Long Slamming Poems
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GHOST MIRRORS
Ghostly images captured within the prism of reflected light,
Ethereal waves rippling against reality’s framed surface
Of the translucent, as phantom hands press, slamming at
The fragile glass of dualities deadened zone of existence!
A sudden shimmering, in the beguiling mirror of illusions,
As in the icy eerie chill of this frozen man made pool of
Optical delusions, something within shifted and moved!
Disembodiment's outcasts to incisions resistance, cut at
The bitter edge of the graves stone marker, are these
Silhouette shadow beings, trapped within clarities maze
Of solid crystal!
Black sheets haunted, hidden behind the spiritual mirrors
Of religion, encasement's prison of soulless mists, a vaporous
Cage without iron bars, nor steels reinforcement, these are
The lost or damnation's cursed unto the light of salvation!
What skeletal keys can unlock these dimensional doorway,
And just where is the keyhole to fit, this illusionary anomaly?
At the shutters sudden flash, in ethereal creature slides
Across the screen of realities review mirror, a dark
Hauntings presence that alluding the neck eyes detection!
A dead man’s situation lies exposed, by the elemental
Reflection of lights retraction, hidden beneath the graveyards
Bones of the unsolved murder!
Within the winds of the whistling breeze, hear the unruffled
Cries of fates lost children, crying out for justices guiding
Light to save them, from the disembodied hands of their
Tormentors!
Running children of the ethereal night, whom rage in
Vengeance, against the glass prism of shattered light,
Weeping in devastation's despair, for their loss of life eternal!
At the flashing neon point of no return, the devils forsaken
Sake at the tempered glass of realism, clamoring to be
Recognized for once existing!
Within the four squared frame of reality, dwells the
Infinite pool of the ethereal realm, and in its rippling
Waves, phantom faces are shone in the tormented poises
Of the after life’s jail cell, without the possibility of
Paroles final tender mercy!
Ghostly images captured within the prism of reflected light,
Ethereal waves rippling against reality’s framed surface
Of the translucent, as phantom hands press, slamming at
The fragile glass of dualities deadened zone of existence!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
BEWARE THE MONTH OF HALLOWEEN IS COMING
"All animals are equal. But some animals are more equal than others."
—George Orwell
A dozen of chickens and a number of horses, a cat and a raven, a few cows and other hoofed ones—all of which are perfectly silent. Poor wolfie. He can't even find a voice to growl. "Your Honor, if I may request for a short recess," I whisper, humiliatingly like a dying dragon. But my timid voice is drowned by a sly-looking pig's pouring of whisky into Dis Honor's gilded cup.
"Have you no respect or have you no eyes?" Squealing, he deafeningly squeals. He reminds me of that scaled wyvern whose head now sits in my living room. It roared deafeningly loud but breathed no fire. "His Honor is having his brief period of refreshment at the moment!"
With eyes too dry to cry and throat too hoarse to howl, the defendant meekly weeps. But only I hear it; the jury listens to only the silence, loud as a baby serpent's inaudible hiss, of two semi-digested pigs in his gut.
Who on earth build houses with flimsy hays or sticks nowadays anyway? And was it my client's fault that the third genius Doctor Porkchop got killed when some stray earthquake crushed his oh-so-unshakable fort built brick by bloody brick? Just whose brilliant proposal is it again to have Napoleon presiding the trial of the so-called Big Bad Wolf? If only he was a dragon—a pig-dragon at least— I would fain put the beauty that is my sword into good use right now.
Countless charges of premeditated murder, culpable animalicide, et cetera. Of course, do sentence us all to another life. I turn to look at the audience right behind me: a mare, a goat, a donkey. A soft motherly neigh followed by an intelligent baa, then by an astute silence.
"Please, Your Honor," Ridiculous. This stupid courtesy reminds me of tiptoeing past a mother Couatl guarding her eggs. "Shall we resume—"
Slams of gavel.
"Objection! Objection! Objection!" Dis Honor oinks vehemently, his mouth reeking of poorly brewed whisky—and I thought Tiamat's droppings were bad. The way he repeats the slamming of his gavel with every disgustingly pronounced objection gives me a headache as if it was my head he keeps hammering on. For the first time, being hit by the Basilisk's tail doesn't sound so bad at all. "Here you call me 'Your Honor Napoleon' in full," Oh, believe me, the honor is fully mine.
