Long Twill Poems
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Preface:
Earlier today May 28th, 2021,
the 12-member jury unanimously
found Cristhian Bahena Rivera guilty
of first-degree murder in brutal stabbing death
sentenced to life in prison
without the possibility of parole
of Mollie Tibbetts remembered as then friendly
20-year-old who was studying
to become a child psychologist.
IOWA CITY, Iowa
(killingly, jarringly inexplicable,
horribly, gruesomely, and forlornly),
the body found July 18, 2018,
an exhumed decayed corpse
belonging to young
vibrant coed twenty year old
college student Mollie Tibbetts.
Impossible mission to deduce
senseless killing of innocent babe
wild speculation perchance
spurned, snubbed,or scorned
love seriously gone wrong,
she who disappeared
from her small hometown
in central Iowa sad swan song
now plays, where every
last drop of sorrow rung,
now weeping family, friends,
relatives, et cetera subjected wrack
with lifelong emotional pain,
which searing inescapable
grief twill unrelentingly track
ferociously, fiercely, and figuratively,
doth disallow recourse
to duck away
from heart wrenching quack
king unbearably, terribly, and scathingly
will fully bill leave ably
beak homing a folly,
mockery, and travesty,
sans time heals
all wounds (truly "FAKE"),
nonetheless psyche riving tragic
(irrevocable loss) doth pack.
Grievous punch greater then any
all star olympic pugilist
straight to the ab
domain of opponent, where
rumor mongers mill and blab
how this, that, or
another potential suspect,...
whence tissues dab
corners of crying eyes,
an endless stream
of tears merge with gab
bullying utter disbelief.
Family/friends question
the supposed almighty
at devastating loss
to do nothing but bawl (at Baal)
into the fox sized rabbit hole
trying with futility
to block (even crawl
ling into every
rabbit hole) no bastion
against implacable
maddening crowded
house alive with murderous frenzy,
and a dialect (non
tickling) gentle Iowan drawl.
Third anniversary regarding
asper the impossibly steep toll
the purposelessness killing,
aforementioned deceased
affected sodden wet soul
cannot process any (defying) logic,
a foregone lovely gal (same age
as my youngest daughter),
whose missed presence,
(albeit said slain lass
Mollie Tibbetts – permanent absence),
now created an expansive
infinite black sink hole.
"I'm gonna marry you someday"
Her Lover jokes with her
They drive in her fancy car, she's
Amused by tipsy words
"Don't be silly, my young drunk friend"
She shoots back while he grins
"Just watch, Sweetie. Just watch...someday"
He says, chuck'ling again
He says earnestly, "You know that
Big wedding feast was neat.
I have never seen one like that.
Thank you for bringing me"
They stop at a red light. She smiles
Softly at her young beau
Proud to bring him to her culture
To let him get to know
She reaches out and holds his hand
He brings hers to his lips
His eyes a little glassy from
Refreshments he had sipped
"I'll tell you what! That shot your mom
Gave me was pretty strong
It tasted just like licorice
I think I'll feel it long"
She laughs, "Yeah be careful with that
'Twill knock you on your @ss"
The red light changes back to green
She stomps hard on the gas
"Damn, Girl, don't go and kill us now
I am too young to die"
She gives him her best tough-girl smirk
And the side of shining eyes
They talk and laugh on the way back
To her old childhood home
Reliving the festivities
While warnth of Lovers grows
The dancing and the tip money
Flying all through the air
The little old man whose crying
Touched everyone there
The way all guests knew her Lover
As her "Irish" young man
The only blue-eyed guy in sight
They kept beers in his hand
The hospitable welcome
Was quite touching to him
But some of the young men in there
Tried to look right through him
She's a bit uncomfortable
When he jokes about that
While all were very welcoming
There was slight tension had
But she shrugs it out of her mind
When they get to her house
The Lover's a tad unsteady
As he tries to get out
Of the car in the large driveway
She goes to give a hand
It turns out it was just a trick
He pulls her down to land
In his lap in the car's seat and
Starts to give her kisses
Her heart's routine of losing the
Couple beats it misses
They respond to each other as
They always seem to do
"When they are asleep" she whispers,
"I'll come and ravish you"
His big smile of young eagerness
A kiss, another hug
And the adorable way she
Can make him look so smug
She pulls him out from the car as
More kisses invade her
She fends him off to go inside
She'll make them all up later...
