Long Squeeze out Poems
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In what one may think as a final hour
Tense vessels tighten to squeeze out any blood that may be left
To supply an already weakened body
Suppressed by lack of freedom
Surprised by the intense unpredictability of life
Attacked from all angles in a moment’s notice
without relent.
No light shall shine today nor tomorrow
A pot full of hot water can only boil so much until
An eruption.
It has happened.
But instead of a release,
The water keeps on burning
Until soon there will be no more water
The pot, empty, left to melt if it’s plastic
It is plastic.
Cheaply made and inexpensive
A perfect representation of our government
Oozing from flames beneath
Causing an awful, unavoidable stench
Toxic…
This time the vessel cramps in the calf
She knows now this is not minor stress
A thousand bricks upon her chest
And so, each day she rises, not to know
But hopeful, that another problem thrown her way
Will be the final one today.
Quickly move, it’s late
Another day to pretend she’s okay
Why ask how are you?
The answer will always be the same.
“I’m doing well, are you okay?”
She doesn’t ask that anymore
She knows and says nothing of the sort
Because reality is far from “doing well”
She’s drinking from a poisoned well.
A poison that she didn’t know
Until,
She fell.
Head first she hit the cold, hard bottom
Filled with black sludge and centipedes
How they crawl up the walls in a hurry
The dark, thickened water splashes
All sides of an infestation
There is no way out
Perhaps try to climb some rocks
Slippery little rocks aren’t meant for climbing
Unless you have 100 legs
Only thing she has
Is 100 different types of pain
The tunnel becomes her escape.
Slip away
Into the dark side of a hole in which will briefly be your last home
Feel the bottom of the earth
Swallow it whole.
You have nowhere else to go.
The faint light at the top
Gives way to darkness
Close your eyes
The poisoned well will soon enough be gone, you know
One day you will wake again…
Until then, another knot
Straight to the neck
Suffocates any blood
This time none comes back
Let yourself go
Let yourself go…
And in letting go
You will be reborn.
I hardly brew coffee alongside the metaphor of
English mornings blended with summer’s febrile breath.
But, on this occasion, I did....
It was a stifling moment on television.
The social media was abuzz with the hiss of
Integrated journalism. I hated this moment I failed to believe myself
Upon the altar of this recent toponym. BREXIT.
The name plinks with resounding voices, exerting that energy of
Political consciousness.
Lexicographers must hasten it into the dictionary
Before the return of Christ.
Must be cooked in the crucible of NOUN and
Heavily spiced in VERB.... And then, play host to nimieties.
It’s plainly a matter of exiting the circumference of a common, dancing market,
Where freedom of movement spins the web of twinkle-toed arachnids.
My coffee whiffed with the Brazilian hegemony
Upon the Indian scheme of teas and secular drams of rum,
And Iran’s love for green tea.
Summer’s mornings are difficult, I must remind you.
Waking from the posts of work and a bivouac
Stretches the eyelids beyond groggy eyelashes
With the haste of a speeding dawn.
But the TRUTH remained salient and voluble:
BRITAIN HAS VOTED TO LEAVE THE EU.
And it’s not a hypnagogic matter.
It has no business with amphigoric journalism.
It’s a British-fried piece of truth.
Are you kidding me?
I find it totally execrable when people say what they do not know,
Rather than ask what they do not know.
Sunday Times spread its pages to annex some truth.
So did The New York Times and Washington Post and the
Community of tabloids – all tried to
Squeeze out the sprinkles of the matter from collapsing firths.
There was no trace of Churchill in this BREXIT fiesta.
Even de Gaulle exuded remedies of a fractured Europe; he remembered
The WAYWARD WAR, whose frenetic winds blew us no good.
My coffee, black and gold, with the supple bubbles and yellow froths,
Welcomed the degree of weather forecasting.
Will it rain?
Will there be isolated thunderstorms across the EU?
Will BREXIT brew some heat? Slanting showers?
What Celsius does a degree reach before there’s a
Pandemonium?
DID YOU MEAN POUND-EMONIUM?
HAVEN’T YOU HEARD ABOUT THE CRASH OF THE POUND?
