Long Shriveling Poems
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Where once verdant rolling highlands...
Spanned into infinite vista
far as these myopic eyes can see
now yellowing Whitmanesque
leaves of grass encompass field of vision.
Nary a dark dreadnaught cloud in sight,
nor unbeknownst if/when threatening storm
looms on horizon slaking parched land
delivering precipitation quenching thirsty terra firma.
I too experience vicarious dehydration
during bonafide dry spell
constituting theoretical string
hoop fully curtails weather beaten
flora and fauna
conceding blindingly bright
cloudless summer days
across disc (sky)
to amply liquidate shriveling assets.
Unbeknownst when spate of rainlessness,
(i.e. I pray for moderate soaking precipitation)
thwarting immediate indications
meteorologically signalling onset
regarding definition of drought.
Nothing more humbling
than cacophonous thunderstorm
nsync with jagged bolts of lightning
accompanying drenching downpour
analogous to downed wall of water
cascading from upper atmosphere
intermittently pelting landscape
albeit immediately, magically, quixotically...
transforming parched land (Highland Manor)
into profuse lusciousness
harkening Edenic denouement.
Impossible mission (this simple bumpkin)
(one local Schwenksville yokel)
(Civil War union soldier incarnate)
to forecast today/tonight
eventide of June twenty fifth
two thousand and twenty,
when Zeus will doctor
animals and plants courtesy
of requisite life source
also known as H2O,
comprising above mentioned
two hydrogen atoms
and one oxygen atom.
Ironic, how approximately
three quarters (seventy five sense)
engulfs planet Earth,
yet many environments
suffer inadequate deluges,
more so now with climate change
(global warming) increasing temperature
across oblate spheroid
compromising habitable places,
yet methinks coronavirus (COVID-19)
gave mother nature
much needed reprieve
cleansing heavily polluted urban areas
courtesy partial lockdown and restraint,
whereby *****sapiens
deterred, jackknifed, prohibited...
spewing noxious forth fossil fuel byproducts
encouraging, mustering,
plying, telecommuting, zooming
avast array of activities
augmented by virtual reality
technology supplanting mass transit,
thus diminishing deadly toxins
absorbed by all creatures
great and small.
She rose from the table moving slowly to the sink. This was not her favorite time, too much time to think. Her body moved from memory now, the right bit of dish detergent, she must refill that bottle soon, moving the faucets to memorized positions, water streamed out on cue, precisely the right temperature, “hot to clean - not to scald”.
She and water worked well together, having partnered in so many chores; laundry, toilets, sinks and floors. One plate now, one knife, one fork. Sometimes she would cut things like meat loaf or fish with the edge of the fork, skipping the knife, one less utensil to wash. Less time at the sink, less time to think. Against the outside darkness she could see her reflection in the kitchen window. How old she had become. Reminders were everywhere of how her life was dwindling, shrinking, shriveling. She felt too small for her skin, which hung loosely on her like a half-filled bag of potatoes, pouches and folds everywhere. She would need to put this dishcloth in the laundry after finishing. She always rinsed them in cold water to inhibit the bacteria growth but they would start to smell after only a few days. She had become accustomed to foul smells. The smell of dying cells and incontinence pads and bad breath, side effect of certain medicines. She hated eating alone, living alone, being alone, but sometimes she hated it even more when memories of better days settled in upon her. it was like a visit, full of joy and expectation, exciting conversations, catching up, and sharing fond memories. But it was always followed by goodbyes, the pain of separation, and a return to loneliness. She put her plate in the cupboard and was reminded of how she had put other things in her life away; her younger sister from an accident, her only son from someone’s war, her husband three years back from cigarettes she had threatened to divorce him over. She put her silverware in the drawer and closed it tightly, closing her mind tightly at the same time. It wouldn’t do to dwell on any of this, what’s done is done. The dishes were done
Nicotine death
devil in smoke
shining in front your eyes with Harry potters
invisible cloak taking
Breath by breath with
every smoke
you'll choke
its no joke
stop the smoke stop the smoke
black
tar
dimming
a
inner
star
shriveling
lungs
far to
young bad tasting
tongue
struggling to
absorb air
so you seek to sit down some where ,frantically stretching
to reach a near chair, with a mysterious fear, with the
other hand wiping a single tear, and you can hear a
loud chime and ringing ,as your swaying swinging and
you whisper your last poem, that you never got to show EM!
HE SAYS ......I shall never smoke again..... THE END
He in the arms of Gentle she.
he watches his body from above
it was to late
Becoming smoke was his final fate....
ITS SAD TO SAY IT!
Grime in lungs
Grime took his time away
with his wife and kids he couldn't stay
I don't know but
i am no hypocrite
but I decided to quit!
