Long Stocked with Poems
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*Holly (Vault Dweller)*
Hey bartender,
Who's that girl over there,
The one nursing the whiskey in the corner,
She has that press hat one that makes her look...strangely debonair.
*Bartender*
That'll be our little Ms. Piper Wright,
She runs the local paper,
Spends all day looking for a story then types the rest of the night,
Bit standoffish at first but quite the looker.
*Holly*
Hahah I'll say,
Just look at that red trench-coat and suit,
And that piercing stare,
Comes off tart as a mutfruit,
But it just bounces right off her wavy hair,
And goooosssh those lips,
Their silky sheen betrays the steel of her gun,
Dangling from her buxom hips,
Armed with an unabashed tongue,
Clearly her deadliest weapon,
Complimenting her feisty spirit perfectly preserved in an hourglass figure both fair and young,
Fully stocked with an arsenal of wisecracks, worthy armaments for free speech's most sensuous bastion,
Avid journalistic endeavors personify her inquisitive nature,
Reporting the most controversial conspiracy or the latest Publick Occurrences,
With jaw-dropping headlines fueled by her insatiable determination not even the mayor can escape her snooping typewriter,
How this vixen has eluded both the aging of time and voraciousness of lovers is beyond me,
And I think I'm allllmost drunk enough to go over and talk to her,
Should only take me another couple of rounds before I'll have the guts to...ah who am I kidding,
I'm over 200 years old there's no way she'd ever go for a pre-war relic regardless of who well preserved.
*Bartender*
News flash buddy, she's single,
Read today's headlines and you might find the subtle hints,
Listen to her playful comments of life and lust weaved in-between the innocuous babble,
The words may take their place in the articles but her true message is hidden underneath the paper's yellow tint,
She's young and lookin for love just the rest of us here in the Wasteland,
So what've you got to loose hotshot go get her,
Or do you need another round on the house give you the upper hand?
*Holly*
Well damnit bartender one more round it is,
If you don't from her till morning it'll be one of two things,
Either I've been utterly rejected and lying in a ditch,
Or I'll be too busy ignoring the world trying to make her mine.
Even when it all seems established and fruitful
Don’t let pride creep in
Even if you are swimming in a pool of emeralds and pearls
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when you are sliding through life with all your trophies
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when you’ve defeated giants and claimed territories
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when your table is filled with food
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when your cellar is well-stocked with the finest of wines
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when you visit kings and queens
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when you sit down to dine with the wise
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when they try to flatter you with sweet words of admiration
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when you hear the crowd chant your name
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when they salute and serve you
Don’t let pride creep in
Even when all your prayers seem to be answered
Don’t let pride creep in
Remain humble and thankful!
________________________________________
Even when the morning goes and the evening comes
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when all doors seem to be closed
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when they laugh at your perseverance and faith
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when they turn you down and walk away
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when the rain begins to pour
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when the ones closest to you betray you
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when the tears threaten to pour
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when your wallet looks old and empty
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when your stomach growls and your tongue is dry
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when they make silly faces and laugh at your dreams
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when you’ve been rejected and scorned
Don’t let doubt creep in
Even when tomorrow seems too far
Don’t let doubt creep in
Always believe, never lose faith!
By Sylvia Chika
sylviachika@gmail.com
http://sylviachika.blogspot.com/
http://sylviachika.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/sylviachikablog
BBM Channel: C002F2845
Twitter: @sylviaoz
© 2016 Sylvia Chika
Explode the galaxy
iron out this wrinkle in time
Cheapen a poor mans rich taste in fashion
it’s habit to be a creature of design
When the delicate send out the search party
start by scanning the various roadsides
follow the stench of day old regret
that should lead in right to my location
Where have I landed?
A strangers planet Earth?
A manic depressives getaway?
A lunatics wet dream?
Drain the oceans
bleed the kids on the mountain
the formidable foes of the knife I haven’t sharpened yet
jam packed arenas stocked with fresh meat
I’ll start at the bottom
-The Man-
The man holds the hand of his wife
greeting me with a reverse handshake
Something grainy about his personal life
leaked into his lovers tears
it sure as hell isn't this lady on his arm
Rinse his eyes in a river of lust only to let him see what he's done has scorched the Earth
straying too far from...
Rid you
Burn
The scum secretes
my head can't take much more of this eyesore
total eclipse of his soul has begun
Next up...
