Long Walkers Poems
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Part 3
9th Delerium: Emptyness
Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum
10th Delirium: Alienation
Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why
11th Delirium: Jetsam
Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found
12th Delirium: Relief
Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony
REAWAKENING
Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores
End
Light bubbles of painted canvas, dancing amongst the softness
Of heavenly space amidst the skies above, wind walkers captured
In a timeless waltz of everlasting eloquence and grace!
Swift air lanterns, set drifting, uplifting the mortal spiritual soul
Of the beguiling eyes of those enlighten, whom watch in sheer
Awes amazement, at the beauty of these gliding giants, in the
Distant horizons blazing sunset!
Currents breeze chasers, swaying to and forth on the delicate
Fridge of the starry night’s encroachment, oh brilliant weavers
Of this dreaming quilt of opulence majestic, I’m lost within your
Fabrics motion, as waves of air flutter ever so lightly, in the rippling
Effect of thy flight!
Floating elemental orbs, steamily bouncing between the heavens
And the earth, chariots heat balloons elevating the inspirational
Heights of mankind, exposing the grandeur of our magnificent
World that surrounding us all, in natural beauties ultimate
Masterpiece beyond our mortal existence!
Splendor’s optical window of the open air experience,
Lifting the physical being on the wings of imagination,
Casting away the shackles of the land, and releasing
The inner dreamer, welcoming them to join within their sacred
Dance amongst these vast divides of Nirvana!
Free falling angels, cradled within this timeless basket of inspiration,
Gently are thee to be rocked by the very breathe of God himself,
For you’ve entered into the kingdom of the heights most majestic,
Be still now, and just listen to the whispering of the angelic,
As your heart beholds the wonder beneath gravity’s unbound
Feet!
Carelessly let these moon children be illumined, by the
Ivory pearl that lingers within this glorious twilight surrender,
No journey’s end will ever capture this spiritual moments
Experience, in such glorious detail as the remembrance carried
Within the human hearts memory so tenderly embraced!
Light bubbles of painted canvas, dancing amongst the softness
Of heavenly space amidst the skies above, wind walkers captured
In a timeless waltz of everlasting eloquence and grace!
Swift air lanterns, set drifting, uplifting the mortal spiritual soul
Of the beguiling eyes of those enlighten, whom watch in sheer
Awes amazement, at the beauty of these gliding giants, in the
Distant horizons blazing sunset!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
A Rondo In 23 Verses
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my soul and my movements
It has ruined my life for sure.
I hate masks but I wear them.
Fogging my view with each breath
They blind me to dangers in traffic
Forecasting my vehicular death.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my soul and my movements
It has ruined my walking for sure.
A haircut or facial nice to conjure.
I look like a portrait of doom.
My grey roots protrude and grow longer
The mirror reflects all of my gloom
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my being and my movements
It has ruined my beauty for sure.
And Zoom every day, I hate it.
Playing Hollywood Squares with the mob.
At least I can work here pantless.
Until I find a new job.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my soul and my movements
It has ruined my career for sure.
At gym I used to sweat bullets.
Admiring the bodies around.
But now its reduced to a laptop.
And some formless voice counting down.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my being and my movements
It has ruined my physique for sure.
Homeschooling my children is stressful.
They hate every thing that I do
They look upon me as a jailor
A bossy mal tempered old shrew.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my being and my movements
It has ruined my family for sure. .
And why can't we use our own dog walkers
Metabolically relieving the hound.
The city has forbidden this action.
Another way needs to be found.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my being and my movements
It has ruined my pet’s life for sure.
And please don’t repeat this around
I have a lover every Wednesday afternoon.
Since they're not strictly in my bubble,
We can’t, you know what, in a room.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my being and my movements
It has ruined sex life for sure.
Look, I know that millions are dying
I’m not insensitive to that.
But my lifestyle has taken a beating
You can’t call me a brat for that.
COVID is very inconvenient.
Difficult to endure.
It controls my being and movements
It has ruined life for sure.
