Long Shouldered Poems
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Dedicated to Gregory Barden who is likewise
a fan of “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir”
THE CATCH OF THE DAY
Like an Amazon queen with falcon feathers climbing
looking down the steep decline
at the turn of the century.
This modern woman
will not be oppressed
under the in-law’s attack.
The widow’s cage
opened to the sea
the catch of the day -
Gull’s cottage
would pay dividends
releasing life
for better or worse.
She would soar
above her scuttle-ship —
a broken heart,
the storm forewarned
and shouldered by her scullery maid
Martha.
Time churns over beachcomber rocks
returning memories of Captain Gregg.
A dream...a ghost...Lucia
closes her eyes in death
and stares into Daniel’s eyes —
alive...so alive with love for her.
He let the little bird live, freed her. . .
she flew back to him.
Salt peppers the air.
11/19/2019
What a feeling of sad despair
When friendship disappears in thin air
Sometimes when having a laugh
It's taken as a serious gaffe
But they come in various sizes
Almost always wear disguises
Some quite large some small
Others have none at all
It's obvious why some don't see
How they bruise so easily
They've been hidden oh so well
Simply it's hard to tell
If you feel that you've been slighted
By a friend who is always delighted
One should have confidence
To know it's not an offense
A true friend is always a friend
They're beside you right to the end
If their circle of friends extends
You should be happy for them
But life is full of choices
So if listening to shouldered voices
Friends will be there when needed
Long after the voices have receded
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
Life lover
Death mugger
Hope giver
Low sugar
Water chugger
Love lugger
Tree hugger
Silly bugger
Fun frolicker
Food fantasiser
Friend finder
Hug holder
Soft shouldered
Money shrugger
Deep diver
Divine dealer
Rift healer
Hate hater
Kindness creator
Destiny developer
Imperfect Father figure
Occasional tent rigger
Peace pursuer
Joy juggler
Plate wobbler
Poetry writer
Destiny thriver
Earth empowerer
Environment ambassador
Eden encourager
Evil eradicator
Snake stamper
Veganish validator
Animal appreciator
Wonderful wisdom warrior
Future fantasiser
Present meditator
Past appreciator
Sporty spectator
Not so bad geezer
Summertime sneezer
Bespectacled bungler
Kitchen surface scrubberer
Sad movie blubberer
Healthcare handler
Magic marveller
Movie meddler
Piano plonker
Canine craver
Book reveller
River walker
Christ carrier
Church changer
Cross celebrator
Deafness dabbler
Community keeper
Poverty challenger
Happiness harbinger
Justice instigator
Prayer purveyor
Holiness hailer
Jehovah jotter
Jesus jostler
Bible basher
Beautiful
Believer.
Battered Blaine down in the rain.
And kept still in the winter’s chill.
Sudden appetites and several sour fights.
His moods distorted by the pain.
Seasons came and swirled the same.
Inside his brain, a sickly change.
At the will, of the world ‘s exchange.
Slept in sap and cloaked in shadow.
Amongst the sorry sights that drained him.
Deep in thought he stayed, inside a numbing claim.
Repeating his name, as the rain turned to snow.
Restless and weighted, he fell into cravings.
Worthless and hopeless, empty and shame.
Silently, he shouldered all the blame.
Irritable from inability, he lied alone.
Lied to those he loved, lied of his state.
And lied in the embrace of nature’s disgrace.
Until a tone rang from his phone.
A message to remind him of himself.
Which broke the haze of frozen plight.
And brought him back into the light.
He soon rested near a common man’s fire.
An electric heater, with a lamp above him.
Nestled in a blanket with his phone in hand.
He took his medicine and began to aspire.
To soothe his moods and mend his wrongs.
He would not give into his disorder’s might.
Instead, he would remember his light.
I observe the naked light un-folding' waking a day so bright, near broad seas
Rolling! In power rippling curling,
then dissapating, a breeze
arises carressing senses exciting.. The hills above show head and shouldered looming, i see lichen green on
Wayside bouldered, Burgundy
roses around a cottage porch, such beauty all
Naked there is no garb needed; naught."as is the
Moonlight; when it arrives, shall be un-impeded, I see cowslips yellow, the irisis
Blue, the sky in its splendour, and un-matched hues, of all this the very same
Is true.' In their naked states that God created, does anything decribed need enhancing? I say if any so think? Well they
Need berrating, what am i recieving
of deeper truths? Is God giving me
insight naming world delete's who
clothe war in piety, and sell greed..? As
blest? who are of those, who would
destroy not deliver, and Gods Spirit test"
Killers of all that is so great
and good! The naked gift
of ithe nnocent child' how deep lies your
Depravity? You by now; thrice damned imbiciles.!!!
Autumn
….. is mortally wounded!
It sways, strays
across the silken sky
quivering over rusty hedges
shivering through shouldered trees,
splattering, smattering
everything in blood-red.
On it stumbles,
On it tumbles
shivering over the valleys
spearing through the trees
smearing the water blood-red
while the ground offers no sympathy
just a hardened, frigid face.