-The Harlot-
The girl holding the rose laughing
she’s breeding an uncanny look of impurity
Nothing perverse about what I’m thinking
it’s what she is
Spreading a soil around the town that reeks
a forked road where she walks down the handle
nothing she won’t do
nothing she won’t take or see
Come here and meet me in the middle
there aren’t so many eyes here
I’m sure this won’t be the most popular of assassinations
everyone likes a harlot
Excitement stimulates
Diseases decimate
Make up your minds
-The Vagrant-
Traveling on web feet has begun to hurt his ego
burn his shoes and prick at the calloused soul of a man ravaged by nothing
Pity is lost on skin without purpose
throw a penny at something that begs
spare a nickel for a chosen profession
Demon in disguise if you ask me
Blameless self de-evolution personified in a cardboard box
warming themselves with headlines and bold ink
Cold?
Maybe
Alas, what I do must be done
It's a thirst unquenched by a common liquid and if not
then innocence is lost in a blink of an eye
Explode this galaxy
iron out this wrinkle in time
Bar none, no shortage of soap shampoo, nor detergent
Courtesy food pantries
Saint Eleanor's Saint Mary's,
Our Daily Bread,
the missus and yours truly (her spouse)
well stocked with good n plenti of
soap, shampoo and detergent.
Spongebob squarepants
would be in seventh heaven,
where sudsy clouds (resembling
Mister Krabs, Plankton,
Sandy Cheeks, Squidward, et cetera),
would drift across celestial vault.
Gratitude bequeathed to prophets of virtue
benevolent good samaritans
who trend righteous true
to the calling of helping hands who renew
faith (mine) in goodness of humanity
assisting not only yours truly
and the missus, but people
from South American country named Peru
or even indigenous tribes
accorded recognition comprising
population of inhabitants occupying New
Zealand, offered reparations
under the Treaty of Waitangi,
a process of reparation allowed
Maori to be fully recognized
at political level in lieu
of unfair practices inflicted upon
original occupant loosely similar
to descendents of long lost tribes of Israel,
endowed with (pure tin) pride
wishing I too could call myself proud Jew,
nevertheless attraction manifests destiny
(mine) someday to learn Hebrew.
Courtesy atheism more so Unitarianism,
I need not adopt
an explicit dogmatic, fanatic, humanistic...,
lunatic, narcissistic, puritanic... paradigm,
but only tout poetic justice (mine)
to recognize laudable traits
linkedin to orthodox faiths,
albeit rationalistic rubric
that caters to selflessness
for no other reason
than allowing, enabling, and promoting
random acts of kindness
without any forthcoming great expectation
downplaying remuneration,
no matter destitution begot mein kampf
hard times living within bleak house
slight hyperbolic exaggeration
poor as a cheesy church mouse poet.
Lemme coast to a fitting conclusion
bringing reasonable rhyming blather
originating courtesy me noggin,
within which wool doth gather
thus I a halt and
dial down philosophical lather,
cuz most likely
ye dear reader would rather
experience palmolive oil slather
preparatory to full body massage.
1
I came walking on daytime’s wake
a pigment dry palette of dreams
filled my pockets with hope
digitally mastered visions of glory
fuel for the broken fires of passion
each step of the journey a trial
each path a temptation to believe
tomorrow will be the end of today
where strangers I have met
on the road to distant vanishing points
in step with eternal drums
dogs who beg for mercy crumbs
from the master’s table
for those who find the empty stable
I am Cerulean
the long distance voyager
2
robed in sky blue fusion fabric
patterned after ancient promises
steeped in salt flats time trials
to set new records for obedience
speed the nemesis of costly delay
all for a search without ending
a city a gate a massive pearl
wisdom not her only treasure
lost in the turmoil of rhetoric
and endless spiral speculation
I took a turn to the narrow left
and hid my face in the borrowed cleft
for fear of judgment’s bloody arm
to raise my banner of alarm
I am Cerulean
the long distance voyager
3
only I know the forest highways
oceans running long beach shores
snow capped mountain hideaways
among the thickets of sleepless nights
stone fences closing war torn borders
to the eyes of media madness
who cannot close the credibility gap
between their surgically guarded ears
and fumes that fill reality playgrounds
bursting veins with profitable intentions
spilling children’s crying laughter
among medicated claims of peace hereafter
I know the headlines are for eating
the taxman’s trade for cheating
I am Cerulean
the long distance voyager
4
meadows green with limestone caverns
rivers stocked with seamless flowers
valleys cut by deep dish pizza
fountains fill the blackened void
fragments of imagination
comfort words in bits and bytes
nightime memory analysis
of what I thought I could see
beyond flesh and bone and mortar
casino lights with smoking embers
easy picking on empty heart strings
wishful thinking on eagles’ wings
only to hear a pounding hollow echo
let it go let the whole thing go
I am Cerulean
the long distance voyager
Gangly Longfellow walled in Thoreau and thru...