Dawn Forever Rising
It starts
Street lights fade
their tiny soft-winged tenants flee
checkerboard facades change
last night's illumined squares now dark
become but yesterday's portals
some polished
some weather streaked
all reaching to reflect first breath
Steam ascends from the city's vacuum
gratings rattle with subterranean yawning
people-movers wind their way
through mazes of starts
stops
Topside tracks
like fixed contrails
glisten with frost
not yet enjoined by speeding transit
their skeletal tributaries
readying the trickle of humanity
into a mass ocean of glass and steel survival
Uptown
Downtown
A street sweeper's tire rubber and swirling brushes
beneath the overalled believer in Lottos
holding firm the wheel and gears of faith
of trust
gathering gutter-lodged disposal
glass and plastic
paper and cardboard
spinning into the vortex
lifting yesterday's careless cast-offs
inviting today's Starbuck anew
reflections of another kind
Leashes strain from anxious sniffing
bladders hold
ready to burst
seeking just the right tree
the right hydrant
the "ah, yes" that only a canine can know
Rays of sun begin spilling down alleyways
the long-tail rodents scamper for cover
their bellies full
seeking safety after a long night of ancient ritual
food of anything
digestion of history
all in a night's work
Suddenly
Full light cascades down avenues and streets
itinerant pigeons and seagulls spread habitual wings
ready to adore the steadies
the loners
park walkers
window ledge dependables
homeless with dance cards of crumbs
envying the moneyed insomniacs throwing chunks
baguettes gone stale
fit for few
a feast for many
senses loving the coos and warbles
the bobbing thank you
the reciprocal bonding
few but the lonely can appreciate
Finally
The steel and glass imitation of nature
comes fully alive
a sun's illumination without reserve
energy's provision for another day
Rich mix with the poor
money exchanges hands
the hotdog vendor
the hedge fund taker
the cookie jar provider
Most become tomorrow's yesterday
knowing little of the other light
requiring no rising or setting
illumination that never grows dim
something as nothing
forever light
never of darkness
Such for some
awakens from a New York sunrise
this dichotomy like no other
forever reminding
our eyes of dawn
one's inner light
is forever rising
Five gray, silver, and white haired crones
Navigated slimy green stones
Like tight rope walkers
Having been summoned by the wind talkers
They crossed a shallow creek
Each feeble and weak
They entered consecrated woods
Wearing cloaks and hoods
Upon awareness of being pursued
Their minds were filled with frantic thoughts of how to delude
The shadow of death
With quickened pulse and breath
One step ahead of the reaper
With soothing thoughts of being embraced by the time keeper
Five naked, old women swayed hand in hand around a fire
As the flames got higher and higher
They called the watchtowers of East, South, West, and North
And owl, bat, and snake to guard the circle as they issued forth
All while chanting hail and glory
To the goddess of folklore and story
Hecate-protector of witches
Grantor of youth, abundance, and riches
Torch and key bearing Lady of the crossroads
Divine matriarch of ancient wisdom and hallowed codes
The crones mixed a cauldron brew of aconite, mandrake, and myrrh
Intoxicated by the fumes-their vision began to blur
They drank their potion from a dragon engraved silver chalice
Upon the wings of ecstasy they ascended to Hecate’s palace
With the matron’s touch their third eye was opened to sight
The could see all that was once concealed and interpret at the speed of light
They began passing through life fast forward then reverse
Five old women joined together to avoid life’s inevitable curse
They danced and chanted from midnight to dawn
Wrinkles and sagging-fading-then gone
Eyes locked, stumbling, and entranced
Being transformed and enhanced
Gifted with immortality
Enlightened by the superior mentality
They Rhode the lightening back to the earth realm
To walk forever in the shade of the witches elm
Five blonde, red, and brown haired ladies
Escaped from the brink of Hades
Departing from the Goddess’ embrace
Five youthful women left their Divine Mother’s sacred, secluded place
With her guidance, they strolled out of the woods, and jumped a shallow creek
No longer feeble and weak
They returned to civilization
Disguising themselves and their realization
For they would be persecuted and walk through the flame
For bearing Hecate’s name
But one day upon hearing the Lady’s command
They shall rise up and once again take her hand
I looked at the room broken bottles blood fragments of clothes.
maybe a tooth from somebody not fast are to drunk to get outta the way of a conversation
turned bad.
The juke box had almost made it threw but it just had to
play that one song that caused it to become a target
for a flying cue ball.
And I herd someone speaking to the toilet I thought maybe
I wasnt that hungry after all.
As to what caused the riot slash the human tornado of fun I cannot say
But in my opinion that jukebox had it coming always playing the wrong songs at the right
time no one likes a smartass.
And that drag queen could sure throw a mean left hook.
While looking fierce and lip sinking to madonna at the same time that my friends take true
talent .
Seems as though the register had went on vacation but they
left the wild turkey and pretzels thank god happy hour was almost apon us.
