Long Uselessly Poems
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toward thee spunky gal,
whose impregnation and debut appearance
way to brief a tale for Aesop
cuz, (umpteen iterations recounted),
out the birth canal aye did bop
analogously compared
to a mealy mouthed measly crop
a spindly tangle of arms and legs
radiated (starfish like)
dangled and would uselessly drop
like a raggedy ann male counterpart
(raggedy andy - how original)
with limbs that didst flop
and tis no small wonder, thyself as one
newborn baby body electric
easily confused with bony glop,
which skimpy weight
leant convenience as sigh grew older
to alternate jumping
(ala pogo stick mode) and hop
from one skinny spindle shank leg to another,
and manifold orbitz whip
sawing round the sun
bore witness to puny laughable specimen
of a nerdy lad, who (in hindsight)
grew long straggly hair,
which NO ONE (except me) could touch,
nor most definitely NOT lop
off (this fetish) compensation
for very slight physique
in dewed time begot
pencil necked geek milksop,
now at an age prowl lix sing viz
dragging, crawling, battling...
slight abdominal bulge
unlike widower octogenarian biological pop
whose once strapping superman
like build atrophying (sad sight)
since grim reaper put objectionable stop
upon head of harriet harris,
whereat two and a half score years
her longevity did top.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
now, comb may tooth how zen,
sans eight plus ten
'twill be thirteen yars
when me late mum agonizingly relinquished
an indomitable loo ving life,
which strong fighting spirit
(spittle and vinegar) yen
reached a juncture,
(sans metastasized ovarian cancer)
forewent heroic measures, which ken
not avail bottled anger within this sole son
telling thee, he didst love ye
never communicating NOR often!
I was wrong, terribly wrong.
I carried within me
memories of happenings
and rumours of fresh happenings,
that I soon realised
I'll never find peace until
In some profound eternity,
I can silence my soul.
Easier said than done.
For the mind continues delving
into the mysterious story of my life.
Grey clouds overhead
race each other,
threatening thunder.
What strange chemicals do they hide?
I hear the lovely finches twittering.
Are they near extinction?
A hunter's shot: some uselessly die.
I see fields covered with clover.
Do farmers use strange chemicals
to get a better crop? Do animals
who feed on the harvest
contaminate their innards,
so that we eat polluted food?
So my thoughts rumble on,
despite the silence all around.
Why can't I have silence in my soul?
FICTION
Our religion forbids all
games of chance guys
We ain't allowed to
indulge in that harmful
enterprise
But no one can claim that
gambling is at all wise
To more has gambling
brought much misery
and misfortune
Trying your luck that
way brings bad luck to
this money goon!
So goes without saying,
no need of elaborating
that harmful and
addictive are casinos and
gambling
Quick money is the lure
but gambling is such an
addictive trap
Indeed a vicious circle it
is for sure
and you can 'bet' my
warnings ain't crap!
The casino wheel doesn't
always tip the scales in
your favour many times
bringing down people
from heights of
immense affluence
to the abyss of poverty
and monetary crimes
as gamblers act as if
'under the influence'
God only wished us to
not be thus corrupt
for He foresaw most
gamblers going bankrupt
To gamble is sin
and you don't always
win
You might end up losing
even the little you had
from bad to worse,
tycoon hero to zero, alas
too sad
I amn't uselessly rambling
Better stay away from
gambling
A compulsive gambler
frequenting the casino
might forever court ill-
luck you know
from slot machine back
to home, to and fro!
As to others his bucks
shall flow.
If I had seven days,
I'd feed the hungry...
give milk formulas
to the needy mothers
of the suckling babies
who can't be breast-fed;
what a big smile I'd put
on every infant's face!
And from within, I'd certainly
feel a joy never experienced before!
I wouldn't stop there,
I'd continue searching for them...
for those children who ask for bread,
and a bottle of spring water...
if I were the Pope, I'd sell all the gold
in Vatican City and make them full,
hoping that others will follow his example!
Why do they have to die uselessly;
has society turned away
from human compassion?
If I had seven days
to do as I please, I would be
an ambassador for peace,
stop the violence which causes wars
by asking nations to come together and negotiate...
I would be much delighted to see them shake hands!
Some will listen, some will not
and despite their negative reaction,
I will try to convince them with an imposing voice
that they will be sorry for the destruction which will come!
sometime in winter
i must choose hibernation
wanna sleep the rest of my life away
i am stuck at this dead end to the point where choice is an inanimate object out of fashion
blue snowflakes fall
i must choose separation
wanna hide the rest of my life in the broken elevator of life
i am trapped in this bottomless pit of icky, sweat soaked sewage
somehow at the county line of spring solstice
i must choose reawakening
wanna refuel my jet engine wings and uselessly sightsee my life till death
i am forever connected to this shiftless symbolism usually avoided by both man and beast alike
These very sad moments I'm living today,
will rapidly slip into yesterday:
like beautiful memories cought in a snap-shot...
only to be erased by the passing of time;
like a toddler playing into magical snow...
trying to catch as many snow-flakes as possible!
