Long Shorten Poems
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DECONSTRUCTING Major League Baseball
When will MLB fans acknowledge
and question the REAL Cheating
taking place right under their noses.
The Pitch Clock
The Pitch Count
THE CLOSER
The Netting
The Expansion
THE PHANTOM BASE RUNNER
The Biggest Form of Cheating?
THE TINY LITTLE BALLPARKS.
A 14 year old Mark Mcgwire could
clear the fence, LEFT HANDED
Eddie Murray would have 500 Home Runs ,
FROM BOTH SIDES OF THE PLATE.
Mickey Mantle would be a Member
of the 1000 HOME RUN CLUB
LEGENDARY HANK AARON would be a Member
of the 1500 HOME RUN CLUB.
Why not give anyone and everyone
who makes it to The Big Show a 6ft solid gold trophy
for participating in Major League Baseball.
Let's not forget how MLB cheated Atlanta
out of the ALL Star Game.
Or cheated the Fans out of seeing their ALL Stars
by wearing those Diversified Equity Inclusion Uniforms.
However, we just might see another 500 Career game winner.
When they shorten the game to 7 innings.
Requiring only 3 complete innings
to qualify for a win.
We just might see another 5000 strike pitcher ,
when MLB goes to Artificial Inntelligence
and expand the strikeout zone from toe to chin.
INSTEAD , how about we celebrate what was accomplished before the Insanity of Y2K.
Not the 420 ft Monster HOME RUN ,
and totally forget that straight away
Centerfield Tiger Stadium was 440 ft.
Not the 200 Strike Out Season knowing ,
the record is 383.
Not the 15 game win season knowing
The last 30 game win season
was more than 50 years ago
My real REAL question is...
Is MLB complicit in destroying the game of baseball ?
Are the people at the top , involved with Big Government and DEI infected Corporations trying to destroy the memories and Legends who established MonuMENTAL feats.
Emphasis on mental.
Is this what build back better is all about?
Michael E.Harris
1392024
I bridged the chasm and entered ambiguous halls
Climbed over barbed fences inside my mind's walls
To glimpse the core of how men and women relate
Among flowering vines behind the garden gate.
Within a flower is both gamete and stigma
As semen to ovary - what an enigma!
Nestled deep in my breast, I hear a sultry voice,
"Which would I be if I'd been given the choice?"
I am content with my life in a single ilk
I give in to the urge to wear lace and silk
A little more mascara and blush on my face
I desire to be a lady with charm and grace
I wear jeans and boots, shorten the length of my hair
But some days high heels are what I choose to wear
Two halves of one heart, beating in rhythmic sync
Twins in one body but both sharing the same link
One set of footprints I leave on a virgin shore
I know who I am, but sometimes yearn for more
I'm searching for what lies behind the waterfall
The answer discovered when I hear my siren call
One foot in each of two very different worlds
Climbing trees like boys with painted nails of a girl
When asked my favorite color, I always say it's blue
But I'm also partial to pinks in pastel shades and hue.
I search my thoughts to see if gendering is mental
Knowing I'm more the damsel, not frail but gentle
When my psyche roars like a lion, I can repress
the savage beast in me when I wear a pretty dress
In kindred thoughts my anima/animas keep in touch
I respect my masculine inflection, but not too much
I don't saunter like a guy. I'm not one of them
My hips sway like a girl, so cherchez la femme.*
*Cherchez la femme is a French phrase which literally means "look for the woman."
Sweet silence!
late in life
I discover earplugs
my wife’s pastel plugs
that fill the ear canal
by compressing for insertion
and expanding once in place
One mauve one sepia
no lawnmowers, no leafblowers
wood chippers or persistent phoebes
water to the thirsty traveler
morphine to the cancer
better than knee surgery
or a negotiated end to the war
Such silence is so sweet
I might try blindness too
like Homer, Borges, Milton
just kidding, should there be a god listening
the veil of life is thin
if one doesn’t believe in mystery
or accepts the rules entirely
One green one brown
two leaves sleep-touching
then a breeze!
