Long Unwisely Poems
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Angel
Gangsters angling for a deal on wet concrete by the station
Feared for life, but more for death, on the street
Souls purchased with wrong turns
Their associate last week lost his way in the park
An angel pulled up, found him, fed him a line, then a shot
Just for a second his eminence smiled, then died
A red car drove off with the pretty little assassin inside
After taking a kingpin out, removing the competition in a flash
Taking comfort in what a young girl can do when put to task
Now the concrete walk waits for its prey
Directed by others in a sequence of events about to play out
Events initiating a consequence of revenge unfolds
To exact equal pain in retribution for the loss of their boss
The gang had followed him for years and continues to do so
Into an early grave, by seeking out the girl unwisely
From the shadow, an angel came again. This time for them
With a killer’s lust for blood and blessings from above
Stray projectiles fly from all sides, initiated by the parties involved
The spree begins to shape the end of days, taken in an angry rage
Trajectory of chaotic gun fire directed at the gang
Took participants engaged down, one by one, until there were none
These stoic men feel mortality and reality effects
Only at the end of a gun at the point of death as wasted flesh
Saying her name with their expiring breath….. Angel
If you doubt there’s real evil in the world
try gluten-free pizza - it’s a super low-value experience
imagine something criminal, like pizza on a cracker.
Which highlights the problematic nature of live-forever nutrition.
Who’d want to live forever - if that’s what you had to eat?
Ok let’s wax poetic..
Our night of Friday unfolded against a black background
for the thinning wind-moon was a coin already spent.
Oh, it still hung sharp in orbit and still called to obedient waters,
and, when it could, it patterned the trees and hills with a pale spectral light,
but lovers, who unwisely looked to it as a heavenly witness of their love - mere hours ago - had to admit that the unearthly lampion, was unshapely shrinking behind the silver edged clouds.
Ask not for the night to answer for day or even ever-constant stay
for the moon is but a brief pulse, an intermittent flashlight on night’s black velvet.
Wax off…
Peter and I reserve Friday nights for getting stupid. We’re developing regular urban nightlife haunts - like the Gate club and Palais Maillot.
But if you go, book ahead and plan on paying extra for a VIP zone or the mezzanines, otherwise - god - you’ll end up in the thrashing mob - and you can order-in food in VIP areas.
This will sound crazy - and I don’t know why - but jammed, swirling-lazer-lit clubs make me think of human trafficking - I’d never go to a club alone.
.
.
A song for this:
Daft Punk Is Playing at My House by LCD Soundsystem
The Moon Cave (feat. Asha Puthli) by Gorillaz
mangetout (The Dare remix) by Wet Leg
Now another bird. My poem for those who, in a period of uprisings or vice, and want to depart with light heart and cheer.
Nymphea and Hymen! I see the tree of Hymen gleaming in the night, my heart holds fast to the seeds of the dream. Also Mars, that beautiful ant of war, I wish a cause to fight for; but love flies more far, and at least we may win through Cupid’s dart, which is a virtue.
So now, Charles Lamb, and Alfred Tennyson, and Leigh Hunt, and Robert Southey, there are three people whose poems are much overpaid. But, as a matter of fact, an independent mind (as mine) may be defended against such a charge, for with my poem in the Thistle, now our rightful equal, I fancy I speak, there is even room for Tennyson.
As for the man who wrote the Lamb’s Reclining; if he were to appear before me, I should feel obliged to speak. The world may as well own the Lamb’s as own him not. He cannot help that. But that I should call him truer than true -- ss a proud privilege, and one which If I were to exploit unwisely, would tarnish the honor of true poets.
Other poems:
Among my compositions not read (i shall not waste my limited time) were a couple of portraits:
sketches of myself, as thou wishest me, of a madman and an old man; and now I say, that if I died this evening upon the ground, without tears nor regret.
:: 10.21.2021 ::
Are you ready?
Picture eighty-seven children, practicing for a Christmas show
in a sales barn that does not have heat or a sound system.
A skunk died somewhere in here a few hours ago.
Many are screaming.
Some are crying.
Many do not know me.
I am new in town, and obviously crazy.
It is freezing cold.
I had unwisely told all the mommies
to do their Christmas shopping
and leave all eighty-seven children with me
without any other adult chaperones.
I could be a killer. I guess no one understood that
because they did.
We were all sobbing when they returned to pick up their
children. I did not show it on the outside. I was too "nice".
I was sobbing on the inside, trying to figure out how to save
face when it failed, flopped, and was the worst show they had ever
seen.
It came to me a few hours later after I had my heart attack and died twice. I called six mommies and gave them parts. One was the narrator, because she knew the children's names. Which was
a much better start than I had. Two others would get them on and off the stage.
Did I mention I telephoned every number in the church directory to see if anyone could figure out how to rig up a star that lit up on the back of a pick up that we could all follow from the church to the manger (aka sales barn) the night of the program? The man who could do it was named Ziegwier. The last name in the book, so I called them all.
It was the best Sunday School Christmas play in the history of the world because I was the last car to get there, due to me orchestrating so much stuff at the church, and the six women had it all going beautifully and well by the time I parked clear in the back and ran in there. I sat back and relaxed, knowing God was in the house.
Love is pure beauty...at least, that's what I thought at first...don't spend your time unwisely, searching for temporary love that's sugar-coated and fake...love is an unbreakable vow
Oh! But, I wanna experience love at first sight (OH STOHP WHINING) - I need to have a faithful mate very badly, but I must remain self-controlled and patient, for the time will come!
