Long Ululation Poems
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Written: August 07, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Mark Toney
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Corset of steel tightens—ratified pain,
Vestigial breath trapped in ischemia thrall.
The ductile hope failed to placate
This Pyrrhic ache, this woebegone gall.
A sojourn in the squalor of soul,
Where sylphlike dreams maunder, downcast.
Ogle the embers of the miraculous nexus—
A seraphic visage lost, quickly.
Vivacious once, now virile with woe,
Panacea tastes of pabulum, slipshod, and cold.
Tinkling memories coruscate as zeugma—
Bright, yet untoward, they never hold.
Quixotic penchant for connection,
Grasping too late the nebula beneath.
What puissance is this—this throe, this tumult—
When tulle-wrapped love meets a gyre of grief?
Ululation beneath pavonine skies,
Adumbrate every glance, every sigh.
Crimson weave keeps a skirt in place,
Valuable, stained, adorned, and slain.
Bequeathed between two golden sheets
Undine dims the light in candle’s ululation
Reposed she rescues dusky husky groans
Low and behold her mountain quivers
Among the valley’s heezed pleasures’ height
Pure nubile hessian rugs unfold a magic matching ride
Alleviated sorrow levitates small lusty deaths
Nirvana nestles breezes sweet surrender
Dharma shivers solemnly four noble truths
Serenity and Serendipity shine Sex and Senses
At altitude of fiery fabric one drape of Burlan
Transposes skin on skin much more than satin
In love she trusts when smooth vibrations
Nurse naked native nights engulfed in sated touch
10th March 2018 ACROSTIC
Written: March 09, 2024 For Charlotte Puddifoot Contest
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with serendipitous moans—ocean lulls
It's russet embers
ignite her soul's quilled longings
she flies to bloomy sky-scape
last sigh of waning twilight
chirpy mirth—katydid sounds
waves of
soft silk canzone
to whispering crimson
of ephemeral serenade
waves of arid shadows— ebb in
blurring haze of lingering longing
besotted in spumy scatters sighing
In epicede of hushed Elysian quiddity
quixotic susurrus—shorebirds' sapidity
horizon in cinereous ululation of Peacocks
rainbows and sylphlike threnody
my heart too, mirths... waiting
for you to return to me—in spring
renascent wings wings of crimson
gold and plums of purples!
Disguised as an Apple Computer Technician.
He initially hacked Macbook Pro laptop.
He (alias Harvey Specter)
planted seeds of suspicion
that criminal activity prevailed
within my geographic area in general
or questionable individuals
lurked within or without
Citizens Bank in particular,
and suggested yours truly (me)
to be wary about
over friendly employees
at aforementioned capital one
storied financial institution.
Said gonif (pulled a masterful subterfuge)
inveigling yours truly to carry out heist
of the twenty first century
against his honest good n plenti resources
(subsequently checking and
savings accounts severely depleted).
The invisible webbed wide whirled net
ensnared me lock, stock and barrel.
Little did I know
the spellbinding impact
until the dirty deed done dirt cheap
found writer of these words
figuratively holding the empty bag
where I got forced to trod
analogous highway to hell
courtesy diabolical, inimical, satanical...
devil may care disguised cozener
who wove believable scenario
claiming Citizens Bank employees
involved in suspicious conspiracy
to siphon off hard earned bucks.
I submissively consented
to participate and cavalierly disperse
freshly minted Benjamins
suddenly linkedin
chain of events
rocketing, kickstarting, and experiencing
a worse horror than death
mortified at being bushwhacked.
The feeble explanation, justification,
qua obliteration, ululation
trumped with lame excuse
yours truly not in his right mind.
Mind control, (albeit remotely)
assassinated rationality while hypnotically
feeling commanded, governed,
née kid lee killed
mine esprit de corps
among kith and kin
consigning thrifty troubadour
to the depths of despair
wishing termination of existence
in tandem with damnation, interrogation,
penalization, et cetera of nasty brute.
After series of unfortunate events brought,
where innocence and naïveté caught
teetotaler tempted to drink deadly draught
of top quality hemlock sold
at many bustling entrepôt
cuz now existence fraught
with torturous quaking
nauseating, kickstarting hatred
of self, thus restitution
of funds sought
by folks willing bestow largesse.
If yes check out (fiasco from fraudsters
frazzles father)
legitimate platform
where charitable people swarm
and toys are sold.
Night, drape deep in slumber.
O dream, to nightmare turn?
Multitude, legion, number!
Death, dearth to discern...
Rule of law in wasted land?
Show them, when ye stand.
Orderly, cold countermand?
Break before bed, band.
Young fools making with the schtick?
Candle, burn out quick.
Light both ends and nicker. Wick?
Bone within me, pick.
Wound in heart of warrior?
Stray, become the cur.
Dynamite, how to deter?
Blades and chimes a-whir.
Terrible to live? Oh, yes.
Blossom, O my stress.
Torment, foment thy best guess!
Who would be the less?
Ululation, ugly, meld.
Hound, bay in the street.
O for yearlings on the geld!
Bill, pay self with beat.
Fallow field in autumn?
Rickshaw on the move?
Congregation, sing a hymn!
Inspire to improve...
Listen Africa,oh my motherland
May epitome of beauty,my extollation
You listen;inhabitants of my nobleland
How did we reach this destination?
On a podium I stand
A place weary,scary;no one dares!
A plea I forward;
Hear my brothers' silent ululation
To his heart keeps to himself
The pain,depression and struggle
Like a shooting arrow they attack
To his heart,mercilessly they strike
But why do they silent?
Is it that no one ever care?
