Long Stupefying Poems
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It's not easy to give up a dream.
In fact, I can't do it.
The burning hunger never dies
Even as the times and locations change
Into horrifying masks,
Irrecognizable from your short-sighted expectations.
The stupefying trick of life being: You propose a gift to yourself.
In return you get the blending colors of your painted dreams;
The self-alterating unconscious,
The man behind the wheel who has no notion
Of a wheel in front of him.
He's too busy dreaming of the moment
He drives the car into the open green day
To realize there's never
Been a lack of motion,
A lack of a wheel,
A lack of an open road.
You dream in black and white
As you live in profound color.
A magnet to passion
Entangled as you are
By a lurid and wondrous grief.
The grief of infinite options
As you turn the wheel once again:
Here plows you through your garden of troubles
Smile and rejoice and love man's holy rubble.
You dream your own magic.
So stay true, keep bold,
And declare your own flag.
And, yes, it may burn through the night.
But the night is cold, and dark, and good.
Mystification prevails stupefying yours truly
befuddled, he blindly stumbles along rocky
pathway illusory impediments strewn helter
skelter intangible obstructions hinder access
psychological barricades effective impasse
detains, deters, detours manhood maturation
manumission manifestation materialization
linkedin, when permanent submission arises
beckoning corporeal leaden entity into avast
eternal realm, where material disintegration
promises venerable salvation releasing angst
strummed plucked fretful existence denied
utmost exploration sequestered soul hermit
tickly sealed courtesy custom made NON-
GMO supercalifragilous expialidocious
airtight, vacuum sealed with trademarked
matts scott good housekeeping approval
lifetime achievement award maintaining
quasi pristine mint like condition afford
double (FREE for the taking) full refund
if dissatisfied with stutt...tut...tut tearing
functionality, yet batteries NOT required
and assembly unnecessary, but maximum
remaining life usage, asper garden variety
mutant requires preservation within sterile
bubble, lest exposure to human contact are
rouse dormant (latent) propensity breeding
biologically pre programmed predilection
to propagate species, this despite low libido
level, thus Memorial sale steal (actually no
expiration coincides with natural longevity)
slight depreciation before cessation arises,
which I project - little less than half life of
ordinary Earthling, whose quixotic, poetic,
ecologic, plus conscientious ethos promises
greater fulfillment, sans spirit, mind, and
body versus being addicted, hypnotized, or
tranquilized by latest technologic contraption.
lives clogged with gadgetry
like drains on overflow
young minds scurried atop tech pitchforks
that never know a garden
hand extensions clutching spectacles of risk,
cat airs or lost direction
sites that numb and slacken awareness
like selfies that nix the problem of real-time
interaction
web meandering connections
that blunt kooky-cool love
midst screens clutched in hands like roses
because one can't perceive layers of worth
beneath
where influencers babble in throwaway buying
under a stupefying list of 'likes'
under images of self interest
sometimes tic-toc addiction, time distracting
to steal showtime moments like trees
pressed against a multi-colored sky
or the under valued stillness of
reading
oh to chew up the grid of "cells" that flicker
the world in
luminosity,
stark
and fraying
Poem composed June 14, 2023
Please Read Part I before reading this! Thank you! :)
Days and nights merged
Into a stupefying timelessness
How long had it been
Since she had burned his flesh
With her body
Since she had burned his heart
With her escape
He caressed the white feather
Pulled it across his lips
Smelling the scent of her
That lingered
Cursing himself for being a fool
For taking the chance
For believing
He angrily brushed
At the lone tear
That escaped from his eye
A mournful pilgrim
Searching for redemption
Across expanse of his face
At that very moment…
The silence was broken
By the faint sound
Of fluttering wings
That grew louder
There at the door
Of his gilded cage
He didn’t trust himself to turn around
But he trembled...
He trembled when he heard the sound
Of the closing of the door
And the turning of the key in the lock
Still he did not turn around
Her scent spoke to him
Of her ever nearing closeness
Till it enveloped him
And her warm breath
caressed the back of his neck
And then…before he could turn around
His still rigid form was enfolded
In the fluttering of her wings
Eileen Manassian Ghali
If the people against, the true deniers
could change life
and rebuild the world, they:
Would erase all progress
that exists today,
and return to a nonexistent "glorious
time" of the past...
they would create a world of their own...
where the strongest
would command everything...
There would be a democracy
only for them, where they would determine
who should and who should not...
where permissiveness would reign
for proselytes and dura lex
for the rest...
Conflicts would be resolved
with bullets by those disguised
by power...
To the rich friends, everything...
all power, all glory...
To the poor... all honor
of serving the powerful with
promptness, servitude and quality...
IN BED, TABLE AND BATH!
the following quite quirky epistle may not exhibit the ordinary characteristics of poetry, but i decided to share this self made challenge (where every word begins with the letter "S" - no explanation can be offered why such self cerebral torture imposed, nor what motivated me to focus on the nineteenth letter of the english alphabet at the exclusion of other noble vowels and consonants.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Sunday September seventh started seemingly same since...silver screen show secured seventy seven SeventhSeals.