Well stocked with
wordsworth lxiii numbered yesteryear
born as predicted by
bubba's zayda longtime seer
while in utero premier
ultrasound detected
smudged embryonic fetus
whoosh auditory proto language unclear
surprisingly enough sounded analogous
to murmuring... huh yepper sonneteer
vaguely resembling, yes
William Shakespeare
though burbling, gurgling,
requiring absolute zero noise to hear
kickstarting, reverently warbling
difficult, diligent, distinct yawping,
nonetheless reckoned as dérailleur,
viz swiftly tailored
inchoate anatomical gear
hurriedly and harriedly styled
pièce de résistance
yours truly born with silver dictionary
in his mouth, I f***'* swear
unusual biological phenomena
drew pediatricians far and near,
which (no surprise) determined
English major as academic career
matriculating upon immediately
exiting birth canal whip smart derriere
i.e. (ŧ§), spread like wildfire, where
media hounds blitzkrieg stunned to stare
not at me but bare
naked lady in no mood...ready to tear
away sophisticated audiovisual equipment
understandably on verge going nuclear
furious, (this told me later in life as here
say), she quickly (albeit groggily)
curtly demanded fair
remuneration, and milked
infant me as cash cow profiteer,
her eyes aglitter signaling,
shining, seeing... gold
let whoever sneer
earning money with initial gasp of air
freeing parents to live
within lap of luxury
world wide web sightseer,
yours truly received
royal carpet treatment everywhere
crisscrossing the globe
accoutered with most
expensive designer babywear
obliviously prattling, jabbering, gabbling...
invariably drawing throngs
across entire northern hemisphere
broadcast as podcast across atmosphere
all across the universe hoodwinking
convincing many of "FAKE" poetic story
concoction courtesy adept fictioneer.
Gangly longfellow thoreau and thru...
Well stocked with
wordsworth lx numbered yesteryear
born as predicted by
bubba's zayda longtime seer.
While in utero premier
ultrasound detected
smudged embryonic fetus
whoosh auditory proto language unclear
surprisingly enough sounded analogous
to murmuring... huh yepper sonneteer
vaguely resembling, yes
William Shakespeare
though burbling, gurgling,
requiring absolute zero noise to hear
kickstarting, reverently warbling
difficult, diligent, distinct yawping
nonetheless reckoned as dérailleur,
viz swiftly tailored
inchoate anatomical gear
hurriedly styled pièce de résistance
yours truly born with silver dictionary
in his mouth, I f¨ç°ˆ˜© swear
unusual biological phenomena
drew pediatricians far and near,
which (no surprise) determined
English major as academic career
matriculating upon immediately
exiting birth canal whip smart derriere
i.e. (ŧ§), spread like wildfire, where
media hounds blitzkrieg stunned to stare
not at me but bare
naked lady in no mood...ready to tear
away sophisticated audiovisual equipment
understandably on verge going nuclear
furious, (this told me later in life as here
say), she quickly (albeit groggy)
curtly demanded fair
remuneration, and milked
infant me as cash cow profiteer,
her eyes aglitter signaling,
shining, seeing... gold
let whoever sneer
earning money with initial gasp of air
freeing parents to live
within lap of luxury
world wide web sightseer,
yours truly received
royal carpet treatment everywhere
crisscrossing the globe
accoutered with most
expensive designer babywear
obliviously prattling, jabbering, gabbling...
invariably drawing throngs
across entire northern hemisphere
broadcast as podcast across atmosphere
all across the universe hoodwinking
convincing many of "FAKE" poetic story
concoction courtesy adept fictioneer.
