Long Tighten Poems
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I try to fight them, those cruel clawing cold hands
that drag me from the pit, clawing, twisting, crushing me.
I must find you! I need to hold you, to be held by you!
So I fight, desperately, to break free, to find you.
I try to fight them, even as the feel of the ropes upon my arms
burning ever deeper, into my skin
. I fight desperately, as the leather collar bites into my throat,
and my breath leaves me. I try to fight, savagely, desperately, to break free.
Knowing I can never escape, that I will fail,
and knowing full well, what fate awaits us both.
I know not where they have taken you, but I can still feel you,
can still hear your voice, as it softly speaks of love.
, It is how I know you are still alive,
and that knowledge gives me strength to fight on desperately.
My body is ravaged, torn, the horrors those cruel hands have dealt, have broken my very soul,
yet I try, desperately to fight. I long for release into the void,
yet I can still feel you, still hear your voice, still know your love.
I know not, where they will take me, until the wagon comes to a stop.
Then, for the first time in almost 16 days, your eyes are the first thing I see.
You are alive, and when your eyes finally find mine, you look with such love, at me.
So again, I fight! I fight so desperately, but those, horrible cruel hands,
tighten their vicious grip, once more.
I reach for you, needing your touch, sobbing your name.
The pain, almost forgotten, gone, almost instantly. I struggle, oh, how I fight!
And so, I didn’t see. I didn’t see the first of the blows, that spilled crimson onto the snow,
at my feet. I screamed for you. I screamed your name desperately
as I watched blow after blow rip your body to pieces, in front of me. Your blood turning the snow to slush, scarlet staining my feet. I watched your soul flee as I screamed for you,
as the fight poured out of me. I watched, as they defiled you.
I watched as they ripped your body apart. I felt your soul leave mine.
I watched, as the light of the sunrise left your eyes.
My soul broken, my body savaged, I crumbled to ashes, there in the snow, at your side.
The numbness that overtook me, did nothing to save me, that day. I can still taste your blood.
Goddess above, I still taste your blood! No, More!
No longer, will I bear this well of horror, and tears!
Goddess, help me! I am drowning in it!
We lie in the dark,
my back to his chest, clinging to one of his arms.
This moment is beautiful, tender, and I cherish it.
The silence is broken and his voice rumbles in my ear.
"Tell me about your past, my dear."
My life flashes past my eyes, quick as lightning.
Panic sets in, I gulp, sweat, attempt to avoid.
He sees through it all and persists.
Tears threaten to overwhelm me,
as internally I burn this moment into my mind, heart, and soul.
I silently tell him, my love, goodbye.
"My young life has been hard, painful, overwhelming.
I've been shot, nearly stabbed, nearly choked to death on the railroad tracks.
I've screamed for help so many times by choking on pills, sitting on train tracks, slicing my wrists.
Abused by a brother, abandoned by a father, neglected by a mother.
Kicked out, homeless, stealing candy from a gas station."
His arms tighten the more I speak, and I regret telling him anything at all.
But he has asked and I cannot deny him.
The words begin to flow like a car crash that I am powerless to stop.
"The abuse seemed kind when it happened, from lovers of my past.
Though each had specific rules, that I discovered fast.
I could not touch one unless upon seduction.
I could not trust her, for her death was near upon my fingers.
I loved one; they preferred to see me suffer, for I wished to make them happy."
I can feel the anger radiate from his body,
coiled tight, wanting a target.
I know it's fueled by a sadness, I cannot feel.
And yet I continued.
"I've suffered from nightmares for years, waking to tears or screaming.
I am easy to fright, even when unwarranted.
The PTSD causes me to flinch or jump at near every sound.
PTSD, insomnia, depression,
I've fallen down flights of stairs,
taken care of everyone else and have neglected myself."
I stare into the darkness as the words finally stop,
everything that ever happened replaying through my mind again,
from a new perspective.
Still I cannot feel the true tragedy of it.
I realize I have recited these things, in a monotone voice.
Devoid of the pain I must have felt.
But I am the rock, the caretaker, the forgiver.
He is silent with me, his arms an iron cage,
and I cannot breathe.
I do not mind.
He inhales deeply, his voice nearly inaudible he simply speaks.
"I will always be here for you."
And my heart finally breaks.
He is cranking up the old rusty engine again, but all that work is in vain, sweat is running from his anxious face and grease is spilling all over the place. There he goes again with his tool bag and greasy overall lying flat on his back underneath the truck, pulling screw, by screw from the belly of the old truck.
Monday comes at a price, and he has to pay a painful sacrifice, fix it or dump it he has no choice but to squeeze Monday into his chest. The old truck is draining the life out of his pocket. It's just the other day he fixed it. He replaced the engine with a second hand one that he imported from Finland. It worked quite well for the first few days but soon it starts to die away.