Soupy Sales supreme salient strengths (starring smart pet sidekick Springer Spaniel Socrates) salvaged sagging sporting sorties. Slap stick stereotypical swashbuckling shticks supplied shipshape shenanigans.
Spartan stage set spurred spontaneous simply stupefying solution. Suede shod schlemiel. Sartre seasoned scenes. Sharp sticks supported sphere. Seats situated semicircular semblance.
SPCA, Siemens, Sears sponsored soiree. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious shouted satirically 'specially Saturdays seemingly sellout. Spontaneous spritely Shogun Samurai sangroid stance satiated slipups stripping stellar seasoned Skidamarinks substitutes sacredly, seminally, silently, slipstreaming soulfully saving saga.
Sometimes silly spouse studiously sought spurious strategy stringing superlatives showcasing senseless sophomoric soporific skills specifically spelling storybook sassy sharpshooters supposedly sleuthing shapeless seated sideways (sic seasonal slate smug spotified snapchatting skippers selfishly scooped sloop-ful seasonal six-packs) sinister Swiss scalpers sat sometimes squatted.
The car door opened
The first thing I saw
Was an explosion of balloons,
More than I’d ever seen
In my entire nine-year life.
For the first time
We were at the fair
I leapt from the car
Feet running before
They hit the ground,
Knowing I had to see
Everything,
Do
Everything,
Taste
Everything
In just two hours
Before the long trip home
And, I did!!
The drive home was filled
With dizzying, dazzling,
Stupefying memories of
Excitement, movement,
Colors, noise,
Tastes,
People,
Rides.
I had taken in
As much as I could
As fast as I could
Leaving scarcely room
For a breath
Now I finally let it all out
By throwing up
In the back seat
With a loud, “Brrraaaggghh!!
As he pulled the car over
My father mumbled,
“Never again”,
My mother whispered, in reply
“Never again”,
I scarcely heard them
As I shouted,
“When can we go again??”!!
oh dear heaven ...
how impeccant
how subtly innocent and eager
are you truly as oblivious as you seem?
oh, I am sure of otherwise
or would there not be so much unsullied skin laid bare -
so few garments that thus adorn the masterpiece?
utter innocence, burning in the motion of your stride ...
a fortuitous feast of flames for the common
the gods themselves feign deference to such fair symmetry
and barter the heavens for but a grace of your shadow
you are pristine virtue, annotated ...
you are torturous fare for the plain and fallow
and envy for even the inimitable
innate sensuality trickles from your feathery brow
to your Lilliputian toes, (painted bubblegum pink)
tracing an unblemished dermal landscape
that any hormone-hewn human would consider a dream destination
you exude a connate allure, inexplicable
enchanting even the stars -
sky weeping in exquisite anguish for sake of your fluid movement
saucy, exposed hips
tossed with coy yet libidinous intent
their immaculate and fluid rhythm
catching in chests like a cardiac event
pulling the breath from lungs around you like taffy
(and not returning without discerned effort)
every gaze in your line swinging in matched tempo
stupefying all within your affect ...
a mass hypnosis inspired by your walk alone
ponytail braid and pink ribbon sway in opposite tempo
adding to the sassy attitude
eyes, pure white arctic spheres
with polished onyx centers
set to possess the soul, should they find your focus
faultless, blue-white smile
framed by sugar plum lips, shaped to perfect bows ...
oh dear heaven
such resplendent rapture should they whisper your name
such divine intoxication should those eyes affix yours
the gods themselves are sobbing ...
the gods themselves.
What can be more beauteous than nature
The sky, clouds, flowers, mountains, greens
The water bodies, birds, animals, insects, aquatic life
The sunrise, the sunset, rains, dew drops.....
Master painter has painted with wonderful strokes a stupefying surrounds
What can be more melodic than the sounds of nature
Chirping of birds, rustling of leaves, whooshing of winds
Burbling stream, splashing waves, pitter patter of rain drops
Sounds of laughter, babbling of a baby
What can be more joy giving than a feeling of peace
When you hear words I love you!
When people around care for you
When others assist in need
When you bask in knowledge that God loves you
When you understand you are a portion of him
Can anything equal the joy of living in present
Enjoying through senses all multifarious scents, sounds and scenes
What can equal a dandy food eaten slowly with relish
Abundance of joy we receive
when we are aware of all the sensations experienced by our skin
When our senses are not concentrated in mind
When mindlessly enjoying the moment
To be euphoric we only need to be aware!
18.05.2021
3 Rhymed By 3 Unrhymed
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unearth rough pages
bruise courses inky stages
killjoy taxed ages
surrender perfect
guess abets pallid secret
frivolous elect
corral pique ungrasp
cavernous episode task
flipping volumes masque
~0~ ~0~ ~0~
stupefying sigh
unveil serf seraphic verse
spare high chairs arrest
host climbing its web
a bored keys window set shares
peerless felt heady
surfing tsunami
petted aliens netting
hewn strewn mass consume
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