A whistling toad is an abomination to the soul and a barking dog is enough to start the brawl; the wind cannot keep still because it is draining energy from the flour mill, the yellow jacket wasp is flying around and it is looking for something to confound. It suddenly landed on my hand but I squeeze out sting before it sinks in.
I love to whistle in the morning, in the evening and at noon. With trees standing behind me and dreams running before. I love to watch the butterfly, gallivanting in the sky sucking nectar from the flowers and converging in the cellar, while the ambitious ant on the glorious mission, walking up and down the street pointing a revolver at the people it meets. It has no cruel intention; it only wants to scare them. If it confronts you just whistle and smile with the breeze.
I have an appointment to meet you today so come and see me without delay. Take your suitcase with you and wear a brand-new pair of shoes, kiss it goodbye on the side of its chin and do a little shimmy before the hot weather chime in. Walk with it to the gate and examine its nose, ears and eyebrow, lips and finger tips and when you get the code just whistle and walk right through the door.
The heat is raging in the East and fire is burning underneath my feet. The clue to find the Holy Grail is mapped out in various patterns on the concrete floor and the diamond on my ring finger is disrupting my heartbeat and beckoning you to come to the shore. Water is springing up in my face but I am confident that I will win the final race.
I want to take off to the sky but my piggy bank is crying someone broke off its nose and took all my coins out. There is neither penny nor dime to get to my new destination on time, so if you can hear me today just whistle and I will listen to what you have to say.
Once your head gets through the hole your body will ask for more and if you cannot swim get on the boat before the next wind. Someone will come and see you and whistle before the day is through and when you get to your destination someone will take care of you. When you don’t know what to do, just whistle and it will come to you.
upon waking from a splendid plunge
into the depths of deep dreamy restful sleep
anchors away set adrift this body electric,
which succombed instantaneously
(without counting sheep)
nor joining the make belive rank and file world
with the likes of little bo peep
an immediate notion arose
to latch onto and ignore
this most delightful, flight of fancy deed
(not dirty nor done dirt cheap),
but a natural function
one cannot overdose nor excede
the USDA quotidian requirement,
where cares and concerns
of an uncertain world freed
yet an asolute bare necessity for stayin' alive
plus richly textured unrivaled vista devoid of greed
additionally cost and gluten free, NON GMO,
zero caloric effortless need
(words of caution to take seriously to heart),
and note that if one doth not yield, but sure to read
the small print affixed like a label each mind
forcing to squeeze out every metaphorical
drop of open eyed juice
perhaps resorting to meth or speed
that silent slurred speech, physical lashing,
head dropping fatique
will invite Halloween aparitions, delusions,
grand hallucinations, et cetera
as if one smoked wacky weed
the forces of anatomical and physiological
heft will take charge ahoy
and blast at top notch nautical surge,
will wrest control against blistering,
festering against withering heights
delivering balms away at feeble attempts
to retain losing battle to remain alert oh boy
no matter how much effort summoned,
(even feigning wakefulness as a decoy)
the trappings of oblivion
i.e. sinking into profound dreamland,
whether an individual ascribes to be Jew or goy
which Maxwell House maxim
“the key to better relationships may be more sleep”
no mortal ought to take lightly,
but pay heed lest the grim reaper doth creep
stealthily and scythe lent lee steal
a haggard skiff of flesh and bone
whereat corporeal essence no more
will there be for the soul to keep.
Seek fortune teller asap (haint no fable)
Best nondescript literate jinxed
humble dug good feller ya e'er seen
amenable, a non biased opinion -
of course I mean mine mein
yours truly gets no lucky strike breaks
particularly never ending
surprising automotive repairs,
thus in sore need of green
i.e. legal tender concerning Hyundai Sonata
two thousand and nine
admirable craftsmanship e'en
though urgent message freon
me and the missus, we
lack adequate funds
until early December
tooth house zen nineteen
when soonest social
security disability payment reason
without rhyme arose cause faulty gene
neurological schizoid personality disorder
honest to dog - affliction since...
