Long Sheeted Poems
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To the Invisible Friend
The dredging decades have floated by like drifting clouds in the beckoning western sky.
Hello dead friend of my distant youthful days under these erotic jacaranda blooms.
It is my firm hope that you are satisfied and settled inside your deep and cozy earthen confines.
We spent months hours and minutes tangled together in a passing parade of exquisite time.
We ate a plethora of flailing foods together inside the old quaint cafes in busy Uptown.
We talked unceasingly under whirring ceiling fans in the yellow eating breakfast rooms.
You and I drove in suspended romantic time down the Harbor lanes at prying midnight.
You pressed your tresses and closed your eyes upon my shoulder into the late kissing night.
What has happened to your young voice and your shy waves to me from the darkened distances?
We have moved away from each other in decades gone by like skiffs in a crescent watery breezeway.
We have left behind a thousand inter crossings and a hundred by crossings with suspended ecstasies.
So sorry that had to happen to you that morning in October when the sky hi jacked your future days.
Look to the west behind these eucalyptus trees that now cast long August shadows at twilight.
Look to the blue-laced north now and rest your tilted head upon my shoulder as it leans westward.
Sorry you’re dead now as you sleep in your grassy bed of jealous roses and wailing wisteria.
Sorry I had to see your white-sheeted body on the evening news lying there amidst the tragic landscape.
But now dear dead ghost whose faraway voice I can still hear even now from talks in the old evenings.
Did we not take long strolls on old cracked sidewalks under a curious canopy of jacaranda blooms?
Did we not seek and grasp great silver moments in the green-drenched darkness of hot skin and tears?
You and I know of those secret dances with the music turned down low in the swallowing darkness.
You and I remember the long floating ride down the deserted boulevard at prowling midnight.
We were irresistibly falling in love with the idea that this sensual drama in the dark would never end.
Goodbye dear dead friend of my distant youthful days under these erotic jacaranda blooms.
It is my firm and final hope that we’ll meet again outside your deep and cozy earthen confines.
Castles surpass fireballs of the sky
Where I forge through thought and pen, I the hermit writer
To fool the giant and steal the golden goose
As I carve and climb into my comfort of ivory tower
Passion masquerading obsessions counterfeit to wisdoms of this mind
Suicidal arrogance blind, tools to craft this lofty throne
And thus to sit, script and ponder
A poet, wig and gavel judging all alone
What need have I for these pathetic emotions to feel, suffer or love
Master of the dominions in this cosmos, creations but a will
Bestow my talents and splash them with quill upon the whites
And thou heapest praises, green confetti falls into the tills
And thou dost laugh out loud labeling insane, while others shed tear to my uni-verse
Unlike thee I travel the worlds, magical lands from this royal stool
Where does thou journey, fom wretched job then back into own
While I meet kings, queens and fight wild beasts, dear sir now who is the fool
‘Tis this justification of my solitary jurisdiction
That I be sole author of my exaggerated worlds and exalted words that I to, begin to
believe that I am above those beneath
More than a human being, a god perhaps, or do I drape myself within regarding titles, afraid
To discover I may be a shrinking violet underneath, a piece of moss or a speckled toadstool nestled
somewhere lost, high above within a tree
I leave thee to ponder this decision, of who I am or who I may be
As for me I shall continue to write and parade these words as well as entertain
The pedestal, 'tis not so bad with meager companionship of my trusting pen, transforming
this lonely spirit through ink onto sheeted realms.
Thus if through recital or reception of the read, thy spirit wanders lost then all of
this, the life of mine has never once, been in vain
Dedicated to all maddening poets
It is the road through the woods again
The car is the fortress
Through the misty mind and glitch
I fog it for you
So we shall meet nothing familiar
But a stranger darkness there
A throbbing landscape desolate
In the foment and frenzy
Of the flustered frigid mind.
Between the edge of fall and winter
The last gold gathhering brown
Along the leafy ledge of misty ground
Uncradled comes a careless drifter
Through the dense evening's silence
Down a road that discovery lures me
The engine sputtering, a distant fence
Miaraged in mist and damp mystery
What wayward road so starkly dense
With the unuse of light, or surface
Splattered with shadows in immense
Splash of trees. The silence waste
In the sudden stillness of the car
Hot and steaming in cold creepiness
Of lonely time. I saw a frightened star
Streaking in the dead hearted wilderness
The shrapnels fell on grumbling tin
A burning ball of stone blotting the sight
And suddenly after night and woe begin
The crunching windstep of trees, blight
Of hope on a road so removed from men
The one not taken, barren as before
Where comes the soul of jaded men
To regret again life, path, and hollow core.