the day I left life behind
hitchhiking as the sun descends
morning air cold and clear
I cannot hear what I cannot see
The freedom of summer gone
one more season (and one more after that)
he lived with one eye after that
in a mind there is apocalypse
no one can hear it
but one day you die
and this is the ideal silence you sought
Silence of winter
one elk in aspen
mountains of dark sound
and a stream’s breath song
cities make a silent distant din
with simple joy men may give up desiring to be heard
how much tinnitus can you handle
Graceful as silence
sailing through the ferns and understory
why make a sound or noise or do anything to the page
the national debate
garrulous, querulous
the sound of shoulders shrugging
speech, none, you can’t sum it up in one more metaphor
Censor crop shorten and silence
no tv!, no self-pity
first light, green tea
no sound but wind
yet the sound still comes out of the flowers
smoke the cigarette, sound the subwoofer
and prepare for a powerful anesthesia
You make me love you to death, in the depths where light refracts,
In the labyrinths of the night, you are the whirlpool that tightens its grasp.
No mercy you have, oh cruel fate, you shorten the bedding of my days,
In my heavy wandering, with your love, you envelop me, you consume.
Like the turbulent sea, the storm cannot find its calm,
In my chest, you swell with waves, of my desire, you're the balm.
You make me love you, you are the dream itself gone astray,
Carrying my soul in a dance, in whirlpools of relentless sway.
Beneath your invisible banner, I, the unarmed soldier, do rush,
In the battle with your hot arrows, each strike is a melodious hush.
Oh, you weaver of dreams, plunderer of the fickle heart,
You show no mercy, you swing me from ecstasy to agony's art.
I painted you among the stars, to live eternally over my late nights,
But stars die of longing, and in the vastness of the void, you place sights.
And when in the sky there’s not a single beacon light, in the wind I hear you guide,
Oh love, that mocks me, a shanty of grief, a place where dreams at the gate have cried.
You, glorious weeps in the night, in echo, you transform and you fade,
While I, the guardian of your temple, with tears sculpt the stars you've made.
You have no mercy on my beating heart, yet you stay silent, keeper and penalty,
You make me love, even when my soul, in shadow, departs and forsakes me.
A blustery love through me, a whirlwind of emotions, a mournful parade,
Through my pale body, a ghost of a butterfly in crazy flight made.
You, unsoothed storm, unforgiven, with your cureless blaze,
You burn me, envelop me, and then, with magical sadness, bid me to fly, and I obey...
*Image of Flying Cranes by Pixabay.
Zoetic Long-Legged Birds
A crane flew down and stood still on its stilts,
their necks straighten in flights,
a heron too would stand in silts,
of lakes or bights.
Heron's neck forms an "S" shape when they fly,
functions like some egrets,
beak's long versus shorten ally,
character sets.
The contrasts between herons and egrets,
are plumage and their hues,
cranes only eat plants--they're dead set,
holds distinct views.
2023 January 16
*3rd Place*
Writing Challenge - Zip, Zig, Zag, Zing
~~Constance La France: Judged 2023 January 17
*RZ & HMS.
To glorify the leading star he obits the big named performer
with blank face in shabby clothing and for his part is so minute
it doesn’t matter whether he exists or not.
Although, he falls under the sword with gushing blood,
killed by a single gun shot without a word, or dies
by a thrusting spear with a short groan, no one cares
to cry for his tragic death, because he has no name, no tomb.
A day of extra’s life is to learn how to wait and to survive
through one day at a time. He roams around the studio patiently
for his given day and, while roaming around the empty studio
he becomes a dim shadow under the darkening sky,
and when the sky getting darker and darker he follows the sets
with a moon, with the stars, to the location where the scenery
that is to shot and glorify the big name, as the truckloads that
move along in a long formed line.
If you spend a day in Hades, it will shorten a day of given life.
For death is proof of the contrary to the living, and waiting game
is the part of extra’s life, though the life seemed to be worthless, and therefore, no cast of a play is given for his sake, the extra, the leftover life, also is the existing being until he falls under the sword, killed from a single bullet, trusted to die by a spear.
God is watching you. He is watching me
Whether you are a believer or godless
He is ringing the dinner bell, come home
Heaven's table is crowded with the dead
Stay away a little longer to make room
Don’t do anything to shorten your life
Don’t be in the wrong place at the wrong time
He doesn't seem to care if you run away
Your grave will be your seat at the table
Watch me head to the liquor store instead
How can a Father not see, I need rescue?
