Long Siphoned Poems
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He never questioned the weight behind his eyes until the day he finally woke up. For as long as he could remember, the mud had been a part of him. A thick, caked crust beneath his skin that hardened with each passing year. He believed everyone carried the same layer, worn like a second skin, unnoticed and unchallenged. It wasn’t until it cracked that he realized he’d been blind. The fissures began in his stone-cold gaze, tiny cracks etching across the dam he didn’t know he’d built. Leaking droplets of water quickly made way for a torrential cascade that swept through years of sorrow he’d never dared name. The boy wept, and in the raw violence of that moment, it felt as if his darkest thoughts were being pulled from him, siphoned through the saltwater droplets trickling down his face. His visage, once a mask of stone, began to soften. The weeping water traced the tired lines of his skin, wearing down the hardened edges of him, like a river reshaping the earth. His body began to ache as the muddy scaffolding that had once held his body together began to crumble before his freshly-awakened eyes. He collapsed onto the hardwood floor, his body folding in on itself as if the weight of years had finally become unbearable. In that instant, he shattered into a thousand fractured pieces. He lay there, resembling broken glass strewn across polished wood: sharp, glinting, and impossibly delicate. And in the stillness, he waited. But no voice called his name, no hand reached for the scattered pieces. He was whole in his breaking, and utterly alone in his becoming.
Sweep me away in my eternal estrangement,
A catharsis can’t save me anymore.
What’s the use of emotional arrangement,
When you have nobody to call for.
She was the white horse of the Himalayas
Purity Smolder of flameless skies
Then, chains of conquest -
A half-century of human Inhibition
The Neophyte's arrogance of consumption
Would Flounder to stain and slay the wind
Her Dolorous pinnacle lies, littered with
Debris dense Lecherous ego
Immaculate essence siphoned
In the name of
Vainglorious Bombast
For sanctity, for healing, for reverence
Let Everest rest, in Providence.
5/31/19
For Eight Word Free Verse Challenge contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Required Words: Smolder, Inhibition, Neophyte, Flounder, Dolorous, Lecherous, Bombast, Providence.
In the folds of night, as a wave, you came
Charioted in a filmy dream
All night you were with me
In love’s uncharted land, we roamed
You sang to me sweet rhymes of love
Echoing the lore of romantic lovers
Your voice choked and moist with passion
Overwhelming me with an ecstasy so rare
You fondled me with infinite tenderness
Opening in me all inlets of pleasure
Our hearts with divine furore filled
And we knew love’s sweet benediction
In the seclusion of that silvery night
Looking into the corners of your love lit eyes
I saw an ocean of rising and receding tides
And took a dip in the whirlpool of love
All night I inhaled your scent
Knew the warmth of your breath
Siphoned the sweetness of your lips
Alas! With dawn, you faded away like dew
In the winter of my years, stands my barren tree
Its leaves stripped by autumnal winds
Against hope, it had one life left to give
I blew a warm breath into a lone branch
Hoping against hope, I stood transfixed
As spring approached, I beheld a bud
I cupped it in my hands frozen in wonder
I watched its growth in amazement
The spring sun came, and I saw it change
I began to miss the bud growing to a calyx
It’s pinkness unfurled with relentlessness
Observe, readers, a dress wrapped inside a bud
I coveted this awakened bud blossoming
I shielded it against summer's onslaught
But, toiling bees siphoned its very nectar
Its chiffon gown blown off by the solstice
I held on to my once bud defrocked
Miracles abound in nature if you have time
Even now, I hold on to that childlike bud
Knowing it will grow past adolescence
Still holding tight, I saw its fruit maturing
Week by week it no longer needs my hands
A fruit was being born minute by seconds
It ripened on the fragile twig despite hands
I remembered when it was a babe in my palms
Now, it grows fat and juicy tempting to fall
I learned to let go giving to gravity
It was never mine and never still
It grows larger than my hand will hold
That peach is growing hairs without restraint
Its stem strains against that barren tree
It will fall off the tree and grow legs
It will run off to college leaving me in debt
It will find a girlfriend and make seedlings
My little seed must tell hands to let go
My barrenness will then be my reward
The tree and I will be left alone
At times the peach will text or call
I will wonder if that fruit is all right
I hope the endeared pit will find fertile soil
I hope my Persian plum will come and visit
Me and my barren tree are exhausted
My winter has no more spring left in me
Knowing a peach was born is enough
Hope will sprout far from this barren tree
With blossoms bursting like candy stars
Where is the anger! The rage! And the courage, I expected to see?
Why is everyone so complacent?
Evangelical Christians have endorsed a cheat, a liar, a bigot, and a misogynist
because he's pro-life, God will forgive the rest; hallelujah!
Democracy used to cannibalize democracy; please pass the head of state!
A cult has formed, like the Nazi Youth, who ogled Hitler with worshiping eyes.
Those in charge have stooped so low; that they bow down to this wannabee Fuhrer
with their brown noses prominently showing above their pasted-on smiles!
If you're part of this cult, reason can't save you! You'll die for this trickster!
Chanting NO COLLUSION, NO COLLUSION! Though you know, it isn't true.
As for the rest of you, it's time you woke up!