His hands are small a lot like mine this I can recall, only to see no mirror upon this wall. Just look at my eyes they are not one of another, they are the eyes you left me with just like my mother. On egg shells we walked never knowing when it was ok to talk, we might say or do the wrong thing only knowing better to dodge your swing. You always said blood was thicker than water, so why did you teach us love was about hurting each other? We were your puppets and you was our master only bound to end in a tangle of disaster. You said you held the world in your hands, I wish I knew where it was that I stand.
Remember the time you said "I raised you the best I could?" Was you thinking the same thing when you were slamming my face into the car hood? Or how about the time you beat me so bad I peed my pants right where I stood? You took something from me that took 35yrs to get back don't worry dad I had to makeup for all that you lacked, while you were out busy dealing and abusing your crack! So many nights the aroma of whiskey lingered from your breath, only to awake in the morning seeing you passed out on the kitchen floor only to be half dressed. Don't you realize how that scared us to death! We were your children for gods sake, but you didn't care because you are nothing but a disgusting snake! All we ever wanted was a loving father someone we felt safe with like we did our mother. We couldn't stay in our house so we had to disguise ourselves and seek help from the shelters. So many emotions you put us through anger, fear, hate and isolation. Heck we wasn't even allowed to play, only time we did is when you were away. As I got older you would say "please stay one more shot and ill put it away". One turned into three knowing deep within me I just wanted to flee I just knew what it was going to be. Me on my knee begging to plea. Then you would say " Your nothing to me just get out and let me be!" I turned and looked at him and said "you know one day your gonna miss me!" He just replied,"I now have the one that I adore she's all I'll need forever more." Only if she knew what was bound to be as she became wife number three and by the way her name is Cherie. Year after year you put us last, don't worry dad because now YOUR just an impression of MY past. Now the tables have turned please tell me how does it feel to be the one put LAST!?
What if I never get better
What if years pass and I’ll still find myself favoring solitude with no desire to form new relationships
I’ll long for love but never allow myself a chance out of the cold
And my heart will wince even at the the thought of another kissing my lips
I’ll continue to push out any good that comes into my life
I’ll see the sun and close my curtains because the warmth reminds of better days
What do you do when someone wants to give you the sun
but all you’ve done is sulk in winter because you’re afraid of the sun rays
Afraid that you’ll get too close and suffer terrible burns because you forgot your sunscreen
Afraid that you’ll feel the warmth but be denied because you’ve ever only experienced an ice age
Afraid that you’ll lose it all if you let a soul in
Afraid to even open up a new book of love because you’re scared to see what may be on the first page
And maybe others are to blame for the onset of that ice age
but I’m to blame for the continuation of the mass snow fall and the sheets of ice
Not allowing myself to break down the wall in my mind
Only allowing myself to build it higher thinking it will give me my perfect paradise
But it doesn’t have to be like this
I can break down my walls and stop the storm
build a garden instead with a variety of flowers
I can let the sun in and for once let my heart feel warm
The sound of that is scary but other things are more concerning
Like the fact that I’m afraid of love
Or the fact that I could deny the love that is all around me
When in reality love is the only thing I wanted to feel or consist of
The truth is I’m not afraid of love or all the traits that come with it
I’m afraid that I may turn my back and my spine will be met with a sharp blade
Consuming me with a superficial love that bruises my soul and sever my heart strings
Taking that chance is almost asking to be betrayed
I don’t want to be afraid of the what ifs and off chances
I’m tired of slamming the door at the sight of love and peace
I want more for myself
because I’m so tired of solitude being the only way I can find emotional release
I think I do want love
No actually I want to be the epitome of it
I want to be warm to the touch and soft eyed
Because maybe for once I’m tired of just being a heart that’s broken and split
In silence, words disappear,
Unspoken—louder than any sound.
A heart longs to be understood,
But the world is too vast, too harsh.
A voice is lost in the noise—
Not because it isn’t there,
But because it’s afraid to be heard.
A soul bears the weight of mistakes,
Carrying the heaviness of regret,
Trying to mend what was broken.
And then—I see her.
She stands at the edge.
Not just a shadow in thought,
But a person—trembling, real.
Her eyes fixed on the invisible line
Where sky folds into sorrow,
And hope hangs by a thread.
The world below, too far—
And yet, somehow, not far enough.
A fleeting thought of escape
Held tight in the stillness of her chest.
Her heart beats faster.
Each second stretches—eternity.
Trembling—
Close to escape,
Yet fearful of the exit.
And even now, in that terrible calm,
There is no scream.
No cry.
Only silence—
A silent voice
Shouting without sound,
Begging him to see, to move, to act—
To do something,ANYTHING.
Buried beneath the weight
Of his own mistakes, his own regrets—
The things he should have said,
The moments he let slip away.
