Long Skeleton Poems
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Guess where I am,
I am meeting some of mine
Or maybe not mine,
There is something
About this place:
Stinking sense of surety
I had never known till I hopped in.
Since last week
There is nothing,
Death, is the surety.
Mother I do not want to die now,
What the hell,
I walked in and bang
My system is disturbed,
I am gasping for breath:
Something is wrong, this cough
Is coming my way, slowly.
From deep inside of me?
From far outside this room,
In minutes, they are
Clutching at this skeleton in clothes,
It seems not to care where it goes,
It looks such, damn, it cares:
In minutes, comes another,
Is this where we come?
Am I on death row?
This beautiful lady sitting next
Whispers to her child, she has one,
I ain't got nothing?I am on death row!
Death has Come and Gone
The full moon shines her ambient light
On the tranquility of the afterlife
Death has come and gone
The dusk forlorn… whispers of a dim song
Little has changed
I am in the same place
The same chair
Maybe needing a little air
The ice cubes exist no more
Death drifts infinitely away
Solitude was destinies tune
As all the songs quieted and died
Rivers dried
When the great flood of sadness
Overcame the skies
Balloons shriveled on top empty playgrounds
In life such as it was
I had no friends
The irony of it all
As here I am in sitting in my chair
In Death
Unnoticed, as days become months
I am surrounded by lovers of great compassion
As they devour the evidence of my existence
Only the skeleton is left
Along with an empty song
For death has but come and gone
The autumn leaves skitter like mice across stone,
And the doorstep is chilly, and dark, and alone.
I have scratched at the wood, I have mewed at the latch,
In the chilly night wind of the pumpkin-patch batch.
They left me outside in the frost and the gloom—
The orange-and-black beasts have taken my room!
Two giant tin kettles came clattering past,
And a small bedsheet ghost went floating on fast.
There’s a witch with broom bristles that smelled like old hay,
And a skeleton monster that shouted, "Hooray!"
My tabby stripes bristle, my green eyes go wide;
Why are all of these creatures allowed to be inside?
I crouch under bushes where dark shadows lie,
Watching fake-spider webs drift under the sky.
There’s a glowing orange head grinning wide on the porch,
With a flicker of flame like a tiny, mean torch.
I am king of the sofa, the lord of the rug—
Now I’m shivering cold, longing for a warm hug!
Then the front door clicks open! A warm beam of light!
My human steps out in the spooky, cold night.
I dart past her slippers, a blur of striped gray,
And streak for the kitchen to hide straight away.
Safe under the couch from the trick-or-treat fright,
A cat’s proper place on a Halloween night.
Three dapper skeleton men are our main attraction
I think when you arrive, they will provide satisfaction.
I was not sure what she meant, never seeing a monster ball.
But there was a lot of excitement about it this fall!
Frankenstein will put in an appearance the jack-0-lantern said.
Pretend when you see Dracula that he is right in the head.
There will be dancing and jiggering heard all the way to the moon.
We would love to have you! Said the Halloween baboon.
I was excited there would be a hoe down in this field of dreams.
Dancing our guts out would be fun, on this, of all Halloweens.
I was thrilled to find out about the activities from the baboon.
Who assured me we could take photos with the harvest moon.
~His Promise~
(Skeleton Key)
Christ
Came**And
Rose
And now
He sits with
God His Father
And one day He'll return
Need to be prepared all the time
Because no one knows the day or the hour
But He promised that He'll return
And God will never lie
Cause He's perfect.
He tells truth
I just
Accept
It want
Also
Believe
It.That's
The way
I feel
My faith
On Him
Can't be
Shaken.
It is
too strong.
My hope
always
Rest in
God's hands.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2010
September.30.2015
~Author's notes:
The "Skeleton Key" is a poetry style created by
Dorian Petersen Potter, aka ladydp2000, on September,17,2010.