Vibrant sun smiles down on me...sun rays warm my heart of affection and heartfelt emotions - hatred is an unwanted guest! An annoying pest! It envies our everlasting love, blossoming like a flower in spring
Enlivened by your innocence and pleasurable friendship - does she truly love me or is is just my impossible-to-achieve dream I dream...caught under your wicked spell! You're an enchanting oath that I don't..loathe
Through graveyard
meandering, just
me and Dad
stories sad
abbreviated down to
mostly names and dates
So we tell
their stories by turns
like poor Duane
Dinwiddie
died at age thirty-three of
bee sting allergy
So tragic
how she caught a chill
Angeline
age nineteen
who died before her wedding
day, her groom grieves still
Or the war
heroes, Frank and Finn
taken in
the prime of
life, no child or wife, they were
just children themselves
Gunther Gold
did what he was told
gullible
on a dare
lost his life to win respect
bullies didn't care
Bartleby
hypochondriac
cough, sneeze, hack
was ignored
by the whole village, but he
got them back- with plague
Len Kramer
the lion tamer
tried to save
his wife when
she unwisely came in, but-
got eaten instead
Philetus
on flying trapeeze
an ace- the
very best
until he had to sneeze- then
sadly laid to rest
Then Daddy
looks at me and I
look at him
giving in
to sudden gales of laughter
glad to be alive
(NOTE: Although I listed this as a Free Verse, it is actually in Shadorma form...)
I need to write a poem;
That gives the reader Inspiration,
A poem of encouragement,
Not one of discrimination.
Uplifting words of comfort
To all, whatever colour or creed
Every human being receiving assistance,
In their time of need.
Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel
That is always there.
Find beauty in little things,
Found everywhere,
An exchange of smiles,
Will brighten the darkest of days
It may not change the situation
But help to keep your fears at bay.
The gentle touch of someone.
Who understands your plight,
A nod, wink or firm handshake,
Confirmation things will be alright,
Riches do not bring happiness,
There is no healthy comfort in Gold
Money spent unwisely
It can make you greedy and cold.
People who see beauty everywhere they look,
They are the richest by far.
They can express their emotions in books,
Their vision is well up to par.
Chef's, Artists and Poets, too,
Display their talents,
And share them with you
It is an artist's dream and desire
Their artistic efforts
Have inspired.
"All the little pieces,
fragments and crumbs of life."
John Ruskin
The troubles, the love,
the fears and the spice.
Make us what we are today.
Show us where we went astray.
Genetics of course play a part.
wit, talent, mood and smart.
Your fist step into first love.
Those highs of emotion truly absurd.
Insecurities we gather and carry
inform who we should marry.
Too late the wisdom of age dictates,
who would have been the perfect mate.
Our little offspring pick up clues.
Some from me and some from you.
Unintentionally we guide them unwisely.
History repeating itself precisely.
Through it all true love prevails.
We have it in abundance, females.
Mother to child, friend to friend.
It's love in the end that makes amends.
03/09/2020
for All The Little Pieces Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Is there such a thing as ‘old’
Or is it merely ‘ageing’,
The trusty steed of time,
Neither willful nor disparaging.
Perhaps the clock does chime
More stridently in youth,
Our actions and our words
In search of our own truth.
As years pass ever faster
We tether more our deeds
To mundane pressing matters
Reality’s own needs.
Each day a new performance
In a circus full of acts,
With this demanding audience
No room to fail nor lapse.
Wiser by the season,
Less impetuous by far,
We may be somewhat altered
Yet follow that same star.
Our love has not diminished,
Our passions have not waned,
We feel and care as deeply
With actions more contained.
Judge not this book unwisely,
Despite its cover torn,
It’s content rich with meaning,
Its beating heart still warm.
In one big ocean were many schools of fish. Most of them were nice in their own ways, but this is the story of two types of schools of fish very different in their ways of thinking. One school of fish was fond of mesmerizing things such as the colorful lures the fishermen sometimes used as bait. Although they often got caught by fishermen, they still preferred swimming in the shallow waters. It was as if they did it by instinct and could see no other way to be. They also loved being part of the larger crowd of fishes in the ocean. They even followed the more popular schools of fish around because they wanted nothing more than to be popular as well. The popular schools of fish were sometimes quite flashy and beautiful, but so easy to be seen by the sharks that lurked close by.
Swimming in much deeper waters were schools of fish with different behaviors from the more popular schools. The deep-swimming fish seemed by instinct to know that they should hide behind rocks and plant life when danger was lurking, and they stayed clear of the shallow waters. They understood somehow that sharks more often attack above thirty feet rather than in the great depths of the ocean. These schools of peculiar fish were not flashy. Neither were they popular. However, they did not get caught as often by the fishermen who came from land in search of fish.
One day the hateful sharks, rulers of the mighty ocean, got together and went on a huge expedition to capture and eat as many fish as they could find. They would circle unsuspecting fish, capture them and then devour them mercilessly. The schools of fish in the ocean’s depths mostly escaped this day of entrapment. The sharks continued their attacks, growing more and more aggressive day by day as time went on. It was not long before many of the popular schools of fish were dwindling in the ocean. More and more, all fish seemed to be learning it was wiser to swim deeper.
Moral: Unwisely schooled, more easily fooled.