Long Slurring Poems
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These days, when He watches her, she unconsciously moves
a fringe of hair to veil her eyes,
and even that is cause for His chagrin.
The nights He comes home wasted, smelling of beer,
He minces her with vile slurring words, incoherent bile
that slices holes and seeps into her soul
until she feels her entrails quiver.
If she dares to speak, He seizes that moment to play Lord and Master
and put her in her serfage place (though ironically, the plebian is He).
He screams at her, “What is that? What’s that you say?”
She yearns to know the shibboleth He seeks from her,
that magic utterance to take His wrath away.
But they are words not granted her.
Remission is not hers inside His house. And when the beatings begin,
she bows on knees enfeebled, soundlessly submitting.
From this she has learned she will receive a swifter castigation.
Afterwards - through the rumbling of His stirring in the bed beside her,
she lies stone-like, replaying in her mind
what has become a more and more familiar fantasy:
A young man, debonair and kind, touches sandy locks and moves them gently
to the side. He holds her face and smiles into her eyes.
Life with such a man, she thinks, will be for her one day,
exoneration.
Written March 18, 2014 /
for Shadow Hamilton's The Dark Side of Love Poetry Contest
Solo, like a butterfly, emerging out of its chrysallis for the very first time
She tip-toed slowly , silently , then ran far far away.
Far from a combination of vomit and slurring speech ,
from the buzzling sounds of the town , alleys , valleys ,and zig-zagged streets.
Far from boots and guns, from the smell of gasoline ,and red puddled mud.
Distant from his stinking sweat and from falling dust .
Far from the present, and even the past .
She walked, crossed bridges, and ran once again
till the sapphire sky turned asphalt brown , and captured her breath.
Under the old oak tree the little woman have closed her eyes.
She dreamt about tattered wings fluttering free, soaring up high.
She dreamt dulcet dreams about a talisman of wisdom , truth and love
belonging to a stranger who lived in a hut.
Rhapsodic as the voice of bamboo pines playing in the wind were her dreams.
Evanescent those lunar limbs that cradled her into a deep sleep.
Radiant like buttercups'glow was the sun upon her face
Exposing her eyes to a waterfall where bruises and fears will be soaked away.
How She danced on that day. Felicity adopted her name.
How She sang, amongst a plethora of coloured thunderbirds.
Along with the chorus of the breeze , harmony spread through the evergreen leaves.
Then suddenly, She stopped. to listen to approaching footsteps , and words.
A tall dark Cherokee glanced at her with a talisman in his hands.
She knew, He was the stranger that lived in her dream.
He knew , this almond eyed girl owned beauty , He had never seen.
Getting closer to her , He got hold of her hand.
and welcomed her presence to his Idyllic land.
(Not for the contest, bur tnks for the inspiration S. O )
Ten words challenge : Plethora, Radiant , Evanescent, Idyllic , Talisman ,chrysallis , Rhapsodic , sapphire , Felicity ,Dulcet.
just a little slurring on the left side
as he holds back these tears
my eldest brother
so funny down the years...
we`ve had our differences
yes, that I can say
and yes, I still love him and wish the stroke away-
He`s so gung ho to get going
he`s amazing to me
inspirational and uplifting and funny as can be...
how he keeps busy in that hospital by day
is a mystery to me as his spirits don`t fray
he does all his exercises
in fact he does more
in hopes of escape
on that hospital floor-
he`s got his reservations in
to be with the world real soon-
my brother
the star
you got me over the moon.
Form:
If I should get punctured, laying leaking Crimson Tide,
call me Deacon Blues as I slowly start to die.
If they miss me, take it easy.
All is as it should be.
It's best to cut losses, cut ties, change your name, skip town, and grow a beard.. Like To-day, act now before patience sells out in turn I act out of character, and when I leave this is all that you'll talk about.
Our natural satellite departs slow.
Binds of the parasitic plant; first love ties.
The pulse on your neck is chattering, It's slurring its words.
Downtrodden, ragged, in rags soaking drenched and sitting comfortable in combustible liquid stenches.
Oblivious even in the question, oddly aggressively asking,
a straggly demand, expectant to be handed the light to smoke himself a real 'Death Sentence' cigarette.
The late moon is stunning, floating, acting like you're here and really you're staying, we all know that you're leaving.
What are we even thinking?