He wants to change the past,
To erase its lingering scars—
But time won’t bend,
And memory doesn’t forgive.
For so long, she was the one
Pulling him back from the edge,
Breaking through the walls he built
To keep the world at a distance.
She stands at the edge, trembling,
A silent plea slamming into his ears—
Screaming at him.
Breaking him.
Torturing him.
But his limbs betray him—
Afraid to act, afraid to fail.
The walls she tore down rise again,
Swallowing him whole.
Frozen—not by the edge,
But by the mirror of his own doubt,
Where every reflection is a reminder
Of how he didn’t move fast enough,
Didn’t speak when it mattered,
Didn’t reach when she needed him to.
Blinded by fear.
Blinded by himself.
Blinded by regret.
Two hearts, bound by silence—
One reaching out, unsure,
The other, lost in the dark,
Trying to find the exit.
But only one had the courage
To stop the fall—
To step forward,
To catch the broken pieces.
I see her now.
Broken.
Shattered.
Exhausted.
A scream buried so deep
Even the stars cannot hear it
Or they chose to hide from it.
The world holds its breath—
Waiting for the moment
When silence, at last,
Screams the truth no one dared to speak.
“One more word, just one more word!’’ before I start to break,
I feel the anger rising up, I tremble and I shake.
I try to think it’s not their fault, their only little kids,
But it isn’t enough to stop the anger breaking through the lid.
I leap to them with vacant eyes screaming “that is it!”
Grabbing at their little arms while I curse hiss and spit.
Dragging them to their bedrooms, throwing them to the floor,
Storming out to get away, slamming at the door.
Next I’m in my bedroom, my head held in my hands,
Trying hard to calm myself while I figure out a plan.
“Help me someone, help me please,” I mumble quietly,
“I just can’t take this anymore,” I pray to god, I plea.
10 minutes pass, the storm has gone, I’ve realised how I’ve been,
The calm makes me aware of this and guilt has now set in.
I slowly make my way into the quietness of their rooms,
Their little red faces wet with tears from their mother’s angry fume.
“I’m sorry darling for hurting you, I just got really mad,
I never meant to make you cry, or meant to make you sad”.
I hug them tight and tell them that I love them very much,
Hoping that their still comforted by their mothers touch.
“I need you to be helpful, I need you to be good”,
“Ok” they say in solemn tone, with hope they understood.
Wiping away remaining tears of the sadness that had been,
Hiding every single trace of the anger that they’d seen.
Now once again all is well, this feels a happy home,
Motherhood is oh so sweet when the angers overblown.
It’s all so unpredictable, when push comes to shove,
One day it fits so perfectly, the next it’s hard to love.
The trials and tribulations of motherhood, I’ve had,
Some days it comes so easily, some days it seems so bad.
I used to think I’m teaching them the ways and how to be,
But as time passes quickly by I cannot help but see,
That their the ones teaching me, in many ways then one,
They’ve taught me of a selfless love that comes from being a mum,
Self control is what I lack, they’ve taught me how to see,
If I don’t control my anger, my anger controls me.
So next time that you feel you just can’t take it anymore,
Don’t grab their little arms and shut them out behind a door,
But realise there’s a lesson that their teaching you right there,
And hold them close gratefully, with tender loving care.