Existence can be short or long,
fully or uselessly lived;
life can reward us or punish us...
strange how fate interferes
to bring us little consolation and joy,
but life battling against death
is a continuous struggle leading to mystery...
and all that we have left is this conscience!
Strange how destiny interferes
when everything is in full swing...
making wishes for a brighter tomorrow,
and intertwining them with stependous dreams;
strange how destiny interferes
to prevent us from reaching happiness,
and somehow we are to blame
for letting it distort our minds...
by taking another road
that promises nothing but doubts!
Strange,how fate interferes
at the height of our joy and success;
bringing us tons of grief,
to teach us the lessons
we always thought were worthless...
not realizing they could have been
a warning if promptly heeded:
not to ever struggle with pain and life!
The hypnotic thrum of the wheels
Drumming smoothly along the tracks
Inside the early morning hush
Broken by the rare stifled cough
The casual rustling of a newspaper
And the whisper of sporadic conversation.
A body slumped against the window
Business papers being scanned
Earpieces inviting oblivion to the outside world
Anxious glances thrown at watches.
The driver whistles quietly to himself
Glad that soon his shift will be over
Trees ,bushes,houses and bridges
Slide past,silent observers of the passing scene.
What is that?He stiffens
The crucifixion shape on the parapet
The manual did spell out such eventualities.
Uselessly he slams on the brakes
He glimpses the inward looking eyes
The body glances off the windscreen
The brakes screech and squeal
And the acrid stench of burning flesh fills the air.
The sickening jolt throws
Everyone awake.
Time grinds to a halt.
When I was just four,
Baba would walk me through the olive groves,
his land stretching endlessly,
acres of trees—each one a memory,
each one rooted deep in the soil of home.
He’d set up a ladder for me,
let me climb,
picking the dark, ripe olives
from the branches heavy with history.
“Go inside,” he’d say,
“bring a bucket of water.”
I ran, feet light on the earth,
filled the bucket from the well,
its coolness a moment of peace.
But then—
a scream, sharp and raw,
cut through the air.
I rushed outside,
and saw the flames—
huge, fierce,
devouring the olive trees,
the ones Baba had cared for,
the ones my ancestors had planted.
In the distance,
soldiers stood,
their smiles cold,
ruining everything we had known,
burning the heart of our land.
I dropped the bucket.
The water poured uselessly on the ground,
while the fire took what we had left—
our home, our history,
our future,
turned to ash.
I sensed this feeling grasp me, undefined
The instant that her lips had shaped a smile
And when she spoke my name, it magnified
To find its proper place within my mind
It seemed to center in my chest as warm
Then radiating out, (quite quickly south)
Thus energizing bone and flesh the same
Completely hushing each intrinsic storm
It was a sense that I'd not known before
An innervation daubed with impish hopes
So with my tongue tied uselessly in knots
The chaos in my head was howling ... "MORE!"
~ 6th Place ~ in the "An Uplifting Feeling" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
The first expanse we crossed was called Delinquent Sea.
We trolled its murky depths with dreams of piracy.
Though landing swag with no regret,
Contentment slithered through our net.
We squandered all our plundered booty wantonly.
The next gulf we traversed was Inconsistent Sea.
An open-ended course with no contingency.
We took the long way ‘round the Horn
And spent the whole time watching ****,
Distracted by the hum of its monotony.
We thought to change our course, but found Complacent Sea;
Its waters smooth as glass, with less transparency.
Though there was time to come about,
We’d let the warranty run out,
Our rudder swinging on the sternpost uselessly.
When next we hit the swells of deep Despondent Sea
We wallowed in despair of ever breaking free.
But then the lookout cried, Avast!
As Noah’s Ark went drifting past;
We followed in the stink of its menagerie.
We strained against the currents of Dependent Sea.
Twas not the shortcut home that it appeared to be.
The mate was verging on despair.
He sensed rebellion in the air;
His ex-wife in the focs’l plotting mutiny.
We shot those narrow straits and entered Luna Sea;
A tempest in a teapot, no admission fee.
And when we hit the rocks and cracked,
The wreck absolved us of the act
Of sailing in each other’s wretched company.
At last I found the way to Self-sufficient Sea.
I gripped the oaken oars and rowed relentlessly.
The voyage may be hard and long,
But it should profit from a song.
Let music be in league with the conspiracy:
Sailing, sailing, sailing the seven seas…