Long Trickery Poems
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The shifting of many corporeal hands move across this dead cell,
A vacuums vortex, a psychic sponge, charging this battery of
Energy called the spirit board.
Paranormal phenomenon striking plate to enter realities plane
Of existence, for the ethereal challenged in crisis, seeking the
Threshold for spontaneous release, unto our spiritual realm.
Witchery’s board of trickery left in a polarized stance it
So entices the living with its tempting whispering of lies,
Incantations gate keepers wait on the other side of evils
Door way.
Memorizing the human sensory functions into a false
Sense of harmless mystery of the unexplained, it lures
These victims ever closer to weaving its spell of the demonic.
These capture being lost unto the hypnotic effects are
Transfixed unable to hit their override switch that controls
Their mental powers of persuasion, disabled is there strength
Of will power, they belong to the Ouija now.
Clasping do all for sides of the curtain of reality, times
Displacement begins in earnest, without hesitations
Momentary loll this dead cell bursts to life.
Black magic key has been inserted within the wooden
Door way’s heart and soul, a bizarre power bank draws
Forth the energy of the spiritual lost, swinging hells
Kept wide open.
The pancetta spins out of control, smashing against
The barriers of humanity, darkened ebony light shines
Through this doorway of evil and the flickering candle
Turns to a shades greenish blue wavering in the odious
Breeze.
The voice of a thousand screams echo in sheer delight,
We have been freed at last, broken is the trance, the boards
Hypnotic effects are dashed by the light of the dawn.
Dazed in bewilderment the voyeurs are chilled to their
Very inward bones, shaking, staring in awes amazement,
Wondering if these events really happened at all.
Then within these tented walls a voice responds to their
Questioning, laughing, as if a jackal at a fresh kill site!
Foolish mortals you know not what you have done, this
Night, but I promise thee this, laughing once again,
In a demonic under tone, none shall leave this domicile
Alive.
The entry doors lock without the human touch, the
Curtain windows pull closed, a momentary stilled
Scream, then all is silent, what remains is left up
To my readers to visualize, as the final candle
Blows out!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I write like bakers bake
my rhymes make earth shake
Going into contest with me was your biggest mistake
I control the earths plates, tectonics, your rhymes are bollocks
I cause land slides and earthquakes
I don't hate but I do devastate,
Is the rhythm of your rhyme hidden?
I'm going back and forth with my decision
I'd like to think it's something I'm missin'
but I cant see it in what you've written,
You stagnate rhymes
I contemplate the punishment for these crimes,
don't harp that you'll defeat me
I'm a giant you can't even see me
Now back and forth like red and meth I hand you over to little missy,
you pissed us both off so we share a rhyme to make you look silly..........
Your rhymes don't even matter
my pockets is gettin' fatter
Yours getting flatter
When you heard the glass shatter
That means me and my homies gathered
Now you bout to feel the wrath of
Somethin' that you wished you hadn't of
And all I can say is back up because I'm bout to act up
It might not concern you but
I'll thermonuclear burn you, you're a human sacrifice
Cuz I be smashing mics with the Passion of Christ and
Stay fully loaded, equipped with action devices
Me n trim shady here to party like Tom Brady
We stay cooler than an Eskimo baby
V is for Victory, we mastered your trickery
Tryna clock like dickory, get smoked like hickory
So please stop the bickery, you can't get rid of me
Fire colabs from here to infinity
you heard her infinity
even with a radar and map you cant find our reality
we're in another galaxy
you've barely the ability of a fetus
how dare you compete with us
and this U S U K special relationship isn't putting you at a handicap
it's natures act, you can't rhyme or rap
put your dick between your legs and make a tail
walk away with your head down cus your insults fail,
the only insult that landed is that you went up against us
with terrible stale dribble
that you squiggle
all brainless and minimal
like an unevolved mammal
writing without the opposable thumb by miracle
sounding dumb and undesirable,
when I read it I became miserable,
I desire a quick fire high flyer
like me with quick wit that aspires but you were dire
and dim, you aint no Trim,
you're a fool who should return to school.
collaboration with Brenda Chiri
first and third Trim
second Brenda
What formerly got celebrated as adventitious age of exploration...
1492 unleashed, jump/
kick started, and downloaded
a bittorrent götterdämmerung
spelling genocide of indigenous peoples
occupying Turtle Island,
now surviving tribes
just a shell of their former grandeur.
At present Columbus day
linkedin with high dudgeon
courtesy scattered remnants
of once proud nations
occupying contiguous United States
plus calling Alaska and Hawaii
their happy hunting grounds,
enshrine actual or mythologized
spectacular pièce de résistance
instances when counting coup.