THINKING OF YOU MARILYN PELLEGREN OUR PATHS CROSSED AND I CAN'T HELP BUT FEEL SO BLESSED WE MET THE MANY TALKS ABOUT RAISING FAMILIES CHILDREN MARRIAGE FORD MOTOR COMPANIES AND THE GARMENT DISTRICT WOW THE BALANCE OF YOUR LOSS LOSING TWO CHILDREN TO THIS DREADFUL DISEASE SO MANY ON WAITING LIST FOR DONORS OTHERS GOING THROUGH END OF LIFE STAGES IN HOSPICE I AM STILL TOUCHED BY THE CONTRIBUTION IN LIEU SO MANY FLOWERS WONDERFUL CONTRIBUTIONS FROM FORT MYERS THAT CONTINUE TO POUR IN SENT TO THE CHILDRENS LEUKEMIA FOUNDATION IN MICHIGAN IN MEMORY OF YOU SUCH A WONDERFUL BLESSING REST IN PARADISE SWEETIE NO MORE PAIN AND SUFFERING REALIZING JUST CAN'T SAY THE SAME FOR DONALD DANGLING ONTO THE MIDST OF MY PERFUME REEKING HAVOC TOTALLY OBSSESSED WITH MY AMERICAN POETRY IS COMPLETELY STRESSFUL BUT GOD IS GOOD WE MUST BELIEVE THAT SOME DAY HE WILL JOIN YOU AND THE BOYS SUCH A PAINFUL LIFE SUFFERING AN ILLNESS YET FILLED WITH GREED AND MALICE SHOCKING TO FIND HIM HERE IN SOME TWISTED VENDETTA RIGHT AMAZING CAUSE I ACTUALLY THOUGHT HE DIED BEFORE YOU AND THEN I LEARN HE'S STILL AMONG US REEKING HAVOC MUST BE THE ILLNESS BRAIN MATTER CANCER STRICKENED HOW HE'S ABLE TO SEND THREATS IS TRULY IN A LEAGUE OF ITS OWN MY PRAYERS ARE WITH HIM WALKING THIS EARTH SENDING THREATS TARGETING MY AMERICAN POETRY WITH MY IDENTITY THIEVES IMPERSONATING ME ACTUALLY CASHING ANNUITY PAYMENTS ON MY BEHALF DEEP SADNESS I TRULY THOUGHT HE WAS A KIND PERSON OUTSIDE OF BEING A RETIRED HITMAN FROM DETROIT HE SEEMED KIND INTERESTED IN MY GRANDFATHER IN ROME DESPERATE USUNG ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS FROM JAMAICA MEXICO TO MAKE FRAUDULENT IDENTIFICATION CARDS YES DONALD REALLY LOST ALL OF HIS MORAL COMPUS THE THING IS HE CAN NEVER EVER EXTORT MY LIFE MY AMERICAN POETRY SO HE HIDES BEHIND TERRORIST SENDING THREATS SLAMMING ON BREAKS FLIPPING FORD TRUCKS IN FLORIDA I CRING ALMOST AS HE BOAST ON PAST WHY WHY WHY REALLY WHY NOT HE LOST EVERYTHING FAKING HIS DEATH LIVE AMONG VENEZUALAN IMMIGRANTS FUNDING THE WOMANS PRISON WISEGUYS SHOPPING FOR MAIDSTHIS SADDENS ME MOST SIMPLY BECAUSE I AM AN FBI CONFIDENTIAL SOURCE A DOMESTIC VIOLENCE VICTIM BEING EXPOSED BY THIS TERROR WISEGUYS FAKING THEIR DEATHS THREATENING DISABLED POETS IN AMERICA AN YET I FEEL SORRY FOR SUCH AN EMPTY SOUL TRULY ONE THING FOR SURE YOU WERE ABSOLUTLY RIGHT ABOUT HIM GOD BLESS YOU
Part Two of the Fun Series...if you haven't read Part One, Half-Fast Fun, please do so! Thanks~ #JWE
Constantly, I am trying…
Not to cry and die away inside…
Quit lying and replying
To my sighing that I can’t hide
Jealous of me? Why you mad at me?
Oh please…don’t even...
Sia gave me chance to dance…funny?
I’m a tease…saw you leaving…
I won’t grieve for your front door slamming…your shame spamming…
My thrills are priceless and you keep acting a pill
Let me breathe and unwind…sick of society's deceived programming
The piling bills on the table were left unpaid still
Stressed, hardly anywhere to go and no one knows
Release me from this rut with sympathy that shows
God tells me to start again…
Sins erased seven times seven…
Where have you wandered off to?
Have you gone astray too? Is that true?
That’s right…don’t be a hypocrite
You make mistakes as well as me, we do choose
So, quit being mean with wicked wit
Bring up good topics without any further issues
I listen to music…yes, you heard me regardless like a beat so sick
Music does, for real, heal…
A torn, forlorn soul and therapeutically provides fire to the wick
Helps me to feel and deal
Don’t make me low when I am high
Because you are low and blue
Be nice and so will I…and so will I…
Afraid and ashamed, who knew
Was pretty mad,
Now, I’m glad
Not sad
Not, not anymore
Sorry you and I were bad…
Sore – no, no more
We had
Times so rad
Vanished like ad
I listen to music…yes, you heard me regardless like a beat so sick
Music does, for real, heal…
A torn, forlorn soul and therapeutically provides fire to the wick
Helps me to feel and deal
This time, I'll eventually sleep away
My problems tonight, I have to say
Don’t hurt me so like you done in success…
Or you’re next with future sadness that is of the abyss
Instead, I will repay you with forgiveness
I'll never hold grudges, forget it
Some people can act loveless and careless
Live with it and deal with it a bit
I listen to music…yes, you heard me regardless like a beat so sick
Music does, for real, heal…
A torn, forlorn soul and therapeutically provides fire to the wick
Helps me to feel and deal
Full-blast fun – for real…a filling meal
It’s hard to conceal it, so I will reveal…
Turn the wheel as you and I appeal
Let me ride upon the crest of an aquatic wave, to spin and
Twist within the rippling tides, of the water spheres deepest
Ocean, allow this land creature to become as one, a liquid
Creature of complete fluidity, flowing with the currents under
Tows beneath the Mediterranean sun!