I want to cling
To you
The way vultures do
Circling in
On every movement
Until the last exhale in winter’s air
Replacing bed sheets
With blankets of
Frosted covered grass
Opening up to me
Slowly
Like a flower at the end of March
Almost as if
The exposure
Tickled your rib cage
Tell me
About the things
Your eyes have held on to
As the canvas
Of light blue
Admixes to obsidian
Over the
Taut inexpressive
Coat your skeleton wears
I want to cling
To you
The way black widows do
Circling in
On every movement
Until the last tug against a web
Replacing bed sheets
With blankets
That feel like silk
Becoming closed off to me
Slowly
Like daisies when the sun goes down
I want to be
Indented
In your mind
Like a child
After
Their first bee sting
Cautious of my presence
But still wish
You could touch my face
-I love the simplicity of the old one. But this extended version is special, I think...-
Caskets unmade
Naked bodies sprawled in waste
Yellow, white and pale brown skins all in one
Emaciated fear lingering in the pale eyes
Spines tingle at the crunch of excessive skeletons
Grimy boots unmercifully stomp
Nostrils used to the stench
Ready or not, embracing the ash
Afraid to express
Afraid to breathe
Unable to stop the grief
Colder eyes than the dead themselves look on
They are bored, it seems
Untainted by the sound of groans
Unmoved by the crack of weak spines
Spineless themselves, these guards even smile
Frozen, blue eyes iced with a sneer
Black, demonic pupils steadied overtime
The corpses reflected in their transparent gloss
Teeth grind
A young boy picks up a dried hip bone
Small, calloused fingers clutch the last of his father
The eternal frowned mouth is caked with drool, tears and muck
Hair whitened as if ghosts have stolen his youth
This bone is jagged and worn
Once used by force as a bowl for his insect-infested meal
Shakily given to Her—the last She would eat
Before the officials watched Her slowly starve
Today the bone will be used as a shovel—his final labor
Last effort for closure
The boy knows they are all looking
Both the enemy and the oppressed unified
All experiencing, all watching
He simply knows that overtime,
Tears of hope will decompose the hardest of hearts
And the boy drives his shovel into the hard ground
Pounding away at the chilled, blood-stained soil
Drowning out the groans with his own cries
Flooding the dryness with his sorrows
Breaking up the surface to bury Sleeping Kate
Sleeping Kate showed the officers
The skeleton she built out of bone fragments
Sleeping Kate told them we were all the same inside
With this truth, she died
With their guilt, they continued life
They tried. . .
The officers tried to bury Sleeping Kate
But Sleeping Kate is always alive,
Building skeletons in their minds. . .
Lamenting appalling heartbreaking mistreatment...
nonagenarian father experiences at Normandy Farms
Though dead, I gauge
these past one hundred and four plus months
linkedin with Gregorian calendar page
mine mother would be aghast
at deplorable inhumane outrage
played out upon Normandy Farms -
Bluebell, Pennsylvania site
where papa (a pricey
senior folk facility), he doth stage
his final showdown
consigning grim reaper
to tender body, mind, and spirit equipage
regarding preparations undertaken
heading enroute to netherlands
corporeal essence repurposed for unknown usage
though disbeliever in afterlife,
at least our beloved dada
will be freed (once and for all)
presently locked in solitary confinement
disgraceful undeserving penitential sinful wage.
Impossible mission to renounce humor
mine healthy coping mechanism de jure
sprinkling badinage doth beckon and lure
no matter said topic of death lacks cure,
unlike non mortal trial and/or
tribulation oftimes, I communicated before
namely other poetic endeavors
with reasonable rhymes less or more
yours truly hashed out, cuz apropos
persiflage my middle name
helping me endure
declining health and concomitant score,
regarding the once strapping handsome man,
who nsync with mama begat your
truly decent aspiring wordsmith
whereby cloaked skeleton
wielding a large scythe
very soon whisks away loved one extempore,
which bon voyage forever
means onset of tears and sorrow endure
however long mourning process prevails
possibly remaining years I remain healthily alive
perhaps (ideally) at least two score.
Lockdown courtesy coronavirus (COVID-19)
limits administration towards he who birthed us
(myself, and two siblings,
an older and younger sister), a plate glass screen,
nevertheless, I envision an emotional scene
bidding permanent laissez faire thee well,
who will soon rejoin Harriet,
his dearly departed forever queen.
O who will sing that rudderless ship
that has lost her destiny?
With her sails in rags
and her lines in snags,
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
The captain lies in a coma,
his hands clutch helplessly,
and the shantyman chokes
and wheezes and croaks:
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
The crew are extict and jolly,
they gnaw themselves hungrily,
and their black lips grin
as the rigor sets in:
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
The pilot has smashed the compass,
and tramples the sextant with glee:
he erases the log
and steers by the fog;
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
O the skeleton climbs the rigging;
his sockets scan the sea,
and he cries to the crew:
No land in view!
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
Pretense blinks unthinkingly
prominent neon sign
Promoting delicious wishes
heady aspirations primed
Porous ears absorb spiel
Charmed python entrancing rises
Web weaving traitor traps
victim with outlandish surprises
Silkily wrapped casualty constrained
unsuspecting pawn amusing lure
Deceipt's imminent death awards
trust's established pristine pure
Glitz will blitz framework
Compulsive claims manifest
Embellishment dispelled reveals
authenticity's skeleton undressed
Facade unfastened, centre radiates
fanciful distractions fewer
Universality within, truth begins
ribcage contents not obscured
Fantasies bring brief buoyancy
beguiling sunlit lake beckons
Submerged, burdened by treachery
sub-plot sinks with deception
Scope of hope propels
Capable fables capture listeners
Sugary cubes stirred dissolve
friction breaks tenuous fiction
Candid connection invites valour
Ethics draw worthy goals
Integrity's impeccable map guides
shared navigation nourishes souls