Long Strident Poems
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Listless waited the farewell cake on plate,
And all the rest, nigh too eager to leave
On uttering polite words that came late,
I recall that custom-built tedious eve
Called a send-off to balding me to give.
When eased I was unto my life's late eve
Called retirement, an edge of precipice
That left me with old memories to live,
Warm words when felt like biting cubes of ice,
When virtuous turned many an old vice.
Cake tasting bitter sweet with thick icing,
Cold drinks gotten warm by hypocrisy,
A pomp-enwrapped gift packet left waiting
For evening to end rather hurriedly,
Boat-less from ship when one’s lowered mid-sea.
When a toothless tiger’s left lone to fade,
Unto vacuum, cajoled for the farewell,
A cruel send-off more sinister made,
A routine that ought to be done, done well,
When style and form, not substance, must prevail.
When strange virtues were extolled— news to ears:
That ‘I would be missed for long time to come’—
By all, colleagues and peers and superiors—
Ho-hum that failed to add up to the sum,
In tune nor rhyme, strident beats a loud drum.
Yea, I remember well my farewell plight,
My value was when mouthed without a pause,
Just when I slipped into life's looming night,
Clicks before I cut cake amidst applause,
‘Old foggy’ who ‘a pillar of strength’ was!
So how I recall farewell night of ere,
An edge of precipice called retirement,
A torture of hollow words hard to bear,
When overnight I felt a force nigh spent,
The night I acquired in my gait new bent.
________________________________________
Quintain (Tongue-in-cheek) |02.02.2013| remember
Poet’s note: To be fair to the company I worked for, my farewell function was nowhere so dull as this piece might suggest. But the truth is: I do not like farewells, soaked as they are in hypocrisy. I tried to avoid this one as much as I had a few earlier but failed.
Tussel for power trained her tongue to sharpen
Tact resistant throat bellowed careless scorn
Potential friends' impressions began to darken
Sharpness of wasabi, harsh memories injected
Frontal lobe numbed, chased non existant dawn
Self image slashed, frayed fragments protected
Overpowering was triumph, in her odd summation
Trampling perspective romance, before it was born
Aggression shrugged on, hard armor of domination
Swooping on prey with strident screech, hook talons
Flashing vengeance at every turn, a bandied sword
Combating stance slices hearts in half, no challenge
Her hurtful words were weapons, feelings' neglect
Evil clenched a crusted clump, grew gross, ignored
Repugnant bulge, cancerous cruel crept unchecked
Charm which lured folks religiously, flung them ruthless
Ice in vicious veins fed malicious mouth, a habit abhorred
Path obscured by pain unresolved, killed kind maneuvers
15th September
... For Ace.....
Wretched fox, how you compel me to write!
I hate the way you scavenge, shriek and prowl,
Invading my mind through the humid night,
With calls that drown out the melodic fowl.
I liken your shrill voice to a harpoon:
It is more sharp, strident and harsh
Than crow flocks cawing in the gales of June,
Or air baring scents of a rancid marsh.
How do I hate you? I shall list the ways.
I hate your ginger fur and charcoal snout.
Thinking of your horrid shout fills my days
With woe: ‘tis your call which caused this fallout.
Oh dearest fox, I must sleep without fright
So please ponder these verses this fine night.
No rosebud should ever experience a seed of fear growing in them.
Quote by poet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seed of Fear
A cryptic shadow slithers
Across a moonlit floor
Past tea parties, glass slippers
And naïve unicorns
Wearing feather boas
To reawaken a seed of fear
Deeply planted
By ashes in driving downbeats
Of thick moonbeams
That penetrates artless innocence
In a requiem for mercy.
Paralyzed in a coma of terror
A rosebud hears
The strident flute song mount
To sing an epitaph for stolen magic
As it bursts from its calyx
On rotting moonbeams
Sowing repeated ebony nightmares
By the full moon
That whirl and spin
In shades upon the ceiling
And like a thorn
The pulsing root sinks embryonic genes
Deep into shivering petals.