Before my mid-life realization
My life was like
Sitting naked
In an empty bathtub
With my knees
To my chin
My arms wrapped tightly
Around my thighs
A blank expression
Upon my face
My skin
Dry and shriveling
From lack
Of an adequate supply
Of that life sustaining
Elementary particle
Every so often
A single drop
Of water
Would hang
From that inactive faucet
As it would hang,
For what seemed
Like an eternity,
I would see
My sad reflection
Within it
As each drop is akin
To a glimpse
Of actual livingness
There I would sit
In extreme anticipation
Waiting for that drop
To pierce my parched skin
When the longing would end
With the falling
Of that drop
I would come to life
To enjoy and be happy
But only for a brief moment
Then the moment
Would be gone
As the drop
Would dry up
Just like the other drops
Before it
They never lasted long
Those moments of livingness
And then one day, it happened
The realization
That I wasn’t living
The one life
That I had been given
I decided
That I needed to live
And gave that faucet
A gentle turn
Now
That once dormant faucet
Has a never-ending torrent
Gushing from it
And I am not afraid
That the water
Will consume me
And that I will drown
In quiet desperation
For I know
That I can float
In the buoyancy
Of the knowingness
And understanding
Of Who I Am
Contrarily
The water soothes away
The arid feel
That I have become
Accustomed to
It has exposed a more
Sensitive, soft
Sensual, sheathing
That I am now
Just being able
To feel
Comfortable in
Once the tub fills
I will be completely immersed
By the whole
Of the adhesion
Of the individual drops
Of Life
Each one affecting
Or being affected
By the one next to it
And my soul
Will be replenished
By the living
And the experience
Of them all
We did not then believe our lives were written in the sun
And mapped no circle of the stars
Or even the moments brightness when the meteors run
We only saw the land filled with scars:
Time and vanished youth like the fairy that took our tooth
Whimpering we come, but out going is so resolute
Little footpaths instead of decent roads,
Tracks that led to outcrop barren rocks
Children stumbling with bucket loads
Of water, barefooted, vulture in flocks
Time and vanished youth like the fairy that took our tooth
Whimpering we come, but out going is so resolute
Always circling eyes' blue waste of sky
And little shrubs that sauntered to die
In the frenzied dust disturbed by wind
And upon your face that knowing grin
Time and vanished youth like the fairy that took our tooth
Whimpering we come, but out going is so resolute
We saw but did not understand. You saw destiny clear
As Joseph's dream, without sermons
Of Providence that he had, and rose up from the drear
And barren place, carrying visions
Time and vanished youth like the fairy that took our tooth
Whimpering we come, but out going is so resolute
Of self and inner strength to escape
The squalid pallor that gnawed our youth
Surrounded by the swamps of that landscape
This is the resilience in you that I salute
Time and vanished youth like the fairy that took our tooth
Whimpering we come, but out going is so resolute
Yet sometimes I wished you'd return
To talk about it, to tell us how it's done
For many there still in stupor yearn
To escape the shriveling of the sun.
Standing in the wings, on the periphery
of her cultivated world, inhibited only by
station and space, my head slowly spins
into her orbit, my eye lids twitter nervously,
my titillated ears vibrate, my hands tremble,
inner being disassembles, kneeling in deep
contrition, my flattering pose, covered by
plebeian skin, without merit or standing,
not in her purview, goes unnoticed.
Straining to capture a meaningful memento
of her regal essence, if but a quick glance,
token gesture, two or three words spoken
in jest, but, alas, no comely features with
which to attract even a passing stare.
Shriveling in her presence, my net value
laid bare. On my crown, a matted toupee,
a disheveled mound of bristled fibers.
No sterling jewelry to sparkle in her
turquoise eyes. On my wrist, a cheap
sports watch with a plastic band. My
colloquial speech contains no majestic
refrain, her delicate drums to tap, and
no rhythmic cadence, her cochlear bands
to serenade. En-wrapping my taut
form, the trappings of a commoner.
No velvet suit or silk cuffs, her refined
fingers to address; no cashmere
slacks, only a stiff pair of unpleated
Dockers to brush up against her
glimmering, polished legs. But, at
my lowly base, a pair of Dolce &
Gabanna wingtips, exuding a waxy
shine, casting an enthralling glare,
a magical spell with which to cloud
her discerning eyes, and to dissuade
her genteel mind. With one lengthy
stride, I introduce my intentions. Her
condescending eyes now peel away
my pretentious threads, and, with an
outstretched hand, beckons me to
her side, presses me against her
throbbing bosom. The lurid dance
begins, ending only after the darkness
filters the floss of my wingtips from
her dilated eyes.
Let It Be HP
On another poetry site
the winding road
took me for a ride
from the top of the mountain
to the bottom,
at least in my eyes.
Along the way my confidence
inflated.
It grew,
especially with increasing
reader views.
This was good,
seeing myself growing into a tall oak.
This was the spark I needed.
And recently it deflated.
This popped my balloon.
This little piece of rubber
shriveling up in my mind.
"Poof."
It hurts.
It hurts
to pass this story along
of always being an acorn.