I saw the sheeted villains, the dangling ropes
The white sockets of flaming eyes
Footsteps whispering on the leafy slopes
The pending demise of my soul long despised
And where the black cat ran I followed fast
Through timber wood and lightning blast
Through mist of winter rain and haze it cast
My future forever fled my froth of past
What seems an old cabin are trees in brown night
A misty carpet to a crumbling edge
And wolf teeth herding me for the bite
To the abrupt brink of silence and its ledge
Wake me now I dream too long, I foil
Before the mayhem of endings I can't endure
Waking up is my power by which dreams recoil
I forfeit sleep for the bolted back door
angst, body, cry, hurt, imagery, insect, war,
DODOITSU
(A MOSQUITO'S LAMENT)
THE SACRIFICIAL LAMB ©
This sacrificial lamb starts
An aggressive night ensues
Mosquito’s ‘ding’ clarifies
Dinner is almost served!
TAKE COVER! ©
I’m a prisoner trenched down
Under cover of ‘sheeted' white
Less the incoming wine made
Mosquitoes blood bath!
DON’T SCRATCH! ©
Never scratch mosquito bites
Her taste that got me to itch
Her siren call wined the night long
But her bite remains!
THE ‘VAMP’ COMES WOOING! ©
Her ‘vamp’s’ lick plagues me still
She has sucked me dry of blood
I was her menu this night
***** left me an itch!
I AM HER MARK! ©
The insanity of her wine
A war siren at best call
Warns me she is to strike again
She needs to feed to feed young
And I am her mark!
INVASION ‘BITES’ ©
Summers heat holds cries for ‘arms’
Mosquito’s invasion scores
Her sacrificial lambs are’ feed’
Blood she craves for youngsters
Gives them tastes for more!
OH THAT ITCHES! ©
Her mark is dotted on the spot
Her small wounds itch to be scratched
This ‘calling-card’ of her bites
Her return for blood is made
Her young will need feed!
TAKE COVER! ©
Midnight swarms with bloody fare
Sirens are set to wine and worn
Attacks are brutal and stun
No matter what order taken
Bug spray, slaps, or cover!
A SIREN’S WARNINGS!’ ©
Attacks overhead strikes a bite
Spent siren wines forewarning
That gains a mosquitoes’ win
Its advantage strike!
MOSQUITO ANGST ©
It takes the metal out of fight
When over taken by tiny mites
Commandeering from overhead
With intolerable sirens
Before the attack!
Crimsworth Dene
Light relieved land stamped down and raised mounds and hidden folds, revealed the valley’s follies, farms and sunken rivers.
The bright afternoon eye-level sun painted radiance on the dead leaves’ shimmer, rainbowed the waterfall’s joyful spray, and drew eyemotes floating into dancing stars against the sheeted blue.
Outward away past the framed horizon, the sillhouetted church, the tiny Pike, crepuscular shafts healed the broken air and the shining clouds glowed.
The ancient ruin of a farmhouse still holds the ghosts of lovers that once longed across the valley’s gape, forbidden to cross. They rest somewhere near, whilst their dreams still fall towards the river where today, the clough throws its soul-drops over Lumb Falls. Follow the water, and the stream for an instant, becomes brief despariing citizens of the beck hurling themselves, flying and dying to join the river-republic of the hereafter and tumble on ecstatic to the sea.
The central beam, the backbone of the farm, cracked and snapped one day and still rests piercing the floor, now boggy grass. Where the foxgloves towerin early summer, the moss has taken over the lease and the sheep shelter in what is left of the larder and the parlour. Somewhere under the boulders, the bedroom continues to rot , and where their passion lived, the sun now lures weeds towards itself, rising and falling through the centuries.
The Wind howls and the rain pours onto the Perspex sheeted roof
The rain seems to be chasing me as if trying to find proof
Proof that this day has finally arrived with no escape route in sight
My life, My family, All under the heavy and bright spotlight
The last few days have been tough and sometimes grim
Sometimes it feels like I am drowning and unable to swim
Your breath ripped away by the tide which is fueled by gods wrath
How can life be so cruel, is our god we speak about a sociopath!
Its then I remembered why we are all standing there in the wet!