And theres nothing worse than telling a proffesional drinker as myself
theres no snacks it's like tellinga kid theres no santa claus.
And that big fat guy in the red suit with his little dwarfs
were really just some of momies friends.
I always wondred why santa was so into getting the crap beat outta him
by a woman in a latex outfit calling herself mistress Claus.
Yes coffee always made things better mixed with some of my personal corn whiskey yeah
grandpa may went insane and herd voices from drinking the stuff but at least he always had
someone to talk to.
As I looked at the chaos that was my headquarters memories came to me in a flood the
booth were I met my first wife.
that same booth were i caught her with my best friend and worst enemy and santa i swear
he gets around.
So much for online dating dam you napster.
I should just stick with street walkers and circus people.
And I think after my tweenty first DUI
that it was good i never had a license to start with.
cause i really hate losing anything.
It's a shame about my mind.
So really other than this little get togather turned riot turned
love in turned back to brawl turned into
big kid slumber party.
It was after the jukebox had to put in it's two cents
that it all turned to .
For nothing kills the mood worse than a bad song
at the right time.
Love always Dr Gonzo
To his Hungarian Jewish village, Moses returned
Atrocities were dismissed, his warnings spurned
He described Jews buried in ditches, gave details to persuade:
Agonized children, naked corpses, but the villagers were not swayed
Moses was diagnosed by his listeners as mad
He shouted, "Listen to me", but the wall was ironclad
He asked, "where are all the people who went with me west"?
But the Jews who listened, failed the "tolerance test."
The "tolerance test" is, don't dismiss out of hand
Don't blaze a trail if you don't scout the lay of the land
Entertain the proposition, look for details to disconfirm
Beware the snap judgement, ask, test, so you can learn.
A man came to warn Swiss Jews of genocide
They thought he was a propagandist, so he committed suicide
There is an essay written by a bitter Jew, Koestler was his name
He wote "we were dismissed as maniacs, we warned of the spreading flame"
To get photos out of Poland, some people died
But nine out of ten Americans thought witnesses lied.
British intelligence too couldn't bring themselves to believe
How could lazy heuristics so many deceive?
Finding the truth is not always an arduous task.
Sometimes it can be as easy as courage to ask.
Evidence can be ready to be assembled in your mind
Match up your clues and the answer you may find.
Truthtellers may be dismissed as lunatics, others as extreme
Some as paid-off liars, some as on the other team
There may be too many assumptions that have to be overthrown
Interpretations thought out of context, or overblown
Sticking with what your already know might be too seductive
Your logic might be good, but your model too reductive
A puzzle with missing pieces might never make sense
Unless you get off your chair and look for evidence.
A false idea of virtue can override what's real
Go by what you see, not just what you want to feel.
Some of us live in bubbles, caused by years of indoctrination
This makes it harder to trust sources, have a conversation
Koestler said his recurrent dream was being murdered on the side of a lane
Walkers talked and laughed, didn't hear his cries as he was slain
There are many misdiagnoses, mistakes, some drastic, some mundane
Let's make an effort to derail that deadly train.
All the broken people
I see them always when I go downtown
begging for money or sleeping in a doorway
I really want to help
and although I have not much I give
and wonder about them
like what brought them to the bottom of the pit
these lost and dirty beggars are a mother's child
once a sweet baby
I stop and talk a few moments perhaps
they are always thankful and say God Bless
I am one of the broken people
I am a broken inside people
just another damaged people
the looks normal on the outside sorta people
I am a keep away and build a wall people
just another broken people
I volunteer
at the local food bank
and all sorts of people come for food
young families with many kids
single moms and the elderly
the unemployed, the unemployable, disabled
the homeless ones are too many
the fallen in the cracks people
we give them lunch and food to take away
they are broken people
it breaks my heart to see the young people
I ask what are you collecting for
food is what they always say
so I buy them a sub, burger, or pizza
a coffee or cold drink
and I talk with them for a bit
each has a story if you care to listen
each has hope
I asked a boy, why not go home
miss, he said, it is better on the street
and that broke my heart
I am one of the broken people
I am a broken inside people
just another damaged people
the looks normal on the outside sorta people
I am a keep away and build a wall people
just another broken people
I see the elderly struggling with canes and walkers
trying to get their groceries home
it is really a shame they have no one to help
no child or friend in their world
I do help an elderly lady in my building
taking her shopping but it is not much
it is just one broken people
_________________________
June 2, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/broken now, now
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1027966
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted into the contest, Best Free Verse April 1 - July 15, 2018
Sponsor, John Hamilton
Fourth Place
____________________________________
Written for the contest, People
sponsor, Richard Lamoureux
Third Place
Inspiration- Broken People by Richard Lamoureux
Broken People by Rags'in'Bone Man, Video
I tried so hard, but you were too fast, clicking gracefully on high heels down the
shady block, laughing at me plodding in saddlebacks: Can't you keep up?
