Long Similar Poems
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I don’t usually talk about a club, in the club
but last night I was chattering breathlessly, at midnight,
about how right the club had gotten its atmosphere.
I’m never quite sure, design-wise, what’s ‘now’ and what’s retro nuance.
My bf Peter said the design was “Warholism,” whatever THAT is.
I gave him a puzzled look and he said. “The Factory?” Like that meant something.
Why is he so much smarter than me? It’s unjust.
Lets wax poetically..
The drinks were priced like artifacts
but we ordered them like essentials.
A club is a machine calibrated for pleasure.
Similar to real life, but with much better lighting
plus their decors are tuned to optimistic escapism.
Last night’s club, was all chrome and blue light
making us feel like we were on a spaceflight
Clubs hit escape velocity around midnight
when everyone’s having their own garish moment
- crowds roll in on the vibe, and things warm up.
When moving on the floor started to feel like work
we escaped the ordinary for the cooler mezzanine
We arrived as our drinks were being freshened up
I tip well and they’re happy to manage my money
It was a good thing. Our generation doesn’t know
how to wait without looking like we’re waiting.
BTW: Don’t you LOVE anti-spiking drink covers?! #justbrilliant
ok, now it’s Saturday morning
My head is pounding, as if someone were striking it,
every thirty seconds or so, with a timpani malot.
“That was the LAST time..” I moan, but I was being ironic.
I know it’s not true, Peter knows it’s not true, I know, he knows,
I know it’s not true - but he gets my meaning - that’s irony.
Peter never seems to have a hangover and at times it pisses me off.
“How do you feel,” I ask him in my smallest voice - lest I awake the timpanist.
“Fine,” he says, with an enjoyable sense of righteousness.
He sips his coffee as if he has not a care.
“You’re only fine because your head is empty,” I lash out in a whisper.
.
.
A song for this:
Can't Tame Her by Zara Larsson
Tears by Sabrina Carpenter [E]
.
[E] = Explicit lyrics
2022 Polar Vortex - Across Wide Band Of North America
Power outage here within
mine happy hunting grounds
(as well the ghosts of Lenni Lenape),
viz Perkiomen Valley, Pennsylvania
December twenty third
two thousand twenty two wrought
(lasting greater part of twelve hours)
impossible mission to keep warm
generating body heat
necessity courtesy three dog night,
sure as I'm sitting here
nevertheless found yours truly
yearning for global warming
while dentures chattered
a mile a minute then jumped
out me mouth
and scrabbled, scrambled
and scratched along floor
leaving corpse like body abed
stiff as a board
dead cold analogous,
when rigor mortis
grips lovely bones
immune to brutal cold.
Ordinarily, the weather
considered non trees
son us, a neutral subject on par
with non nose
wrinkling odoriferous cheese
usually ranks as minor distraction,
without whether yours truly agrees
or not, except
during balmy temperatures,
an unavoidable tease,
whereat sub zero degrees,
whether Centigrade or Fahrenheit
demands human sacrifice
(me anima knocking knees),
no negotiating with Ole Man Winter,
he requests (lest
he continue deep freeze
maelstrom until the end of time),
nothing 'cept a healthy seas
sunned *****sapien to appease
his insatiable appetite
froze to the core,
when all body functions cease,
thus until onset of frostbite disease
transformed me into a human popsicle
obliging surrender of self,
no matter I always minded "p's"
and "q's", and adhered
to selfless decrees
not until that moment - this me's
lee sad excuse e'en for missing link,
said personal radar of this primate
suddenly went haywire madly wheeze
zing, as if giant hand (some
harried styled swiftly tailored
paw) did squeeze
traumatizing, suffocating, mangling
constricting, asphyxiating... sensation
(surprised muss elf, and all my enemies,
hence survived death as a breeze)
when similar to Socrates
ill fate found him downing hemlock,
necessitated, I reluctantly quaffed antifreeze
as preservative, plus
out of necessity to survive
being clobbered, buffeted,
assaulted...finally please
zing lee melting titanic iceberg
more bearable on par with a sneeze
than compared to frigidity
of writer's block.
