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Long Poems
Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details

Reclusive Accountabilities

I am sick of excuses to avoid responsibility
and I am, today, sick with excuses to avoid responsibility
with "I'm just a mortal human. I make mistakes.
I judge situations and relationships,
assess potential risks to care and nourishing choices
badly sometimes."

I do. And so do you.

At the same time,
I applaud mutually transparent accountability
to always do our best,
to apply Golden Rules as broadly stretching out across time and species,
until no moment escapes our WinWin ecoconscious
YES!
to totally sharing accountability for
my/our judgments,
communication,
my/our relationships,
for both positives and negatives.
Yes to sharing accountability for my/our environments and cultural climates,
my/our days,
my/our generations,
my/our species,
my/our choices of entertainment and amusement,
my/our realities and imaginations,
my/our judiciary system,
my/our Police Officers
and attorneys
and judges
and potentially useful WinWin ecopolitical leaders
and, of course,
loving parents
co-mentoring breathing in
as breathing out together with both ears nondually co-arising Basic Attendance.

Responsible,
doing the best I can each moment,
mindful behavior choices
are nourished by low-stress environments,
and their wise and good-humored caretakers.

When law enforcement is culturally more important
than peace enforcement,
When the criminalization of humanity is culturally acceptable
ecopolitical harm through coldly-calculated bullying,
repressive intimidation,
then we are all entrapped in mutually-paranoid terrorism and LoseLose scenarios,
correctional strategies guaranteed to bring the worst possible outcomes
for everyone,
about which absolutely no one is really better than miserable.

Criminal-prejudice is no more politically, economically, ecologically healthy
than is racism.
In fact, for many U.S. people of color,
racism feels a whole lotta like presumption of abusive/neglectful criminal-intent.
Paranoia is this same presumption, writ large,
across our entire BusinessAsUsual cultural climate of pathology.

Peace enforcement
and the full balanced ecoconscious humanization of this species
require us to accept what we might see and hear
and feed ourselves,
in positive healthy ecopolitical days and nights
as positively incarnated Reality Shows
where everybody actually wins what they most need in the end,
or at least more than they had,
where there are no real losers needed to make a good wholesome story,
positive youtube videos are for every mind and body's WinWin future.

Law enforcement
and the nihilistic further commodification and criminalization of humanity
does not nourish well-rounded healthy regenerations
to build up who we ecotherapeutically are
and where we are headed together,
like cynical negative Reality Shows,
and sociopathic social media messages
of violence and mayhem begets more of same.

We have positive Selfies and social media stars
and there are also negatives.
But, we hope our political leaders
and police officers
and judicial systems
are feeding more on the positive
and not frothing at the mouth so much
in actively dissonant mistrusts of collective culturally degenerative paranoia.

We have a profound ecopolitical choice to make,
to invest in positive health assumptions of Golden Rule good faith
until proven otherwise,
not just strongly, prejudicially, and malignantly suspected,
and we too often invest in negative social and eco-political poor health choices,
news and interpreted events
as entertainments and grist for ruminating imaginations 
and then paranoid realities,
LoseLose pathologies,
absence of faith in a more integrative regenerative future.

We can choose to learn our way toward more robust Climate Health,
or go this other way, 
with armed humorless paranoids
disguised in peace officer uniforms,
really out to get themselves yet another victim
of their anger and disappointment with humanity's
lack of self-respect and responsibility,
including their own sometimes
when they really are not doing the best they can
in a struggling situation.
Or, are they?

Those who feast on negative media and gaming entertainments,
bad-environment choices,
maybe shouldn't take the lead on determining what is commercially-viable news
about challenging and suffering events and cultures
and religions,
and economic and political systems,
and ecological systems 
still gasping for more positive good-news health
and less sardonic nihilism,
and paranoia.

