drowning tide
We are the Black Band.
He was my sun, my one and only son,
attired as a cowboy for the day.
And so I handed him a little gun
of fastened random sticks, for him to shoot and play.
Attired as a cowboy for the day
he searched for foes (with bows and arrows made
of fastened random sticks for them) to shoot, and play
the part of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade.
He searched for foes (with bows and arrows made)
well written in his story books before he left for school.
The parts of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
Well writ in history books before he left from school,
the tales (retold of victories that we’d won)
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
The flow of paint was not to staunch when once begun.
From tales retold of victories that we’d won,
he learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the flow of pain, ’twas not to staunch when once begun
and bane to both sides (as he’d later come to know).
He learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the wounds of war were kept unseen (while nigh)
and bane to both sides (as we’d later come to know);
but still he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye.
The wounds of war were kept unseen. While nigh,
the hours boomed, the clock struck 12 at last, his time to leave.
But, still, he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye
to those who’d stay and even those who wouldn’t grieve.
The hours boomed, the clock struck 12 - alas, his time to leave.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died
to those who’d stayed. And even those who wouldn’t grieve
with tears were stiff and masked like wooden boxes meant to hide.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died;
his boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud.
With tears, the stiff were masked in wooden boxes meant to hide
our children from the spilling of their blood.
His boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud;
they said they’d needed him to help defend
our children from the spilling of their blood.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
They said they’d needed him to help defend,
and so they handed him a little gun.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
He was my sun, my one and only son.
Life can be a different nightmare
when philo-sophias self-righteously
uprightly leave us behind
so long in search of success
measured in wealth of commodified acquisitions
rather than health of natural/spiritual capitalization
of virtuously co-managed left/right
co-balancing cooperative structures
for co-investing future resilience,
Like a thirsty hummingbird
living in a too-red environment,
Like dissonant notes
hiding in a too-rich symphony,
Community, communion investing in health
not as ordered by MotherEarth
as demonic TaskMaster of perpetual raw-spot punishment
in perpetually vicious win/lose competitions
against past and future disgraced generations,
rather than wealthy sacred interdependent venerations.
Philosophers and politicians
preachers and prophets
parents and their prey
might instead invest in Earth rights and lefts
as our dance and play Mother
embracing more cooperative win/win choreography,
ecological theologies of color
and scale,
More of a sweet spot multigenerational tango
searching out climatic self-governing unity
rather than a righteous raw spot monocultural war
of nightmartish lose/lose uniformity
unto climate collapsing apocalypse,
Mortality of life
giving way to ecocentric wise dancing regenerations
of local through global multicultural Earth,
enjoying nature more cooperatively-managed,
never competitively-owned in spiritualized theories
of universal Yang Domination
with too complexly uniform marching into fragmented war orders
over-ruling uniting invitations
into win/win multigenerational YinDance,
Now wiser about distinguishing
between individualistic capitalism,
supporting business as usual
monoculturally colonizing patriarchy
And Earth's cooperative capitalization,
actively inviting natural/spiritual
sweet spot win/win dialogue
more than raw spot,
Who is the biggest Loser of vanishing success?
academic debates
Confusing wealth requirements
with healthy response to
What is winning?
Since before liberating philosophers
severed natural nutritional eco-healthy balance
from spiritually robust wealthy ego-investment.
Life in and on Earth's resonant ecosystems
can be a different nightmare
when philo-sophias self-righteously
upright leave us behind
so long in search
of health's wealthiest eco-political success.
crushed at rock bottom he gathered the fragments of descent
slow motion agony that started at a plateau of deluded deceit
free falling sadness spiraling out of control beyond fast repair
the black dog on his shoulder had survived the fall and barked
another round of sadness an insurmountable sorrow cheered on
‘you are useless and even void and oblivion are having a laugh’
a tunnel with no light and the canary asphyxiated in the mine shaft
another panic attack unable to ease the landing of a scarred mind
scared and confused he gathered the pieces and stabbing shards
with broken bones and un-abating accusations he collected his guilt
fears and shame about yet another defeat at the foundation of evil
demons and miserable clairvoyants spoke in bifurcated obsessions
possessed by the mother of all depressions he reached for a glimmer
of hope he searched for a message from science deities and reason
yet unable to guide his emotions all efforts crashed without rescue
the rope had twisted once more and he dangled helpless face down
just enough slack to disfigure his angry face that featured disgust
and yet as the blood flooded his brain he surrendered his objections
one final attempt and he severed the noose with the open fracture of
the razor sharp dislocation sticking out just below the palm of his hand
with a further snap of his wrist and life line he surrendered lost dreams
if life gave you hemlock but the vessel had cracked on the impact
of the smash and grab of lifeless cycle of disassociated insanity he
resolved to drink his own blood and call upon autoimmune response
after all the medication had been useless and hours on Freud’s couch
had only imprinted more festering pressure sores on purulent skin
cognitive explorations had only dragged him further down self-denial
religion mantras and science had failed to invoke sanity and healing
levitation would not emerge when he fell from the edge of madness
the cross lay in pieces and nails had lacerated his heart and resolve
just when he felt the pulse getting weaker and with delirious gaze
he succumbed to a last ditch attempt to reassemble a piece of his soul
wrote an ultimate will on the wall and vowed to hand over let go and live
15th June 2020
In the dark days of fighting hence
The Heartstone endured its' greatest peril
The power of magic on the battlements
Vanquished the wraiths
Knights fought and won
The arm, severed
clutching the sword
Fell into the Wraiths' black mist
It never hit the ground
A mailed fist,
that could not be found
A Knight can die...
Defending all that is right
All that is true
The sword lives forever
The years rolled by
A sword can live forever
Glittering bright
Never, never
Lose sight...
That a Knight can die
The soul lives on
Forever etched on the steel
Waiting to be found
Heartstone looked far...
During sunbright
Under star
The sword would not reveal
Its' light,
of the soul of a long dead Knight
The soul of a long dead Knight
A sword lost in time
The missing light
The sword, fell
From the battlements
In to the Wraiths' stinking hell
Piercing the horrors within
The sword embedded to the hilt,
in a horror of rags and bone
Blood spilt.
It slunk off, in the night, alone
Taking a sword
Taking the light
From the castle
From the knight
Where it lay,
was never known
The filth of rag and bone
Covered up, never to see the day
A sword that belonged to a Knight
Amongst the boulders and scree
In a glade of ferns
A sword to reveal
The light,
of a long lost Knight
It could be found by you
It could be found by me
A full moon rose
Shooting star , fell to the ground
In a starlit sky
A sword waiting to be found
The Princess of Stars,
followed the shooting star
Where it lay
In the shadow of a wood,
amongst boulder and scree
The Princess of Stars,
followed the shooting star
Where it lay
In the shadow of a wood
Amongst boulder and scree,
in the shadow of the night
A glint of steel
Amongst the scree
A sword to reveal
The Star Princess blew away the filth and rags
The sword, glittered and shone
The soul of a long dead Knight
Revealed in the light
The Princess touched the sword hilt
The name of the Knight glowed
For the sword showed
Her fathers' name
A lost Knight
Found by a shooting stars guiding light
A Knight cannot die
The sword lives on
The lost Knights ' light shone
In the hearts of you and I
A sword found
As sword to place in the great hall
A Knights' lost soul
A Knight to remember to us all