Having read the news as we continue our life's displays
It's similar news to them, when our parents were young
It's towards sad to tragic as we just don't seem to learn
What do we bring to the table, what do us humans yearn
Beirut, Syria, whether deliberation, or accident prone?
It's similar news to them, when our parents were young
Famine, floods, fighting, bloods, all on today's phones
Just what have we learnt from the tips of our tongues
Will we keep reading the news as continuous life flays
It's now similar news to us, we've not learnt when young
We're towards sad to tragic as our learning's lost it's turn
What do we bring to the table, what do us humans yearn
i am at the part of unfortunate decision
fake flowers in hand and a dusty prayer
hesitation has a cup of warm pintos with country ham with me
i am the defiant source of a sticky glue's periodic periodical
nothing else matters for i make myself inanimate
precious memories are pickled in a jar of overtly potent vinegar
i am a lost soul feeling frigid in a deserted desert foundation
windchime sandstorms bully me with its unevenly rhythmic syncopation
since becoming an unbalanced liar, i have become a role model for truths untold
i never thought that my ice box character presentation could be so calmly bold
i have been zombie with a bad case of bubbleguts ever since that morning of "the circle ride"
i am at the part of unfortunate decision
heavy exhalation standstill experimenting with a lever similar to a disoriented h. george wells
I ask myself
who is this socialist Lula da Silva from Brazil?
How did he come to win the recent election of his country
despite his being recently jailed for corruption?
I look online to find out why people form an L on their foreheads
when mentioning his name. I find nothing about that.
However, I DO find that he created the Worker’s Party,
which seems to have a lot of popularity with only half his country.
As in America, Brazil is very divided in their political feelings.
He used to work for the unions. In his later years,
he ran for president and served two terms.
He was actually well-liked during that time
for having a good economy during his presidency
although he was disliked for doing nothing about crime.
Times Magazine actually put him at the top of their list
for 100 most influential people of the world after his presidency.
Somehow he keeps escaping corruption charges.
He has people chanting “Free Luna” outside his jail.
He wins Brazil’s recent election by 1% of the vote.
Then protesters of the opposing party storm Brazil’s Congress,
mirroring what took place in our own Congress
after Biden supposedly won the election in the U.S.
Hmmm, why is Lula labeled a loser?
This happy-faced old man lives in obvious luxury,
gets off for his crimes and also probably steals elections.
I wonder if the L his opposition form on their foreheads
is similar to what the opposition to Biden are doing
when they shout “Let’s Go Brandon.”
Like Biden, Luna seems to be quite the content criminal,
and the world
just keeps turning . . .
Is Lula fighting fair?
First he’s here, and then he’s there.
From the jail he gets let out.
Seems he has a lot of clout!
What was up with jail disruption
after all of his corruption?
Looney Lula acts like he
wants to help humanity with so-called “democracy.”
But instead he’s laundering,
(no, not clothes – another thing!)
Looney Lula, have you goons
in this world of Looney TUNES?
May 3, 2023
for Joe Maverick's 'They say he's a loser' Poetry Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I. Blankness
empty page awaits—
a silent, hungry canvas.
first word breaks the dawn.
II. Alchemy
black ink spills like night
across the field of pure white—
stars bloom into tales.
III. Echo
letters fade to ghosts
on brittle, yellowed paper...
new eyes give them breath.
*Note: This is a triptych poem (similar to a tercet). A triptych poem is a poetic form consisting of three distinct yet related sections or stanzas, often exploring a common theme or narrative. This structure allows the writer to present layered ideas, similar to how a triptych in visual art features three connected panels. (source: brevitymag.com)
Regina was so ecstatic to meet Cousin Joe.
With the following words, she wanted to let me know:
“Wow, Joe’s appearance is so similar to yours, Mike!
Not since Patty Duke have two cousins looked so alike!”
In sharp contrast, Joe displayed a reticent outlook.
He might have thought this was another wrong turn he took.
A nice Italian dinner and a movie were planned.
All the while, Joe seemed reluctant to give out his hand.
In private, Joe had a few disturbing words to say.
He said, “Mike, what the hell have you brought me here today?
Regina’s a somewhat pretty girl, but she’s too fat.
I was really expecting something better than that!”
I replied, “Joe, give her a chance. She is very nice.
