Long Venomously Poems
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I should have done this years ago,
after all this time he would have apologized
I felt sure.
The séance went well,
I had formed a circle of one,
just me and my sleepy cat.
I simply sat there
conjuring up left over images
on a far away dirt road.
His baseball hat squashed flat
at the back of his head,
the hole in his neck where he was
slowly bleeding out,
eyes not looking at anything now.
He took a long time to die.
I was hopeful his spirit would appear,
I felt I was being led to a wall mirror
where, ever so faintly,
and from within the glass itself
a scrawny man appeared.
He was still holding that old rifle,
still pointing it at me,
still trying to kill.
To that vague apparition I shouted:
"murderer!"
His grin was dark and devoid of regret,
his empty eyes held no compassion.
Cold words uttered
from that bullet hole in his throat"
"Apology accepted."
He spat out venomously
blood spraying from his wound.
After a while,
I loaded up a 9mm finger and just stood there
pointing it at the killer
until at last I was able to forgive the trigger
that had killed him.
However, now I often wonder
who shot who,
and for what?
Six slovenly inebriated men engage in their regular crepuscular activity
nursing their beers with desultory chit-chat in the penumbra of a local restaurant.
One man, whose jealousy of those with opulent lives makes him the most cynical,
is pontificating about the idle rich who live off the backs of the poor when he eyes
an exuberant woman with obvious halcyon life-style, who enters the establishment,
diamonds on one hand and looking strangely out of place, a young child on the other!
With an immediate visceral reaction, the man swears venomously at the woman.
She, with a sonorous voice, puts a finger up to her ruby lips, turns to him and replies,
“We can’t always control our thoughts; nor what we may be forced to see and hear.
However, we can control our words. Sir, restrain yourself, and speak no evil.”
Written Jan. 31, 2016
For the "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil" ten word challenge Poetry Contest
Words used: crepuscular, desultory, exuberant, halcyon, cynical, visceral, sonorous, penumbra, opulent, jealousy
I’m in the kitchen at Lisa’s. Her little sister Leeza enters, her pale, freckled face redder than usual. “Liza is the bossiest sister..,” Leeza says, slamming the cupboard door after grabbing a box of Fruity-Pebbles-cereal like she’s choking the life out of it.
Lisa enters from the hall, her jaw set with tension, she waves her “La Mer” makeup bag, wildly, letting its very existence, there in the kitchen, function as angry exposition. “YOU,” she practically screams and then shaking with outrage, she begins more calmly. “You can’t use someone else's makeup and ESPECIALLY not their brushes!!” She had begun under control but with each word her message grew emotionally.
“I didn’t hurt anything!” Leeza answered venomously back, giving as good as she got.
I lean with my butt against the waist high kitchen island, slowly letting myself slide down to where I’m not visible, into a sitting position on the floor, as the fight quickly escalates.
Have you ever been a guest somewhere, when there’s a sibling fight or other parents start yelling at a friend? All you can do is try and become invisible - or pretend to text on your phone like you can’t hear the turmoil.
I catch a motion out of the corner of my eye, it’s their mom, Barbara, motioning me, with a side-bob of her head, into the living room. I quietly, crouchingly exit the kitchen - the fight reaching full, nuclear bloom.
I join her on a white sectional, breathing a sigh of relief. We’re far enough away from the action to feel uninvolved. I like Barbara a lot. She's warm, open and always seems to be suppressing a smile when watching her girls. She’s a lawyer. “You’re officially part of the family,” she says, as she takes a sip of coffee, “they don’t fight in front of company.” I grin.
Somewhere just below the tumult, I hear a dad’s deep, male voice, ”Excuse me?” he says, and the fight is instantly over. There is a moment of deafening quiet. “It’s nothing,” both girls say, a second later, in perfect, synchronized, bored-sounding unison.
Moon In A Returnable Bottle Beast
The sharpest tongue comes out like a smile on a rug swept clean
A pointed thing like an acid arrow projected for all to see
A pretty young girl displays it venomously
As she holds her virginity there as well, like a red badge of courage in dignity
For insults hurled her way regarding alleged promiscuity
Well
Who could blame her for sticking her tongue out for all to see?
It came out so far it reached Atlantic City (before gambling)
It’s obvious she was framed and scared in blame
Her heart enflamed and embittered
She screamed, (after the tongue rolled back in her mouth of course)
“Moon in a returnable bottle beast….You (expletive)!”
No one at the party quite understood.
They all knew the rule however
Never mess with a crazy…..even if she’s cute
The target of her love or hate as you please
A nasty old girl with equivalent temper
Stuck out a finger prominently, (Can’t tell you which one…This is a family show),
but clearly in the wrong direction
Little miss virgin honorary badge of courage girl takes a swing.
I can’t go on with this delicate matter
The doctor says I’m fragile
But things didn’t go well for little miss finger pointer
The next time you hear someone yell, “Moon in a returnable bottle beast”
Please run for shelter
And watch out for slips of the tongue as well
The bonfire warms me at first, but swiftly turns from nurturing and loving
to raging, and venomously hungry. She is giving off a vicious, angry vibe in seconds.
From gentle to formidable. I watch her moods change as swiftly as her colors.
She makes loud, popping, cracking noises. I watch boxes implode into her, she smiles, feeling her power.
I move my chair back a bit, as her heat is reaching farther with each pop and crack.
She changes her clothing rapidly; from orange to black, to grey, to orange-black, and grey again.
I pile on extra wood and cardboard, and her seductive dance begins anew. She is swaying and
sashaying with the pops and the cracks. She dances high now, leaping, popping. I feed her another branch.
Her thickest logs are starting to smoke on the ends. This surprises me, I did not think she could develop
so quickly.
Fire always surprises me. Never the same, always her own unique dances.
She is falling into herself now, quiet-like and docile. Her raging appears to be over.
She is settling into her gray basement.
I throw a few pieces of cardboard on her, and she darts forth like a rocket, with pure joy, bright orange.
The dance begins again.
My pyromania heart is satisfied at last when we see her creeping stealthily out of her confined fire pit, sneaking toward a pile of leaves, understanding her intention to set the entire forest ablaze.
My thinking brain goes after her with a rake, before my pyromania heart realizes what has happened.
Because pyro loves fire.
There is a transformation taking place
where the human condition is now lacking
In complete understanding we hunger
and thirst for righteousness to take proper shape
these words internally ring a bell
Why are you persecuting me
knowing the difference between wise and foolish
in the middle of hot and cold opinionated reactions
Those responding with hate attack love venomously
they try to delete truth replacing it with lies
forgiveness has this infinite wisdom and mercy
To double cross the victims courage
injustice has buried something greater
the voices of the innocent will never be silenced
Opening the door to Pandora’s box where chaos descends
As the wickedness of the locusts descends upon this world
giving birth unto passions that have no heavenly equity
Craftily-constructed plausibility draws away the inexperienced mind
held captive within the wounds of prejudice that are licked by a splintered tongue
while our Lord patiently awaits with outstretched loving arms pierced deeply
Vain genealogies born of arrogance in an allure to the simple minded
unable to distinguish evil falsehoods from truth they stumble on nevertheless
brass mixed with sliver shines falsely bright to the deceiver and deceived
Error in judgement their blasphemous and impious opinions spread venomously
In an allure of reality where more true than then truth itself beckons mendaciously
souls of Our Savior colourless in creation for the divinity of heaven is not of this earth
Almighty transparency transcends in all earthly traits eclipsing a complete deceit
His Excellency most sublime radiant Gem gleams of eternity for all mankind
Whom when asked gives the Precious gift of His Blood through Grace unconditionally
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and liam mc daid