Responsibility meets our levels of accountability
for trust and empathy
and active listening and noticing possibilities to minimize victimization,
criminalization,
revenge,
stealth and duplicity,
anger and fear,
mistrusts growing into raging distrustful paranoid hatreds
of individual magical fragile sacred people,
and families nurtured by and in and with Beloved Communities,
we have too often reduced to vocational labels
associated with diatribes of prejudicial disrespect,
not understanding victim-creators suffer too,
for what they do and what they have failed to do,
as how they are
in this too-toxic environment.

If you cannot find any compassion for your accusers,
your nay-sayers,
your deniers,
your bullies and fascists and terrorists
for their ridiculous LoseLose scenarios
begging for a good laugh,
rather than satirical character assassinations,
stepping out of WinWin hopes and faiths for health and help and hope,
then you are still looking
for how this that has happened to you
could move further toward WinWin ecopolitics,
more opportunities for health with less risk of pathology,
as am I,
while a paranoid white male Police Officer
continues shouting through my screen door
about my highly over-rated sense of shameless disregard for others.

Maybe he just needs more sleep,
better meds.
Who knows?
I wish they wouldn't let him out loose with a gun
by himself,
he's scaring me and my kids
with his humorless lack of hearing
and therefore compassion for others
who probably also could use more sleep,
more vacation,
less negative recreations.



Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details

This Is Unfinished Feminist Us

So I was feeling badly,
sad,
because I share our mutually complicit status
for my compatriot's difficult terrorizing
chronic stress disordering
time.
I too have been there,
lost there,
to a more moderate extent.
I just walked away.

I wish I had done more at the time
in the Navy's January frigid spaces
against cooperative ecopolitics,
about being of more general use
if fascist critical events of the mid-seventies had been recorded,
freezing dark military-academic preparation time
industriously repeating
deforesting further virgin ecofeminist Vietnam forests
and their matriarchally cooperative villages,
to become watched on YouTube
by all prospective soldiers
and NRA advocates,
by patriotic nationalists,
thinking about possible antecedents,
before Bad Ol' Daddy's Country-Western Concert
went so very wrong.

I wish we could have recorded
this matriarchal confused and frightened patriotic
loyal commandantish face
when I shared with her
I felt ecofeminist disgraced
by her
Bitch!
Shoot at me again and I will Take You Out!!!
defacement,
in a most homophobic frozen officious place
of mutually inflicted terror.

So then I was feeling a bit more glad,
but still sad
I had not actually said more,
done more,
so I began trimming my twining tendrils
enveloping what's left of uprooted deadwood trees
malingering in my back lot
and having a rough go of it
as my hedging shears
are no longer what once they were.

As usual,
I tend to speak with my plant recruits
and candidates for future flaming victories,
and felt required,
"I apologize
for this jab 
and grab
and pull
and pushy ecopolitics,
but Mommy needs sharper,
and probably newer,
scissors for shutting up her
RightBrain EcoFeminist Diva Voice.

Apologizing to the entire human race"
of potential soldiers and ballistic deadwood downsizers
for your not yet having seen
that anti-feminist patriotic face
glare me back into space
with timeless time exclaiming
BITCH!
Shoot your GLBT EcoFeminist mouth OFF AT ME?
I DON'T military anti-ANTIfeminist THINK SO;

but I wonder how I feel about being this predator
in this eternal frame of egopolitical ignorance,
lack of cooperative military research
and economic-educational-formational intelligence gathering.

As I continued with hacking scissors
and played-out ecofeminist sawsall balls off
and the big manly Yang chopper offer
     with their underdog heads!
I kept going back to those January freezing eyes.

IF LOOKS COULD KILL!!!
BITCH!!!!!
YOU DO NOT KNOW ME
and think you can punk your gay white ecofeminist butt
in my guest chair
and think your MidWest Academic BullCrap
will even so much as reach one 
WinWin Ping of inspiration
aspiration
hope,
YOU DON'T KNOW ME!
I might have majored in BullDike Fascist Terrorism!
YOU DO NOT KNOW ME!!!

and maybe I don't either.
Who wants to be that angry lose-lose antagonist
of military industrial absence of intelligence,
would you?

I wish this imaginary spacetime scene had played out
in RealTime frames just that audio way,
but even without sound,
with just her
I AM NOT YOUR BITCH!
but you are not going to be mine
either.