Of thee virtual netherland...
courtesy one spellbound wordsmith
within apartment b44
nestled within a manor
(and manner of writing)
atop nondescript Schwenksville highland.
All gibbets zing aside
I got noose for you,
yours truly enjoys harmless chide
ding even kibitizing about,
when cessation of consciousness occurs
leaving terrestrial plane
frequently incorporates divine spirit as guide
absolute zero escape
regarding death to override.
Oft times ('specially
these latter unsainted days and nights)
death doth haunt me atheistic zeitgeist
which thoughts of my demise
crowds out purposeful thinking
in the twitching mind kempf
paradigm of this atheist
hence, he betook himself
to this MacBook Pro,
while swiss side dull ideations
for professional intercession,
deadline could not wait
asper affecting s cathartic,
emetic, harmonic tete a tete
and providing a meaningful surrogate
to expunge morbid mental state
accessed Open Office
and let fingers (of left hand)
do talking heads
to an imaginary therapist
across this qwerty keyboard
allowing, enabling, and
at the quickest typing rate
striving to cap cha dismal, gloomy,
and ill lust tree us deplorable
mood aye equate
with pitching into
a bottomless abyss where pate
fed ceaseless diet of NON GMO –
a last repast
the grim reaper did orchestrate
gluten free, an extra heavy dose
of monosodium glutamate
which ingredient doth
BuzzFeed thine appetite
for total mortal exterminate
'thou no need fermi to rush,
where angels fear to tread,
cuz tis better late
than never, the apothegm,
credo, ethos...foreign ha Kate
the caterer maintains
an open exit from life,
and cares only
that each soul doth feel elan,
joie de vivre, and psalm times
a leaper chants, ecstatically finally
gustatory humming don't jubilate
for your final homecoming, or else
the mailer daemon lived
a devilish life will instigate
a de coup age d'etat,
but such extreme
measure for measure heed doth hate,
yet exceptions always made for a date
particularly when henchmen to die for
golden opportunity
to snatch a generic guy a create
an underground soiree will cease,
when ashes master
of hell raising circumstances
twill use as bait
let underground missionary be advocate.
"Both devil and angel on one's shoulders, scenes from yesteryears, little did the public know that it's when one falls, therein, lies the benefits ... for it's when one rises, gives one meaningful purpose, an eye-catcher, a life-changing event, and so on ...," ... by the Poet.
When you have died and know naught why, sitting while you're thinking
perhaps a dream, let out a sigh, go back to your drinking
Got a bottle in your left hand, a baby in your right
you drink the milk, tastes like bourbon, a babe kissed you, "Good night."
You looked underneath the table, you see the battery,
you then checked all of the cables, but can't find the car keys.
You asked the driver parked by you, can he give you a light
flicked his Bic, you said, "Forgot, I'm through--smokes, sorry, and good night ..."
You looked under the hood again, found a glass of bourbon
head up you say, "My dear, sweetheart," she says, "No, it's me, Ben!"
Now you have your drinking buddy, and the fun of your life
until you know you are woozy, caused thoughts, --just like Lot's wife.
You were on top of your bar stool, you slowly lean on Ben
but now there's a smell of car fuel, you try to wake your friend.
You feel Lot's staff hook round your neck, you feel ground rub 'neath you
you look towards the car, a wreck, it explodes from the fuel.
You cry out to the dark for Ben, hears voices all around
"He is right beside you, your friend." "You are both safe and sound."
It's Sunday, two souls in church pews, "Welcome, today's sermon,
Sodom and Gomorrah, Good News," "I hope they're naught Mormons."
"Why, you have a problem with that?" "They don't allow drinking."
"Thought we quit, swept it 'neath the mat." "Say what are you saying?"
"We jumped verses? That makes no sense!" "I thought it was implied."
