Long Tingly Poems
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We big, tough, well-thinking male bearberries blew and we snarled and we spouted and we blew.
But those danged dandelions obstinately kept their tops on, no matter how much we did fuss.
Come on fellas, I said to my fellow bearberries. Here is just what we’ll do…
“I’m not taking them!” I screamed at B.B.2, our leader, a passive little cuss.
I was talking about those damned tiger lilies, our groupies.
I am so sorry Tiger Lilies, he told them. It’s just us bear berries today. He shot an apologetic look to T.L. 1 and T.L. 402.
I am sick and tired of my whole life being video- recorded by those selfie-taking nut-buckets, I told him, indignant, and with an angry face.
They will clean your house, wash your floors, pay your bills, wax your car, and do your laundry, said B.B. 2.
I don’t care if my house implodes on its dirtiness, I retorted. Just keep them in their place.
I was talking about those damned tiger lilies, our groupies.
Tiger Lily 58 sneaked back into the Bearberry Lodge, where Tiger Lilies are never supposed to be.
We did not see her at first as she used her invisibility tablet to reach us; I felt her heat on the back of my neck, before I saw her.
She began to give me a really nice, warm, massage and sweet backrub which was the best I had had times three.
Wow! What is that? I asked myself, as I began getting tingly and happy all over, and down under.
I guess I was talking about these wonderful tiger lilies, our allies.
My dad had told me a long time ago that the best pairings in the meadow was always a BB and a T.L.
Who are you? I whispered to Tiger Q. Lily 58. I am your soul mate, she responded, can you please meet me at 2?
Where? I wondered, and she immediately conveyed that she would be at northern rise of Bunny P. Hill.
I will be there with my matching rings, I told her. Are you ready? Yes, she agreed. No one else will do.
I am now hitched to a wonderful tiger lily, and all my mean thoughts
toward T.L.'s seem pretty damned silly.
(And I don’t care whether or not the dandelions ever lose their
tops. They are of no use to me now.)
Dated: May 12,2018
A feint attempt to stab myself...
quickly found the missus ready to faint
Like a madman possessed
by mailer daemon lemme acquaint
ye with the following verse, I will bepaint
momentary horror, where yours truly
entered momentary third eye blind rage
loosing violent constraint
nearly thrust knife
into right leg without restraint,
which curtailed prospective martyrdom,
thus scotching, nullifying, denying...
me anointed apostolic saint
plus stripping christened name,
one Matthew Scott,
cuz he threatened to harm himself
invariably with permanent
leg a see did taint
moment of spontaneity
instantaneously vanished without a trace
when irrational brandished
white as a ghostly corpse petrified wife,
who merely felt playfully frisky
I haint kitten,
yours truly reflexively reached
for paring, quartering,
halving deboning, cutting...
said kitchen utensil
nearly sabotaged marriage
finding zee spouse suddenly widowed
(never writing last will and testament,
nor in fact ever drafting first)
as husband almost pitched himself
into wuz bin realm
courtesy short nasty brute
mine generic doppelganger
harkening back to dem good ole days,
when regular altercations occurred
heralding grab regarding lovely bag of bones
birds of prey didst carrion and buzzfeed
scavenging any shred of wedded bliss
which auld lang syne times
well nigh witnessed fisticuff strife,
though these previous half dozen years
considerably less rife and riddled
with expletive strewn epithets
that cut sharper than a dull knife.
Momentary loss of reason
every now and again
finds me skull comfortably numb
just another brick in the wall
reckoning, we don't need no education
acquiring diploma courtesy
hard skool of knocks alumnus
attests he experienced
arduous, horrendous, opprobrious, and venomous
environment pinterest tingly linkedin
with congenital predisposition to anxiety/
panic attacks in toto
enroute visiting Wizard of Ozzy Osbourne.
I have not ceased—
I have not.
The things of the past
Do not rot, do not decay,
But I have not ceased—
I have not.
Once the pitchfork's prongs
Did so deafeningly twang,
I shriveled and cowered,
And found myself prancing
With the headless chickens.