She could not sign those exit papers fast enough,
continues visual only images
of how I still feel,
more or less
about these tangled vines
and tough deadwoods
hanging out in my wanna be ecofeminist backyard.

I will chop them up
and paint them
into diva totem poles
and frames
in which ecofeminists
always play in YouTube Blue and Green Estates
of most polyculturally
matriarchal peace in this back lot solitude,

Although occasionally the patriarchal husband
makes a cameo appearance
for a few All Lives Matter Moments,

But usually just me,
in an early October day
preferring to forget dark frigid January anti-feminist nightmares
of militarized neglect
of basic health assurance and safety
delivered by angry matriarchal commandants,
and hedging shear divas,
depending on which lens is in play,
the full-staged historical tragedy
within my more personal back lot comedy.

It's still peaceful here in my backyard.
The crows have flown off
warning descent of warm October sunlight.




Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Maxine Jones | Details

Blew it away like the sand

So I have some things, that I just have to say,
but please do not take me in the wrong way,
I have this tiny little problem, inside me you see,
and its called trying to live with ADHD.

These thing's that you say, they way you behave,
drive me insane, and inside me I crave,
to tell you your wrong, and look like a mug,
I cant stand the thought, of you being a thug.

If I see you pushing and constantly thrashing, 
my friends whom are weak, intending to bash em,
I will have to stand up, and defend with my heart,
Say it to me if you really wanna start!

Ill tell you the truth, don't you threat about that,
I'll never be scared of you, swinging that bat.
I've been through worse times, than you can inflict,
you can laugh and say that I am just a (b)witch.

I've taken many a beating, from one's harder than you,
you're a joke, you're clown, do the best you can do,
you will not like me, cause ill tell you the truth,
it ain't all about being a spoof.

You're a book that's been read, from cover to cover,
Predictable, laughable and not the best lover, 
you're as see through as cling film, but before its too late,
get a grip you sad person, before they will hate.

you can change the future, if only you'd try,
stop accusing and blaming, and questioning why?
look around you and see, you have a great life, 
but if you don't see before you, lose a possible wife.

So I'll tell it like it is, I wont mince my words
right there, right now, you got an incredible bird,
she loves you and would never hurt you, never make you cry,
but you spit and you hiss, and you don't even try.

You're straight out the book, the tactics you use
we know the next step, we know the short fuse,
The questions, the timing, the jealousy of friends,
its all a plan, for her social life to end.

There's really no need to hate and to follow, 
trust isn't really a bitter pill to swallow.
Life and love is really OK, 
don't be an idiot and throw it all away.

when you have a good woman be happy and proud,
get on that roof top and shout it out loud.
don't toss it aside, cause  your angry inside,
give love a chance, her on your arm bursting with pride.

I'll be honest, and truthful, and hope you will find,
the problem within, ill try to be kind,
but ADHD just makes me be true
I really mean no harm, just giving you a clue.

You can hate me, detest me, I really don't care, 
I know what your about, I'll stand and stare,
see if you have the balls,  to really be true, 
when you stand say 'hello, and how are you?' 

Been there, and done it, its really no big deal,
2 faced coward is what i do feel.
thing is it really, you don't need to be like that, 
but too proud to say, 'yeah OK I been a prat'

No need at all for the mess that is made, 
drag yourself out of that neanderthal cave.
there's more to life than fighting and hating,
you only get on shot, so love and stop wasting.

Let people in, let out your fears,
or cling on to em tight, for another 30 years,
hold on to trouble, grip tight onto hate,
lets these years pass you by, and then its too late.

look at yourself, are you really ok??
want another day marked off, with only hate to say?
we want to make you smile, and assure you its fine, 
hold glasses of wine up and clink with ' lets dine'

So I suppose the point, I am trying to say, 
with my ADHD, I'll just say it this way, 
My words come out 'hectic' and not make much sense,
but I'm trying to help you, I make no pretense.

