Long Snuffing Poems
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Under a blistering sun, I walked alone,
A heart heavy, a past I’d overthrown.
In a foreign land, every breath I’d take,
Found her laughter by the old canal lake.
Darkness crept like a thief in the night,
Turned to ashes, lost all sense of right.
Her kindness now holding despair,
I broke her; how could I dare?
In Arizona, where cacti stand tall,
Her spirit lingers within these four walls.
Stars brighter when my guilt’s out of sight
Desolate silence, I’m haunted by the night.
Memories of Guatemala echo in my veins,
Memories of her, as heavy as my chains.
A red rose blooming in this barren land
I’m waiting with blood on my hands.
Under skies we shared our dreams,
Her smile, now torn at the seams.
Each passing moment my time slips away,
I search for redemption; now I have to pay.
Arizona, where shadows dance free,
Ghosts of choices won’t let go of me.
She rests beneath this desert sun
Inside me she’ll always be the one.
My judgment on death row's ground
Clock ticks slow, no salvation to be found
Strapped to the table, pulls tight on regret;
My last heartbeat whispers, I’ll never forget.
Under Arizona’s unforgiving sky,
Her memory is like a sweet goodbye.
Arizona snuffing out all light
Unforgiving silence will make it all alright.
The night where I turned love into pain
Her memories forever are a cold rain.
From Guatemala to red rock lands wide
Trapped beside me where my soul hides.
‘Please write on me’,
She implored
He had been lured
By her charms
And the writings
Had come out
A deluge
Nary a day
She would go away
From his works
Though the embers
Still lurk
And refuse to die
The ink
Has gone dry
Those quarrels
Those entreaties
Those fights
Those make-ups
And then
Those flights of fancy
Those compositions
With hidden meanings
Which no one could see
Now all seems
A distant past
The relationship
Fast forwarded
Consummated
Reaching conclusion
Destination arrived
The physical
Triumphing over emotional
The ‘too much, too soon’
Love phenomenon
Of today
Once more snuffing out
The quiet mystery of
Slow romance
He's been a ruler you
can't see
like a measuring stick
in hiding
He's been hiding the fact
he can see
but would you believe
his findings?
They've been watching
his back intensely
while he fills their heads
succinctly
Being light years ahead
is empty
guess that's why
they assumed he's ditzy
Couldn't be further from facts
he's shifty
while he raises the bar
he's shifting
On a whole other plane
he's flying
into spaces that match
his timing
Snuffing the wick of a witch
that's scrying
trying to see where his light
is hiding
In the dark many eyes
are crying
in disbelief of results
from spying
He just gives of himself
as tithing
is as natural to him
as rhyming
As for all of the ties
& bindings
it actually helped to
release the shining
Look to see what the All
is designing
it's unique dare I say
inspiring
They say the temp of
the earth is rising
so why isn't he
like the rest perspiring?
Once long ago, when Kings and dragons ruled the Earth,
there came to be that a golden Fairy Queen
was pregnant and about to give birth to a radical child.
All the King's court knew this child would be gifted,
destined to do great things, for a prophecy spoke of its coming.
When the nobles heard of this pending birth,
they promptly reported it to the ing.
In those days, ignorance had a grip on the land
and change was strictly forbidden.
All thinkers and learned folks were feared and despised.
The King was evil and ordered his knights to find and
kill the Queen and her golden child.
The Moon turned blood red with horror, snuffing out Her nocturnal light
so the people were cloaked in darkness at night,
and once the Moon stopped shining, the tides no longer came.
The scared villagers panicked and begged the King to call back his knights
and spare the Fairy Queen.
But the King was driven mad with anger
and vowed he'd slay the Queen and her golden child;
nothing they said could dissuade him from accomplishing this.
The people turned to the dragons and tried to persuade them with flattery
to stop the King, or no one would gaze at their serpentine beauty again.
But the King got wind of their ploy and banished all dragons from his land.
And still, to this day, every dragon has stayed away.
But the knights stumbling in the dark could not find the Fairy Queen,
so her child was born amidst their chaos, and She named it Democracy.
The Moon was so relieved; She beamed with joy,
and Her light shone again upon the land.
The people denounced the King when Democracy was born,
and as prophesied, a brand-new era came into being;
one where dragons and kings would eventually fade into memory.
We played
Scrabble until the word Bali came up-
and you were gone.
That night
your pillow
smelled of ocean breezes, coconut and
heliconia.
When you came back-
I want to be free.
I built a body balloon
around you
and filled it with helium.
I let out the tether
and you went up and up
and up
to the jet stream.
I released the tether.
A man in a 747,
business class,
saw you float by.
I want her-
he wrote in his day planner.
Soon, you fell and fell
towards the African forest
and into a tree.
A leopard started to climb
up to you
but you dropped onto the back
of an elephant
who carried you
into a brightly lit
camp
with a table, tablecloth, candles, wine
and gold silverware-
Ah, there you are, my dear.
You ate and drank
and awoke
covered with golden shackles.
The leopard slept beneath you
snuffing as though in a dream.
