Long Snaking Poems
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Racing boastful devil breaths played tag in a sprint
stretching through trees than swift and quick slapping
dropped down low to touch and brush the wintering earth.
A coiled zephyr snaking and winding high in the grayed sky
entwined between gusty gasps of cold air
streaming unseen for a wispy song soft and shrill than gone.
Still for a brief second it fell
quiet and silent, hushed, momentarily at rest
then rising revived in irritated displeasure of the calm.
Stormy seething flares un-quenched belch in the easterly gale
speeding wild and reckless in the sudden lurch
weaving in and out the jet air stream.
Tall grass stood angel like
in the dark recessed corners of the fields
holding an outstretched arm to wave hello and goodbye.
A northeaster blast born of racing westerlies
blend and twist in the winter unexpected warm
waltzing in the chill to spiral the seasonal expectations.
The dark night persisted
It wanted to stay
It stubbornly insisted and noone could get in its way
It had prevailed
The moon was veiled
Looking like it shivered at the edges
It was a night in which the only master was sadness
Amidst this stood a fortress
It ws undeniably a hut
But to the one inside
In presence of scorpions and mud
It looked like the dungeons of palaces
The hut was supposed prettily situated at the bay of the vast sea
Where the sun never waited
A shadow is always seen pacing
Much like the Walk of someone waiting
She fills the isolation
Spending the night in vast contemplation
But sometimes there is a memory
Snaking itself
To the front once in a day
A sensation of a small hand slipping
In the concealed lightness of the day
Her face etched with sorrows unknown
Never mundane enough
But an eternity slips in the labyrinth
Something congruent to the verses
Usurping every pain
Without any known gain
She is the glory of night
She paces to the sound of the sea
Ignoring every sight
In hopes
That she will feel the hand again
And perhaps this time it may be able to make it ashore
The streets are full of madmen
The bedrooms they are too
After hours of internet p..n
What do you expect? What do…
The kids carry guns
Challenge their arrogance
And they’ll kill you too
The madhouses have been emptied
No funds to house the insane
Waiting lines are crawling all over the city
Snaking in tangled descent into Hell’s reign
The cemeteries are ready to open their tombs
The dead will come to meet the mad
In a sanguine ceremony of riot and wounds
I see the coffins open
I see straight jackets flying like sails
Over dark rivers of blood
Splashing out in the tempest gales
I speak to myself “Put on the amour of God’s holiness
Stand against the schemes of Hell
Against the schemes of authority’s unwinding deceitful spell”
Shipwrecks are following from fraudulent choices
One upon another, upon another
Crashing against the rocks of eternity
Amidst the exploding noise of drunken whores' voices
All are drowning in self- made poison
Flowing for centuries from sick societal breasts
Sinking with hearts of stone into a deadly bottomlessness
Step Into Starlight
by Michael R. Burch
Step into starlight,
lovely and wild,
lonely and longing,
a woman, a child . . .
Throw back drawn curtains,
enter the night,
dream of his kiss
as a comet ignites . . .
Then fall to your knees
in a wind-fumbled cloud
and shudder to hear
oak hocks groaning aloud.
Flee down the dark path
to where the snaking vine bends
and withers and writhes
as winter descends . . .
And learn that each season
ends one vanished day,
that each pregnant moon holds
no spent tides in its sway . . .
For, as suns seek horizons—
boys fall, men decline.
As the grape sags with longing,
remember—the wine!