"Inferred, there is a difference." "Inferred, implied--denied."
"So what, I'm drinking hereafter." "Aha! After--That's it,
afterlife--caught in the rafters, or 'twill be the fire pit."
"Your choice my friend, want to kick it, live and keep on livin',
or, a lifer, --alcoholic, die and keep on dyin'?"
"Eh, H-E-double hockey sticks, (HELL) I'll stay for the sermon,
Christian-like, ex-alcoholics--they may not be Mormons?"
Already the month
of August 2018,
May never become
a je June'm
(Forget-me-not)
time of year,
especially for nouveau
homeless and,
penniless residents,
(now more like worrier),
who reside in the
(burnt to a crisp)
Golden State where,
towering uncontrollable
wild fire infernos veer
really did tax mental,
physical, and spiritual
oye vey iz mare (to
the bajillion power
of Google Plex) their
heirlooms, mementos,
and trappings of
das kapital lifestyle
went up in smoke,
which tragedy didst seer
the eyes (yes, iz traumatic,
but also the air)
looms with toxic
particulate matter,
though concerned former
propertied owners
(now ashen faced)
as utter grief doth rear
a scorched (bumping) ugly head,
yet the onset of Autumn,
(and the main
purport of this poem)
(oh my dog, that twill be
in approximately three weeks,
when Eastern Orthodox Church
denotes beginning of ecclesiastical
annum mull house
for straight or *****
(these times opening
doors to LGBT, or GLBT
(an initialism that
stands for lesbian,
gay, bisexual, and transgender),
nonetheless history
replete with app pear
chock full of factoids such as:
September (Latin septem,
"seven") with near
exhaustive steeped in
pagan glory of antiquity.
Ancient Roman observances
for September include:
Ludi Romani, originally celebrated
September 12 - September 14,
later extended to
September 5 to September 19.
In 1st century BC, an extra day added
in honor of deified
Julius Caesar on 4 September.
Epulum Jovis held: September 13.
Ludi Triumphales held: September 18–22.
Septimontium celebrated September, and
December 11 on later calendars
September called "harvest month"
in Charlemagne's calendar.
September corresponds partly to
Fructidor and partly to Vendémiaire
of first French republic.
On Usenet, September 1993
(Eternal September) never ended.
September called Herbstmonat,
harvest month, in Switzerland.
The Anglo-Saxons called
month Gerstmonath,
barley month, that crop
then usually harvested.
THE GREAT BANQUET
I’ve been to many banquets and many smorgasbords;
The fare has been so sumptuous as there it all was stored.
I’d try to take a sample of everything I liked;
The salads were so tasty, the meat looked cooked just right.
The thing I most regretted was when I took too much
And I could not all finish the things that I had touched.
And then there was the price tag--that bill I had to pay!
Sometimes it was expensive and would keep me away.
And at the fancy restaurants we’d always stand in line,
And fussed about the others who seemed to take your time.
But every time I’d go there and find my place in line
And look down at the tables and all the food so fine,
I think of a day coming when once again I’ll eat
At a great marriage supper, there at my Saviour’s feet.
I’ve often thought and wondered just what we’ll eat up there
As we sit at that table upon the shore so fair.
Will we get to taste the manna that Israel often ate?
Will we have desserts and salads there served upon our plate?
Will we eat lamb that roasted in fire cooked just right
And served with herbs so bitter like that Passover night?
And will we have that supper of unleavened bread and wine
That we all take together to remind us of the time
When just before His torture and sentence, Jesus said,
“Take, eat, this is My body,” and then He broke the bread.
And then He took the cup there, the grape juice pure and blue,
And said, “This is the covenant of My blood shed for you.”
I don’t know what we’ll eat there, I cannot speculate,
But I know we’ll enjoy it, it all will be so great.
And what is nice about it is that it all is free;
I can have all I want there, all good it’s going to be.
I know that He will serve it and as it passes by,
I’ll see the nail-scarred hands then and remember why He died.
Oh, yes, ‘twill be some banquet! I’m glad I’m going there;
I’ve made my reservations, by faith I am prepared.