Above you
a taunting helicline made of gold keys
lead back
to
our little room
under the eaves,
and the rain
and days filled
with nothing.
This is another night, deceiving myself
to be awake...blinded by the sight of
my own surreal wisp of a mellow dream
raking and turning into long reveries,
where something once pleasant is now so trite-
that Illusions of fresh morn quickly blacken
... snuffing whispers of a shadowy wind
slowly retracing its glide into my cries.
Every night, at the sight of darkened moonlight
purple lines of evening air heralds pain--
wind arriving from behind, hushed and still,
that I hide my face from such musky flavor,
carrying scents of our autumnal romps
and remind me of wind songs, play, soft cuddles
pressed in heavenly light, to whisper love
about you, young son high up now with blue stars:
And In his court are a thousand jewels
twinkling from afar with this soft wind cuddling
me in your arms to say, ' all is right, Mama.'
Unblinking reflexive opinions lean
indubitably, favorably and certifiably
with minimal pandering soliciting
uber voodoo yawping woos
socially quintessentially obviously markedly
consciousness brakes alignment
defining mine political views
loosely yet not strictly, jerry-rigged,
hidebound Democratic
fealty haltingly pledged ones and twos
to roster of candidates
slated to challenge incumbent Republicans
all to quickly accused,
sans participating sinister ruse
this active voter puzzled at controversial
eye opening ex post facto
fractious, governmental
harmfully injuriously jaw-dropping
suppression within top secret queues
during nasty donkey kong braying p's and q's
(case in point) scurrilous, opprobrious,
and malodorous Clinton administration,
where (based upon my recent perusing
"The Peoples History” –
me strongly endorses
(authored by Howard Zinn news
worthy revelation, (whose recounting
atrocious, calumnious, egregious
glaring ignominious knowledge
jackbooted, mandated, predicated
on blind trust, essentially billeted
charade, facade, inlaid faux Hope loose
bandied cutthroat gratuity legislation
favoring pandering "pork" via
pretentiousness to wealthy gentiles Jews
abandoning average civilians snuffing out
sputtering, grousing, and hoo's
flick erring tapering fuse
whereat this news worthy informed citizen
totally tubularly unaware of any clues
pertaining to antithetical maneuvers,
(loo win ski) shenanigans, and undertakings
today yields genuine boo's
toward Clinton, where I despondently feel
he renegged promises
made to electorate (except top 1 %) got souled
(sold) to remaining 99% cheapest bidders
as-sized thirteen duff heated no nothing
sneezing Schnorrers
spluttering phelgm at me at-chews.
S ucculent forests now barren, almost dying
I n the hands of thieves hungry for fortune, while
G lobal warming crushes nature’s environ
N otwithstanding war’s incessant slaughter,
O ppressing a human's right to blessed life...
F ear sown on streets, power of crime --the law.
T hese are but only the pursuits of our new order, the
H unts consuming nations, a devious act of indignity, as
E very day we hear the wails from exiled children.
T ell me, shall the next generation inherit this bondage?
I s destruction of Mother Earth our 'noble' tribute?
M urderers are we licensed to plunder recklessly , an
E ntitlement quite common, snuffing hopes of a future,
S oiled by a culture of excessive barbarism!
John Hamilton's Sign Of The Times Contest
4/27/2018
Morning sat draped in light somber gray
But beyond vale, Your servant waited to shine.
The stale smell of misery lingered near
I rise, snuffing such vibes
There'd been no rave, only incensed sage and songs
I looked beyond, to kitchen window view
And felt surge of grace so strong.
Soft white; silent and clean
Sprinkled green of pines, and
Other still life scenes -
Even winter's devoted touch wasn't mean
I felt cheered by songs of birds
Frolicking midst snow capped scene, where
Icicles dangled and teased my deck door
And I, I inhaled fresh scent unseen
Then turned to defuse the dark hovering near.
He heard me hummed, "The Wonder of You"
Gray moments never last
None of us are outcast from Your grace
I wished he'd look to a better place
Where the dark of a cloudy day
Don't harbor dismay.
There, gray moments never last
He'd come to play, to twiddle my joy
But silence led the way
And I, I looked within and out
And savored Your stream of glow.
*
Form:
I’m near almost here
resounds in my ear,
I feel a presence
closing in tonight,
Curtains of darkness
so bereft, it’s death,
Here to take my life,
i’m paralyzed to fight,
Limp helpless,
supine I stare,
as finality descends,
snuffing out time,
The loan to this body,
has run it’s course,
An entity must return
via the void,
Deaths vice-grips
every last atom,
Squeezing existence
to an infinite point,
This is not choice, echoes
through space,
Death comes death calls
death shows one grace,
a bifurcation,
Deus ex machina shrugs,
voicing these words,
One path holds copious love,
equaled only by hate,
The other, love’s barely nothing,
yet hate is absent,
Former is tempting
but sounds familiar,
Latter could possibly
bore me to death again,
Yet holds an iota of potential,
I choose this fate.
By
David Kavanagh