If you think this is about you, or someone you know,
I hope that this poem will help someone to grow, 
Just ask and I'll tell you, I wont hide in the forest,
I don't have two faces, you know ill be honest!

So I bid you goodnight, and tell you I'm grateful, 
for Tony, my love, I can trust he'll be faithful,
He treats me with love and respect, don't harass me,
two way trust, with my man, means the world, I'll never judge he.

Shame on you wasters, throwing real love away,
it will spring up on you, you'll realize one day, 
you had it right there, in the palm of your hand,
but crushed it and blew it away like the sand.

Copyright © Maxine Jones | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by James Andersen | Details

A Road to Redemption

Traffic backed up.  My morning drive.
My mind foggy and cluttered as I ride.
When a crazy thought at once entered my head
And off the main road, I turned instead
To travel down a strange and different route
And wondered at the road as it curved about.
Both lanes were lined with live and leafy trees
The world was a collage of dark browns and wild greens.
Sunlight creeping through the mossy mass
Danced and played behind each tree as I passed.
 
On and on, down the road, I drove
Until I stopped suddenly at a quiet abode.
An old farmhouse neatly hidden in the trees
Just waiting to be found by someone like me.
A tiny little place in great disrepair
Begging for someone to come and show a little care.
I couldn’t help but to step away from my car
And stare in amazement from the road afar.
I walked closer through the tall damp grass
Past the rusty well pump and to the house at last.
 
With a heavy sigh, I took it all in. 
The rock foundation and the old wood bin
The white paint all of it chipped and faded
Left the old house wind-beaten and nearly naked
Its once stout walls, now grey and old
Let in the rain, the wind and even the cold.
The old tin roof baked orange-red with rust
Bellowed and moaned with each wind gust.
The front porch creaked and bowed under my weight
But, for some reason, it didn’t sound like a complaint.
 
As I stood on the porch I summoned my strength
And dared to go inside to have a quick peek.
The old brass knob gave easily with a twist
Releasing the latch with a loud metallic click.
The wooden front door slid open with grace
While a puff of stale dust hit me square in the face.
It opened to a room large and nearly bare
Except for a framed picture above an old rocking chair.
A few quick steps took me across the bare room
To that picture covered in dirt and a little bit of gloom.
 
A quick wipe with the sleeve of my shirt
Cleared the glass cover and removed the dirt.
The picture couldn’t have shown a happier sight,
A tidy little family posing in the clear sunlight.
A simple sight from a simpler time
Brought feelings of nostalgia and a tear to my eye.
With one final glance, I hung the picture back on the wall
And turned and walked down a short narrow hall
That led to a door that led outside.
And I found myself staring at this farm's greatest pride.

A grand orchard of apples and pear;
Not overgrown but tended with care.
The grass neatly trimmed around each tree
And a large Live Oak holding a swaying tire swing.
It was all encased inside a white wooden fence
Lined with wildflowers lush and dense.
But there was no sign of people, no sound but the breeze,
No squirrels in the trees, no birds and no bees.
Nothing in this scene felt quite right
But, for some strange reason, I felt calm not fright.
 
Though I wanted to stay I knew I didn’t belong,
In this little orchard planted by a family now gone.
I walked back to the house and down the narrow hall.
And took one last look at the picture hanging on the wall.
I stared at the faces of the family in the scene
And smiled when I replaced it wiped fresh and clean.
I walked back to the door and breathed the fresh air
And turned one more time and saw the rocking chair
I stared for a moment barely believing my eyes
The chair was rocking back and forth in rhythmic time.
 
I watched for a moment and felt a calming peace,
All of my stress and worry, a sudden release.
Overcome with emotion there at the door
I cried for no reason and fell to the floor.
I felt hands on my shoulders and one on my head
I could hear their soft prayers for my soul they pled.
After a time, I stood and looked around
Inside and out they were nowhere to be found.
So back to my car I walked very slow
I started the engine and to home, I drove.