You, too, can be a part of the banquet fine and fair,
Just come unto the Saviour and say the sinner’s prayer:
“God, please show me Your mercy, I humbly now repent,
I trust the living Saviour who to this world was sent.
And I accept forgiveness from all my sin and shame,
Believing in Your offer of salvation through Your name.”
On a shattered pebble beach my kernel,
becomes this dervish dancing to the maniacal symbol rash tune,
of inchoate monsoon grass beat timpani,
that’s dimly frowned on by sonic virtuoso,
but terms like briny carrageen sea sweep gain purple splotch kudos,
I gaze with indigo ocean eyesight,
at sheer rock face sunken mould gradient,
where faculties solicit august maxim,
from eternal parchment, grain whirl sand dune smorgasbord,
mud-strewn psalms primed and pumped by ebbing sotto voce stream,
gust smitten lighthouse whose solitary pulsing wink always welcome,
syntax that gray matter genesis scorned geoform tag,
I scribble quintains in a quagmire that ooze magma inkling,
prose stolen from jagged facet incline or whatever,
has this elemental moment turned ghost writer by sixth sense?
saline vista swung pivot on tsunami doorway,
brackish carcass rife with clamped seashells as mirror,
weather-worn thoughts skim eccentric apex,
behemoth undertaker facing self-scripted gauntlet,
but this pilgrim shall yearn evermore imbibing loose mist,
with marble slab as jotter and squid ink another fountain pen,
who really knows what tidemark gems may yet surface,
do metaphors sequester diurnal cycles like day/night swop?
rhetorical or not this lambent aspect must be met on grit-etch blue boulder,
vice-grip of visual plunge belies gravity,
yet this blustery conundrum is just this water drop,
something inconsequential for one clutching at faint will-o-the-wisp,
pepper-strewn haze does obstruct linguistic odour,
despite a caustic rebuff from deep down warden as inner slant,
zany whirlpool blob grasping at ambiguous twill plume,
faraway tangerine canvass might stir tongue-tied raw sketch,
ingenious quest might throb for charmed portrayal,
nought shall thwart this dreamer off-course,
spectral pantoum, geometric quatrain, jewel-crust tanka,
prolific silken sentient suzette an overarch odyssey,
regardless of vernal totem, sumptuous literary harvest,
with its dogged catalytic compass point,
to maunder without curb despite prevailing opus storm,
sculptured outcrop on an apt idyllic text,
once off ephemeral from boundless paragon,
a colour burst vocabulary pending but when?
A LASTING MARRIAGE
As you look back in time to the day you said, “I do,”
You didn’t know back then the things you would go through.
But yet you made a vow before the Lord that day,
“For better or for worse,” you heard the preacher say.
“In sickness and in health,” yet you did not hope for pain,
You hoped that all your health and strength would there remain.
“For richer or for poorer,” yet who would trade their wealth
For just a humble home with an empty cupboard shelf?
You liked the part on “love and cherish with my heart,”
But you shudder at the phrase, “Until death do us part.”
And you are not alone, for many thought like you
Of only better days to see, to go, to do,
But when they met with trials, they didn’t stick it out,
They listened to the voice of uncertainty and doubt.
And now, where have they gone? What’s happened to their name?
They’ve nothing left to show but a broken home and shame.
Their children are so hurt because they have to hear
Two stories of events between two folks once dear.
It’s never quite the same now that the ties are broke,
They might think love’s not real, it’s just a cruel joke.
But you can thankful be that through the thick and thin
You kept your life light strong through storms and through the wind.
You kept your faith in God and in the center of your home,
And though you ask yourself, “Why did some children roam?”
Be sure at least they know what true love really means,
And don’t rule out the fact they’re haunted in their dreams.
Some day if you stay true and did all that you could,
The efforts will pay off, it will all work for good.
So as you stand there now repeating vows of yore,
The words you say again are different than before:
They might be the same words, but now you know they’re true
Because through good and bad you saw each other through.
Some day when sorrow’s past and trials are gone away,
You’ll look back once again at this very special day,
But there you’ll join the ones in the marriage in the blue,
Repeating vows to God, and saying, “I love You.”