Originally published by The Lyric
Married into esteem, wet blood of rubies
Eighty one ladybugs jitter over decoletage
Prince winks at my wonderment, approving
Twinkle pink flashes, silk rhubarb mirage
His newest attainment suitably adorned
Heavy with resplendent raspberry prize
Chest rise and fall, cool gems warmed
Youngest addition, other wives despise
Purple swords impale my heart, royal highs
Paraded through market bustle by monarch
Scintillation imprisons many envious eyes
Stones steal attention, status makes its mark
Gliding aside sultan, highlighted in twinkling
Sea side suite seduces snaking strawberry
Lavish lashings threaten to erase my history
Desirable princess flung far from ordinary
Chartered fingers caress coves in rapture
Lustre of pandora fulfills intrigue's voyage
Merged territories weave magic carpet capture
Traipsed mapping harbours among cleavage
Enamoured mumbles promise a hundred emeralds
Deftly, he unclasps pleasing planet neck orbiter
Molten mouth sears my shoulder, lurid liquid gold
Rallied rubies release, libation grains pour on floor
18th July 2020
Written for Julia Ward's Contest -
' I Went Shopping for Rubies'
A Promise of Peace
A lonely road,
A long and winding road.
Travelled only by the lost souls of Earth.
Travelled by the dreamers and the poets,
The people who cursed their emotions into the eternity of creation.
They stumble down this road,
Twisting with the curves settled in the dust.
The sun, never setting, never rising.
Stuck in a frozen frame.
Stuck like those whose passion is seen as nothing more than a whim.
Amongst those travelers is a girl.
Her blonde hair reflecting against the light,
Shining to those that are blind to true beauty.
The muse,
Travelling to her artist.
Someone to paint her beauty.
Like the glistening stars among the dark abyss of the night sky.
The muse.
Miles ahead, a stumbling soldier.
A painter who vowed never to pick up a brush,
Pouring his emotions into the battlefield.
A true artist,
One that cast shadows of red on the field of green.
He took those who laid down their lives from their misery,
He gave them their freedom,
Leaving them to dye the crystal waters red.
The artist.
Two men, far behind the artist and his muse.
They walked in silence, watching a scene of myths.
Orpheus and his Eurydice.
They watched as their own tale was being written.
Two men in love,
A forbidden love.
Romeo and Julius.
Two friends, who can never be more.
As they walk this snaking course,
They know this to be truth.
For their god, he forbade it.
Mind over matter,
Ashes to ashes,
Movement for moments.
A drunken teacher,
A man who preached beliefs he didn’t have the strength to follow.
His hand outstretched for the bottle he craves.
A temporary numbing for his persistent memories,
A void he falls into with open arms.
His students,
Never leaving his mind.
Hoping,
Nay, praying that they understood.
Understood why he had to vanish from existence.
A never-ending road,
Each person promised peace.
The muse promised her lover,
The soldier promised rest,
The men in love, promised nothing short of acceptance,
The teacher, who felt nothing but pain, was promised relief.
And you,
You will one day stumble upon this track.
But why, for what will you journey for?
PRIMP and PREEN
Passersby’s halt, they fear to walk by, to fall to this feline
in her prime. No moggie is she who’s primped and preened
in contemplation she flaunts her flair. Motionless as art, her
body’s dreadful covered in copious layers of azure fur.
This she cat finds each passerby a meal, a most delectable prey.
Primped and preened, her snaking tail waving rhythmic.
Her trunk’s molded like a rounded goblet full of wine.
Her paws arrest, slender, like a maiden's finger fine.
Her chest full and firm, she posed with influential height.
Her translucent tabby orbs shutter, then focus to gaze
reflecting a light, shadowed by a panacea of unfolding lies;
twin spheres speak, solid, content in serenity and pride.
There's a bombshell shining in this cat's eyes.
_____________________________________________________________
~Inspired by: The Blue Cat by Pamela Colman Smith 1907~
***For Debbi Guzzi's: Ten Paintings, Ten Poems, ALMOST DONE
__Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo__
08:24; January 13, 2015
Creeping creepy creepers, the crawling trellis
jutting out of everywhere
snaking through country and metropolis
twisting turning in floral bliss
but more like snakes that hiss
But in quietude feign death for self-defense!
Weeping willows with an unreal surreal sorrow
weeping tears of dew onto the silted furrow.
Perhaps weeping for bretheren felled
in deforestations and land clearings in
my imaginations of the call to preservation.
Against ethnic cleansing of greenery for selfish building
As per man's construction for mere recreation
Velvety-green tear- stained faces or rather foliage
When dew is stuck on them as nature's trinkets of pearls.