Two days have passed and its not over
I'm still ravaged by my gory deed of inaction
Been praying to the gods asking mercy
To forgive me and grant me guts and to be swifter in action
I live in a country unsafe for women
Laws and its protectors are a dicy affair
Always frightened of getting trapped
In a horrific misadventure on the streets
Shocked and shaken up after watching a late night movie
A nerve wrecking, true story on honour killing
I took long to doze off only to wake up before I slept
Foggy and heavy in mind wondered what was happening
I could hear a girl shouting and a man yelling
Got out of my bed and tried to hear from where
The heart rending cries were coming much beyond midnight hour
I walked to the window but couldn't see through the thick creepers
Rushed to the lobby windows for a clearer view
Saw a young girl sitting on the road before the car in tears
Her husband -presumably with the authority he was using-
Angered and abusive was asking her to get into the car
She refused and kept pleading that her arm was broken
She refused to be seated and was given a tight slap
She was just howling that she was in pain as her arm was broken
A lady who I thought was her mother was foolishly consoling her
I wasn't sure if she was drunk after late Christmas celebrations
Or a regular victim of a suffering male chauvinistic abuser
Before I could wake up another neighbour she was shoved
Into the car and driven off and I couldn't see her mother anywhere
I'm guilt ridden that I didn't act quickly to save her
Keep wondering which house she belonged to
Has she been hospitalised or suffering more brutalities?
Now I'm stocked with helplines, I pray to the gods to make me quick in action
December 27, 2015
Contest: Deep and Dark
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Is just Love an oasis in ‘desert of self’
Where my talents seem fossilized bones with no life?
I bless remnants of forebears (expired, long past prime)
That caress life, the breeze that cools brow, whose moist breath,
Does suggest some direction, moves me off the shelf
Of indifference! All I invent is my wife
Or mirage that just silently glistens and I’m
Fool’s gold’s victim who wrestles a vacuous death?
Yes, the “Little Prince” spoke ‘Truth,’ the desert that hides
An oasis is beautiful. Poetry’s less
Than the stardust metastasized facets of gems
That form crystalline structures, though contents of thoughts
Bring a smile to God’s lips or cause angel’s insides
To do cartwheels! Can rhythm or rhyme then possess,
Is it hatred or Love of this life that condemns
Grace that God gives to Jason and all Argonauts?
Let us all take a break from what some might call sin,
From the ones we trust Love us, for whom we feign Love!
Just remember God’s rain falls on ALL life! That’s ‘Kind!’
But does life that adapts thrive on Nature that’s here,
Or is all evolution ‘designed’ chance to win?
Do we profit by judging when push comes to shove,
Or gain more from God’s judgment when pride’s left behind?
Do you think truth’s a virtue to crowds that swill beer?
More than Love’s in the wheelhouse of life if I’m right,
For it’s stocked with provisions that lighten our loads.
There is Reason, there’s Math, and now Science as well,
And if Faith’s not an answer, it’s Faith that floats ‘Ark
Of All Wisdom’ that’s human, that’s ether for ‘Light
Waves’ that bend and refract as dark matter’s mass goads.
Can Man’s models of Nature, Sums, Logic then tell
Us how waves of light form? Faith’s God’s watermark’s ‘quark?’
Brian Johnston
2nd of October in 2019
A pool table lined with blue felt
sports a lively, raucous game,
ivory cracks, the men drink,
shoot the bull while they play.
A humidor lined in fine wood
stocked with Cuban cigars,
a smoking lounge grandiose,
ceiling painted like the stars.
A bar right out of the Wild West
serves beer and old whiskey,
an insurance guy loosing at darts
to a bookworm with a PhD.
A library stocked with real books,
no paperbacks or e-books there,
classics vaunted alongside the
spy novels and western fare.
Gym in the basement, no windows,
where everyone toils and sweats,
a sauna large, and no member
has grown tired of a steam yet.
Upstairs is the banquet hall,
used once a month for feasts,
where steak is served bleeding red,
no concoctions of soy or yeast.
On the third floor, rooms to crash
if you’re visiting from out of town,
or if you’ve drank a bit much,
relax, and lay down you head.
Fixtures in brass and mahogany,
reminders of more elegant times,
side rooms for talking business,
a cellar filled with fine wines...
This is our place, our shelter,
when the world rears and ugly head,
yet at least once a month feminists
show up outside and wish us dead.
They like to shout and chant a lot,
with their one word, ‘patriarchy,’
never seeming to realize
their protests are pure malarkey.
This world had lady-only gyms,
and female-only hair salons,
they never decry that as sexism,
they just go along to get along.
Turn-about must be fair play,
so we made ourselves this place,
what really bothers them about us
is the mere existence of male space.
But this club is a private affair,
so they’re wasting their powers,
they have places where men don’t tread,
so this place, this is ours.