Copyright © James Andersen | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Donn Ronquillo | Details

PRESSURE

pressure to the roneom[
































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































pressures of the norm,
going beyond the storm.
branded by the stigma;
persecuted by other's feedback,
false insecurities,
lacking humility.
judged by the trauma,
hindered by all the drama.
toying with the hurt,
random ego sanity complex.
confusion with reality;
fantasy fanatics,
backsliding with habits.
boredome with under rated exploits,
shackled by the struggle and pain.
unjustified secrets and cruel ploys,
with tainted stains.
offering no comfort,
the teardrops that wasn't meant to be compare.






























-













Copyright © Donn Ronquillo | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Timothy Hicks | Details

While Waiting For My Return Flight Home

"You in the military?"

I was confused at first and didn't know why the man would ask me such a question. But then I remembered my recent haircut.

"No... is it because I shaved my head, that you think that?"

He laughed, in confirmation. At the time he seemed good-natured and so I decided to try and spark some kind of conversation. After all why not? I had two hours worth of sitting ahead of me, and I was bored of the silence.

"Do you think it's weird that I shave my head?". Admittedly I'm not the most graceful conversationalist. "Not at all... so why are you headed to Boise?". I told him I live there and that I just got back from Europe. For some reason where I came from didn't interest him much.

"You study at BSU?". I told him no, and he started to sway back and forth. He had a weird habit of not being able to stand completely straight. "What do you do?". And I said I was just a pizza-maker, and thought the description was ample. He paused for five minutes and then said in a low condescending voice "I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that. Now what do you DO?".

I was exhausted from almost twenty hours of drawn out sitting, and plus I was never good at clever responses, so I said dumbly "I don't know". He said "What about CWI? You know, coll-ege-of-west-ern-i-da-ho", pronouncing each syllable precisely. Did he think I had mental problems or something? "I don't know, I haven't looked very deep into it".

He seemed irritated with me and continued that annoying sway of his. My shallow side got the best of me and I couldn't help but form conclusions of what he thought of me. Like for instance; this kid probably spends most of his time playing video-games... that is when he's not smoking pot. Hell, maybe he even does both at the same time. Those were the thoughts that came to me and I was helpless to stop them.

He showed me his military ID, saying proudly "See here, I'm in the military." Placing his finger right on his portrait. I said "Cool!". But I really just wanted some peace and quiet. He put his card back in his wallet. But he had this look about him, that showed deep disappointment. He looked as though he was waiting for some profound response from my end. Did he expect me to bow down, kiss his feet, and shout out "Oh you brave man! I'm simply not worthy of your presence!" But no, all I said was cool and continued to look at the giant digital clock on the wall. Will this plane ever get here!?

"C'mon man, you gotta know what you wanna do in life!". His badgering just wouldn't stop, but I was in no mood to breathe any comebacks beside mechanical responses. I could have told him I had a passion for composing songs on my piano, and that I was self-taught; or that I had enough material on my Kindle Fire to start at least a couple books. I could've even quoted Plato, stating "College polishes pebbles, but dims diamonds". But I don't think that would have jived well with him and would have simply caused me more stress. Why should I bother defending myself to someone who knew absolutely NOTHING about me? I just wanted to get home after a month of being away. Not get lectured by this complete stranger who refused to get the hint.

"My son is seventeen years old and has no idea what he wants to do". Was he talking to himself or me? "I'd like to show him brochures of Michigan or Hawaii," he snickered, "Heck, maybe that would get him out of the house!". I mentally rolled my eyes at him - I was simply too beat to do it physically. I've never been so grateful to have a dad like mine. That poor, poor kid! When the plane, at last arrived, I rejoiced that I didn't have sit next to that meddlesome man. I say this in complete seriousness, that he was quite possibly the most irritating person I've ever met.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Robert Candler | Details

The Doctor Is A Dead Man Walking

Bob had a special talent
That only worked in his men’s store.
He had ‘clothing ESP’.
He knew what his customers wanted…and more.

When customer would come into his store
Bob would invariably say, 
“Hello. I'm Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”

And he was always right,
Never missed a color, fabric, style or size.
He even knew the necessary alterations.
Customers couldn’t believe their ears and eyes.