A philosophy the whirlwind to our ears
blew
'A boy child need be strong'
When depression bends low his back
Struggle breaks down his might
And pain to his body scar
'A boy child need be strong'
Stealthily near I drew
To my brothers' silence silently I
listened
Unanticipatedly this heard it speak:
"Mother Africa you're without blemish
Albeit your motherhood is without
anguish
Your offspring are without justice
In the duel for my sister's crown
Ended they,crippling my throne
Like an epidemic of the century
Worth nothing but traceless elimination
Fighting me they do with determination
No care,no spare
The age 18 they await
Like a beacon of the day to react
Deserting me like a jungle
In my kingdom I fumble
My way out I've to struggle
The philosophy servile I've become
Mother Africa I pray you arise
Heading only you can to my cry
Seeing only you I trust,to my plight
And healing only you can to my scar
Arise!Save your legacy
For none like me ever has been found
Treading on this valley of silent suffering".
Exeunting the podium I am
So this echoingly I'll urge
Let's war not against gender
But with determination for splender
The lust for superiority let's inter
And let equality all bat for
For you needn't drag another
Just to up a ladder.
Written: October 1st, 2025 for contest by Unseeking Seeker
Line of inquiry:
“a homogeneous mass of consciousness
God as the all there is, mind cannot name
being both immanent and transcendent
living light intimate in heart aflame”
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A boundless bundle of consciousness —
Not a corpus or clod, it reveals gloriousness.
A syph-like glimmer in the ethereal seam,
As the unnameable divine revels in a dream.
No nook, node, or ruthless throne,
But a delicate, shy, genuinely lurid alone.
And all—immanent in the languid leaf,
Transcendent amid the turmoil of belief.
He is the quiddity of every throe,
the halcyon ululation of the soul’s echo,
A seraphic groove for paradox and play,
frolicked in the motley of night and day.
Mind cannot name what he has become—
a roguish rakish ravel of light,
a gossamer jaunt across the squalor of flesh,
a virile vapor, both burden and blithe.
He is the calix and the caterwaul,
the aureate balm and immersion fall.
The palimpsest of epochs ratified.
where ephemeral truths are petrified.
He lurked in the labyrinthine offing,
a mystic machination, amort and maundering.
A seraphic slipshod in a cluster of stars,
stocked for the sapidity of avatars.
Still, flees from the facile frame,
from the fatuous fruitlessness of fame.
He is the panacea and the pyre,
the effusive ember, the crestfallen choir.
Aloft in the welkin, abstemious and omnipotent.
an immanency virtuous light not irritant.
Yet balmily brooding in the inglenook of the heart,
He whispers, “I am the quixotic art.”
Sojourn here, in this seraglio of soul,
where the aureate echoes of Calliope roll.
And the garrulous gossamer of grace,
twinkles through every vestigial place.
This is a quintessence, quiddity, gleam—
God as the all, as the dream within a dream.
a sumptuous oneness of light aflame,
living, loving, and forever unnamed.
A red moon greeted me as I arrived at Eilean Donan Castle,
late at dinner time, a heat wave wrecking zest
of our intended peaceful nightly rest.
It was late but I decided on a nocturnal swim.
O blessed water, so calm, so cool, so placid.
Suddenly I heard the crash of the waves,
an echo, a forlorn ululation of sweet melodious tune.
Alarmed I looked behind and saw a fog cover the lake.
Foamy white lamb-like waves danced around me.
The waves dragged me up on to the sandy beach.
Behind me I saw a figure surrounded by a nebula,
Swimming slowly towards the splendiferous shore.
She came out all wet still wearing an old-fashioned gown.
Both out of breath, we lay on the smooth sand.
Above a red moon shone brightly that cloaked the stars.
In the strange night we looked at each other and smiled.
Soon we were embraced in a long lingering kiss.
Ecstasy escalated rapidly, emotions running riot,
Until the red moon descended behind Donan Castle.
I turned back to her and saw her in the water
Swimming into a swirling mist and disappear.
Back at the castle I climbed up to my room.
There hanging on the wall was a painting of her doom.
Lady Murdina, Warrior of the Sea, drowned 1888.
Seeing the painting and the date, I fainted.
7 January 2022
A Ghost Story Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Angela Tune
The howl escapes me,
I cannot help it;
an ululation heralds my arrival.
I am commanded.
Something has slept
but wakes now, is loosed,
something primal, instinct
given licence to devour.
She drives my sweet new youth,
my keen eyes, my potent musculature,
the urgent hormones
that set my new agenda.
She directs, she is
my dominatrix;
her whiteness
is fire in my veins.
Feelings unfurl from within
like a flag declaring dominance.
Hair bristles, bones crack,
she ordains my morphology.
And I am thirsty, and so hungry
to sate this new appetite,
to experience, to touch, to infect.
I change irrevocably. I am Alpha.
Our hands are tied, Death
Since you dawned on us this New Year . . .
Shapely bottles of champagnes have shone
And have broken to fragments with the ululation
Of firecrackers that warmed cold and dark wintry skies.
Now, aphonia sets in from unending lamentations.
Headlines, buried by the chilly bones of winter,
Are barren of good tidings.
A chionophile besieges the rim of a sedulous Yuletide
Grieving by oneiric alleys . . .
I speak of the Friedhof of haunting grimness behind
The curtains of howling winds;
Chants that frequent the disease of frightened melodies, stained
With the aged banality of youthful death;
And the purlieu of cremated souls and consolidated ashes.
Daggers are drawn to paint skulls on canvas slit by the
Whispering tongues of fire
Candles burn their tallow gently on the skin of cancer,
A stinkaroo that stinks with rage.
We do not know how else to turn the calendar.
The edges brim with hostile, burning blood,
Frozen with bits of hate and servile penetralia.
New Year hangs the singed sigil of death
On the bosom of fattened scrolls.