Long Tongued Poems
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Dusty Rain
Puffs of random promise coldly awaken the hope of droughts thirsty ticket holders.
Parched dust joins in pig-like, snout in the trough, dry tongued greeting.
Satiations mud bath ensues
leaves rub their hands together
cupping cool water
soothing the screaming roots.
Flowers lean back
rinse their colored tresses
rejoice in the trickle
of renewal.
Worms lay – Cleopatra-like -
self seeking mud worshippers
freed from their dungeons.
Puddled streets shiny rainbow hues
search for the pot-o-gold
of street signs end.
Dandelions shake golden crowns
mimic the sun,
smile on the dream
of future days.
Garden Buddha,
licks stoic lips, smiles
cool trickles tickle his girth.
Thin groundhog sleeps
knowing his prized shoots
will soon be plenty.
Birds succumb
to the perfume of petrichor,
dance in fence top chorus line
to the dusty drum beat of
Spring rain.
6/5/2016
submitted to – ika-labing-tatlo(13th): Rain, Rain com my way – Poetry Contest
sponsor – binibining P.iNK
I could find my child, who's a butterfly lover,
Often bunking school granting many a reason;
Knowing her mad love, over the air to hover,
I allowed her to continue with no treason...
Having decided to find the reason from her
When, finally, persuaded her to open up;
Observing sage-like silence and eyes with no blur,
She blushed as though there's a tempest in her teacup...
Pleasing, easing, teasing, tiring, tempting, mocking,
Persuading, convincing, coercing, smooth-talking;
Silver-tongued sweet words on her slowly showering,
Ultimately, she spoke up as though rock-shocking...
Does schooling teach one to fly like a butterfly?
Does butterfly, in a school, ever long-time lie?
05 July 2021
Contemporary Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charlotte Puddifoot
"Wedding Dress"
Innocence
betrayed a white page
divesting romantic notions
of a pristine life marked
by sibilant soft-tongued seduction
green apple plucked
wrapping serpentine legs like vines
rosy cheeked blushing
a student smarting around
Garden of Arden's Puck
captured essence
from a torn portrait
of picket fences
climbing soft caresses
towards the wild
bee's stinging under
the tightly stitched
waiting room of a
hemmed in
wedding dress
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"To drench your skin with lover's rosy stain.
A chance to find a phoenix for the flame,
A chance to die, but can we
Dance into the fire,
That fatal kiss is all we need.
Dance into the fire
To fatal sounds of broken dreams.
Dance into the fire;
That fatal kiss is all we need
Dance into the fire
When all we see is a view to a kill"
Rats in the cellar, squirrels in the tree,
things aren't the same as they used to be.
When I left for school with my li'l lunch pail,
I didn't expect a penguin to swallow a whale.
Such an injustice, I've never seen,
a cantaloupe falsely imprisoned a bean.
It's unheeded screams, uncontrolled laughter,
when it's trolls that live happily ever after.
Doors off their hinges, pancakes are stacked,
biscuits are burning, windows are cracked.
Termites in the baseboards, rabbits that fly,
pigs that regularly take to the sky.
Voices that whisper, mad dogs that bite,
winds that go howling and look for a fight.
Wrapped in cellophane, mixed in a blender,
taped up in cardboard and returned to sender.
Rainbows and ravens, kaleidoscope dreams,
leafless branches, gallows lit by moonbeams.
Music boxes, pink ribbons and bows,
tags come on packages; tags come on toes.
Curtains lifted, sick, unsavory scenes,
gear wheels in gear wheels run strange machines.
Dissected, disowned and double-downsized,
unaided, unacknowledged and unrecognized.
Puzzles, conundrums that cannot be solved,
water plus turpentine make witches dissolve.
Pimentos are diced, harsh words are spoken,
nightmares are jumbled; eggshells are broken.
Lost in the doldrums, eyeballs protrude,
walking on blisters, a horse latitude.
Spineless jellyfish, lackeys and flunkies,
silver tongued vultures, branch swinging monkeys.
Experts and pundits, paid authorities,
Kool-Aid in canisters, down on your knees.
Bishops take pawns, the fat lady sings,
fires ablaze on black nights with kings.
Shattered stars, fragmented stones,
shining splinters, bleak, burning bones.
Songs without meaning, songs without words,
sung by unseen phantoms and silent birds.
Refrigerators with pictures nobody knows,
eyes staring back, no answers disclose.
Spiders and spinning bicycle wheels,
buffalos, bandits, and slippery seals.
Electric toothbrushes, electric chairs,
lethal injections, pushed down the stairs.
Pieces on the floor, a sad state of disarray,
the gift you've left me is insanity's bouquet.
You stole my cookies, pilfered my cat,
laughed at me roundly and turned me down flat.
Mice it in the attic go chitter chatter,
have I lost my wits or gone mad as a hatter?
Eight bells.
Starboard watch.
Tightened up another notch.
Holy upheaval rages ‘neath a cathedral sky.
Losing way as the wind whips up the spray.
Stormy tormentors rubbed salt in my one good eye.
Felt the tension in the rigging.
Sensed the strain upon the keel.
Manned the pumps and reefed the tops’ls.
Heaven’s judgment; no appeal.
Two bells.
Buntlines fouled.
Ship’s physician prays aloud.
Hearts have been pounding since the tempest began to brew.
Kingdom come, can’t remember where we’re from.
Tried to dream back, but it’s blurred as an old tattoo.
Once we knew the harbor’s shelter.
Once we heard the shorebird’s song.
Once we mocked the earth we stood on,
Starved the weak to feed the strong.
Four bells.
Spied the coast.
Lashed the helmsman to his post.
Punished ourselves, though it’s the ocean that misbehaves.
Bells ring true, but I can’t add two and two.
Crew punchy and shot from bucking the white-capped waves.
Heard the bos’n howl for mercy.
Watched the cabin boy grow old.
Wished the rock should split the timber
And the sea should flood the hold.
Six bells.
Somber tones.
Felt the sound caress my bones.
Silver-tongued sirens tried to lure me beneath the foam.
Break that thread; like to find my way to bed.
Early comes early, and mate, it’s a long trip home.
For the times we played the bully,
Breaking teeth and pulling hair,
For the treasures that we’ve buried
And the dimes we couldn’t spare,
I’ll be a damned Dutchman’s fool.
Like to blow the bastard down.
Eight bells.
Larboard watch.
Tightened up another notch…
I can’t say
where life begins
and death takes over:
Oh! I know of birth
and funerals--
what the church says
and what my gut
further tells me…
but my heart often
wanders above wings,
parting shadows
to a place alone
where I encounter
a loving presence
my feeling no need
to define...
I have read those volumes
both blessed and cursed
tongued caramel ecstasy
and licked the sacrificial fires
(sweat-making chilies
and artery clogging rinds of life)
but remain
mostly confounded
though comforted somewhat
by the little I know
and concisely name--
admitting more of me
has always existed outside
my libraries of
leather diaries
and embossed references….
It’s all falling on me
And it’s all falling on you
It’s clear as crystal to see
There’s not much that we will do
The responsibility
The onus, the burden of proof
In the court of stability,
The dragon is on the loose
The bridge is falling on me
The tower is falling on you
In the dungeons of senility,
Your heroism isn’t of use
The fork-tongued demon will speak
Possessed by illegitimate truth
The culture gives it mystique
A bill of goods sold to the youth
Condemnation won’t free
Any from the chains of abuse
The blind beggar still won’t see
The deformed cripple still won’t move
And if by some decree,
They let the stilled waters loose,
There’ll be no safe harbor to be
And no hopeful port to move to
The boughs stripped from every tree
The feathers plucked from each goose
And in hapless humility,
We’ll concede there’s no solution to choose
If you have outworn your one dream
If you’ve outlasted your only use
If your soul’s muscle is atrophied
If your heart’s detective hasn’t a clue
Then this is where we let off some steam
From the locomotive to the caboose
And as we slide down into ravines,
Let the next ones hear the good news
(after the painting by Vincent Van Gogh)
Does she even exist? Doubting her own reality,
seeing herself vanishing in undulating undergrowth,
fading and merging into summer-scorched scenery.
But cold lurks there beneath shafts of sunlight, the phallic trees...
He wears the night underneath, a fabric of dark and unease,
his hand heavy upon her arm, silver-tongued charm
smooth as the silver-limbed leafless trees,
disappearing, now, on a twisting breeze...
Sinuous stems suffocate, writhing and thrashing;
convulsions of shuddering green and yellow.
Enticed ever deeper into flailing flowers,
evanescing into foam of frothing flora...
Did she ever truly exist? It's doubtful.
The flower-frail faceless and nameless
will always be lured and laid, invisible,
dissolving, under bare, phallic trees.
Blue scholars on safari.
O giraffe, thy neck hide?
Camouflage, triage, tall tree.
On the lightning ride.
Recondite reconnaissance?
Simplicity, thy aim.
Red coal running river chance.
Reckless risk mad maim.
Tortoise mark on tallest pine?
Dark sun solid shine.
Death and Doom, tonight we dine.
Roil, rill. Rinse and rhine.
Yucca bush, yawning yawndrift.
Spaceship, need ye lift?
Grifter, offered shorter shrift?
Chasm floor, seen rift?
First in line of ancient heads?
Giant steps and treads.
Glass bead lovely, spider threads.
Anvils, pincers, sleds.
Orange tongued flame, the prior name.
Staking claim, the same.
Curses bitter, who to blame?
Conqueror the lame?
Wintergreen sprig, love ye spring?
Unless time forgot.
Dominance, to thee I cling?
Tornados of thought.
Will-o-the-wisp, seek the bog?
Lily pad, fair frog.
Humanity, twice a cog?
White hedgerows, warthog...
It seems it was but a moment ago
that we were born and grew into the world
and yet ... there is a history here
revealing all we have heard and seen,
learned and sadly, unlearned.
It is a history for a moment in time
lapsed in our memories, forgotten to sleep in our dreams
swayed and dismantled by our progression
daunted by power, greed and the inhumanity that rises within us.
We have lived
remembering the aftermath of a Great World War
the rise and fall of tyrants and dictators
alluring us with false promises and lies.
We have lived
to see the heroes and heroines who spoke then silenced
of humanity filled with hopes and dreams and promises
for change, to be better than who we were.
We have lived
to hear the voices crying in the wilderness
only to close them out, shut them down
silence their realities in lieu of our own want and need.
We have lived
to taste the power of money and its greed
to own and hold tight to things, possessions
rather than dreams, the people around us.
We have lived
to touch the glitter of golden and silver-tongued liars
that taunt and tease us into thinking only of ourselves
living above, beyond, better than the rest of the world.
We have lived
to know and inhale the smell of more, its sweet aromas
when more is too little, too much, too near, too far
from the innocence in which we were born.
Is this then the future, the modern, enlightened mankind?
Still succumbing to the slavery of sex, drugs and lies
forget the rock and roll, the music is
more haunting, blinding, deafening, dulling who we were.
We have lived
but what does it mean
to truly live, to be alive
and lived well?