I tried so hard, but you were too slow, stumbling to a wobbly halt as your walker
scraped the harsh lobby floor, so the elevator doors slammed shut, and we had
to endure double the long wait plus the nurse's low-keyed promptness lecture.
Once you bought for me, in the wooded park, a cheerful red balloon. You
warned: Hold it tight, don't let it go. I obeyed till we reached our back yard, which
I thought was safe, and then it slipped from my sweaty child's hand.
Up, up it went, evading the trees, hovering between rooftops, red no longer, then
disappearing from view, me crying, you consoling.
You have sparkled like a precious gem, mostly turquoise and sapphire, in happy
warm sunshine. I simply can't force myself to accept the boldly affirmative,
serenely vivid colors of you fading away to wan pastel, off-white, off-black, off-
gray, nothing.
Frantically I clutch and hug, scolding, cajoling, praying, vainly trying to hide my
despair and frustration, to filter out the rage from the devotion.
I can't whisper to reach you; you won't hear me. Nor can I shout; a raised voice
invariably means anger. I am muzzled very well. My brain shrieks silently.
You watch me intently, your fine mind intact, deep in thought, before you doze.
You wake from your apathetic nap in pain, a defiant fighter, and, God forgive me, I
briefly welcome that pain for restoring your animation.
There! I just felt warm sunshine, saw a flash of turquoise and sapphire.
Now it's over. We both want you so much to be yourself, but you're pastel again!
I wish I could turn myself into a balloon, red, rubbery and soft, fastened to a
string, pushed into your slack hand. I want to yell: Hold me tight, don't let me go!
We'd jump over the skyscrapers, then over the piedmont, skirting the green tops
of magnolias and pines,
Then soar ever higher, mingling with fluffy clouds in pure vibrant infinite blue;
No more clumsy saddlebacks for me, no more scraping walkers for you,
Just us two, mother and runaway red balloon child, euphorically drifting off
Toward freedom.
Form:
On the streets of sin city, on the high roller's main drag,
Known as the Las Vegas Strip, a gentlemen phantom
Does stroll dressed in all black attire, striding forth with his golden Cain,
Flipping a silver chip into the air, and mocking at its power.
The devil's agent of deception is he, retaining a list of names
To collect upon, this gentlemen bandit of the forsaken.
He is here on the dark master’s behalf, ready to claim on
The I.O.U's signed by the greedy, and innocence fallen.
Quietly, moving amongst the crowded venues, he waits
Until his lord calls the name of the unlucky, to be reposed.
Dance do the neon lights, flashing towards pleasure dens of iniquity,
As ladies whom belong unto the night itself, offer their
Tokens of favor, for a working man's paycheck.
Black jacks twenty-one, cut those cards, and pass them out
The first timers dumb luck, will deliver him unto evil,
On this walkers dead man's list tonight.
Against the loaded dice, no soul is left unsanctified,
On the sacred green velvet altar, the wheel of fortune
Spins out of control, then hitting the baccarat tables
Wooden wall, someone screams snake eyes.
Then all is lost, faded are the dreams of illusion, melting away
Into the harsh desert soil, along the road side leading to sin city.
Beneath the arid sandy duns, lies the grave yard
Of the unknown unidentified, a missing persons
Smorgasbord of the rich and infamous, lying right
Beside, the unreported poor man corpse.
This is the Grim Reapers play ground, taunting
And tormenting, those begging for redemptions
Last chance to gain a reprieves pardon.
But when tapped by his golden cain of death,
Your life's essence has wagered it's last bet,
To the winner goes the spoils, and now you
Belong unto the devil.
People say what happens in Vegas stays
There, and rightly so will he agree, with his blackened
Heart and soul, for after all is this not
The capital of hell on earth, known as
Sin City, Las Vegas, Nevada.
The populations of the undead just added
Another’s names tally and the gentlemen
Dressed all in black, is sent a wandering
Again amongst the crowed streets, to claim
Another victim in the dark master’s wrath of
Vengeance.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN