Long Snaring Poems
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Darkness falls and veils the land,
draping the mountains in a velvet cloth,
creeping as the tide along shoreline sand,
this darkness black, by the night is brought.
Nothing can withstand it, but falls before,
nothing can fight it's vicious onslaught,
forcing itself upon one, into the heart does it bore,
this darkness black, by the night brought.
Trapping and snaring in its perfection,
its beauty and glory by one sought,
who strives for purity, without direction,
this darkness black, by the night brought.
One cannot resist it, it's enticing onslaught,
this darkness black, by the night brought.
I do bitterly fault your restless digits, slatternly time;
Your agile dial's design I defy with mutinous rhyme.
What's the veiled intent of your lightning procession,
Against this snail-mover's beleaguered progression?
In swearing truth say why your sight-eclipsing wings
Party and feast and conjure merry over littler beings.
What sadistic banquets in spooky nooks yonder,
Turn your lot-dwindling schemes ever so fonder?
It's true your snaring turns I strongly loathe,
With damning sneers and deserving derision.
What's that blot against heaven's sternest troth,
Obliterating dancing suns on her creasing face?
To what main gain do your life-slicing edges fly,
Usurping innocent freedoms of humble breath?
Your mulish cruises along snaky course-ways,
Flare spite-perfected ills to slay slowing health.
With daring tropes I’ll yet trim hours’ blacking crime,
And I’ll chide the deadly glooms of carnivorous time.
My father's Roger Maris mitt
Was kept in perfect health.
It showed no wrinkles no blemishes
Nor flakes of skin.
Its limber fingers were sheathed in leather,
Its pocket was well stretched
As it yawned with each breath.
Bathed in linseed oil,
It was a dark jersey cow
As it slept like an oyster
With a pearl cradled in its palm.
My father's attention was precious as gold;
His time was well spent with little to spare.
He was my coach, he was my father
Playing catch on our field of honor.
Years passed by with a blink of an eye;
His fraying attention became unraveled
By his job, by money, his family's health
And his aging body.
His golden mitt seldom saw light;
Snaring a baseball was wishing
Upon a starless night.
With patience and compassion
My father guided my life,
By catching a baseball my self-confidence grew.
But, his life was snatched by death
His game forever ended.
He was part of my foundation
Which will never fade from sight
As long as I remember, a baseball
Caught on an autumn night.
Standing in my backyard, I see my father's mitt
Cradling me;
Like a baseball I recline
In his loving arms forever.
Miles past the nightstand
over the plastic water bottle.
the Ambien pill dispenser
and the soul-bruised eye shades,
an arrhythmic clock
ticks like a bombed-out tank.
Of course there is the lampshade
(that lighthouse for the luminescent krill
of submerged consciousness)
that seems attached to my skin
whenever body parts want to cut ties
with a mattresses concave reality.
Secreted like a drugged shark
in the shallow recesses of a snaring drawer
a snubby barrel with six mad prayers
snugs up against a snoring bible.
The raven iridescence
of night-cats prowl a life leaking bed;
occasionally they look up
their eyes shining
as they search for an alien presence.
On its four arthritic legs the nightstand
watches;
its tour of duty still patrolling a far off
conflict of doubt and faith.
Time to turn over the hull of being,
upright any surface
with a legibly printed label,
then haul that address back in
from the far side of an arm’s reach.
Time to shuck whatever shell
still rolls unopened in the surf
of the tossed and blanketed.
“What is this strange place we find ourselves in
Trapped in the open, we are free within”
In the snaring landscape of entangled existence,
I traverse my captive life on the path of illusion,
chasing the mirage of endless desires,
I wander disillusioned in the wasteland
with false sense of belonging to the outer openness,
I am trapped in the sordid mire of mortal being.
Trying to get released from the earthly clasp
of karmic destiny, leading to the loss of essence,
the perception of divine conscience pervades me,
and I transcend the limits of time and space,
beseech God to show me the path of inward journey,
for the patina of perpetual peace I yearn to embrace.
As the pristine petals of my soul serenely unfurl,
blooming the divine lotus of blissful awareness,
I perceive the shower of His graceful endowment
saturating me with aura of freedom and happiness.
I then discern the beauty of the enlightened life,
blessed by the bequest of the absolute supreme.
In the sanctum of tranquil heavenly consciousness,
as encompassing as the seamless sky of His benevolence,
I soar like an un-caged bird on wings of ardent devotion,
float in the boundless cosmos of eternal peace,
my liberated soul flies free in fervent firmament,
suffused with the euphoria of ultimate salvation.
_______________________
March 29, 2022
Contest : The Matrix
Sponsored by : Unseeking Seeker
No-Compete Clause
Written by:Vérité Afureko
--------------------------------
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Eititoure Fontier...Who is the new guy, I heard he was cute.
Frushy Tempest.......Beat it we have alot of work to do here!
E. Fontier..... Why you say we had a new guy if you aint want me to meet him?
Frushy Tempest......It's to hot, and we have to wrap up this project before the day is ended: Scram!
Kram Ckram..Come on ya'll let go, the carrages will be on the corner when we get their.
(every one leaves and the two main character's enter the area)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Auteur Enchante'... Everyone wants to see this new guy, hot as it is everyone came out in this sun, to see this guy.
Genga Sakuga....... the sun is most warmest at this time of day.
I must cherish these day's that my now til then's are approaching.
Auteur Enchanté...what foolishness is this? What now til thens do you speak of woman?
( he spoke with a snaring growl)
Genga Sakuga.....My now til thens, are in reference to me wishing to meet someone new, between now and Christmas.
Auteur Enchante'.........good luck: you happy, why would someone wanna see you happy?
Genga Sakuga........You mean ole fool, me Happy is my only concern: you seeing me happy should too be something good for you!
Auteur Enchante'........There was a time when your happiness meant the world to me: until you stopped caring about me and my needs and wants, the concerns of togetherness, remember, us lovers, I do: but you wanna be out their, a different man evrytime someone see's you. Alway's centering your self, never thinking about someone else until you need something from them,: your happiness means knowthing to me as you define happiness. Why are you here and what do you want?
Genga Sakuga......Autuer maybe I came here to be with you? Ever thought about that. Let you tell it.
Hey Darling why don't we let the mood carry us into a goodtime. You use to like me like that. Come on What you say?
Autuer Enchhante'.... agitato or furioso, one day you'll understand!
As moonlight threatens
the night's ebon cloak.
A blistering thought
has kept me woke.
This thought so vile
so terribly grim,
yet so fulfilling
to my every whim.
I leave the warmth of my bed chamber
and into the cold damp street.
To quench this gnawing craving
deep in my heart so deep.
As I pass strolling strangers,
I turn up collar to cutting air.
They seem oblivious to dangers
and look through me, as thou I were not there.
I walk with purpose like a hunter,
deep in the dark wood.
In search of a sacred something
so sweet, delicate and good.
Finally I duck into a small cafe,
where I have had success in past.
Snaring unsuspecting prey,
to star in this role that must be cast.
I slide so stealth into vacant booth.
Where I'm forced face to face,
with this moment's
moment of truth.
My waitress smiles and pours
a tall, thick cup of Joe.
I find myself blowing and sipping
very carefully and very slow.
And there one of Zeus' daughters parked
with one hand playfully twisting her golden hair.
The other gently cutting with a fork
a delightful chocolate Eclair.
I watched ever longingly
as her lips caressed every delicious bite.
It was then and there I knew
my chosen victim of this night.
Then she stood up
so regal yet so fair,
paid and looked at me,
with a pure endearing stare.
She then walked out the door
and gently out of sight.
Disappearing like a sweet vapor
into the misty mystic night.
As her perfume soon left
the now sad lonely air.
I asked my lovely waitress
for a tempting chocolate Eclair.
So she sorrowfully informed me
that the lovely lady had had the last.
I then had to alter my well laid plans,
and alter them rather fast.