Wipe off those cynical grins and VOTE, like your voice matters
like your vote matters, like your freedom matters, and pray that they still do!
I'm neither a democrat nor a republican,
I can't stomach the hypocrisy of either party!
As a proud Canadian, I can only empathize with your problem,
but, I'm an impartial observer, immune to the fake news, you might say.
There's no defending this President!
But his Republican stooges, Fox news, and the evangelist elite do just that!
A con-man stole their integrity and bamboozled his way into the White House.
Now, like Russia's Putin, he wants to be king!
And he'll challenge and or change the constitution to make it so!
Where is your anger! Your rage! And your courage?
I hear some Americans praise him like he's the second coming!
And insisting his Presidency was prophesied in the pages of the bible.
In what wacky world is it even possible to venerate Donald Trump
as an instrument of God? Many are oblivious to the truth,
even when his narcissism and hyperbole are so blatantly obvious!
Once more, the human psyche's tapped and loyalty siphoned off
to advance the goals of one corrupt man.
In the words of Jesus, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do!"
May God have mercy on our souls if he wins again!
(free Verse)
Mar.24, 2018
To dream or not to dream this query I will leave unanswered
for just as the winds cannot stop blowing and the flowers
cannot stop growing,
I too cannot wave my fantasies goodbye.
I will not leave behind
my illusions, nor my castle in the sky
I am a poet with so much golden yarn,
and miles and miles of forever tales,
at the tip of my golden quill.
My spindle never rests.
To dream or not to dream this is a query
I siphoned for you.
What will you weave for me today?
What will your wave of fantasy, enshroud?
I can't wait to read you, my lovely poets,
make me proud !!!!
It's quite obvious now:
"The they" are preparing for life deep underground.
Placing final ribbons around subterranean cities.
Stockpiling sustenance
Water being siphoned to top off cisterns and privies.
The Amazon, Tigris, and Euphrates.
Superior, Michigan, and Erie are all being drained.
The surface people will be left scrambling for crumbs
in the phlegm of nuclear holocaust.
They'll devolve into hunter-gatherer clans.
To become a twisted reality show for subterraneans.
"The They" who trafficked us and ate our babies
will make a game of it, placing bets at our expense...
on who will perish -who'll be left.
Then, when the earth is somewhat cleansed.
"The They" will emerge to barter with metal from our teeth
pin our cross/bones to their puffy pigeon chests
The rest will serve as sex slaves, servants, and jesters
in the post-apocalyptic bed, "the they" have knowingly made.
A woman at the gas station
is unremarkable besides
her name tag reading Clarity
and her teeth, saying never mind.
She asks if I need a receipt.
I say no, like I'm not collecting
evidence in the glovebox of a car
that only drives in reverse.
The smell of ethanol summons
June bugs: last summer, I siphoned
moons from my mother's backup generator,
poured it over my cereal to see if dreams
dissolve as fast as sugar. Her energy—
like Marlboro Lights in a freezer
next to a jar of cursed pig's feet,
was not good.
I made do, and avoided the dues
of an HOA family with trimmed contracts
and shaggy lawns. I'd suck on ice cubes
until my jaw locked into something
more useful than language.
The shape of now is the welt
from a seatbelt I forgot to wear
in a car I no longer own.
It's the raisin I found stitched
into the lining of my bra—
a pocket universe, sweet and rotting.
It's saying, I'm fine
in Morse code
with a spoon that isn't there,
and a sink. It's yesterday's grapes
fermenting in my purse,
waiting for communion I keep
missing.
Even now, I kiss the air between
this breath and the next,
like it wasn't blood magic all along,
like I might whisper the password
to get us out of purgatory.
Still, I leave the gas station
without a receipt, but I did get
a lottery ticket guaranteed to win—
if only I forget why I bought it.
There’s children growing up that believe the stars
sound like crickets chirping,
for their only exposure to these sources of wonder
are through over-exposure to blue light and radio waves
and soundtracks overlaying simulations.
The night they know
is bright as day,
lit by “satellite internet constellations”
or fogged out by the price of progress.
They don’t understand what it is to stare upwards
and be humbled in awe.
That’s what’s wrong with men today;
they never look up, never gaze around.
They only march forward on a path
marked with dollars instead of footprints
and fail to take heed of the wails around them.
But at least one day, when
we’ve siphoned the earth dry to fuel
“achievements”
(greed),
when the cities are burning from the debts of desire,
the children will look up at the stars that aren’t stars
and hear real crickets chirping
and they won’t be afraid of the end.
Nepal
Nepal I know little of this country, nestling
Among colossal mountains
It used to be a kingdom, but the king was so
Autocratic that he lost the job.
Later on, I have this from memory, one of the princes
Shot the royal family as they were sitting down for tea.
This didn`t help him to become a king,
I think he is a monk now and is fed by the poor.
Nepal is also a place where Pakistan and India sometimes
Shot at each other when not freezing to death
At high altitudes in summer uniforms
A recent earthquake brought Nepal to the news for a day
They have been promised help to rebuild Kathmandu
As usual in such cases, the money gets siphoned off and
little
Reach the people of Nepal.
To whom who cares, Nepal is also the birthplace of Buddhism.