Long Stealth Poems
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The Stealthy Wizard
By Curtis Johnson
Who is he who so dastardly continues to displease heaven?
Who is he who failed in his attempt to rule via ursurpation?
Who is this timid one who stands in the way of his own advancement, but yet unduly influences civilizations? Who is he who glides in stealth, who beguiles by fraud,
only to rule on the throne of wickedness?
His earthly reign began through deceit in a garden from a tree.
His operation continues through fear, but resistance compels him to flee.
It’s imperative that we give all ears to clearly listen and understand.
He is the one of whom we must decide to be either his foe or his fan.
He fell from heaven’s heights, and against him we must take our stand.
He is the cowardly and thievish artist of deceit.
He is clever, and the lying master of manipulation.
He never stands toe to toe to fairly fight like a man.
Like swift flying bats from darken caves, he descends like scavengers salivating the feast.
He intimidates near and far, and twists the truth.
He rips the innocence to threads like an angry beast.
Fear him not, because he has already been stripped of both his
earthly and heavenly title. In the ultimate struggle for the human soul, he was defeated and made an open show on top of a hill.
He now awaits his ultimate demise, and his final doom is certain.
cj08132015
Different people, different lessons
Knowing the fake from the real is essential
This matter is certainly not inconsequential
Some people come into our lives as a blessing
And some come into our lives as a lesson
There are a lot of fake environments
The surroundings look good but
There is poison in the air!
During hard times
You will see who are your true friends
In essence, when life gets real with you
That’s when you will see who isn’t!
A friend that becomes an enemy
Was an enemy from the beginning!
While the earth is spinning
The enemy moves in stealth
An attractive feature is often your wealth
In reality, we need situations to show us who is genuine!
Different people, different lessons
Knowing the fake from the real is essential
This matter is certainly not inconsequential
Some people come into our lives as a blessing
And some come into our lives as a lesson
Mark Frank
Copyright 2023
I watched him
shake although
he was fearless
watching old
war movies
falling to sleep
on western films
in his slumped
over recliner
I studied him
as he opened
sardine cans as if
they were c rations
he fascinated me
as we struggled
with his support socks
due to his legs
swelling up so badly
he never complained
paralyzed in one arm
if you asked him
how he was feeling
he'd quickly respond
fantastic I'm fantastic
even when he didn't
seem fantastic rattling
on his walking stick
he closed himself
off from the world
there was only
one photo hanging
sideways on his wall
it read purple heart
recipient Vietnam
this fragile man
with eyes of a stealth
bomber wasn't just my
dad, husband, neighbor
or friend he was
My American Hero
The Meglomaniac of the year,
Maybe seeing his mortality,
Craving a way to ensure
A really lasting legacy,
Launches his tanks
Expecting might to be right.
Conscripts don’t beat patriots
Giving the Meglomaniac fright.
The promised quick victory,
The annexed state of slavery
Crumnbles and quivers in
The face of Patriotic bravery.
Half a pound of tuppeny rice
As the cost of oil is rising
Costing more and more to fuel
A tank, which is hardly surprising.
Combat continues with
Refined tactics and stealth,
Rumours and counter rumours
Of the Meglomaniac’s health.
Dictatorships don’t listen
Or tolerate the question why
So the rest of the world waits
For the Meglomanic to die.
Oh Sleepless night oh Glory be
The stealth of nature burdens thee
As winter washes o'er the stones
Your cold caress doth sear my bones
An unfurled sail on straining yard
The banshee howls, its breath bites hard
Tossed from main, to fevered waters
To the open arms of Neptune's daughters
Oh sea, oh pearl oh wondrous treasure
Oh faith of mine, unmarked, unmeasured
No one I am, no one I've been
Fates overlooked, times overseen
The cold, the cold, right from the start
Pierces flesh and failing heart
Oh what of God, can he not see
My plight, my toil, oh Glory be
White horses race as noble steeds
Drawn breath from lungs no longer breathed
Your manic howls and fevered pace
Entomb my mind and ashen face
A sailor lost, as sailors must
No bed of clay, nor pillow dust
Unwatched am I from sightless bow
No comfort here will storm allow
My Cross to bear, this broken mast
Oh save me Lord, or make death fast
My cries unheard from ship nor shore
Will peal in vain, forever more!
Its a conundrum to me.? In Ukraine i see; farmers
Complaining they can't farm' because of wars harm
The E U did help, droppling tariffs no stealth.'
In Holland its different..There the farmers are punished
Net zero ' and soundbytes don't encourage' the rulers
Are hostile.' yet eye the farmers lands in ernest.' again
I hear of shortage of foodstuffs, because of whatever.?
