Long Snapping Poems
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Standing in the forest I watch
as he strolls towards me
tipping his hat
he stops and stares
Looking so deep within me
I feel heat rising inside
as his eyes caress me
seeming not to miss anything
Without doing any more
than fixing me by glance
this man was stirring up
my senses one by one
As his eyes traced their path
it felt like he was gently stroking
as he lingered on my lips
they felt so hot and even crushed
They slowly drop lower
burning as they pass
i writhe wanting his touch
to feel his weight on me
A crack of a twig snapping
breaks the spell, I start
watch him fading in the distance
was it all just a daydream?
contest: Skat's fantasty written 06/13/2013
The Yuletide Season
Seen through the window by the fireplace’s illuminating fuel
Is a family gathering celebrating the Yule;
A union of Noël greeters in wondrous delight
Expresses warmth, joy, and happiness within the house.
They wish each other a Merry Christmas with sincerity and cheer
And exchange cards and presents while snapping pictures.
In the corner, a fir tree stands with a star topper bright
Decorated with ornaments, tinsel strings, and twinkling lights.
Down the banister and around the room, garlands run,
And over the mantle, holly and a wreath are hung.
Then singing is heard accompanied by piano music playing,
Followed by the raising of glasses to toast the Yuletide season.
Outside in the cold covered with snow while walking alone,
Memories of home come to mind, and how the years have flown.
"The Fiery Breath of Certain Death"
Or
"Alarm Bells Are Ringing"
You wear your anger well, it suits you just fine,
but, do we all have to feel the fiber of your fabric?
You toot in your zoot suit, then you scoot for a toot,
head wired, eyes fired, lip licking, lip flicking, chicken!
Snarling, snapping, rapping, grueling gruel, your fangs drooling,
rabid dog reflex, we'll just have to call you Rex!
As in...T-Rex, flexing oral dexterity,
you flex your pecs Rex, then your text is next!
OMG! The "Prankster," you're the original "Gangster,"
blogging and feeding, we eat floggings and bleedings!
Melting minds of the masses, you chair literary classes,
we suffer the choir, with heads blazing, ears on fire!
If kindness kills, then you kill us with "Carols,"
glock half-cocked...lock, stock, and two smoking barrels!
I guess the bullets you spray, helps keep the conscience away,
while you skin us alive, to be meat on display!
You drank angst from the wagon, a flagon "Snapdragon,"
wagging, gagging, with hellfire halitosis bragging!
Your breath of quick-fire death, inflames our thrombosis,
we pray today, that our blessed death, doth soon approaches!
But, till that day, we pray, for blessed redemption,
if we're lucky, maybe God will give us an exemption!
With excerpts from the movie: "Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels"
Sands of time runneth out
stout whistleblowers must apply clout
to affect the commander in chief forced...
send him back his favorite mantra,
that churlish, childish and cheapish tricky lout
arrogant, defiant, haughty... without doubt
exceeded probation apprenticed, I shout
out, his poor performance absolute zero
as presidential material about
effective electing trout
as huff fish hint leader of America
rather less so - hook, line and sinker
"FAKE" laurels he cannot hard dilly tout
running democracy regarding
United States of America aground,
while out dough faced mouth blowout
vitriolic vile, noxious, crude... invectives
his anger doth spout
frothily fuming, lividly
lashing, rabidly raging...
trademark MAGA flout
sulking with juvenile pout
vamoose with him
and ilk poisoning
Lady Liberty's body with gout
cantankerous malignant cancerous canker
breeding, bleeding, besotting devout
dereliction evincing hangdog look
barking, growling, snapping... snout
fondling, groping, harassing...,
analogous to pedophile scout
wily, vehemently, unseemly, sacrilegious
behaviour in apropos devout
floundering, grounding, hijacking...,
ship of state into sauerkraut
agent provocateur on warpath
doomsday clock inching closer
to armageddon drought
will prevail across Earth
global thermonuclear fallout.
The leather tethers kept loosening.
I had to pull at them until
they dug into your body
binding you to a rocking cross.
It was all for nothing
you died snapping at unseen knives,
arching up, bending time into
frozen waves.
You once said you were Irish/Scots,
Appalachian.
You called yourself: Applachan.
Sinewy girl --- wiry poppy stems
in you, and engine oil
to soften tenacious roots.
The fever racked you up.
It shook your bones loose.
It blossomed,
pouring you out
in thimbles of awareness.
In those intervals,
blue hills filled your eyes
with summer rain.
I would talk to you of Ireland.
We went there on that last night.
We made a hasty camp
in the felled woods,
the deep raw stumps
were already greening.
Then I watched,
and kept watching
as feeble death broke its teeth
on your blood.
Memories
First Platoon boards the Huey, sickly smell of sweat and death
elbow to elbow we sit cramped in the narrow compartment
hot, sticky air like a sauna grips us in its wet claws
rotors spin, air rushes through the open doors
but no relief is felt from the hot, breath of the dragon
gnawing fear grips each man as the bird lifts off
taking us to places we don’t want to go
the green canopy is now below us concealing them but not us
we land at the LZ, bullets snapping and popping as we emerge
the encounter is short, bloody, cries of wounded, silence of dead
First Platoon boards the Huey, sickly smell of sweat and death
gnawing fear grips each man as the bird lifts off
are we headed back to the firebase, home, safety from the fire
safety from the fear and death and sweat
Hueys flying the wrong way, new orders issued
on to the next hot LZ more fear death and sweat
Masked and disguised, my first grade teacher, Miss Chark, kept her true identity under wraps one hundred and ninety-two days a year.