I guess that’s what 5150 is for when lost
A shot of Zyprexa to take away loneliness
Is He tempted to reach out to innocents?
He's all powerful, but sent out his broken Son
Leaving me with a devil who watches over me
Making me wonder if its eyes are mine
Shut off my brain calling me home
Perhaps that’s why I reach for the bottle
A pacifier for grown-ups without a guardian
Accept us however we crawl, do more than look
This day has already gone to hell, intervene
I’ll wake up tomorrow fresh as a wilted daisy
Will He look for me when I'm wasted?
Perhaps He'll applaud silently from His last supper
How well I walk to the gallows, weighted down
Tear off my nametag. His touchless gaze maddens
Everyone comes home when their sentence is up
I look up at the cruel sun, but don’t see Him
I just hear the damn triangle banging faith
I begin to see like He does, the utility in a vapor
Why does He make faith so impossible?
I guess I’ll watch my water fall and rise
Like His favorite Son's blood on the cross
Feeling abandoned by his gaze
Silence ! If you're quiet enough,
You may hear the gossip of the Gods.
Where your reflection well can listen,
Between the myriad of facades.
Now as the message comes to mind,
You'll know when it's right, and not wrong.
Since it confirms your long-held beliefs,
That you may disagree with those strong.
Yet this disparity is not a reason,
For anyone to pick up the nearest gun.
It's more like a dialogue needs to challenge,
The behavior of others, against the son.
This discussion requires knowledge,
Where the truth is worn like a favorite coat.
As ideas are shared and exchanged,
And rational decisions are held to vote.
Hopefully, common ground may be found,
And mutual respect can shorten the divide.
Because these heavenly messages are so rare,
But if ignored, then you confess to pride.
The deliberate hurt is
a wound never healing,
forgiveness may be granted
to that soul expiring;
and as the trembling lips
close, serenity descends.
To have loved such a person
would have been wrong, not smart;
nothing honorable and pleasant
came out of that foul mouth.
Some realize the demonic force
that was behind it to cause animosity
towards the kindest of hearts;
then is anger the curse of the unforgiven,
not to fully and sincerely apologize?
It's wiser to bear offense than to offend,
so that the guilt is not concealed inside,
but open to unfair criticism
rather than visual humanism;
and would one cope with implausibility?
Along our path, we may see roses...
smell their aroma and cherish their loveliness,
but beneath them there are many thorns
ready to poke those who rush judgment;
and they will bleed for not having been cautious,
or at least avoided the useless torment!
I have bled in my utter blindness,
putting everything at risk, sparing no mercy
for a quest to uphold my integrity
by being too complacent, and not showing kindness.
And ignoring that anger is the curse of the unforgiven,
I beat hard on my chest to feel the acute pain...
remembering the hostile voice putting me down;
embarrassing me of such a vulgar mannerism,
making me despise and hate any exhibited egotism!
The longest time has passed to shorten the brevity of compassion,
to make me aware that to have none is a denial of self!
Weep and mourn for shutting all doors on fairness, cruel soul;
sleep not, for remorse is a plague inflicted upon the unmerciful
who see themselves less useful than those discerning death!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
What if the apple was thrown
What if gravity is sideways
All my doctors were who’s
What if we all have our own bubbles of gravity
I mean I don’t
Join the lunch line
correctly auto
My words a flocking
Mobile over a crib
Is it just me that sees that
No down just out
Where does it start
Is gravity too close gravy
Tea for witch two
Bull looks performance
Took my breadth a
Weigh your options
Take your thyme
Orange is the rind
Let’s call them yellows
Apples could be bruises
Bananas long yellow
Lemmings short yellow
We shorten hello to h
By the second l I may kill
Ewe there are you looking at my
Use space like a room for my ings
I mean technically it is a theory
I am not saying there isn’t
but are you s
—————-u
—————-r
—————-e before the next step
Did you know if you rotate a shark 3 times it renders it
unconscious
C’mon Tik Ewe tube
Just heard the cows in the
Field has felt and fell following friend and fiend
It was my turn to be it
April hurt her eye now we are in
I sea you
I myself just me
but inside the air is more than
three