I recollect needing to know
scores of years ago
when a student attending grade schools
within Lower Providence District
as an important bit of information
contributing to (white washed) history
of western civilization
(and never forgot)
recalling the names Nina, Pinta,
and Santa Maria associated
with heroic measures undertaken
by Cristóbal Colón,
(but also been referred to,
by himself and others, as Christoual,
Christovam, Christofferus de Colombo,
and even Xpoual de Colón)
five hundred and thirty years ago,
who purportedly "discovered"
the Americas, when in
fact native occupants of the land
already dwelled upon
the then island paradises.
He/him and subsequent swashbuckling
gung-ho high spirited men
set sail across expanse of ocean(s)
exhibiting eager intent to claim
untrammeled storied quintessentially
opulently magnificent kingdoms
intoxicating greedy Europeans.
Blatant exploitation inexorably nudged
courtesy trickery vis a vis hook and crook
to grab good & plenty treats
forcibly wrested by violence
sabotaging the delicate webbed wide world
constituting millenniums of heavenly bliss,
where marauders wantonly ransacked
indeed lacking absolute zero selflessness
forcing diverse autochthonous nations
to acquiesce and surrender
ancestral grounds to aggressive, coercive
and offensive Europeans hell bent
to populate occupied territory
commandeering, humiliating, manhandling,
poisoning, subdividing, triangulating
every square inch
encompassing fruitful grand home
of rightful heirs to stolen
near boundless tracts
eventually hashtagging uncharted
pristine green acres
spanning from sea to shining sea
becoming commercial real estate
falsely claiming a haven
housing home of the free
land of the brave.
My life and my love are the open sea. I do not fear her and she has come to respect this old sailor man.
Alas, it may be that my life of bliss is only temporary because a magical conclave has condemned my tidal journey.
Today, you see, I crossed paths with a dark mermaid whose trickery has anchored my adventures with the briny deep.
That salty wench took the wind out of my sails, leaving me as an empty hull, a moored starfish, writhing in the summer sand.
The gypsy mermaid led me astray with her siren song of sea foam trysts and moonlit water dances.
At once my eyes took sight of her damp bosom and over the bow of my beloved vessel I jumped, nary a hesitation.
Stalwart journey lost.
I swam with all my might so that I could lay my weary head among her iridescent scales with the hope of exploring her seafaring mysteries.
In her arms I laid and to my dismay, the spectacle of a creature more hideous than any life form should spawn, violates all that I can see.
With a hiss more guttural than a sea serpent, she opened her maw.
To my eyes appeared a cavernous gap filled with remnants of my beloved ocean life.
Disgust crawled over my skin as I stepped away in horror, the stench of death permeating the air.
Falling back into the wet abyss I could hear the gypsy mermaid sing her song of death all around me.
Harder and harder I raked my bony appendages, struggling mightily to widen the wake until my despair took over.
One last breath and I let my old friend the sea, take me away.
Fluttering slowly into the liquid unknown, I closed my weary eyes and let go.
At once I sputtered to life, woken by a brackish breeze on my check, burning eyes open as my spent body writhed in the hot sand.
My thoughts are a blur, no conscious desire to wonder upon my seemingly swift arrival to the quiet shore.
I live.
While death continues to burn deep within the recesses of my throat and my heart beats, still I feel lifeless.
Death came for me in guise of that gypsy mermaid and I ran to her without pause, arms wide for embrace.
So, it seems not even the cooling swells are enough to secure me this earthly plane.
Clearly my soul longs for life in the blissful, ethereal realm.
Perhaps next time I cross paths with the gypsy mermaid I will give in to her voracious hallow.
Next time.
For millennia, our race has lived a vast success.
Hatred, envy, spite, and strife are on the rise.
Despair, aggressiveness, self-centeredness.
Depravity, intrigue, lewdness, vanity, despise.
Hubris, a lack of self-awareness, and trickery.
Aristotle's five components have been corrupted.
Air, water, earth, and fire are no longer ancillary.
Humbly wished to stay alive rather than dead.
When I think back on all I've been through, it all seems insane.
There doesn't seem to be any way for me to heal.
Even if I tried, I'd never been able to reach or even get obscene.
On a detail level hit, I was wounded in the deepest part of my soul.
It seems clear to me now that my fate was set by my disputes.
Before it was too early in the process, I tried tentatively.
They've formed outflow and false analogies without any roots
When I had all the talent and drive, I regret not doing it smoothly.
They think they will be able to detain me after a full investigation
They make me feel scared with all they perform
I demonstrated to them that they could inflict pain and dejection
They're alleging in the flood that they lied about the game.
As a leader, I cannot assert that logic will guide my word.
They exhibit how to rule for the benefit of their family.
They did, however, get the human falsity award.
They're simply playing badly and misleading the community.
However, it's excessively various to decide.
You dared to contact that one strand.
You aren't aware when you alter your face.
It turns into such a terror-like experience.
It's going to last a period, you accept.