He pulls down the whole thing and drain the oil out of it, the heaven doesn’t know what this man is about, thirty different parts staring in his face and the oil and water is dripping all over the place.
The Engine block, and the Cylinder Head has sucked out the pressure out of the living dead; the piston, crank shaft, camshaft, and Timing belt are not in place, and it causes the vehicle to wobble and shake. Examine the engine valves and combustion chamber carefully; there is a hole in the oil pan and a blunt on the connecting rod.
The intake manifold and Exhaust manifold has something in common and can heat up your face and plant bitterness into your grave. The spark plugs, piston ring and flywheels are out of place, and you have to tighten them, or you will end in an unpleasant place.
Look at the head gasket, cylinder liner and crank case, they are shifting around, and the distributor ring is hanging on the ground; the cylinder head cover, the rubber grommet and camshaft pulley are out of line, and you have got to replace the oil filter, water pump, and oil pan drain bolt.
The turbocharger and supercharger are defected, and you must replace the timing belt, drive pulley and the starter motor before the engine fail. You need a brand-new truck to satisfy the daughter she will never come back in that truck with you unless you do what you have to do.
The wind is blowing softly, and the trees are shaking violently, the weather is fine, but his emotion is out of line, the sun is peeping beyond the hill and nature is sending him a bunch of daffodils look carefully into the sky and you will see shades of Monday passing by.
SAVE MY MOTHER, AFRICA
Poor Africa, why have you allowed your ancient precious priceless beads taken away frm you while coveting after a common coated carved stones from the foreign land?
Where were you when your artifacts were shipped to the land behind the oceans
And your Children worked by the mill day and night
They took away your treasured garment and sealed you with an ''unsuitable suit'' from a distant land.
They inserted straw in a bottle and dip it in your mouth, but fix hose to your anus and passed it into a tank.
Draining your blood in the name of exchange
They took away your staff of office with which you have peacefully and successfully lead for centuries. They gave you guns in return to scatter your wards around, thereby losing ur respect.
They once respected you, now dread you
No longer the you they knew
Dear great Motherland where is your sense of supremacy of those good days, before u were made to look inferior?
Will you still allow this train to continue with d hopeless journey?
Where all we now live for is nothing but money
Now we treat one another line monkeys
O great Africa hear the call from your womb
The child therein is due for delivery
Tighten not your cervix the passage of life
The future sits uncalm inside of you
The entire world awaits that unique cry
The birth of the future, the new world
Unchain yourself from the shackles of the West
Create your path trough the jungle
This is the forest from where you were raised
Where the paths to the streams and ranches
Paths to the mountains and the valleys
Your children raced and long for everyday
Call out your lost children behind the seas
Scattered across the deserts in their search for greener pastures that never exist
Call out in your slangs they know your voice
Let them come home to rescue the hailing mother
Our mother is sick and losing her breath
Fellow brothers and warriors on sojourn
Rest not in the land of your captivity
Run back home and heed the call of mama
Our mother has taken up a another father
Our step father rapes her day and night
Now about to die with her pregnancy
Come rescue our mother the mother Africa
Save the life of her unborn baby the new world
Time to leave the barn and head home
Home is where we come not their Rome
Romans built their home
Africa must build her own
(FM CONCEPTUAL)
(Continued from Part 1)
Transparent figures walk at a flirtatious pace
On world-class runways, with no expression on their face
Parading styles you can't afford in your possession
They are the ghostly models of the latest, greatest FASHION.
A millisecond blink, a click, some weird noise,
A virtual reality for all the girls and boys, and men and women,
From X-Box to the Web, from Lasik to Radiology -
At work, at school, at home,
Invade the blinks of the mind-boggling TECHNOLOGY.
Hard sharpened teeth are clutching at my feet
"You won't go far! You have deadlines to meet!
Go back to work, we hunger for your check.
Oh no, we don't really care that you broke your back."
The swollen lips repeat "You have a chance!
And all you need is years of education,
The right color of skin, and perfect credit-pay-back evidence.
We'll hire you if you're that certain kind,
Then close the firm and move so far you'll never find."
More faulty words are slipping from the tongues
"Don't worry, our brand won't hurt your lungs.
Enjoy yourself! (*at your own cost)"
You think you're cool, when sadly you are lost.
The "sharpened, swollen, slipping" are after you and me
They are the widely-opened mouth of the ECONOMY
Enormous brains stroll through historic halls
Preparing campaigns, false promises, ready for the brawls.
Deciding wars, neglecting harsh critiques
They are the brains of brainless POLITICS
A large behind sits comfy in its chair
It "covers" all, at all times, everywhere.
From Maine, to Oregon, to most southern tip of Texas
Sit one-half IRS and the other TAXES.