Liquefaction’s child of heaven’s tears, collecting in the ionosphere,
The shards of shattered meteorites, melting amongst the heated
Entry point of the earth burning atmosphere!
I’m just a day dreaming earth being, an inspirational beach
Comber of alternate thought, set adrift within the sails
Of human imagination, this illumined castaway of the
Enlightened, wishing to be part of something larger
Than the total some of my own physical make-up!
Let me be the thundering storm ushering the lightening
Flash to rock the timeless shore, beyond the infinite
Seas of reality, the sounding clash of the everlasting
Light echoing amongst the heavens vast divides,
Nay I’m just a humble mortal, inspired by the powers
Of beauty, a poet captured within the moment of
The rocking swell of a higher master’s masterpiece
Of utter perfection!
Let the rolling rock of the ages slide downwards
From the rocky mountain tops high, ever moving,
Smoothing its sharpened edge until it is perfectly
Rounded at its journey’s end, no moss shall I
Gather, for the rambler of humanities soul’s remains
Always In constant motions wake, this pondering
Drifter of life itself, wandering why I exist!
Let me be reflections after shock shooting at super
Sonic speed, slamming against an orbiting giant of
The universal realm, bouncing in a planetary ricochet,
Hell bound to return from mine own origin point of
Divine intervention, for it is here on earth I’m entrapped!
Let me feel the winds breathe of total freedom against
My bare exposed flesh, to become a spirit being set adrift,
An elemental child without form or shape, just a whispering
Echo blowing upon the breeze of the timeless air.
Oh I’m a spiritual foundling, seeking the meaning of my own
Existence, a motion of emotion, clinging to the mental framed
Shell to which I’ve been born, but the world is for the inspired
So here I’ve found my small niche in this great big universe,
A writer, a dreamer, and the poet bard of my own inner
Heart!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
.
I’m drunk, but you’re beautiful,
a line I used to rehearse.
The Dreamers’ artistic longing felt noble,
but it came with a curse.
I bought the ticket when I didn’t know better from worse.
Now I’ve got a tale of rebellion,
and I’ll share it in verse,
it all changed one Star Wars Day,
when my thirst reversed.
May the Fourth, and I felt matured.
No Padawan—now Jedi Master,
just a little unmoored.
Met some friends inclined for chilled wine,
drinking enough to feel ruthlessly divine.
That hazy day, glazed in the usual sway.
That familiar vortex, melancholy perturbed.
Soles stained deeply by the absurd,
fermented grapes, chaos,
and the dark side assured.
The dark side calls as we sit with the thirst,
but Skywalker’s force starts thinking first:
“Unlearn what you have learned.”
Yoda’s wisdom, unrehearsed.
I needed a change, something absolute.
Had to break old habits
and reroute my pursuit.
Flip the script, exit the Aristotle loop.
We can still have fun.
Still embrace the absurd.
Someone said, “It’s Star Wars Day,”
and a spark then occurred.
We found a weird café,
celebrating in cosplay,
and somewhere in that moment,
a new hope was incurred.
Arriving at the venue, a little out of town, we found the clan,
Princess Leia sold us tickets on the door deadpan,
no droids allowed, no stormtroopers,
but there was a sandman,
Inside were Wookies at the bar, slamming shots like my mum can.
Han Solo in carbonite poster hanging on the wall,
Kids having lightsaber fights with bar stools, humming bishoooom loudly down the hall.
Glass cabinets with falcons and dioramas were neat.
Cantina soundtrack playing curiously on repeat,
Grabbed snacks, Empires on screen, so we found a seat.
We wandered deeper past merch and collector cases,
through aisles of toys and cosplayed faces.
The type of folk draw to these kind of conventions,
You know the type without me having to mention,
They filled the room with joy beyond pretension,
I watched them just be, and I wanted that,
but I found I had to be patient.
I don’t have to keep falling for the trap,
it’s not just escape, it must be more pure.
I lost a friend that day, and yeah, it’s still sore.
He bowed out—boozehound chasing the score,
while I found experience, absurdity, and something more secure.