For the first time, you've been right.
It's the unique last time indefinitely.
You were harmed, and you stumbled struck poorly.
It felt agreeable yet surprising.
You said that you felt humiliated over increasing.
Pause for a minute to consider; it appears it's an act of futility.
When it got back to sobbing in the downpour, the storm faded away.
This time, everything had changed after much sorrow.
You never know when one door will shut, and another will open.
All the regime crashed, and I'm now being hailed as a hero.
Life is a journey, not a destination; without patience, no gain
Written: June 29, 2021
A broken person Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Faraz Ajmal
The clock
Tick, tock , tick, tock,
The clock bellowed resounding through my mind, like so many wood peckers drilling into a tree.
This infuriating clock my mother had given me
It began tick, tick, ticking away
The very day it entered my home
The very wrong dings and the dongs well,
It would surely drive my wife mad
She would rant and rave and I would say
It's a gift from my mother
Then it would once again be saved
Oh but that maddening ticking that, tick ,tock, tick, tock
This infuriating gift from my mother, this clock.
Tock , tock, tocking as it began stealing a face. Well I am not mad, I swear it to be, a copy was made but i swear it undeniably was my mother,
with mocking eyes as it continued the ticking and the tocking I had grown to despise
My mother's infuriating gift, this clock.
It gave me no peace that infernal machine even when outside her tick, tick, ticking was inside of me.
I decided then and there to stop the tock, my mother, with unbalanced levels of dopamine her pills could be switched the death quick and clean.
Still the ticking and tocking as she was taken away the clock displaying a fresh new face.
My mother the infuriating clock
It was my wife staring at me, amused over my torment, my mother was gone and yet she jested as she tick, tock, tick, tocked
I tore the clock from the wall and dumped it in the waste bin but the ticking remained tick, tock, tick, tock
It was in my study the following morn
Her face was neither tattered nor worn
My wife grinned at me her smile wide with trickery
She continued tick, tick, ticking, tick, tick, ticking
My wife the infuriating clock
We were upstairs one eve
A debate would ensue she began to tick, tick, tick
The stairs were so sharp, the floor so slick
I heard the gears shatter but there was no longer a clock, I wept as it resounded
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock
I raced to the study but the face was replaced,
By a familiar tortured creature
Lost in time and space
The infuriating clock that I owned.
The ticking and tocking ebbed
Then a resounding click, then a tock, then a tick
The powder ignited as I lifted my gaze
My wife the infuriating clock, that my mother gave me, that held my true face
Tick tock tick tock tick tock
The blood runs down the clock
The clock strikes twelve
The ticking ends
Tick tock tick tock tick tock.
A man unpresidentially known for the showerhead
Msholozi, the man in charge of singlehandedly running a nation into crisis
With him at the helm the public anxiously watches as the state of things degenerate
The rand has slumbered, corruption trivialised and unemployment popularised
Numeric’s play trickery on his unknowing tongue
And in his mind’s eye rules of grammar are easily ignored
Unpopular for his uninspiring speeches and refusal to obey protocol
A man who unapologetically lives above the constitution without fail
Without resolve he spends his term in office under the guise of ignorance
A generous man whose time is easily spend trying to resolve crises in countries outside our shores
He gets to lead a life of privilege without burning a sweat
He carries on blindly without taking any responsibility while the rest suffer the consequence
The unjust Msholozi hypocritically lives above the law but expects others to obey
The threat of prison bars didn’t hold him down because his connections served him right
A smart man with a dedicated entourage of followers to defend his malice
From the safety of his chambers he observes like Big Brother leading a nation to its downfall
As things spiral down he generously extents the rope to which the economy hangs itself
Cynically he laughs off his critics while the believers fan off the opposition
He doesn’t get his hands dirty since willing volunteers fight his battles
The booing and anger from a nation divided never unsettles this comrade
Without shame he takes merit from the achievements of others
He doesn’t worry about his endless failures since his inactions are blamed on the past
After all, he’s a diligent leader living in a utopian valley where all his citizens are satisfied
He sees no wrong, hears no concerns and does nothing to improve the nature of things
An unscrupulous man who dishonourably musk’s his failures by claiming what others have earned
At the sound of his voice the martyrs who selflessly fought for this freedom turn from their graves
Hi puppets continue to defend him like a messiah filling his silences with bombastic defences
He’s set in his questionable ways and is undeterred by motions of no confidence
Like the mafia his enemies are harshly eliminated from the face of politics but friends handsomely rewarded
The Dragon Riders Saga II
The Dragon had returned to the clearing where he'd left his rider near neardeath
Hearing the strange tale brought mission purpose back and fire to his breath
A healer had found his friend somehow from the the universe of magic unknown
Now time was precious and running out their mission together again had grown
Just then to the Dragon came a voice upon the wind, was this sorcery?
A voice he had heard before long ago and was not mistakable or a forgery
His rider was the only one to ever communicate this way, prophecy had sworn
Something that was trained into them from the time they both were born
I'm the Princess of the Elves, you may know my name as I'm Oshshewelle
I have returned life to your rider he's now alive and will do well
The Dragon listened closely and his riders heart was now beating so strong
He thought can I trust this elf and what if I may be foolish and wrong
My rider and I are ready to fight again he thought back to the elven princess
To defeat this spell of evil darkness will be the end and our success
I gave your rider a talisman for the magic you'll need to win this fight
To Blood Mountain Lake you two must make this battle in flight this night
Take the Golden Armor and shield forged by magic wizardry in the art of steel
To protect you from the magic of the Mage's spells he will cast with zeal
To break the blackest enchantment it's guardian you two must defeat
Like you, a Dragon born of legend, there it's Taricrex you'll meet
Tis insanity that you speak of the Dragon screamed to the Princess elf
Tis suicide you ask of us! This quest of yours is purest madness itself
Even if we have the Golden Armor, shield, and antiquities rune inscribed sword
You know prophecy, the only one to wield them must by birthright be a lord
Not for may centuries has there been one with royal blood flowing in his veins
Tis magic trickery you speak with, I have long known there are none who remains
Your rider has all these and you were never told for good reason he has the blood too
He was not born a rider, he was hidden, I speak only the truth to you
This secret is entrusted to you for right now, with your rider it's not yet shared
For this he cannot yet know, and surly not until he is much more prepared
Intelligent musical talent begins with this, to relearn the timing within our soul,
But other tactical psychological methods are busy swaying to and fro,
To an obvious yet nefarious covert Rhythmic tyranny of Mind Control,
Damaging trauma appears, disappears and reappears so often - irregardless whether anyone of us - really and actually know,
Although - know; you ought to, and know you must, if we're to avoid their evil demonic end goal, by economic slavery boom and bust,
Why have the masses flocked to what is essentially an obvious Lie..
The hitherto well understood well known treachery of bribery and trickery..to the ill-informed common eye?
Real answers lie within the Agendas of those,
With high unseen well hidden authority of tyranny.. now beginning to be exposed,
The blame so far as we can see for this all pervasive idiocy,
Fits squarely into Ancient Babylonian Occult vile Crypto Supremacy,
An unmentionable taboo for Society, though cleverly socially arranged,
Covertly hostile toward Humanity and our creative force..
By a certain inferiority complexed minority so deranged..
Ah yes - but of course!
A true Dictatorship and Tyranny
can and always will insist..
Upon those that have become uber-Liberal all accepting pacifists..
Those yet behind an otherwise obvious - facade of devious fallacy, don't want you to learn the reasons for the lie,
The mondane so often belies what is hidden within our words; within a sound,
The truth disguised as anything unprofound,
Explanation enough as to the premise of why..
The countless masses are now clearly and sadly being systematically psychologically, reduced to a pitiful state of abhorrent dependency,
We would certainly have to mention and be sure to say,
Please wake up a friend a colleague or a family member now, or at least today,
It is therefore clear that;
an in-depth searching root cause analysis, apparently can be,
Brought about and shared through some insightful poetry..
The written and the spoken word,
Do justice to those that cannot nor would never ever be heard,
So we might then listen in careful piety,
Or do not then be surprised to now find, that there are..
So Many Seduced by Rhythmic Pendulum of Trauma & Absurd Normalcy..
Kurt Hubbard-Beale
28th February 2023
______________________________________________________________
It still hurting alot
Mother, it hurts so much
methinks my head is about to, I can
fathom that thought of my head will o
explode, bits and pieces of me scattered________________t
around for all to see the shiny in's
of me because of my denied dues
not to be like autumn trees and
thrush of life's breaths shedding
whites off my hair expose its amber
If I surrender will I get my summer,
our talk that soured will sweeten
the hour? Query on hold. Hold, 'tis
aching yearns for its light skin tones
some shade, some toning to
hide. A walking dead
they'll see--weird, beach
sand, I face yet ere me
a challenge be ca ut io us ly
taken out thy sullen pose fates
a wild, wild guess, be my knees subtly
repenting. Nay, not knees, essence. A noun, trickery. Shall I count the days spent within your tummy,
Mommy? Oh very well I will clean my room until the
day comes when I raise my hand and that all five fingers, you'll see thee racist who had emerged in my mirror of late, and cast then shadows just out of sight seize d--arrested in plain view by America's finest doing bet review to say
that justice is well seems to be in order
from what I see,
there are fingers of
contempt and to my
mirror grip negativity,
I offer thee the pleasure
of my knee, lest my feet get
in the weigh ..., of a deserving
kick, one goes awry like a brat such as I.