Beneath the naysayer's feet
Are six cockroaches:
One for good luck,
One to ward spirits,
One to find holy favor,
One to initiate a curse,
One for venting,
One for simple disgust;
And the massacre was denied.
I stopped,
Trapped in translation,
A transparent body in an opaque cage;
Bleeding profusely on a sterilized table,
Compromising the hygiene of this place
And questioning my helpless wounds.
Please, where is the salt?
The bitterness to cleanse me?
Pain before numbness before death?
He blinded me with a sound,
With the violent beat of drums
The size of islands,
Jarring my excitable pupils
Forever.
Who is she?
Then came a day of mourning:
On the morning of a day
Of mourning
Of a day,
Lost.
Belief is philosophy.
An idea was conceived,
Was found to be nonsensical,
And standardization transformed
Into an inert totalitarianism,
But who are we to rebelliously be
The pompous leaders of nonconformity?
We write poems
That influence books
That influence manifestos
That influence wars
That influence consciences
That influence bodies
That influence wars
That influence wars
And wars
And wars
And dullness
And brokenness.
Why do we detest exhibitionism
But complain about kept secrets?
When the first snowflake fell,
She was a star of beauty,
And lauded by many,
For she was unique and unmatchable.
The Satan cursed his creation
For being whiter than the pure,
And she melted, never to return.
And then she said,
"Hell spoke to me to say,
"'My little girl, come hither,'
"And I went and was felt
"For insecurities,
"And they were removed from me.
"I was like the waterfalls
"And tingly with bees beneath my skin."
Such sweet
Your smile
I feel home
If I could glide smoothly, quietly along
Your smile
I am comforted
your smile is music in the air
The Christmas carol
In the warmth of the hearth
In the winter season
Your smile is like diamonds
Shining. Your eyes are of the softest velvet.
I feel elated. What an entrancing beauty.
It's truly Christmas.
Your hair is glistening
like the soft glow of the morning sunshine
against the bed of snow.
A haven. An angelic vision.
Frozen icicles feel tingly as your smile twinkles
Against the backdrop of celebrations
Your smile can ease away the pain of long years.
If I could take your magic along with me
My life could change for sure.
But your smile is a fading memory now.
I fear of losing the grandest feeling
Knowing that your smile is occasional.
Inconstant, like the summer birds on tree branches
Singing yesterday. But gone to some warmer place now.
It's snowing outside. Nothing feels warm.
Twinkling of Christmas lights around the village
Somehow try to keep the place warm and picturesque.
Deep in the heart
My memory tries to still remember
Your smile
Wishing it would bring me home
for Christmas soon enough
Before it gets too late
To say, "Merry Christmas!"
(Note : Confession makes me say this free verse is not so well polished, as if it's done in haste. But, i hope i somehow captured some delicate emotions in it. Could be more meaningful to the poet herself than to anyone else. Recently, I found myself watching and listening to a world-renown choir on a satellite broadcast, and the camera happened to focus on a simply beautiful sweet smiling face. I thought I felt that it was the inspiration I was waiting for to write my Christmas poetry. And so, I took myself aside amidst the hustle and bustle and began to write. Have a joy-filled Christmas to everyone!)
Muffins, Doritos and Cheetos, Oh My! (A Bulimic’s Tale)
There is a hole in her core she must sate.
So, she drives to the grocery store before it’s too late.
She steers the cart in search of junk food.
She spots a case of cupcakes that can ease her mood.
Powdered donuts on a shelf she can reach.
Next, she chooses Bottled sodas, she packs up five each.
Muffins, Doritos, Cheetos, Funyuns and Snickers she will par-take.
She must not forget about the Little Debbie snack cakes.
Once the cashier starts scanning her vittles,
She starts to feel a tingly rush form in her middle.
She pays her fee then rushes to her vehicle parked afar
Then unloads the groceries on the passenger seat of the car.
As she sits behind her steering wheel.