And over there touch-me-nots swaying coyly
like prim and proper maidens
in the fantastic floral gardens.
And what in the world is this case?
Imitation flowery in place of imitation jewellery?
Yeah, thats poinsettia in a vase
Leaves in the disguise of flowers
Its actual flowers relegated to backstage.
And ethereal fairy-slippers await their never coming wearers
and Indian pipes to be admired by Red Indian sightseers.
Oh and here's another spectacle- but sniper tactics this time
Yikes! Let the naive insect world beware!
Whilst the bloodthirsty killers lie in ambush
Those camouflaged jungle guerrillas
or should we say the venus fly-traps!
Or a more harmless one yet mimicking the scary
A snap-dragon flora, its mouth opening and snapping shut.
Then watch that mega-sized jumbo giant flora
The world's largest flower
No stems, no leaves, plant-eater plant, rafflesia.
Is it too much for the faint-hearted ha ha.
And wow now watch that incredible costume, oh my!
A flower masked as some pesky fly!
None other than the remarkable fly orchid.
And yet another, the silent music of the fiddlenecks
Fiddles as if for the light-weight fairies.
And lastly not forgetting ofcourse
the sky-blue unforgettable forget-me-nots
A memorable bouquet but themselves devoid of memory.
Ah nature lover poets if you wish to view
more of flora in a fancy dress masquerade
Go ahead and flip through the pages of
a botanical, floral
horticultural
pictorial journal.
And see for yourself the fantastic flora's charade
or else imagine them dressed as a floral renegade!
BETWEEN THEN AND NOW
””””””``````````”””””””
Let's find eternity in a day
it's here, right here in this fluid moment ,
an hour, a day, a week, a month
ignore all these intervals
for they're really all just a heartbeat long.
They say,
so often now that it must be a cliché,
how hard is it to love and lose
not just him, but a part of the self as well?
But hope is a powerful potion
and when the same betrayal happens
in different ways multiple times,
it eats into the soul leaving me but to wonder:
Am I broken?
Perhaps, I can shake the wounds and click my heels
and still dare...
I'll nod, smile, and agree with the stars
that while my popped veins are screaming,
there is still a charmed chance whispered to me
once broken, twice broken,
pray tell, why should I try for a third time?
For hope is indeed a powerful potion
though fear may be stronger,
as pierced memories are knives embedded far deeper
snaking their way into the depths of wilted flower beds,
of a look, a smile, a question on a dance floor…
that pause between then and now.
Just flow, let’s find eternity in a day
time means nothing when hours turn to seconds,
an hour, a day, a week, a month ,
ignore all these intervals
for when my fingers become tapered candles …
Life becomes wrapped up into one ball of wax.
----------©----------all rights reserved
Michael Falotico's " Close Your Eyes and Click Your Heels"
By: nette onclaud
Buried deep in its pages
are traces of the trail
taken by a life lived by
trial and error
Thoughts and ideas floating
around light as a feather
A few profound ones maybe,
some sincere and others
just silly really
prayers, hopes and dreams
leave their mark in there
all my fears laid out bare
and clues to finding my realm
nestled between the lines
Bits of me caught in the text
by ink and glued on with love
for the word and wonder at
the mysteries of the world
my tears captured and preserved
as they flow through my memories
watering repressed anger, outrage
regret, grief,excitement, passion
and even joy on occasion
at times washing away the salt
from my weeping wounds
tiny rivers of emotion snaking
through a life well hidden
between pressed pages
My journal is my confidant,
Its confines conceal secrets
some not even my own
A trusty friend, even when I'm
being a crusty fiend
My steady ride or die
On life’s often bumpy road
At times even my confessional
where I can unburden my heart
Its been a good reminder
when I forget crucial details
And proved to be a very precise
time keeper on our varied travels
It lays right next to my head
under my pillow at night
Away from prying eyes but
still close enough to my mind
for us to hold fellowship
in our intertwined dreams
and wake up aligned as one
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