You are not too friendly with her. You’ve been cold as ice.
When we get back home, we will leave both of you alone.
Get to know her better. She’s one you’ll want for your own.”
Joe said, “Mike, I don’t know. I might have to disagree.”
I immediately responded saying “Trust me”!
When we got back home, I asked Stephanie for a walk.
“We should leave Joe and Regina alone for a talk.
Let’s go somewhere by ourselves for an hour or more, please.
We’ll leave Joe and Regina here to feel more at ease.”
Some time later, Stephanie and I returned home.
Regina and Joe upstairs to a room they would roam.
This couple came downstairs as naked as two jaybirds.
They did not know we were home. They did not hear our words.
Initially embarrassed, Joe said to us, “Who Cares?
Come on Regina dear, why don’t we go back upstairs?”
See within those starry skies,
Beauty of binding vines,
Fluorescent meaning lies,
In its parting petals spouting lies.
A clams soft pink shell,
Glints in thousand little pearls,
They glide gracefully and swell,
Winding around the rivers swirls.
The white serpents eyes are peach,
Tempting, soft but out of reach,
High up in the turquoise trees,
It's flicker preceding a cool breeze.
The glowing fruits are unfamilar,
No beauty is ever similar,
Eating one would erase the river,
As well as the beautigul glimmer.
The grass shall sustain instead,
The roots of the waters might,
It's coming from the river bed,
And will surely set things right.
The peachy glimmer on waters shell,
Relinquishes its glow for now,
Floras torrent said go back to hell,
No calm waters at this hour.
The grass has grown in your head,
No ecosystems full without fauna,
Water fuels both now one is dead,
Powerful serpent still along a
River
Highs and lows, deviations of waves in a predicament
in full effect like the seven seas currents weighing the
pros and cons, incessant periods of non-stop rabbit holes
at a crossroad. Deadlock affairs what direction to take
assemble, so many turning points to face, fear penetrates and
plays a role that no progression can change of oppossing hearts.
Sort out an impasse of authenticity, withdrawals symptoms
similar to an addictions fiend and their choices.
Anchors Aweigh...
destination unknown
for this Earthling
stardate: February 26th, 2022
At sea since time immemorial
I relish being alone
upon oceanic expanse
yours truly doth bemoan
me gal Sal (one among
numerous female confidantes),
no matter, she easily
mistaken as a crone
magical powers keep
her manning far aloft drone
as surveillance hovers above me
(to intercept encrypted
communication maintained
courtesy bluetooth earphone)
the two of us sol survivors
I feel like a foreigner since
global thermonuclear war
bombed webbed wide world
into pulverized power
vaguely similar landscape
to age of Fred Flintstone
and Barney Rubble
recurring memories redolent
of yesteryear, whereby I groan
though simple living
such as me and the missus
did Potschke coaxing homegrown
organic fruits and vegetables,
though, I attest we did
get violently angry with each other
and unwittingly cross interzone
where brickbats exchanged,
especially after she discovered
an illicit extramarital affair
between myself and Joan
since kindergarten her I known.
Weather beaten cap'n,
and watertight bewitched craft
time tested since maiden voyage
(circumnavigating the globe
back in the day of my youth),
I ranked tough as a pitbull,
when severely pitted
against raw elements
of swiftly tailored,
harried stylish nature
against leathery faced
reptilian skin, hard drinking
(actually as corked
poetic convenience - vermouth
arbitrary bottle of choice
if for no other reason,
than to rhyme
with the above line),
and tobacco spitting, while
colorfully swearing as an uncouth
Furies (of Agamemnon)
fighting (tooth
and nail) Pirate,
where rickets, scurvy,
and thrice unconscious,
currently ample proof
could not forsooth
bring me to Davy Jones's locker,
cuz I never wanna
get relegated to an underwater
whale schooled booth,
this raconteur can nonchalantly,
glibly, and blithely attest,
with braggadocio, despite
no warm welcome will
ever greet mine tinnitus
pained ears, I can plainly
imagine acrimonious retort
upon me behest
his far more'n lifetime
bobbing (like a sponge)
square pants float
buoyed atop crest longing e'en for
(carping, caviling, hen pecking,
or shrewish) wife.