A sagging belly and a double chin,
A pair of dark circles and a droopy skin,
Decide to make a move and Go For It!
It's time to freshen up and tighten up a bit.
As they arrive at their first appointment
They're quickly greeted by awaiting disappointment
"You want to look younger? feel better? No, No, No!
Read through your policy, you fools, we are the HMO!"
*
On this, my friends, I'll go to sleep
I'm tired, time for counting sheep.
Just one more thing I'd like to add,
Last words just pondered in my head
The moral of the story is,
That if you want to live with ease,
Through all commotions, bring your sense of HUMOR
Just so that you, yourself, don't turn into an ugly tumor.
1999
© Copyright
Away...
Spot her from far.
Have a tingle mingle all over your skin.
Award your forehead a scratch
As you do the arduous estimations
Of the remaining catwalk steps
Before her beauty kisses your eyes.
Let sanity flee from your mind.
(That's OK.Never mind.
Angels are never meant
For sane minds)
Coming your way...
Prepare to talk to her
Practise how to greet her
Whisper to yourself a greeting
Whose sweetness tricks
Your zygomaticus muscle
Into a seductive smile.
Then bite your lower lip alluringly
As the best Romeo and Juliet scene
Overwhelms the whole of you.
Enjoy the roller-coaster feeling
Of a heart that forgets its own rhythm.
A few minutes away...
To get on top of your muddled up feelings
And wake up the confidence demon
Wave your head in a 'NO' manner.
Grab a gorgeous gazale gaze of her.
Don't allow the jealous of a blink
To spoil this monumental moment.
Sink your nervousness deep
Inside the well of sighs.
Cast a blind eye on the people's eyes
Or acknowledge them as your cheerleaders.
It's about time...
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Elevate your hands like a clergyman in prayer
Just to inspect the odour of your exhaled air
That will transport your practiced greeting.
Regulate your lungs to spray your Rose
With nothing but the fragrance of roses.
It's time now...
Exactly when she gets near
Cockily say, 'Good morning, Madam.'
Immediately after the words slip
Away from the tip of your lip,
Remember that, 'Afternoon'
Is almost embarking on her sleep
And that the Madam title is ...
Cover your mouth instantly
As if trying to capture back the awakward greeting
Fancy the way she disguises
Her guffaws as a smile-
Revealing her pretty dimples
Concealed in the soft flesh of her cheeks
Almost...
Observe her as she catwalks it away
Leaving you dumbstricken all the way
Listen until her footsteps die away
Start scratching your backhead right away
Wondering which spell she used
To transmute your 'Hey Pretty Lady'
Into a 'Good morning, Madam'
During such perceivable old noon hours!
Blame yourself the whole day.
Tighten your fist like Muhammad Ali
Preparing to release his Sunday punch.
Then with a suppressed sigh sadly say:
TOMORROW will be a better day!
Tomorrow...
“50 Words for Poe: dactyl”
When Terror Fell came
he had no complaints
the joint was jumping
it was do or dare
he offered Her his old pear
the porridge here was so glum
She closed the door
to the window of his cell
and sucked on Her plum
She was thinking, a dangerous thing in itself, indeed,
that next time peaches, not pears would be fun
She’d tighten his straight jacket some
fingers and toes to be free
She’d observe him for a while
there was the pressing issue
of The Others let loose on the run
joie de vivre, gone all bat**** wild
there was still the report to write
an extra dose of Laudanum prescribed
She’d blindfold him and buzz him electric
then instruct him to write poems didactic
delusions of grandeur
fingers and toes playing piano
with the other dementors to be denied
he was manic - full of too much ego and arrogant hurt pride
All in a day’s work
He was safe in his cell
or so he thought ...
counting numbers
the seconds tick by
he'd gladly wait
for Hell's Bride
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/mGYUV76Lhic
“In the window full of sunlight
Concentrates her golden shadow
Fold on fold, until it glows as
Mellow as the glory roses.”
https://youtu.be/CoA4goulmMo
“Silver dust
lifted from the earth
higher than my arms reach,
you have mounted.
O silver,
higher than my arms reach
you front us with great mass;
no flower ever opened
so staunch a white leaf
no flower ever parted silver
from such rare silver;
O white pear
your flower-tufts,
thick on the branch,
bring summer and ripe fruits
in their purple hearts.”