She appraises her edible saviors, then makes her appeal
She starts with the Snickers shoving them down her throat,
The empty void inside her fills as she lets out a choke.
The Funyuns and muffins are next on her seat.
She devours them in seconds, puffing up her cheeks.
Doritos, Cheetos and snack cakes are inhaled like oxygen,
She is slightly starting to feel whole again.
The cupcakes are the last morsels of her stock
She washes them down with the soda she bought.
When the food is gone she observes the food wrappers in her space.
She glances in the rear view mirror but fails to recognize her face.
Powdered sugar and Cheeto dust crusting around her lips,
A sob escapes her chest as sanity begins to slip.
There is one more mission she must forgo
Opening her car door, she shoves a finger down her throat.
Vomit is released from her belly’s lair.
Stomach acid and bile sting the night air.
She appraises the regurgitation splattered on the concrete.
Then senses the empty void is gone, her task is complete.
The Past, Our Ancestors Gifted Us As Our Future
There are no words we know, fragrant and green,
Wherewith to show how welcome you have been.
You solaced us with many a song-caress,
O' marvelous was your music's loveliness.
You have called back from the unknown
Lost hours our hearts would fain have held our own.
In your souls life's echoes rang as sweet
As silver bowls dream-children gently beat.
Laughter of harvest lighting and the glee
Of tingly frosty nights ran joyously.
Among our shadowed memories, when you
Revealed the gladness we are born unto.
There are no words swiftly luminous
As those white birds your joy released to us.
Such gifts you bought and freely bade us share
As kings have sought and found not anywhere.
No day will end, all of your days that be
Some far off friend will not have memory.
How you guide us from a dreary road
Into a wide and wonderful abode.
No close will come to any bitter night
But someone will live again delight.
Roused at golden touch of gracious hands
That weave in swallow-flight their myriad strands.
Praiseworthiness our children shall attain
May be no less the fruit of some rich strain.
That once was yours and gladly lingered on,
As love endures, long after you were gone.
So dear ones, fare you well, and nobly well
Beyond the rare things silence has to tell.
12-24-2015
Poem written about this past year and my thoughts as to
what my children ,grandchildren and great-grandchildren will
remember of me. As I remember that of my grandparents and
my ancestors.
Love of my family and my ancestry has made me glad to be alive.
For in all the world riches and times, I would choose no other!
*The AURA Never Lies*
Emanating from every living thing on this planet is an AURA! (True!....)
*The AURA Never Lies!*
It is both visible and invisible to the naked eye in both bright and dim lights! (See!....)
*The AURA Never Lies!*
Now....The mouth will lie! (But!...)
*The AURA Never Lies!*
The eyes will even tell a lie! (Again!....)
*The AURA Never Lies!*
Even the body language will tell a lie! (But Again!....)
*The AURA Never Lies!*
If someone approaches you with a "dark pallor" to their being...."Create Distance!!!"
(What???...)
*The AURA Never Lies!*
"BELIEVE!"....
Without any notice they will sap your energies and drain you dry! (Say What!....)
*The AURA Never Lies!*
You WILL feel as if you need to lie down and take a nap! (Yeah!...Believe it!)
*The AURA Never Lies!
You know that tingly, intuition little "Hmmm....What is it I feel!" when something or someone just doesn't seem nor feel right! (YEAH!!!...)
*The AURA Never Lies!*
Just as there are positive and negative forces in this life....there are positive and negative people who will affect you in different ways! (Now that I know!....)
*The AURA Never Lies!*
Some pictures of Christ Jesus clearly show "Golden White Light" emanating around
His head and His shoulders and reaching outward! He could "heal" with a hand touch! (His "AURA" was like He....)