in utero growing as little bean
not shy to pull out all stops,
and comb clean
albeit sharing genetic personal flaws
affecting psychological skein
imposing lifetime emotional hardship
invariably causing financial frostbite,
ye might not readily glean
faux Shakespeare's Banquo
(now my bank woe)
to give checking account gangrene,
whereby amputation left absolute zero
cents and sensibility,
but accursed Halloween
nightmare every four times fifteen
orbitz round the nearest star,
no matter applying ample sunscreen
me got smarts attested as seen
evident crafting poems keen
with sophistication, yet oft times lean
if - said phrase Sheryl Sandberg popularized
nsync, she dismisses Facebook cyclopean
tentacles squeeze out private data
muckraking monstrous machine
minting dime a dozen billionaires
anointing Silicon Valley
realm housing queen
and self anointed king Mark Zuckerberg
twenty first century Midas,
no need to hex spleen
his unabashed heartfelt virtue, he doth preen
ah... pipe dream to rub figurative shoulders
never in bajillion years,
and no chance empyrean
afterlife will eradicate hellish scene.
Desecration, desertion, designation,
yours truly doth poetically dislodge
destabilization, destination, description
I auto deftly, but did not dodge
regarding destitution, hodgepodge
comprising 2009 Hyundai Sonata
wheely tired to noodge, yet cannot
drive out accursed tread
full fate, nor outdodge.
Critical breakdowns spanned decks
cumulative deleterious effects,
thus versatile reasonable rhyme I flex
cuz, methinks paragon of evil spirit did hex
issued hardened, gnarled, index
finger pantomiming strangling necks
accountable incorporating potential
yet steered clear dire wrecks.
Approximately August 2018
to present i.e. January 2, 2020):
one malfunction after
another did not abate
voluntarily listed quasi alphabetically
in order demonstrate
pennilessness incurred courtesy
every red cent, I did hate
to squeeze out checking account, irate
mood a one worded understatement,
nonetheless I venerate
to express absolute zero
tolerance to communicate
quick succession prohibitive
mechanical malfunctions,
I painfully delineate.
R&R PARKING BRAKE SHOES
PARK BRAKE SHOES
PARK BRAKE HARDWARE KIT BATTERY
PRE CER BRAKE PAD
BRAKE ROTOR
BRAKE CALIPER
BRAKE HOSE GENERATOR
SHOCK ABSORBER (driver side front),
TIRES (and sensor).
Hence prayerful notion woke
ah, think blinding and
ear splitting thunderstroke,
perhaps tardily to one slow poke
after eyes bugged out of head espying
invoice(s), I lamely mumbled okey doke,
what more could be said,
dang, me experienced ministroke,
thus doggone divine intervention
futility aye feebly did invoke,
the aforementioned summarized
list bloke not surprisingly
depressing state affects
garden variety bloke,
understandable a worse than
(think) one who gasps and doth choke
Heart of mine
Cry and feel again,
oh thou heart of mine heart.
Afford me peace of mind,
be moved and beat once again in my depths;
for a dream within me, that happiness will yet save ye a dance.
Am I still unchanged short of you?
A change of heart, a change of mind?
Now my dry but once passionate heart;
Old and cynical my once young gullible heart
The wineskin remains young still but within,
through trials of strife i´ve long matured
and i am very weary Cynicism now my gullibility.
A pyre for my humour.
A change in order and value.
Second guessing my heart; so now do I love with mind?
Thoughts askew, muddled with hurt.
Emotions buried deep down the chaos of my present state.
Shot circuited, disconnected; woe thou my little heart and rue the day you broke; for now mind teacheth ye cold reason.
Loving you and hurting.
Knowing that you hurt so much.
I groan trying to squeeze out that tear, I writhe in pain; I will cry yet.
Already missing you; I will break that age old glacier and cry with a heart that truly lives.
I must find strength to love and let go?
Well what doubts we had; doubt is a double edged sword. It hacketh both ways.
Live once again for those whispers and dreams, the dancing shadows of a candlelit fire.
The dreams we shared, Pesky dreams and big dreams alike.
Finding reasons to stop crying. Finding reasons to laugh at cynical humour; finding reasonable reasons to Love with both mind and heart.
Does this end?.....
Oh! Thou Heart of flames
Cry and feel again,
Blaze oh thou heart of mine heart.
Afford me peace of mind,
be moved and beat once again in my depths;
for a dream within me, that happiness will yet save ye a dance.
Morakane...