(H.S. 1886 - 1961, The Pear Tree)
https://youtu.be/PgqHi5HkBRk
"before I am lost,
hell must open like a red rose
for the dead to pass"
For the Lost, out of their cell still serving time in Hell.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51869/eurydice-56d22fe6d049d
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/h-d
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/h-d#tab-poems
one thread
unravels
quietly
from the cuff
of yesterday—
loose and golden,
tugged gently
by wind
or memory.
another thread,
silver-fine,
winds forward
into what might be
tomorrow,
still unwoven,
still soft with
silence.
time does not run;
it is stitched—
moment to moment,
strand to strand,
through every glance,
every breath,
every choice
you never realized
you were making.
there are knots:
places where two lives
touch and tighten.
places where
the pattern breaks,
frays, forgets itself—
and others
where it mends
with color.
the past is not gone;
it is threaded through you,
hidden in the seams
of your skin,
tucked in the hem
of your voice
when you say their name.
you walk wrapped
in stories
you don't remember telling,
stitched tight with the
hands of those
you never knew.
(and still,
somehow,
you knew them)
the threads twist—
through journals and old songs,
through maps and postcards,
through laughter echoed
across generations—
they pass through rings,
through cracked clocks,
through names etched
in notebooks
and photographs.
time does not move forward.
it weaves.
in loops and overlaps,
in tangles and designs
we can only see
when we stop
and trace
with wonder.
so pull a thread,
any thread—
and feel the hum
of centuries
beneath
your fingertips.
I don’t know how many times I have shed my old skin, like a moth seeking light under the moonlit sky,
Leaving behind pieces of myself that no longer knew my name, shadows of a silent past,
I wandered through labyrinths of memories, seeking answers in echoes lost in time,
Wondering if change is just another facet of the same self, both old and new.
I don’t know how many times I have stood in the shadow of my own fear, feeling it tighten around my breath,
Anchoring my feet to the cold ground, and yet, somehow, I found the strength to step through it,
Each step trembling under the weight of uncertainty, yet moving forward, toward the light,
Knowing that the shadow of fear cannot survive in the face of courage that blooms in silence.
I don’t know how many times I have burned in the pain of my scars, like a flame dancing on the edge of a dream,
Feeling old wounds flicker back to life, as if pain never forgets the body it once called home,
But in that fire, I found an unexpected warmth, a memory of life still pulsing beneath the skin,
Each scar a story, each burn a lesson written with the ink of time.
I don’t know how many times I have risen from the ashes, gathering the remnants that remained of me,
Standing up, still burning, but alive, still yearning, seeking blindly for the meaning of my rebirth,
In a world that continues to change, finding beauty in the imperfection of the moment,
I discovered that each rebirth is a dance with infinity, a journey toward the eternal self.
And yet, just as the sky changes color with the passage of time, I continue to change,
Borrowing the light of falling stars, hoping that one day I will understand how many times I must fall,
To learn to fly, to understand that although pain knows my name, it does not define me,
That each rebirth is a new beginning, a dream waiting to be lived under a sky of hope.
In every step and every fall, I have discovered that life is a mosaic of moments full of longing,
A continuous journey through which the soul finds itself, learning to love each moment,
And thus, even among ashes and shadows, the light of a new beginning shines, carrying me forward,
For deep within, I understood that the true beauty of life lies in the endless rebirth of the soul.
In what one may think as a final hour
Tense vessels tighten to squeeze out any blood that may be left
To supply an already weakened body
Suppressed by lack of freedom
Surprised by the intense unpredictability of life
Attacked from all angles in a moment’s notice
without relent.
No light shall shine today nor tomorrow
A pot full of hot water can only boil so much until
An eruption.
It has happened.
But instead of a release,
The water keeps on burning
Until soon there will be no more water
The pot, empty, left to melt if it’s plastic
It is plastic.
Cheaply made and inexpensive
A perfect representation of our government
Oozing from flames beneath
Causing an awful, unavoidable stench
Toxic…
This time the vessel cramps in the calf
She knows now this is not minor stress
A thousand bricks upon her chest
And so, each day she rises, not to know
But hopeful, that another problem thrown her way
Will be the final one today.
Quickly move, it’s late
Another day to pretend she’s okay
Why ask how are you?
The answer will always be the same.
“I’m doing well, are you okay?”
She doesn’t ask that anymore
She knows and says nothing of the sort
Because reality is far from “doing well”
She’s drinking from a poisoned well.
A poison that she didn’t know
Until,
She fell.
Head first she hit the cold, hard bottom
Filled with black sludge and centipedes
How they crawl up the walls in a hurry
The dark, thickened water splashes
All sides of an infestation
There is no way out
Perhaps try to climb some rocks
Slippery little rocks aren’t meant for climbing
Unless you have 100 legs
Only thing she has
Is 100 different types of pain
The tunnel becomes her escape.
Slip away
Into the dark side of a hole in which will briefly be your last home
Feel the bottom of the earth
Swallow it whole.
You have nowhere else to go.
The faint light at the top
Gives way to darkness
Close your eyes
The poisoned well will soon enough be gone, you know
One day you will wake again…
Until then, another knot
Straight to the neck
Suffocates any blood
This time none comes back
Let yourself go
Let yourself go…
And in letting go
You will be reborn.