*The AURA Never lies!*
WTA-IV 3/12/2016
the perfect guy will be standing 6 ft tall there to catch me if i fall walking with me
hand and hand holding me while we sit beside the beach
the perfect guy will know what the color of my tooth brush
the perfect guy would know my favorite color
the perfect guy will sit and listen to me the perfect guy will laugh at my jokes even
though there not funny
the perfect guy will have my dinner already made for me for wen i get home
the perfect guy will buy me roses just cuz its friday
the perfect guy would wake up to me and go to sleep with me and never get tired of it
the perfect guy will lend me his sweeter wen im cold
the perfect guy will let me share his pillow
the perfect guy will write songs for me and sing them
the perfect guy will let me lay in his lap while he scrapes my hair behind my ear
the perfect guy will give me that tingly feeling at the bottom of my stomach when i kiss him
the perfect guy will make me laugh at any thing he does
the perfect guy should notice wen i have a new hair cut
the perfect guy should notice when i have a new shade of lip gloss
the perfect guy would lie to me when i ask if this outfit makes my but look big jus so i
wont take another min changing
the perfect guy would know down to a t what my bra size is or what size clothes and shoes
i wear
the perfect guy will be the one to stick up for me when it gets to rough
the perfect guy will stick through whatever whenever
the perfect guy will know the color of my eyes without lookin
the perfect guy will open and hold the door just for me
the perfect guy will have eyes only for me but i geuss i wish to much
Form:
"Tingly skies full of surprise oh how I love when with surmise,
the little rascal aims his dart as if it were, poetic art !”
Stupid, stupid Cupid
Lost His bow and arrow
Put it down when He found a flute
Why it magically just appeared right here beside him
when He had touched downed upon the ground
It twas sneaky Pan who grabbed them with his parachute
The very one that he didn’t have to shoot
He didn’t give a hoot, a “fair trade” don’tcha think?
He thot as if too He didn't give a poop
For old school
Ohhhhh, stupid, stupid Cupid
Lost His bow and arrow
And Pan, my friend
was notta quite as good a shot as Him
He spun the world upside down
shooting everyone he saw on sight
Girl on girl, boys on boys
He even shot friendly animals as lover toys
Our frivolous puck didn’t give a darn
Especially when inside the barn
He shot arrows everywhere at everyone
He just didn’t seem to care. He was having fun.
Shooting arrows at everyone, everywhere
Poetic justice poking here and there
Transforming words and twisting them with fear
I swear I saw Pan smiling while shedding a few tears
Oh, stupid, stupid Cupid
Lost His bow and arrow
But apparently, He could also play this flute
Perhaps, not the same way as Pan
For when Cupid played every man, woman and child
Would fall under a stupid love spell
All across the lands the music fell
Only making Pan fill up
with more belly laughter ... GOTCHA !
When pan’s pipes play for you, there isn’t much that you can do !
When cupid’s arrow aims for you, there isn’t much that you can do !
GOTCHA!
Poem written for GOTCHA Poetry Contest, Mystic Rose, sponsor, July 25, 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Tingly skies full of surprise oh how I love when with surmise,
the little rascal aims his dart as if it were, poetic art !"
With a flick of fate, the chubby cherub archer draws back his bowstring,
haplessly and happily straight for my unexpecting heart.
Cupid does not his dart maliciously aim
but rather with whimsical, childlike fancy.
With an impish grin, he lets his dart fly,
stirring the dust of my dreams and wishes.
With expectancy whirling like confetti in the soft wind of fate,
I am poised, torn between the known and the unknown.
"Oh, Cupid. Do you know your arrows blur the edges of my reality,
turning my mundane world into a magical one?"
“Oh, dear poet,” he bemuses, “I aim my darts not just at hearts
but also at the essence of what it means to wonder."
“Oh, dear Cupid! How I love when wonder sparks my creativity,
transforming the ordinary into astonishment.”
“I gotcha!” he proclaims. “May your words strike your readers’ hearts
like my arrows.”
“Oh,Cupid! “*you’re an impetuous, knavish lad.Sometimes I’m rather somber,
for the weight of my imagination drives me quite mad! What am I to do?”
“Remember,” he continues, “when Cupid’s arrow aims for you,
there isn’t much you can do!"
*Note: "You’re a knavish lad”, are William Shakespeare’s words about Cupid, not mine.