In satisfaction the shade withdraws
With skulking footsteps,
Oblivious to the rosebud’s tears,
Leaving pure petals wilted
In muffled agony
The callow flower’s story
Told in silhouettes
Of shadows on a moonlit wall
Each moonlit night
A ravished garden
Watered by mangled tears
A eulogy grows for ever after
In an epitaph for innocence
Plunged to terrain plagued, tasty female options
Surge of adrenalin pulses choices unsuitable
Piquant aroma pulls him closer, allure accosting
Sentient favours solacious flower so beautiful
Hurtled descent drops watchful onto hillock haze
Swayed seed laden willow heads have halos
Hedonistic impulse picks silken stems with craze
Seraphim surround a torn aura in dewy daos
Preordained mistake palates spasmed heartbeat
Shrews drawn to Stu allude to transformation
Prurient dripping pores warble wanton indiscreet
Strident serpentines permit desire incubation
Heathen has escape, wrapped parachute harness
Preparing his tortured innards for due launch
Hazards bring unbridled enthusiasm for newness
Pride hides a tarnished ego, attempts reforge
11th February
Whenever waking,
Lady tailor making
They stand there for ages
Pouring out angst and woe,
Seeming to gain strength
As their words start to flow.
They curse and they swear,
Stand, scream and shout,
And I’ve really no idea
What they’re talking about.
Just these loud strident voices
Hammering away in my head
I’m losing the will to live
I’ve long lost the thread.
If you thrive on your misery
Then that’s just fine
Done make me feel guilty for
A happy out look like mine.
I came here full of optimism
But now I’m near suicidal,
Reflecting on the merits of
The old Scolds Bridal,
A quick burst with a taser
Even E.C.T. shocks
Maybe even an hour or so
Chaining them up in the stocks.
I’m finished, I’m leaving
Driven out at last,
Just a relict from
Their very recent past.
I’ve always supped
From the half full cup.
Just a final message,
For God’s sake, lighten up.
I plunge beneath the tide of the restless sea.
through corridors of green where shadows lunge at me;
the water’s pulse warps what I can see,
each beat a thrust towards my fate's mystery.
Silt now erupts, choking faded memories,
Shells lock shut, like vaults closed by ancient decrees;
I probe for grit wrapped tightly in silver coat's gleams,
With a silky smooth feel of much cherished hopes and dreams.
Light drifts down; it's not sunlight, it's rainbow,
driving spears deep into scared beds below;
ripping shards into the strangling cold,
making the search more strident, fierce, and bold.
I dive for oysters, for what someone called gold.
sewn deep within places that refuse to unfold.
I hear the air regulator hiss out my name.
Its voice in a shell I can never reclaim.
I can still taste the salt that scalds the air.
A glint half-formed as if it’s always been there.
I can still see the shimmering flare in my sleep.
A star blinking where foul currents stalk and creep.
All still, the ocean I love, tightens its claim.
Dragging me deeper for nacre's riches and fame.
The deep hums low; it calls my name.
Lungs burn hot; my heart's on flame.
I’m diving for nacre.
Locked in rough shell’s keep.
It's just out of reach …
just out of reach …
It's just out of reach …
Sleigh bells jingle as o'er the snow they glide,
To the little country church this Christmas Eventide.
Folks anticipate the fellowship that awaits them there,
As they celebrate His Birth with carols, love and prayer.
Steeds were eased to the hitching posts with a gentle "Whoa!"
Faithful and patient horses snort and paw the drifting snow.
Folks greet others with a special glow upon their faces,
With a hearty "Merry Christmas" and unabashed embraces!
The old pastor had arrived about half-past five o'clock
To stoke the potbellied stove to warm his faithful flock.
The organist who'd served nigh on fifty years in that capacity,
Was at her post pedaling the organ with strident tenacity!
The pastor with a short Christmas homily had his say,
Followed by the Sunday School's annual Nativity play.
A warming glow flooded the old church with candlelight,
As the service closed with the singing of "Silent Night!"
Tho' on this Holy Night from cathedrals, great oratories occurred,
And ancient cantatas sung by thunderous choirs were heard,
The souls of this faithful, God-fearing congregation,
Were just as blessed by their simple Yuletide celebration!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
A slow sinking ship fosters not fierce fear,
But more like silent sighs, a whispered tear,
The anchors shift above, the ropes unwind,
Leaving the dangerous zone far behind.