With heart frantically beating and beating,
and the search of the menu repeating and repeating,
for a substitute to satisfy.
And there for my appetite at last
the words "Lemon Meringue Pie."
Now so graciously placed before me,
this heaven's little slice.
With every taste teasing and pleasing,
I decided to try it twice.
As I took the last bite stalling,
I could hear my conscious calling.
I told self we'll pay Piper tomorrow,
but tonight I'm feeding gluttony and drowning sorrow.
9/25/18
I fear the hounds - ever they chase;
I must keep my pace or risk their overtake.
I fear the hounds, their hurtling pursuit;
I must watch my path to avoid rock and root.
I fear the hounds - ever they follow;
My feet must not fail me if I’m to make it to the morrow.
I hear the hounds, frantic as they bay,
My life the spoils they scrabble to claim.
I hear the hounds, and I wish to just rest;
I’m so weary of fleeing and giving my best.
I hear the hounds, and the temptation is great;
I slow my pace, and my end I embrace.
I see the hounds, and my blood runs cold;
They snarl with triumph and sprint to take hold.
I see the hounds - love of pride, love of me,
The easy path, wide and sloping in gentle degrees.
I see the hounds, and myself I revile:
Am I truly that tired, or just lacking the will for self-denial?
I flee the hounds; I lengthen my stride -
I’ll give them no easy victory tonight.
I flee the hounds - oh, they howl in rage;
They were just within reach of snaring their prey.
I flee the hounds through the brambles I run,
With faith that I’ll rest with the return of the Son.
Vesuvius Eruption
flumped
feeling
fading
forthcoming
carrying
his
giant
cyclopedia
in hand
snaring
of
day's sun
believing
his soul
hoisting
&
asked
don't cry
as
I feel free
an
angel
merely
skipped me
a
magma
hollow
inflated
as night
tip-toes into
obscurity
step
by
step,
suffering
start to
lock horns
breath
by
breath !!
24 August 79 A.D.
Vesuvius
stood
bloody
mighty
above
landscape
got cracking
his
colossus
detonation
mighty
cloud
of
ash & gas
swarmed
down
Plinian outburst
immersed
Herculaneum
Pompei
eradicated
Gaius Plinius Secundus
blazed
asphyxiating
writer
of
vastest
unique
work
about
natural
history
currently
Mount Vesuvius
on
his mode
to
vomiting.
Written: October 16, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
At dawn the bay bed glows peachy yellow.
The waters above blue-green and gleaming.
Further out a grey shroud of ripples entraps the yachts
with lace nets en-snaring a flock of hulls.
Yet farther out still, the sea surface glistens and sparkles.
Then, the bay yawns and stretches, waking up, refreshed.
The first breaths of wind seep in like fingers
grabbing to get a finger hold to pull
the windy gusts in, with big blow coming.
Soon the sea is a field of grey ripples,
which grow to wavelets lipped with flecks of white spray.
Now the yachts wake up and jostle like horses
pulling at their moorings, dragging side to side.
Listen, you can hear the dash of splashes prancing
on wave crests as the winds build up in the bay.
Sea's morn color and transparency now blurred.
Dawn's calm serenity and beauty now forgotten
Koala Bay's agenda has shifted to: Up anchor, Set sail and Play
The boat skippers and crew flock bayside to make it happen.
Both sailboats and sailors love to rock and roll in bay streaked
with gusts driving white horses with jockeys wearing white caps.
Hoist the sails, drop the mooring lines, tighten the sheets.
The yachts surge forward, like race horses, with muscles and sinew straining.
They leap through the waves with leaps, bounds, thumps and jumps.
The spray flies, flung by the wind against weather beaten faces
It is noisy now, with bash and splash and skippers yelping and barking at the crew.
Koala Bay loves the performance, loves to entertain.
Tonight the bay will be calm and serene again.
Time to herald the bay's softer underbelly of shear stunning beauty.
Tomorrow the wind will conduct and conjure up another day of rollicking fun and adventure.