Or is it really all bleather.? In Holland they can't farm for
To the eco, they could cause harm? Yet there is much
Green help to Ukraine uranium shells? all is fair game.' Its
Zippe de do dah..' no masks now though i note ho ha..'
With unsanition and war scars, i did see them initially
2022 it just stunned me, i sense oxymoronica why would
Russia invade, in the plan-demic? Such a deadly epide
mic'
Its really not clear to me? Maybe others here could offer
Clarity.? Part the mud so I could see, any plan for humanity
For b evaluation it escapes me.' Apart from absurdity.!
Kansas Poem #4
Hey Hoss, slow down there!
No need to go so fast. Besides,
I don’t want to go
to where you’re going, and
I don’t want to be seen
to where you’re heading.
Hey Hoss, please turn this
furious black thing around!
Kindly get me the hell out of here
before it’s too late!
No, I don’t wish to see
this row of blighted Chinese elms and dead leaves.
Nor hear the badly-sung songs
of lost love and wild regret.
And, I refuse to see
the bloody scratches of truth and beauty,
so scrumptiously etched
with long blades on those splattered bricks;
Embedded there for the duration,
like the gum under your table;
Enmeshed there as the garnished gemstones
of the myriad fountains in Kansas City,
Polished with grit, staid tenacity, and
the time-shorn murders in the wheat lands,
underground in the broad basements
of purple smoke and black blood,
of silent stealth movements
under bending eaves, and a watching moon.
No Hoss!, I don’t want to go
to where you’re going.
Sorry, but we seem
ineffably lost and sadly wandering,
like a couple of dusty dudes
groveling for the keys that match nothing.
No, I don’t want to go
down that long Chinese lane. No!
Turn this furious thing around!
Here the people sit on long verandas and
watch the strangers come and go.
They might notice two dudes like us and
wonder what we’re doing there.
Sometimes I can hear
a loud shrieking funeral going by on Highway 50.
And those same people are staring
at the two caskets, and recognizing us inside!
Hey Hoss, slow down there!
No need to go so fast! Besides,
Time is not naïve, and Its retching Uncle
has left many a lover in the shuttered room,
up there on the 2nd floor,
has poured many a shimmering glass,
and licked many a teeming spoon.
Hey Hoss, ever take a morning break
at Hartman’s Café back in the day?
When the Clutters would drive by waving,
from inside their blue chevy impala, heading
to silent Garden City, and
the cold wind blowing unheard there.
If you drive this black furious thing
down that lane there,
you will see it.
It sits like an old cat in the sun,
going nowhere fast from its sealed post,
high upon these expansive wheat plains,
under this dark, brooding, blood-thirsty sun, and
an unforgiving watching moon.
Smooth paper lay up on the desk.
My thoughts were odd, but not grotesque.
Will robots take what I did write,
extracting words by dark of night?
The robot came with stealth today.
It took my thoughts and words away.
The words were mine and reas’ning clear.
I asked myself, “What’s hap’ning here?”
The robot comes with guile and theft.
When words are stripped, what then is left?
It takes what others’ work has grown.
Has often reaped, but never sown.
Don’t tell me now there is no chance.
My gaze is fixed, no way askance.
My apprehension grows each time
I see a robot pose a rhyme.
The blue girl in blue arrived in the cold
For her paint, this late day in June,
With stealth and shade she quietly browsed,
Then walked straight into my room,
And when I went in, I stopped, I froze,
Naked, she stood up from the bed,
I reached my hand out, "Please stop, get dressed",
Were the only words that I said,
Why did she do it, I was so blind,
How could I not see this that day,
But worst of all was returning to work,
Not knowing what she would say,
"Buttercup, don't be silly, nothing happened OK",
I know she knows I said "No",
But from that day on she had planted the seed,
In quicksand for rumours to grow.
Never disagree with the Officer Class
When you’re serving in the ranks,
Never disagree with the Officer Class
For you’ll never get any thanks.
They seem to think
The time they spent
Getting Commissioned
Makes them Omnipotent.
Heaven protect the squaddie
Who’s discovered to have been right
For the Officer Class hate the thought
Of an underling who proves to be bright.
The NCO learns as he earns his stripes
The approved way of how
To Impart common sense and wisdom
While appearing to kowtow.
You have to learn
And understand
How to make them think
They’re in command.
No never disagree with the Officer Class,
Learn to manipulate them with guile.
No never disagree with the Officer Class
For they get grumpy, prickly, and hostile.
Ignore this advice
If you choose
But if you do, brother,
You’re bound to lose.