Meanwhile, in another part of town,
Joe had a pounding, relentless migraine
For every minute for more than five years,
It had driven him near insane.

He’d lost his job to the pain.
Then, he lost his wife.
He had lost a lot of weight and rarely slept.
Yes, his was a miserable life.

And, of course,  sex was out of the question…
Even a little self-abuse.
There was nothing left for Joe but pain.
He felt his life was of no use.

So, Joe went to his doctor.
“Doc, please help me end this pain.
Give me something to make me sleep
And never wake up again.”

“You know I can’t assist your suicide.”,
Then he looked sad, perhaps ashamed.
“I never dreamed it would last five years,
But I know how to end the pain.”

“You can make it go away?!
Tell me, Doc!  What’s the word?”
“I’ll have to remove your testicles.”
Was the last thing that Joe heard.

But…when he came to, it struck him.
Sex was out of the question anyway;
But he might enjoy his meals again,
And he could sleep for days.

“Please check me in, Doc.
This opportunity I cannot shirk.”
So, the doctor removed his testicles.
He did his very best work.

A few days later, Joe waddled along,
Headache free and feeling pretty nice;
But every attractive woman he saw 
Reminded him of his sacrifice.

He decided it was appropriate
To do something nice for himself for a change.
So, he went into a travel agency;
And a six month cruise he arranged.

As he left the travel agency,
He was excited, feeling ready to go;
But for such a glorious adventure,
He would need new clothes.

As he walked along, he saw Bob’s Men's Store.
He walked in, only to hear Bob say,
“Hello.  I’m Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”

“How could you know?” asked Joe.
“It’s a gift.  I don’t know how, but I do.
You’ve suffered five years with an ailment,
Found relief, so now you’re taking a cruise.” 

Joe could not believe his ears.
How could this stranger possibly know?
"You're right! That's amazing!
And I'm going to need new clothes." 

Bob then laid out a fabulous wardrobe
All the right colors, fabrics, styles…and each size.
Joe was incredibly impressed.
He could hardly believe his ears and eyes.

“How do you like the wardrobe?”
“It’s wonderful!”  Bob could see that Joe was pleased.
“Now,” said Bob, “What about undergarments;
You know…shorts and tees?

Let’s see…medium crew neck tees, all cotton.
I believe that you prefer white….
And jockey shorts, all cotton…. 34s.
Yes, I'm sure that’s right.”

Joe beamed, “You’re an amazing talent
And I just this second realized,
You've laid out this entire wardrobe
And only missed one size.”

Bob, surprised by his mistake, asked, “Really?
What did I miss?  I did my best for you.”
“Well…you’re right.” said Joe, “I do wear Jockeys,
But…well…I wear 32s.

“Oh, no!” said Bob with an ugly grimace.
“That would be a serious mistake.
Thirty-twos will cramp your balls, 
You’ll get migraine headaches.”

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Long poem by Vee Bdosa | Details

The Euthenating of A Shrew

     "The Euthanating Of A Shrew"
How cowardly he hid within the heated night
just brooding up all manner of his dark delight;
all sorcerous they be,
and evil if you see
beyond his explanation of his sordid blight!

Incouthenated, he did promise Nellie Dee,
a simple mind--but not known for her chastity,
that he could weave a spell
and bring it on so well,
her hearts delight would soon come all so willingly!

And adding interest to this sordid little tale,
dear Nellie loved a scoundrel who hung out in jail,
from drinking Friday nights
and getting into fights,
and staying there so long, for no one went his bail!

She paid the sheriff ev'ry night she come to call, 
there be no price to great, for darling little Paul,
to see he rightly fed,
then tucked away to bed,
and what they did in jail--was known by one and all!

Now Cecil in his greatest rage of jealousy
set out to set his way to love more narrowly,
to gaining Nellies hand,
for Paul he couldn't stand,
so then he set about a plan so dastardly.

Knowed he that Nellie sought a way to win the heart
of darling Paul, but couldn't make his soul to part,
with his mischievous style,
he'd had it for a while,
though Nellie tried to change him from the very start!

