Long Smidgeon Poems
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O curse of a century
O Calamity of a century,
Enough thieving of precious human life,
Keen we’re to see thy date of expiry.
As plague ye came, hoary thy history,
Unleashing a terror of gravest strife,
O thou curse of this chequered century.
Ye came as flue not any less deadly,
No withered virus, virulent its jibe,
Nor tamed, nowhere seen its life expiry.
Corona as now creepy and scary,
With mutants of many a varied type,
Messenger O of Death from mortuary,
Thought, year twenty had reigned more than plenty,
‘Las, what followed has dug in more than rife,
O Year Twenty-One, when’s thy expiry?
O Tragedy Smidgeon of great fury,
O Crowned Tsar, thy bite sharper than of knife,
Time's ripe to go, hasten but not slowly,
We’re keen to see thy back, better hurry.
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Villanelle |09.04.2021|
Topic: tragedy, calamity
Written: September 06, 2023
I dream poetry Sponsored by: Ink Empress
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I wander in the night of ebony embrace,
Lost in dreams, heaven, or nightmare chase
Searching in vain for a misty glimmer of hue,
A muted color, yearning to trace through.
My fingers nibble to nudge your comely face.
To glimpse a xerox of your soul in this barren space.
But phantasms and dreams are drowned in tears.
Dreariness and skepticism drench my fears.
Wishes, once vibrant—now unbearably barren,
Each flinch of solace mauls annihilated and torn.
The moon, with a crimson glaze, casts its light.
Uttering the details of this celestial night.
I'm glad I sensed this infamous hue loop.
Yet these are crumbs of an urge to stoop.
They scolded me sternly from the start.
A sane conviction into my flaunting heart.
I swallowed a smidgeon of your spirit.
Silken strings of split that we skillet
Mirthless melodies form a philharmonic of pain.
Sisyphean scarcity smolders at me again.
I waltz to the woeful waiata of weary dance.
Oddments of our devotion, a haunting stance
Alone, I bemoan in the manor of the moon.
Will the sun ever hover over my sorrow soon?
Could the growl as it rains blur a rainbow?
While we witness it from the apathetic row.
Or am I being scolded and rebuked for being alive?
Will the spasm that lends life veer and strive?
In the abyss of darkness, there is light.
A beacon of optimism that shines so bright.
And even if I wander, adrift and alone,
Iffy down, surely my soul will cinch home.
I'll retain probing solace in memories past.
They are the fragments that will ever last.
Yet throes may abide, and anguish may resist.
I'll cling to my optimism that love will persist.
Love is an odyssey full of swings and turns.
But, at last, it is an affection that returns.
So I'll betroth myself to the dreams of the past.
They sang to me over the glorious time I cast.
Hey, never mind the hundred thousand folks
you'd have to keep for decades in the dark -
the sub-contractors, cleaners, office clerks.
Hey, never mind the billions such a hoax
would cost (to really go there works out cheaper!)
Don't give a thought to scammers, media whores,
and all those earnest, honest whistle-blowers,
who gagged to play heroic brother's-keepers
and get on Charlie Rose. Don't tax your wits
by wondering how a monumental lie
could hope to last, or even wonder why
someone would want to try it. Think of this.
In early summer, nineteen sixty-nine,
the Soviet Union hated Uncle Sam.
If there had been a smidgeon of a scam,
the Russians would have formed a clamoring line
of hackers, trackers, eggheads and the rest
to tell the waiting world, "it isn't so!
Our satellites confirm, they didn't go!"
But they said nothing. There's your acid test.
It was the quietest of hums deep pitched
that appeared to be surrounding me.
It did not have the sizzle of electricity
and was not a light or the fridge.
Hunting high and low trying to make sense
of where it was originating from.
A few hours later and still no wiser
I sat back and pondered on things.
Next I tried turning off the power
which made not a smidgeon of difference.
It was still there quietly emitting sound
I knew what I needed to track it down.
I got out a stethoscope and placed it
first to the walls and then to the ceiling.
Ah now I knew what it was, munching away
slowly demolishing the whole of my house.
Feasting away, leaving behind a clue
a small pile of very fine wood.
Yes I was infested by a very small grub
commonly known as a wood worm.
My strange tears.
The genie's eyes, oh genie's eyes.
Gather the sun's spears.
Be careful not to step on the thistles of fear.
Plaits are used to create the form.
To achieve a slimmer epitome.
You and I are friends.
Envy is what comes after us.
At the close of the twilight.
Because of Noah flood.
My strange tears.
The genie's eyes, oh genie's eyes.
My strange tears.
The genie's eyes, oh genie's eyes.
Start to contrive our departure.
A sea is teeming with adversity.
With the wrench, assemble the notes.
From every flute.
Place it in the abyss of your soul's disgust.
There is a period at the cease of each event.
Amass a set of love outfits.
Enable us to escape the dangerous ghetto cities.