Dear Chance
Can you stretch your hand
Put it on my infant heart
Put it on my amateur heart beat
Can you sense and feel the inexperience of my breath
Can you sense and feel my ears are deaf
Chance can you wait and let me strengthen my bones
Chance can you wait and let me wipe my eyes
Chance can you wait and let me close all the holes of yesterday
Disappointments
Chance can you wait and look
My broken dreams of beauty are on the floor
Chance can you wait and give me a chance to grow
I am looking forward to meet you again
From the one who can't take chances
Itux...
Dear Chance
Can you wait and listen to my mouthspeak
So many thoughts i have for you
So many wishes i have made for you
So many smiles i have seen you cheris,but mine
So many hearts you have healed,but mine;
My infant heart
So small and still beating
You curiously dance slowly to its limping lame beat
Beat by beat
My caring seem so desolate in your sight
You give me no chance to defend my fragility
You cloud me with thoughts of defeat
You squeeze out in me,pain and tears of deceit
Chance can you feel my strength?
Or sense the presence of my weakness
To lift my hand,carefully wiping your tears of sadness
Chance can we forget the breaths of yesterdays
That sowed holes to what seem to be days before today
Forgetting the hurt of yesterweeks of time
Burying all in dunes of disappointments
Wipe your tears away,your beauty still bears itself
I waited my chance
Now its your time to grow
Till we meet the day after ''again''
From the one who took chances
Copyright 2011
An end to ?, I believe
I see your beautiful face in every drop of my tears.
I see your lovely face in every place, throughout our years.
I see your exquisite face haunt the very fiber of my fears.
I see your face upon the walls of my time.
I see your face every day, knowing you'd never be mine.
I see your face, it hurts me so, yet I want what is sublime.
I see your beautiful face slowly want to fade.
I see your lovely face and believe, superficially made.
I see your exquisite face empty and staid.
My heart beats to the incessant pounding of tear drops,
upon this tired old face, expressing the pain of loss,
the loss of what I never really had in the first place,
it all comes to the surface and is read all over my face.
Why ?, was I so receptive, so willing to sacrifice
my heart, my soul, my spirit, put them in the vice-
grip- of love, let it squeeze out every drop of life,
chop them up into tiny pieces with the Butcher's knife.
B.J."A"
September 6th 2009
An end to ?, I believe
Tue, Sep 15, 2009
I have always felt that you, never could care.
I hoped, but you never ever pretended to care.
It is now so clear, you will never be there.
That's my life, that's you, that's fate, so unfair.
There are these great, and heavy chains that seem to bind my heart to the thoughts of you, they're dragging me down.
The ride I took was as good as it could be, but the links that bind my mind to the thoughts of you are not very sound.
I can now see - with eyes wide open, not blinded by my love for you - that with you I will not see , love found.
My heart, my soul, my every moment in that beautiful dream, my life, my thoughts, you fill all, you surround.
“In no time, made myself indispensable
I bask now in the sunshine of my popularity
I have made the young and old my minions,
Giving each one what he wants
Snippets of news, served in lightning speed
A magic world unraveled at the click of a button
Making you sedate as with opium
Turning you into addicts of my hypnotic charm
Some stay wide eyed staring into my screen
‘Night owls’ who refuse to follow the dictum-
‘Early to bed and early to rise’-
The time old ‘mantra’ for wellness
I imprison you in a world of make believe
Where only we two exist, you and I
Your spirit arrested without handcuffs
Your eyes, resting no more on what is around
Confined to a virtual cage, you turn into a prisoner
Sadly, the key in your hands tightly clutched!
Remember, you are as free as you choose to be
I have my sway only on the gullible....!
Alas! With your sense of direction lost
You turn into a moth, caught fast in my web,
Mysteriously drawn into my incandescent light,
Unaware of the peril looming or the claws tightening”
Folks, break free of this confinement, cut off the hooks
Your spinning around only makes you dizzy
Digital technology turns a boon, when used discreetly
Smart phones, a bliss making the whole world within reach
Sans this, we fall headlong into primordial darkness,
Unschooled of what happens around, unable to cope with change
So squeeze out the essence and discard the dregs
And embrace your transition from the possessed to the blessed!
Placed First
Jan.8.2022
Let’s Explore Digital Technology Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Simon Rogerson