Now pretty Nellie, teased poor Cecil ev'ry way,
but why she could not love him, she just never say!
but hinted when she could--
at least he understood--
she couldn't stand his mother who just bitch all day! 

Now Cecils mother, how she cry just all day long,
if Cecil say's it so, his mother said it's wrong!
and said she Cecil, hear,
your Nellie's not so dear!
But crazy Cecil felt his love just growing strong!

And in these days, wrought by the deadly plague that spread,           
concocted he a brew, and fed it to his mothers head,
and she grew wearily,
and in such pain that she
for-thought she would be better off, if she be dead!

Now this all fit the way that Cecils plan would be,
he told his mother that the plague was plaguing she;
and be it as it were,
he euthanated her,
and gained her wealth, but lost his greatest misery!

When Cecil told her, Nellie had a nervous fit,
she told the sheriff that she had no part of it!
then crazy Cecil knew
his only hope was brew,
so set he in his cellar to mix up a bit!

And all the while, he kept his mother there to see,
and told the sheriff that she was in apathy,
he gave the sheriff brew,
and got him drunk into
the state of making love to her posthumously....<<<<<

While he sent word to Nellie that she come and call,
for he had just the brew to win the heart of Paul,
he went down to the jail,
and set the doors to nail,
then burned it down in hopes that he could rid it all!

Came she down to his cellar on his creaking stair,
as he laid to the vat, and stirred it with great care;
obnoxious was the smell,
it looked like straight from hell,
and what he promised was a great love potion there!

So drank she until she came to be weak in mind,
and enamoured to any love of any kind,
and Cecil knew it so
and then he got to know
the love she'd never yet allowed his heart to find.

But sobered came the sheriff from his merriment
and grabbed them by the neck--then just by accident,
they fell into the vat,
and that just ended that!
Now no one even knows just where they might have went.

© ron wilson aka vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Shadow Seeker | Details

The Prevailing Voices

    
              -The Prevailing Voices-

In early morn – therein nights silent calm -
A voice of truth aroused by nightmares shrieking song.
Awoke in dim-of-dark, my vision silhouetting wrongs.
Still hours left before the voice of blaring wakes alarm.

The eyes wide shut refusing not to see.
Minds lingering torment perceiving all so accurately.
Nightmares shadowed teeth snap and gnaw - tear at me.
I lay thinking, begging, “Let me sleep! Please let me be.”

Evil faces – voices plain - as if in day discerned.
My mind deranged by words of false-conveyed concern.
A trust in life now staved but still a lesson learned.
If not in this, the next, or else – a must to see them burned.

Perhaps if I could try relax – just lie still.
Or if I would not refuse the false of sleeping pill.
Here slumbers chance slips again – more - and toward until.
Then a voice of pattering paws of mouse through heavy darkness spill.

The scurried, flurried, tapping - voice of paws across the wood
spray ‘thoughts’ voices toward the short-and-longs, bad-or-good.
They leave me lying in a dim-lit blind of perhaps, perchance, or should.
Landing then in ‘memories’ voice at a place where once I stood.

Damned the silence of this tic-toc-less clock!
Would it bother some if I get up and walk?
Can my mind endure these voices across this board-for-chalk?
My tangled thoughts with spectral shriek which crafts for sleep a block.

In darkness now I stalk the clock where numbers roll but never tics.
The ‘voice of silence’ pulls the mind from there behind - a vague abyss.
The divider flashing - constant – taunting – playing tricks.
Then my body’s organs, each unique, flaunt ‘their voice’ and limericks.

Exhaustion pushes!   Sleep tries again to make a play.
I jerk awake!    I’ll not slip to nightmares realm again today.
How can nightmares voices haunt my life both in night and day?
How can the voice of ‘time’ (unseen, silent, peaceful) so quickly slip away?

As I lie awake times blinking twines amid the fury of the past behind.
All provide a voice for budding ‘hatred’ in a future yet to find.
This hypnotic dance of soundless-blinking clock and rolling time – so unkind.
The unseen ‘silent’ voices now irritate my Tic-Toc-ing angered mind.