She liked sunlit naps, the smell of catnip, but most of all, to be left alone in front of a glowing snapping orange fire with a huge bowl of salmon.
What would the parents say if they learned the truth?
Less than three days before she appeared at the Board of Education office, she had mysteriously awoken from a Saturday night cat nap, and noticed that not only was her tail missing, but she had
turned into an enemy, a fur-less human!
Miss Chark could neither read nor write but no one knew that. She did not have a teaching license, but no one checked.
Luckily she knew English, even though she had never spoke it before, and she knew she needed money to buy herself food. We children loved her and taught her how to read.
Mr. Poindexter, Mrs. Chark's new pet cat has a serious moral dilemma. He has the heart of a young boy mouse, but the taste buds of a cat. He only liked cheese and peanut butter yesterday, but this morning his tail had grown long and fluffy, and he no longer liked his mousey things.
There is a thin line between real and pretend, and you, Miss Chark, and you , Mr. Poindexter, have fallen into the Twilight Zone
Don't buy it,
Scatter the wishes,
However (desperate and maligned),
For all of them,
The (murmur) and the (mesmerized),
Youth-paid homage,
Ill-afforded, unattended and
Graciously subversive,
By aged animals nodding
Approval against the (backdrop)
Of their worst intentions,
Hope that eloquence, depth,
Perceived connection and
Immersions of familiarities
Will get everyone laid,
Plush boy smiles, admits his
Voyeurism needs polishing,
(Languishing),
Sip from scourge's
Crystal goblet,
Teardrops by the glassful,
Ah, the epiphany,
It's a gay quorum,
A foreign swath of fashion sense,
Pickled on the petunia,
The green, sunny willow,
Swaying, to drunken breeze,
And smiles, complacencies,
At least they have
The good (sense) and fortune,
Rouge, textured rhythms,
Bass-plucking fires,
Snapping horns dotting the air,
Straight mutes coddling
The wicked goods,
And snare and pound,
The beat drives straight,
No need getting off,
When you're on baby!
(6/27/05)
a mellifluous trickle had given way
to licking her wounds in silent arrest
of the honey flow of her beautiful mind
synapses clotted on stagnant display
like burnt marshmallows on a fire
charcoaled pen roasted at her core
incinerated thoughts feeling briquettes
blackened in a cold cauldron of fear
all that was left was her amber necklace
a shrunken talisman reduced to a token
tight rope and garrotte in anticipation
of snapping her slender foundations
in a desperate attempt to sever the cord
she felt sorry for the insect that captured
her plight encapsulated in resin and time
yet immortalized in a capsule of being
she kissed the pendant in final farewell
the jewel sprung into an action of hope
and the semiprecious stone opened up
released its startled prey and spoke softly
I only kept you away from peril and death
until agony would be a challenge once more
a platform for growth change and passion
nectar oozed down her parched throat
ambrosia teased her awakening voice
softly spoken she swallowed the past
tickled with bee’s syrup’s euphonia
the sting of the tale wrote a new story
sweet toned fluidity gathered its current
released slumbering strength and dreams
and a captive audience mellowed surprise
lavender rose hip and cinnamon dispelled
motionless nightmares and hibernation
sugary fragrances guided her passage
to a point of no return scented in joy
for many years she had been unable to see
the butterfly waiting to grace her future
now the sound of freedom spread its wings
as she danced in the crown of surrender
to truth of trial error sentence and misjudgement
that had protected her from the trap of demise
17th September 2021
As I age
the formerly wide chasm between ecstasy and despair
grows narrower,
deeper.
I had not thought this an attribute of maturation,
quite the contrary,
but perhaps an aging crevice,
a thinning fracture
between played-out manic bliss, over-extended harvest,
and depression
nondually faces two extremes
of positive major chords and keys
with negative minor tensions
searching for each other out and in,
become too vocal, focal
looking for tacit evidence
apposition yet lives
on another side
of this darkening
enlightening
divide.
Dr. Jeckyll's confluence
redeeming Mr. Hyde's dissonance
double-binding midway balance
now become a treacherously tight rope
tensioned for resonance and buoyant bounty,
just short of snapping side against side.
Perhaps wisdom is learning how to equitably co-invest
in both wonder and shock,
without becoming paralyzed in-between these boundless awes,
deep wavering yes and please not yet,
not yet,
carving a gorge
deep echoing sacred reverence
and secular irrelevance,
ecstasy with ridiculing despair,
boundless sufficiency without endless satisfaction,
reiterating eternal integrity
not yet surely promised
beyond potential disintegration.
If solitude portends sublime co-operation,
what remains for aching loneliness?
Who and what could become redeemed
through double-binding isolations
within voiceless awe
for wonder indwelling silent shock
of ego loss
deep shadowing eco-gain?
To win to lose,
to lose to win,
co-arising deceptions again.
Deeply resonant depressions;
subliminal,
suboptimizing ego dominations.
Two delineations
with hairline fracturing co-definition?
What would be blissful contentment's promise
without any dissonant content
for comparison?
What are omnipotent spirits
without ego vacuuming materials,
evidence of necessary,
hopefully sufficient,
deep double-binding awe
that we,
even I within we,
have been something,
someone,
someone's,
rather than the far more statistically likely
nothing at all
evermore.