Long Stone faced Poems
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Rogue and destitute,
In dreamlessness I drift
Stolen by the numbness of routine
I lack your acceptance; I crave the pristine
Your pivoting words both lull and dull me
I harden day by day in its power
Though inside, the spark still lives
Gaining ground in an otherwise lost heart
Toil I must
Wait, I trust
Can you not grab hold of life and hurl these material things?
Can you not, for once, be free of control, and instead live?
Can you bear your force upon me with passion,
Instead of stone-faced apathy?
Direct me, and I will flee from all paths
From all of your torturous machinations
You cannot protect me, destroyer of joy!
Worship your uninspired content,
Your uncurious, indifferent rot
For I must away,
To the greatness of every day
To undo this cursed sleep you have inflicted upon me
Awaken me, undress me, and bathe me in secret exhilarations
And do not look on me like one who regrets,
Do not qualm over this uncontrolled zealot who possesses me
For she dresses you, comforts you, enlivens you, completes you
Every great day
Stoned in the Park
I sat beside a statue in the park
We listened to a dog’s incessant bark
And then I swear I saw him turn his head
To ask which one of us was really dead
I shared with him a sandwich cut in half
He said “I can’t remember my last laugh”
I asked “who did the paint job on your nails”
“a couple who are now in separate jails”
He was a famous man now turned to stone
A witness to the world with no cell phone
As I arose he sighed a bit too loud
A stone faced angel lost without a cloud
I walked away in silence, shed a tear
Now being turned to stone is what I fear
John G. Lawless
5/11/2021
Schlerotic schlemiel schleps...
Into lonely senescence -
three plus decades already elapsed
trepidation, hesitation unbearably
tugging, shouldering,
remonstrating accumulation
of "baggage" thumb
of right hand thrust out
silently raving, quaking
cursing ultimatum parents
(soffit to fascia in)
saw fit to fashion
and hammer home
red hot poker rage
their singular male offspring
middle child of two sisters,
who long since vacated premises
when both young naifs
prior to attaining age of consent
deploring bing holed up
at 324 Level Road redoubt
built as summer house
remote from fracas of urban bedlam
still fifty years since Leipers
bon voyage into netherland
father and mother
imposed swiftly tailored
harried styled tough love
translated meant absolute zero value
toward offspring they begot,
and made quite clear loathing
heaped upon sundered fountainhead
good for nothing son of a...,
he whittled away precious time
reading avast among trove of material
crowdsourcing numerous bookshelves
mostly to impress intellectual visitors,
when in truth middle aged couple
thinly veiled country bumpkins,
donned with "FAKE" literacy
stereotypical "rednecks,"
inexplicably begot wunderkind
agog with inhaling literature
in tandem with liberal
magazines and newspapers
oft times whiled away countless hours
sunup to sundown
sequestered most remote nook
within local library
few miles walk along country road
served as self taught schooling
since parochial educated regimen
habitually rapped knuckles
courtesy whiplike hickory stick
if pupil evinced slightest
distraction, whence schoolmaster
detected lack of attention
as crotchety curmudgeon
blankly droned monotonously
dull jabbering subjected
stone faced classmates
into instant soporific state
futilely struggling to keep eyelids
slamming shut tight
including yours truly,
who when suddenly awake
realized quite a vivid dream!
Young Soul
Dear young soul who stole your smile that you go around stone faced like one who wears the weight of the world holding you down. Where is the joy that once filled you when you chose to incarnate yourself in a form of this melanin thin body and heart that aims to please everyone accept you but for every insult, rejection, disappointment fear insecurity, humiliation and tease; bars in the form of labels were encased around you rules and expectations were given to you where you slowly began to forget what it truly meant to be free. Your eyes were replaced with blurry vision so you have no sight of the greatness and potential you truly possess. Self-doubt and uncertainty slowly began to invade every crack and crevice of your being so you appear in the eyes of them as unsure of your self. Dear strong soul who silenced your voice that you believe what you have to say is of no importance that the mere sound of every word that comes forth from the core of your inner parts fades out in the distance scattered by the wind. That the opinions of others confrontational assertiveness causes you to hesitate shrink back and cringe. Young soul who mislead you that you feel like you have lost your way to finding fulfillment in every moment, who wrote the blueprint for the way you are suppose to live, who was there to give you direction through every path in life’s system requires you to navigate
Rivulets of raindrops cut tributary streams
On the panes of the windows, running freely they cling
Stone faced and staring, motor skills corrode
Just snippets of memories in unbreakable code
Rumbles of thunder, sudden flashes of light
Draw no response to a once vibrant life
Surrounded by loved ones, faces without names
Words with no meanings are spoken in vain
Lost to a world of childlike innocence
Hopeless and alone with no pretense
All doors are closed, no forward or back
Now a question of time for this wretched attack
No need to hide tears for family and friends
Who suffer in sadness as cognizance ends
Such incomparable devastation and emotional drain
To watch someone you love, live so restrained
2015 statistics show 44 million worldwide suffer from Alzheimer's
1 in 9 Americans over 65- costing over 226 billion in the US alone
The 6th leading cause of death No cure!!