As the voice of ‘heartbeat’ heard and felt doth rise and slow.
When slurs the voice of ‘blood through veins’ its pulsing flow.
Comes ‘angers voice’! – Into a heap the covers warmth I throw.
Prevailing Voices!   Not of all - but most I surely know.

Nightmares all – peace and sleep they steal,
but more is sanity and ‘self’ if haunting dreams are real.
When nary one will listen – not one of who will feel,
grows evermore (unto yourself or them) a ‘desires’ voice to fill.

The alarm now screams its voice of wakeup chime.
As I roll – I voice with grumble, “O’ - to Hell with Time!”.
Perhaps today regain my peace-and-self in secret mental-voicing crimes.
Revenge through sleepless tossing, morbid thoughts, and tormented mind-voiced rhymes.

Through darkness now – unsteadily and clumsily I steer.
I must hit the mark that halts the ghastly voice of wakes alarm I hear.
Can I live one more day of once-voiced-known - now voiced hated/faltered/feared?
Wishing!  Pleading!  The prevailing voices - would somehow disappear.

         March 2017

Copyright © Shadow Seeker | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Jerry T Curtis | Details

Santa's Seeing Red

-------------------------------------------------------------
Santa’s Seeing Red

Late one evening up at the pole
Santa was watching TV
He shook his head as he started for bed
After seeing how people could be
All night long he tossed and turned
I guess he just couldn’t let go
He saw a sleigh and watched burn
As it sat there in the snow
When he woke He realize 
That Christmas was actually dead
He couldn’t sleep with those sugarplums 
Dancing inside his head, Now it’s said
      Santa’s seeing red

That next morning, Santa was warming
His hands by a fireside
Someone had set the toyshop a flame
But there was no one,  to blame in site
The elves then noticed the deer were gone
Someone must have let them go
But they never seemed to take noticed 
There were no tracks left in the snow
That same day they had a feast 
But not a single word was said
About were all the meat came from
That was stuffed inside the bread, with Christmas dead
      Santa’s seeing red

After dinner Santa stood up
And laid off all of his crew
He said the world was so screwed up
There was nothing He could do
He said that people hearts were colder
Much colder than the Arctic’s air
They're filled with greed, and blind to the needs 
Of poor people everywhere, 
So Father Christmas will be no more
For the little girls and little boys
They can say goodbye to all of those treats 
And all those fricken' toys,  Because instead
     Santa’s seeing red

So when the twenty-fifth rolls by
You can treat it like another day
Santa’s found a new hometown
And a different game to play
He now sits back upon a beach
With women and booze he likes
Forgetting about frozen toes
And all of those silent nights 
So don’t you pout and you better watch out
For that lump of coal instead
You did your part now add to your cart
All the things that I’ve just said, and where it’s lead
     To Santa’s seeing red

Some say that giving is more blessed
And better than to receive
Santa will put you to the test
And see what you believe
So pass a man who’s homeless
Without reaching for a little doe
For what you do might follow you 
No matter where you go
Now you’re sitting on Christmas eve
Just thinking about what I’ve said
You’ll all miss your shiny gifts
But not the people without bread,  so stay bed
         Cause Santa’s seeing red
                        
So don’t look at the poor folks
Just look the other way
And Christ won’t be the only one
That’s missing on Christmas day, 
Just drink until you’re merry
And feast until you’re full
He knows that you’ve been naughty
Cause he’s not gullible 
So when you see him on the street
It’s a sight that you should dread
Cause he knows all your sins
And they're stored inside his head or so it’s said
         Santa’s seeing red


Now it’s time to anti up 
And dig into your stash
If you want him to stay quiet
Better cough up a little cash
And I think that you’ll remember
Christmas time every year
It’s time to give to Santa
Or live in constant fear
So you had better be real nice
And kick in a little bread
And you’ll better not think it twice
Or your reputation will be dead, like I said
Santa’s seeing red










Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2014

Long Poems