It's around the awful roads.
The virus wind had found a haven there.
My strange tears.
The genie's eyes, oh genie's eyes.
Feel my heartbeat in your ears.
The condition had left him immobile.
He won't be able to catch any of the mists.
That is not a picture of the sky.
It hasn't claimed the land as its property.
My strange tears.
The genie's eyes, oh genie's eyes.
That's my propensity, and that's my flaw.
Ease up my mangled rib.
Stay aware of the words that come to mind.
Retain a checklist of it in your head.
For those who desire for it, as well as for you.
Attain a note of it by calling for a gathering.
Furthermore, regardless.
I entice her with the rhyme of my aged stuff.
I yell out my hazy promise.
It sang of druid snitching schemes.
From the eyelids of the sea.
With some salt, I can grasp the meanings.
I find the secret to her.
To quench a nostalgic thirst.
Besides, when there is a smidgeon of envy.
Detachment can yell.
The absolute first seashore.
That is where you can ensure it as love is broadened.
On the last islands of the meeting.
Love is also waiting to pass me.
Dream wine has enticed me.
The many shades of my eternal passion.
I'm an awful fan of the mountains.
My never-ending goal sparkles brightly in flames.
My strange tears, thank you.
The genie's eyes, oh genie's eyes.
I walked up to the door and stopped surprised.
There were three creatures there before my eyes.
A handsome dog, a fluffy cat, and a most casual deer.
None of them moved or had a smidgeon of fear.
You do have an unusual home I told my host.
I know she said, and I hate to boast
But inside you will see some amazing creatures too.
She ushered me in to find an elephant, horse and kangaroo.
Where does the elephant sleep? I asked my friend.
Usually in the stable, but today he is on the mend.
He had an argument with the tiger; see the tiger is still mad.
This was the shortest visit to a friend’s house I have ever had.
What love have we?
What are we to do?
When I say that I love you,
Do you love me too?
What do you see in me?
Who am I to you?
A part of your crew?
Or a part of a broken knee, plea, easy to do...
It was NOT my best, even when I wore a vest.
Shot to the heart was a start a la carte,
Still, I would love any smidgeon of some time with you to party!
Like a pigeon or a pest, like the rest, either one of us could nothing less,
We caressed each other at one point, I put the joint down and passed my test,
I wish you would Joina me my messy bestie. I love you more than all of the rest!
Written: January 12, 2024
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Their buzzing goes unabated
the cool air scent of lavender
in this unfathomable cosmos
where dreams are fulfilled,
a smidgeon of silver wind
utterly enthralled.
Within the icy voids of
aching and colorless hues
raven-inhabited remnants
vulnerable grays
aesthetic fog, fanciful yarns
dissipating wood smoke
whispers of winter, as dusk falls
dawn in monochrome
amidst gentle chimes
traces of an emotional waltz
oblivion is grieved in silence
a blackbird with ruby wings!
The colors of the trees
Iridescent in appearance
create a stunning scene
that is incredibly fortunate
this is a poetic domain
where lilts joyfully chortle
the trees gently move
and the dryads are overjoyed
the heart of lullabies
with brilliant opals
giving wandering spirits hope
back in their house labyrinth
Scarlet nests were seen on high boughs
romantic place where calm blooms.
With the hearth of lullabies
opals that are flaming
soul-directing the wayward.
they're back in their home maze.
nests of crimson grew snugly.
among the boughs, exalted.
a sanctuary for love.
wherever there is harmony,
exquisitely halcyon arbors
colorful tapestry with wonderful beauty
Iridescent sky with gorgeous hues
In this magical setting, dreams bloom
where nature's splendor is eternal,
calmly, trees swing, and the dryads spin.
Written: December 13, 2023
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If the ocean's water
were used as writing ink for pens
to write down our words of praise
the ocean would eventually dry up
before it might be put in writing.
evil will triumph
if the righteous remain silent
Inner defect causes blindness
success depends on action
stand up and do what
you realize is right
raise exertion level
a smidgeon suffices
to allow notions of impetus
you can then sleep well
your pick is akin to lacerations
requires precise timing
curious but uncertain.
blind attrition is pointless.
reach for stars
obtain an aerial view of the world
wave farewell to the land
live easily a prospective granted by
you are misusing beauty
greet the passing clouds.
forsake worries and avert your gaze
fear is a foe you must overcome
soar high and be wise.
I am in this place
and you are in that.
I suspect you are in a different place,
one I have yet to recall, or visit.
Same goes for my dog, but now and again
her wet nose in my ear wakes me up
from a troubled sleep.
Same goes for the mean snake slaying Siamese cat
that scratched me to pieces.
I reckon that it still exists in some parallel universe,
still craping on some other
poor son of a .
Today I am on the doorstep of
of a Thai restaurant - I think I once lived in Thailand,
but it could have been this other person,
someone who lives in another dimension,
a place just a smidgeon from my left eye.
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