On it goes,
On it flows
gasping and grasping
at clouds of bandages,
hobbling towards the horizon,
haemorrhaging life
in crimson splashes.
While winter,
no ceremony
nor propriety,
just the sly smile
of an Arctic fox,
coldly awaits October’s
shredded, dreaded last breath!
Lake Superior
Strong- shouldered waves crested
the rocks below Split Rock Lighthouse
with frothering glee-
happy to be home among the orange-lychen,
basalt-boulders and Gulls-
high above the lake, mountainous columns
of clouds drifted in legions towards Canada,
against a sky so blue, no reasons were needed-
where the sun peaked through, sparkling
diamonds scattered across the lake……existence was enough
existence
was enough
08/16/10
© All Rights Reserved
Celebrity Dreamscapes
Washington
Wall Street
Hollywood
Nashville
Where regurgitation overflows
And Barmecidal bait boxes
Morph their delights by the hour
All the while
Gluttony's promised feast
Ignorant of cyclic famine
Awaits the pernicious fate-agent
Scouting to burrow like a weevil
The new crop of innocence
Trusting destiny to the winds of chance
Confident redolent success smells
French perfume
Garlic enhanced delicacies
Fresh tanned leather of opulent travel
Are theirs to have
How fragrant the illusory air becomes
The temperature of anticipated fortune's shift
Where once a round-shouldered indigent freshman pounded doors
Now seemingly triumphant
Unknowingly erect as a naked rose stem
With yesterday's portent of rich reward
Rapidly sheds its petals
Mulch for tomorrow's next planting
How fleeting the enigmatic feast of notoriety
Time's incumbent qualification
For re-introducing innate principals
Cautioning today's attention
Is but a requisite for tomorrow's elusive truth
Yet
Fearful of fruitless coming years
Too few embrace cognizance over
Fading Klieg lightsParty snubs
Absent red carpet entrances
A maître d's forgetfulness
Yes
The harvesting of one's experience
Might suffer drought and winds
Scattering past efforts
To but memories of dust
Rather than priceless benchmarks
To reveal the authentic self
Yes
Such a disposition may well make "Being" difficult and distant
Where the "take a number and be seated" readout at DMV
May well become a feared test
Where waiting
Becomes a ticking-off-process
Asking if one can hold onto the simpler distant past
Those surprising coming-of-age sensations
The first time rewards of libations' survival
The generous thank you once felt by the first kiss
And yes...
One's elation upon receiving that first driver's license
We think
We review
We ponder "what price" aspiration
Ambition
So often blind to trickery
Frequently stumbles upon start marks
Not meant to be
Distant finishing lines
Not meant to be reached
Still
One can take a number
And eventually hear one's name called
To be who you are...
Or not
M ade reports
C hildren abased
F ear ensued
Thirty years she was erased.' Three decades her truth, was obfuscated
Now comes the light.' I Am elated.'
She'd turned to officials and got berated
For these organs of duty? Are not run right
Those who guide direction often meet
At night.. A sketch of occult groups method and modes, too much corruption
Yet she shouldered that load.' I think of the
Broken.? Those shredded inside..Living
Dailey nightmares, no more tears to cry.'
I think of those who will never be found.?
Buried by un-consecrated beings on some
Un-concecrated ground, or burned alive on
Pyres.' Cut in bits..I hear the dawn chorus
And a stillness hits.' I think of the survivors who are now adults, how they wrestled with demons, and self-doubt all un-taught.'
And though broken and empty..Dragged themselves errect ' i think of Fiona Barnet here ( dear sister respect.!)
For they will not stop this..Now the broken fight on!!! Your
Threats fall empty the worsts been and gone. ' As the bruised and the battered and
Ignored for ( too long ) advance withought
Even courage.' We just want you gone.' No gift will aussuage now...No bribe will takesl us down..Cry freedom and action..Let the cursed take their wages..And let safety for
Children be the crown, the strength of humanity, from the weakest allways grows
Its nurture and kind guidance, that is key
Yet did we all.? Not really know.?
In this landscape, lies a nest
made of brown brittle leaves,
cracked asphalt,
and tire flattened filters
this creature, stands
broad shouldered and stupid
with a flat face and eyes
open so wide they are windows
offering a glimpse into
the bones of a building.
Yet there is a maw so wide and welcoming,
as if by design
we wanted to be trapped
like Jonah, deep inside
the festering stomach
of a dying Leviathan.
The air inside hangs stagnancy
like meat from a butcher’s hook
For years, no atom has moved
an inch, not even the neon
would dare to appeal to its bright nature.
This cursed Frankenstein,
this ghost of a golem
stays stuck in a vacuum of time,
doomed to the disease
we all lovingly call nostalgia.
Down the throat is a linoleum tract,
the pathway echoed out
Conversations, a background hum
Where Marcy would meet Chaz
at Corndog Palace
Little Marcus would suck
Slimer’s fruit based concentrate
Aerosol spray coated the shelves
full of the endless adolescent days
Here we were meant to forever wade
through the swimming crowd
soaking in drum machines and vaporwave
Now just a concrete carcass,
you suburban eyesore
the corpse of Victor Gruen’s
idea that could have been
so much more.