The memories are strong, good and I will never forget
The world suddenly seems brighter, no escape route needed
The seas are calm and gods wrath soon becomes unheeded
The final march of your blessed life is today
I have all been lucky to have been involved in your hysterical horseplay
Stories of you playing football as a child to the one with the tractor tyre,
You and your friends up the mountain pretending to be guns for hire
Yes, the rain will fall today and on future days and the seas will rise
But these found memories of my bampi will help me survive
My last gift to you bamp, is to make sure you get to the church on time
And for us all to support your wife, my nan, as she begins the steep climb
Brian Strand - 'STANDARD NO 120,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 lines' Poetry Contest
Freddy, now back from Mexico,
Loaded down with Mexican Fly,
And wearing his Mexican Fly Sombrero
And missing Nicole Fly so bad,
All he could do is Fly Cry,
Now Freddy's Fly friend,
Frankie the Fly his name
Invited Freddy Fly over
For His Fabulous Frankie Friday Friendship's
Fantastic, Flavoriful Friday Fish Fry
So Freddy pulled himself together,
As best as Freddy Fly could do,
Buzzed on down to Frankie's,
Intent on having fly-fun too...
To his great fly-surprise,
What did meet his 1000 part fly eyes
Was none other than Nicole Fly,
Once the apple of his fly-eye
Freddy bit down on his lip,
And almost did a weak knee fly-trip,
But Freddy sucked it in,
Actin' brave for his fly-kin
But Nicole Fly was so beautiful,
In her fancy fly-gown'
And 3 pairs of fly shoes,
For walking on the ground...
Freddy played it cool,
Had a Hot-Fly dog and more,
A Fly-burger,
Topped with trash-can a' la mode
But Freddy Fly ingested,
too many Russian Fly-Ties,
And in 1000 different directions,
Did he see with his fly-eyes
He was so two fly-sheeted to the wind,
He fell in the pool,
Filled with homemade fly-gin
From there the story gets away from us,
As did Freddy's Fly sheeted fly-mind
I suppose he hung out somewhat longer,
With his Fly-Friends to fish fry
All I know for fly-sure friends,
Is that he did not fear to fly-die.
The sun rose slowly over the horizon and fell,
We are the giant of Africa,
Relying on the neighboring and international dwarfs for economic and socio-political development,
A situation for the angels to weep over.
Corruption, marginalization, favoritism, nepotism and insecurity hung like wet blankets,
Families are crying, children are dying,
The government remained silent as the sheeted dead,
A total impression sickeningly pathetic.
All that's beautiful drifted away like the waters running downhill,
No one is talking about poverty eradication and youth empowerment,
The valorous activists that once voiced out where assassinated,
The gutty and lettered are currently on the run.
Anxiety and uncertainty hung like a dark impenetrable cloud,
The only people feeding fine are those who can lie and steal,
Religious groups, correctional agencies and the leaders have lost their worth.
We are doomed.
All our thoughts, hope and future are running into tears like sunshine into rain.
Our lovely mothers are now competing with whores on the streets,
Just to make money to support our visionary, jobless and hopeless fathers,
The youths have resorted to crimes for survival,
Our citizenship has turned to a curse in broad daylight.
Choked by a rising paroxysm of rage,
We advocate for a revolution.
Found It Hard To Believe
Backs of others Trump liked to stroke
Sold us down river when we went broke
Went down an avenue to play in a park
Supporters were eaten by a loan shark.
With himself hard time trying to grapple
Said people in Phiadelphia who ate scrapple
Were found drowned in a swimming pool
Which was all full of mush loose stool.
Local loser supporters gathered around
To hear New York accent an awful sound
King Kong was seen on Trump Tower
Wanted his picture taken by Matt Lauer.
(Also, we heard that Trump went bonkers;
Tower must be transferred to Younkers.)
Trump liked his food served localized
Fell on floor and server was severely criticized;
Trump as usual really had been bluffing;
Us with turkey crap he started stuffing.
We finally arrived at rear end of story
His blood and guts were in their glory
From superfluous sinful stories he told;
Were so many blamed them on Manifold.
How do you fold up a manifold sin
without being short sheeted? Good
question.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Proverbial Retired Veteran and Poet
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
It's the midnight dance, last call before the lights go out and the harvest moon glows brightly in the darkness. The room is full with partners sweeping close, hand in hand, floating liltly across the floor, snug and tightly wrapped in each others arms, lips upon their necks. Eyes drift up slow gorged yet wanting then frantic, eyeing every masked face searching for another partner.
Witches grin,
envied green flowing into the arms of passion burned red devils.
Pumpkins glow,
with eerie lanterns waltzing with the Headless Horseman's horse.
Pale ghostly sheeted ethereal spectres,
gently clasp skeletal fingers with dainty delicacy.
Superman tingles the webbing of Spiderman,
with Wonder Woman caught between them.
Batman scowls
at Robin's teenage angst closeted tights.
Scary menacing clowns
throw punches at pocked faced zombies.
A frail wall flower pretty in soft and elegant pink
into the arms of the muscular strong Huntsman.
A piano player plucks the keys in black and white
as the debutante swoons, falling graceful into his arms
and the dance comes to an end.