The only finger on the pulse plays to the beat of a night that reminds me of older days.
Guarded adversaries; imagine that.
The Heart Elapse.
Collapse.
Old and Grey or Rob the cradle to the grave.
Good morning sunshine! I do wake
I speak with drowsiness slurring words
Stimulated by the daybreak and prominent hues
I talk! You listen! For heavens sake!
Some days I see the skies, beauteous be the blues
Dancing in my head and the wind it breaks
The breeze on my mind , it meditates
Hypnotically the sun takes my breath away
And the dance ! we waltz the sway
Dawning on me with clear visions in my head
I see the images of the roots of my rose
And the love that I feel sometimes, I do suppose
I ponder through life always wondering
Wandering eyes on my iridescent face
Depressed thoughts suppressed , I see no trace
I sit by my window pane - brightness fills my soul
I see the light - loving you is better this way
Waking up lifted by your beauty , I still see
That your beauteous mind certainly inspires me
I paint the pictures significantly in my brain
Still meditating with the trickle of the rain
The roses they bloom - infatuating thee
The buds and their delicate velvety petals in view
While you listen to every word - they capture my love with you
I stand tall - My mind is traveling thoughts real clear
And the dance we sway ! embraced - I love you, dear.
My book "Beauteous be Poesy" is available on line - Googles. Amazon . com and Barnes and Noble. if you visit the sight please leave me a rating, it would be greatly appreciated. Thank you, also my BLOG of another book plus, various poetry is Http://poetrycurio.blogspot.com Merry Christmas!
On a normal day the sun shining,
Riding in my Jeep with you beside me.
Looking into your beautiful eyes,
I look forward and from the corner,
Of my eye I see a car coming,
Ramming into us,
Glass shattering,
Pushing us over the hill,
Falling falling, looking long enough,
To see the love of my life,
Go thru the windshield.
The pain in my head is excruciating,
I feel the blood running down my face.
I reach out, calling her, she isn't moving.
I call her name over and over.
Then suddenly I hear her moaning.
I tell the paramedics,
Slurring my words....her first.
They load us up, where is she??
The paramedics tell me she's right here,
She grabs my hand, baby I'm ok.
The paramedics tell me it was just,
Lucky there was no glass,
In the windshield that saved her,
I hear the paramedics call out,
We're losing her, I whisper I Love you.
All the lights fade as I hear,
My love screaming Don't leave me,
I Love You, Bring her back, begging.
Days go back I open my eyes,
Hearing a voice pleading to
Bring me back, the most beautiful,
Woman looking down upon,
Crying and kissing me.
Then I look and see the
Dread in her eyes.
Don't worry baby you will walk again.
I look at her seeing the pain in her eyes,
And my whole world comes,
Crashing down.
Her shirt is bloody.
The nurse looks at me and says,
She wouldn't leave,
She was here everyday reading to you,
Telling you she was in love with you,
And she would never leave you.
One day you will stand and watch,
Her walk down the aisle,
Marrying the love of her life.
Your love is everlasting.
Your road to recovery will be long,
But have faith she will always,
Be by your side.
The war is ever-nearer to the boarders of this land
Seeping forward through the woods
Releasing acrid echoes of doom ahead on energetic tongues of stowaways
Lucky to survive their ordeal
Here they are welcomed, and in this cozy tavern
Their woes are hidden in the shadows while they warm their feet by the fire, regaling their heroic tales of escape;
growing ever grander with the generous plying of ‘the innkeeper’s secret’ special brew
‘It’s a secret,’ he tells me, as I take a sip;
Warm amber fills my mouth, washing my throat with a sense of sweet spicy sunshine..
Suddenly I know, how despite being closest to the edge of conflict, this tavern will be Sanctuary …
Spying the patrons and the ever arriving newcomers from my shaded alcove seat;
Spotting frantic newcomers; a beacon of fear in a sea of jovial patrons slurring songs of old, arm in arm with one another
It’s not hard to see that this tavern if filled with patrons from both sides…
But it seems that the only person seeing this…is me
‘How do you do it?’ I ask under my breath, reluctant to destroy this mirage of comfort before me.
‘It’s a secret,’ he smiles, melting into the crowd.