‘Twill all be worth it then as you see your Savior’s face
And thank Him for His love and His amazing grace.
Dedicated to any couple repeating vows.
Condolences Forever Invoked - 9/11/2001
Many unsuspecting innocent lives
unwittingly found themselves
at ground zero
with absolutely no time
to bid loved ones adieu,
and thus with
a metaphorically clangorous
(aire splitting din – bedlam askew
n'er to be silenced),
aye felt near ready,
viz no haw wing,
nor hem ming – waze
farewell call to peace monger...
and arm Matthew
nine one one when
clear out of the blue
a resounding handy
dandy bell lose clue
asper, a fitting notion pain
fully apropos to applaud motley crue
i.e. strangers risk
king life and limb,
would definitely do,
no matter where persons
stationed come thee
ex-tolling bells morrow,
(whence thee fateful
seventeenth anniversary
twill dolefully arrive -
somberly dawning for
survivors and/or next of kin -
less than twenty four
hours from now),
sans unforgettable tragedy
indelibly etched will be recalled
in a blinding
fiery stormy flashback,
where significant lost lives will replay,
when weaponized airplanes
took a kamikaze nose dive
a dwindling cadre,
qua first line of defense,
emergency civilian and/or military
trained personnel jumped
into the blizzard decimated fray,
whereat selfless persons
scurried (helter skelter like)
all abustle analogous
to a outsize bee hive
where 24/7 news
broad casters did air
(nee blast) round
the clock latest bulletins,
could not escape incessant blare
ring frozen like a
life size like sculpture
seated in favorite easy chair
hypnotized by the sheer colossal
utterly incomprehensible dare
devilish a state of emergency,
the then president
(George Walker Bush) did declare
dumb founded, slack jawed,
and wicked deed
waiting for horror
to be recanted as an err
roar overloaded sensory circuits
exceeded threshold,
nonetheless listeners and/or
viewers forced themselves to hear
live coverage far more appalling
than any night mare.
Infinite pitch black void zooms,
I vacillate to pitch headlong (head over heels)
where freedom looms
large (think) cosmic size grand canyon grooms
espouses, and cloisters unbridled wedded bliss
structured sound of silence booms.
Dawdling against inevitable fate
temporarily holds in check (mate)
eternal salvation woebegone
grievance to ameliorate
repurposed conscious being (me)
sanguine reunion ridding travesty
once for all ascending soul asylum gilded gate
consanguinity amidst deceased brethren
impossible mission to discern,
thus I equivocate.
At long last doomed existence
finally fancy free and footloose
Earthly afflictions divine creator
severe trials and tribulations let loose
promise body, mind and spirit triage
damn physical, mental, and
spiritual afflictions permanent vamoose
yoked Sisyphean and mephistophelean woe
summoning herculean strength
(mine) to vanquish
courtesy (halloo) gibbet welcome noose
necks stop outer limits analogous cooked goose.
Neither family nor scant friends twill mourn
severance outlook linkedin inextricably forlorn
accursed psychological agony since I got born
incessantly pilloried courtesy bullies hood scorn
yours truly convenient scapegoat raked over hot coals
preferable versus insidious,
nefarious, and opprobrious
suffering post traumatic stress disorder wartorn
invisible battle scars branded me, yet well worn
shell shocked comfortably numbed skull
jimmied heavily inebriated distilled, cracked corn
trumpet silenced (think) muted horn.
Anger at self wells up
regarding passive stance (mine)
convenient akin to jellyfish,
and/or crustaceans without spine
essentially a dorky nerdy wimpy kid
i.e. faulty genetic design
unsure if attributable to Capricorn zodiac sign
essentially allowed, enabled and provided
easy excellent access akin to scavengers to dine
bitter draughts synonymous quaffing quinine
figuratively forced down gullet - nein
letup liberally heaped upon
bobble headed, I opine
courtesy 20/20 hindsight, a tangential pact
with Sue S. Side, promising starvation diet
package deal plus absent I,
(now a tan gent) unwittingly did cosign.