The old vessel worn out by tear of time,
Soon emblazes its rescue flame, that shines,
No sudden plunge, no strident smashing sound,
But a slow and soft sink, a hallowed pound.
Upon the firm fixed floor above the keel,
A discreet reality starts to feel,
No sinister spoked shouts, no frantic plea,
Just a slow journey out from the deep sea.
The ship`s surface swells and sways, faint and slow,
Where shining sunbeams used to gleam and glow,
A silent ebb, a slow sink, drawing near
To profound depths unknown, yet held so dear.
The burden it carried, heavy and vast,
Now slowly loosens grip, and fades at last,
A letting go of its soul, a release,
Embracing a cherished unfolding peace.
Like the ship, I would wish my life to sink
When my final days would soon reach their brink,
Not with panics on close of kin`s faces,
But with divine prayers in all cases,
Like the old ship, I would like my ashes,
When my last lingering breath soon flashes,
To dip by slow sink to the ocean`s depth
And lie down, denuded of any wreath.
I would desire my ash and bones to rest
Deep down in the Indian Ocean`s breast,
Where the gleaming rays of the rising sun
Kiss the waves on the distant horizon.
Like the old vessel, my voyage is done
As my flickering health is nearly gone,
With a heart that beats at a slackened pace,
Back pains, a slim silent sinister grace.
With the body torn by fate and time`s tide,
I yearn my heavy load to shortly slide,
With life`s rush being just a memory,
Lost in the deep sea of tranquility.
So will I laze in peace, with open heart,
With a silent slow sink, a sacred art
That the ocean`s currents can understand,
The resting of a weary heart at hand.
The Vessel pt. 2 - Leviæthan
I
'neath the grim pallor of a Plutonian moon,
Sheltered in the cloak of Phantom's embrace,
A tempest rages within flesh,—entombed
Ash and soot caress expressionless face
II
Deep into that fire peering,
Long she stood there pondering, hearing
Voices, distant,—haunting, searing
'round a pyre—
Shackled bodies, writhe and hiss
Blackened pillars,—listing, burning,
Seize the souls upon them spurning
Faces, obscene,—enticing, stirring,
A sweet longing like unrequited kiss
O' What vile savagery!—provoking,
Her weary flesh into approaching
Weary flesh,—engaged, encroaching
Shorn of tattered garb and ragged stitch
—
Light and shadow, rhythmic’lly dancing,
Upon the flesh— lures her eyes adrift
Wolves hone in,—circling, incanting
Pounce upon prey and bind it swift
III
Lo!
The horror within her mind unfolding,
Lashed to the pyre—
To this pageantry, beholden
Her wail a dirge,—reshaping, remolding,
Their chant with a hex through fervent lips
A darkest machination set in motion,
Soon...
"Soon, I shall be," softly spoken
A hushed mantra into crescendo growing
The throng, strident!—quake like shaking fists
The earth shudders! Parts beneath their feet,
A chasmic yawn of indeterminate deep
Vengeance interred, on the precipice of sleep—
Awakens!
Through arms outstretched, a wind howls and whips
"So, I Shall Be! Reborn! Unbroken!
Take This Flesh And Bone —As A Token!
Payment! An Oath With These Words Spoken!"
Echoing through the endless Abyss
Shadow and flame,—coiling, rising,
Kisses flesh,—unburnt, undying,
Her voice, shrill!—harrowing, climbing,
Shatters the firmament with perfect pitch
Down!—
Down rain the heavens upon the wicked—squealing,
Whose sloughing facades,—smoking, peeling,
Reveal faces, familiar,—cruel, deceiving
Raze and ruin by one decried, "Witch!"
—
Within the veiled darkness sempiternal,
Souls, like dying stars, ignite The Black
Falling embers till bloom inferno,
Long she gazed into the Abyss
—And it smiled back
IV
Through a mirror darkly, her mind unbroken—
Phantom bestows a Faustian gift
Laid to rest—
No epitaph, no words spoken
Upon her brow, placed a gentle kiss