an original poem by the "Poemdog" Daniel Turner
To a tattered-clothed monster, the city of lights looked so dim,
only stone-faced gargoyles never grimmaced at the sight of him,
everyday, with hideous cries of horror, voices rose and rang out,
it may have been his tears running down from the rainspout.
A human creature who can easily fit in with festivals of fools,
his grotesque, deformed face deemed unfit by society's rules,
while this toll reverberates within his ears, until torn apart,
a song, so beautiful, still plays from the depths of his heart.
People turn their gaze skyward to breathtaking cathedral towers,
where a lone, strong back peals the bells to pass by the hours,
a golden melody floats from the heavens to the town below,
his outward gentle nature only the gypsies and peasants know.
At night, he peacefully slumbers with a picturesque view of Paris,
for, in his dreams alone, no one could ever mock or embarrass,
wishes to dance, to taste the cuisine, in this sanctuary are hidden,
still he carries on a hope, a longing, for a freedom forbidden.
Feeling much despair..
Your heart contains a tare..
Your mind is filled with noise..
You remain stone faced with such poise
Thoughts distorted by unwanted disturbances..
As the mind plays tricks..
It seems to get it kicks..
In creating trickery...
Annoyance picks the brain..
You feel you are going literally insane..
Your distortions had become quite lame..
Do not be afraid..
Seek comfort..
In the moment..
Abolish the despair..
For you can no longer bare..
A torn heart..
It had torn your world apart..
Do not be afraid..
Bygones are indeed bygones..
Embrace not fear..
As you acknowledge your fears..
You may bid it a farewell..
As you watch it disappear..
No longer shall it rear it's ugly head..
Instead focus in the now
Embrace the now..
Because you see..
Only now exists..
In the dark I see you clearly
Images your hardly
Ever share with the world
Why be gentle in the dark
When others think you are hardened
That your emotions
Were extricated at birth
Two complete opposites
Gentle versus rough
Stone faced
With signs that if you smile
In the daylight
Your face might crack
I see you smile all the time
Behind closed doors
Behind the four walls
Almost like you are afraid
The world might see
The gem I have uncovered
It is a joy to see you laugh
To hear that giggle
I reckon it is about time
You show the world the gentle side of you
©152625072013
Mr. Butcher, the undertaker, did a capital job of laying old Cheatum out,
Though he had to cram him in the casket since the senator was rather stout!
During the viewing, folks marveled at Mortician Butcher's cosmetic skill,
Especially the work on his bulbous nose, purpled by the booze he used to swill!
At the funeral, the preacher asked if anyone cared to eulogize the late departed.
The stone-faced congregation remained mute - no kind words were imparted!
This came as no surprise to the reverend who struggled to say something nice,
Something tactful and meaningful for the old galoot's bourne to Paradise!
His stoic widow sat staring ahead under the glaring gaze of the congregation.
She wore rubies, diamonds and emeralds looking like a queen at coronation!
Cheatum somehow always managed in his annual congressional appropriation,
To divert funds for his aggrandizement, further tainting his soiled reputation!
He was transported to Glorious Sunrise Cemetery in a horse-drawn hearse.
Folks thought that appropriate since they knew him to be a horse's reverse!
The reverend intoned an appropriate prayer as he was lowered in the ground.
There was nary a teary-eyed constituent of old Cheatum to be found!
On a nearby grassy knoll stood the gravediggers Arnold, Cletus and Dave,
Leaning on their shovels sipping Old Milwaukee waiting to close the grave.
Cletus having a way with words said, "I feel like throwin' rocks at the hearse!
Good Lord a-mighty! Can that new guy, Senator Swindler be any worse!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Go to sleep now.
.
.
.
And when you awake you will find
A new world, with new desires
New feelings, new beliefs and new joys
You will experience a sense of total satisfaction
Acceptance, and sureness of yourself
No more pain and need and disappointment
Only gentle bliss.
But that makes me less
That steals away my humanity, my comparisons
My decisions; even my mistakes.
You don’t have the right to deny me my suffering
Who makes these decisions anyway?
Let me up -- I must go
Damn these straps and your stone-faced grin!
Let me up -- My tears spew with hatred
Rage seething as my blood and snot and weeping mix
.
.
.
Go to sleep now. . . .