What I see over there
is that the new car
smell wore off
quickly, my value
depreciating even
quicker.
At first, my ride
was on uncharted territory,
this the terrain I coveted.
I yearned for attention.
Reader views were like
sky towers to me,
initially, some dozen
poems put out 500 watts
with one at a 1000+ watts.
The whites of my teeth
were shining, the shining spotlight
on my stage for once.
My eyes looking up.
My mind even musing about
parting with the pup-tent views,
here.
It was short lived success...
to say the least...
dozens of poems left in effigy,
sub 100's, the last one flickering
on and off at 15 prayers.
It was a crying shame.
Yet
it was electrifying at first at HP,
my charges stimulated,
then seemingly overnight
my poems were sequestered.
His new car smell waned.
Where did the lights go?
I do ponder
maybe it was me that sank,
probably so,
and not the readership
... as my mind picks
up the pieces, saying
to
Let it be.
Let it be.
connie pachecho
8/9/17
Inspired to write this poem after reading entries
to the "Let It Be" poetry contest.
Shades of leaves wavering from mauve to ember
colour my lavender spirits in days of November.
When lustrous autumn blankets silently reap,
my glorious desires in ecstasy drench me deep.
A corridor of withering dandelions in dreams
simmers soothing secrets in glistening beams.
Every year I wait for soothing serenade of fall
it wraps my soul in slumber of a Cashmere shawl.
Silver fog shivers to glide with sunlit breeze,
memories melt my heart as snow begins to freeze.
On twirling trumpets of aural leaves I dance,
maple trees orchestrate a proliferous glance.
The hums of wet layered crystals appease dew,
I breathe iridescent aroma of reviving damp hue.
In quietude embossed broken twigs in scarlet rays,
I weave a pattern of opera peeping through haze.
There's an old tree house draped at divine dusk,
I spend my hours inhaling in wind dispersed musk.
My sandcastles of love fly in azure palate of sky,
with echoing wind my embellished petals rise high.
The rivulets under the wooden bridge caress pebbles
longing to strum starry nights as shriveling rebels.
Sequins of crimson in haloed wisps of Autumn tide,
the fir tree shimmers in veils as a stunning bride.
Ah! On starry nights when crystals kiss furling space,
my love blooms in blushing incarnations with grace.
Autumn tiptoes nervously for the forest to be reborn,
a gossamer shield of awakened serenity my cells adorn.
August 17, 2020
Serenity Awakened Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Word Count: 232
I witness you fading away,
The winds blow frantically
They are against us, as all are
Little fire, rise in my cupped hands
Be it my life I shield from the elements so unfeeling?
Little fire, brighten as I feed you
This moisture receding from my pores must cease
Before I drown this diminishing beauty
I gasp,
Surprised at the howls and retorts of this icy tempest
Nature’s exhalations mean to end what must naturally end
My hands shake
Little fire—my life!
—I must keep you alive!
Grow against all odds
Against the screaming whirlpools of bluster
Against the torrential tears that mean to overcome you
Against the ashes that can only watch the desolation around you,
As you search for more fuel to masticate
My flesh is no treasure to me,
So lick me deep, my flame
Devour these hands that shield you
Rise hastily, as you burn
Ascending up my arms,
Lighting every goosebump, shriveling every hair
Rise till I am all aflame in this wilderness
Boil and evaporate every murderous tear—
The fluids of sorrow that so pulverize purpose
Eat through every sinew, and every tissue,
Every muscle and every bone that has grown
For this moment and this moment only
I give you every piece of me, little fire!
So that my spirit, finally free, shall rise to the heavens
Past the shrieking winds, preceding through the jeers of thunder
I give you my all, blessed fire!
So that these eyes may witness every storm die
And I may laugh at their futility!
I shoo away
all my twisted creations
(I can’t let them taint this
With the vileness
I spawned them from)
She approaches
I lower my head,
eyes staring into hers,
opening myself,
feeling her
intertwine her energy
with mine,
closer she comes.
At this point
mist like trails of essence
spiral out of the corners of our mouths
like smoke,
hazing sight.
I can feel her heart leaping
as I touch the right side of her neck,
the throbbing
stirring my desires
and as our power
closes us off to the world,
time freezes,
ice crystals
forming on my fur,
her feathers,
snapping off under their own weight
making chime like sounds
as they shatter
beneath us,
my nerves alight
as her fingertips
graze my cheek,
and her claws sink into
the small of my back,
like a forest fire
running through the brush,
melting away the obtrusive growth.
I feel her quiver
as my nails run down
her ribs
and her slim,
narrow waist,
our lips touch
and the clock starts again,
(reality must exert itself)
as the mist swirls in
I know what to expect,
so it doesn’t burrow into my brain
when in the clarity
she’s gone,
instead,
my heart still pumps,
and in the worst case
this undead
has felt life again,
maybe I’ll progress
instead of shriveling
and sealing my crypt once more.