I try to follow, but my legs are soo heavy, anchoring my flying torso to my seat, my will fighting my body to stay in the now,
´HOW!’ I shout out, a cry of desperation …
He turns back, only once, with a cheeky smile and a wink for good measure … then he is gone … like he never was
I wake to the sound of twittering birds in a cove of dappled sunshine, before me a meadow where once stood a cozy tavern…
All that remains; a tangled arch of wisteria and jasmine …
And the eerie susurrations of songs of old,
Inviting all in … to the toadstool ring.
In this life I've seen several people die.
It used to really haunt me and I would
ask God why.
The first time I was just a teen so many
years ago, I was in the middle of giving
a massage to a person I didn't know.
The man was from Vienna and before he
went with grace, he asked me to massage
the wrinkles from his face.
I thought of nitroglycerin in his locker that day
but my manager told me to hold his hand and
that help was on the way. I stood there obediently
and held this stranger's hand. He was gone quickly.
All in God's plan.
The second time in my thirties with an elder from my church, we were
driving to a movie when she began to convulse and jerk. My six year
old daughter was in the back seat, anticipating popcorn and candies
she would eat. I wasn't trained in CPR so I tried to flag down a passerby car.
No one stopped for us and Frances lost consciousness. I drove to the hospital hoping for the best. The e.r. staff lifted her limp core, as one black pump fell
to my car's floor board. I dropped my daughter with a neighbor as her disappointment reigned and called our minister who to the hospital came.
I returned to France's home and knocked urgently at the door. I was greeted by her slurring spouse who was inebriated once more. I shared the situation and to go to the hospital quick. He said he'd drive with his son James and didn't need my lift.
When I arrived at the hospital, the police and my minister were there.
Frances had passed with a smile on her face, absent of worldly cares.
I answered the police inquiry and my minister and I prayed but the trauma
lingered on with me, my nerves were taut and frayed. It took some time to process the events naturally. I kept on asking God, "why me, why me?"
Finally my minister helped me to see the light when he said that I was
being used by God on that night. It's an honor to be with a person when they pass. I stopped asking God, "why me" at last..
My muse is drunk this New Year’s Eve
Not caring about my desire to write
Slurring words ideas ruining peach poetry
As lit as fireworks in an onyx night sky
His cigar smells and as he yellow yells
Thinking it a funny whispered joke
Jack Frost a blue friend will sit a spell
Jack Daniel flowing down his throat
Eyes so red glassy seem to blur
His vision of the world this night
Ideals still fly high as a blue bird
Despite fluctuating laughs and cries
I offer him coffee strong and black
Same as his views when not drunk
He drops the cup it now has a crack
New Year’s Eve isn’t going to be fun
planning
The other day Anna created a Pinterest board of wedding ideas (Cheesy, she knows). “It’s time to hop on the bandwagon,” she said. She insists every other girl she’s aware of - except her weird Yale roommates - has one.
We think her girls back home (in Oregon) - who didn’t go to college, are matching up with the Larrys and Gregs who stayed home to become auto mechanics and carpenters - and are now serially getting married. This trend seems to be exerting an odd, psychological pressure on Anna.
“You may be jumping the gun,” Sophie observes.
Anna’s never even had a long-term boyfriend before, but she wishes she had one now. A part time BF anyway, because who has time for more? Anna is self-proclaimed awkward with guys, especially cute ones.
She created a tinder account and uses it to see how many matches she can get - but she refuses to meet any guys there because she says she’s not “desperate.” She thinks everything about tinder screams awkward, unless people are just hooking up there - and that idea, in her mind, is absolutely disgusting.
saving the planet
Late last Friday night, a graduate friend of Peter’s threw a party at his house - far from campus. The house was packed with people and the music was thumping, the crowded rooms jumping - practically humping - in time to a Sacramento horror punk band called “The cramps" that was playing on loop.
I made it through the living room mob to the kitchen, which was oddly empty and well lit. There was a disheveled girl gripping the island bar with one hand, like we’re on a rocking ship, while trying to light a cigarette with the other. I gently wangled the lighter from her - so she didn’t set her hair on fire - and gave her a light.
Afterwards, I slipped the lighter into her skirt pocket, and noticed half the island had coke spilled all over it. “I gave it a drink,” she said, slurring and wavering on her feet, “it looked thirsty.”
That’s when I noticed her now-empty rum and coke cup next to a soaking wet little cactus plant, two ice cubes now lodged in its dirt. I reassured her as I helped her onto a chair, “you were saving the planet.”