Battle axe (For the 2nd Half) ... "At last!"
Way too fast past the rescue rascal hassling haphazardly mastered dastardly bastards' fractions of captioning cast iron spiraling wired wax on wax off golf cart Bart Simpson minced garlic cubes boob tube huge goober schooner dooms Days Taser taker wafer run stun gun NOT funny honey bun for one shunned lonesome wholesome quotient potion grunt of a stunt punt the ball into mid autumn leaves fall raking reiki draped date maker place mat patty whack hacky sack crap slapped happy tap dance romance slanted jambalaya riot spliced mice diet quiet cheese, please teases on both knees bereavement easing Fort Leavenworth girth that brings birth to twerk twerps slurred slurping squirts of hurting beef Jerky lurching around the church yard disbarred and charred crash cars 100 yards too far to see scars Mars rover Range Rover Red rover come over 4 leaf clover lawn mower seed Sower leaf blower as NOT just another voter devotional spokesperson swerving tertiary but too scary hairy fairy blue berry merry go round sage turns the page safe and sound clown town brown bag the sandwich fad dude and all of that...
I walk barefoot on the wet sand.
From afar I see the red sun setting.
Gulls still foraging for small fish.
Their cries harsh against the mist.
Where have my dear love gone?
Hidden in some obscure misty town.
She would not wish to be seen.
My life is like the waves that flow
Only to return from the darkening shore.
Once we were in deep love.
We held warm hand in a spring day.
We laughed and hugged and kissed.
Oh, how foolish I was that fatal day.
I sent her no red roses on her birthday.
Now I simply wile my evenings
Lurching unsteadily along the beach.
I am still bare foot on the wet sand.
Just one pair of foot prints left behind.
It’s my sport walking through aisles of plants
Snow bathed grass blades tickle my feet
The lurching tops greet with smiles
Counting the infant buds
gives me cosmic bliss
with the feel of
doing the
job of
God
Place: 1st
An open wound
Fingers digging into the sides of my seat
Stomach lurching forward
Poked and prodded, how did you become such a miserable thing so young?
There's a price that must be paid.
Cover my eyes.
Reach deep into my frame.
Tell me when it’s over.
Barmy blacksmiths, forging Fate
Smack-dab, smashed and working late
Stuck deep in and wrenching wrists
Tattered skin on itchy fists
Spewing salty starless space
Into eyes and all over face
The wall and put your best foot on
A boxy board housing Spawn
Groggy gauges, clicking close
To the time the Boss had chose
Feeling funny, one Smith exits
Others watch him through their slits
Lined looking, between blades
Hanging hazards, shovels and spades
Their brother's bowel blows and boils
As life's liquid bursts and soils
Clothes clamped, stammered sound
Shrieking lumps, lurching around
Weapons washed, in red and green
The first, and last, blacksmith seen.
“Doo-doo, doo-doo,” we hear the beast coming.
Music gets under our skin. The worst of attacks,
narrated by the boat’s captain. Unsettling sink
of the USS Indianapolis. Just below the hull,
a giant life wanting to strike a blow. This boat
a smaller target. Getting chummy, stomachs
lurching. Baited by grimmer details. A solid blow
to the vessel. All hands on deck - only three.
“Doo-doo, doo-doo,” and oftentimes whimsical.
Who will survive? Aye! Aye! Not the captain!
The shark will save the other half for dinner.
You, who know, know what happens. Those
who don’t, be warned; watch, get an education!
There once was a sleek silvery sardine
Who dreamed of marrying a svelte eel queen
With his heart ever lurching,
Swimming through seaweed searching
In an olive oiled tin, he was last seen.
The argument of silence, absonant,
hammers into the pliant mind it’s hard
nails of craving.—a spirit thusly marred
will yield to any prickle, every scant
pressure to give in.—once the foreign implant
is firmly riveted, a brain so jarred
can no longer trust its levies to guard
its thoughts against the inner, speechless “can’t”.
Quietudes disturb the peace of silent
folk, pounding its forceful will upon their backs.
When, going unfulfilled, a lurching tic
tickles the unstilled ego, its violent
lashes thrash harsh whips in frequent attacks
on the tender flesh of a crooked back.
Damp linens flung aside
sodden cushions
Flank by flank
She was damp
Nickel sack and bark rings
Verdant gaze meet hazel orbs
Ripe late April Northern Flatlands moisture
Slaughterhouse savory mist perfume
Slender dull rose covering on the pane
Cooling unit recirculating
Coral beams groom her visage
Midday vernal noon
the drizzle ceased the light slivered in
Naked gourd blossoms adhesive juice
Lurching brined
The toddler flesh on her abdomen
She didn’t cleanse
Just exited my one-room lodging
Infatuation perspiration,
Empty uterus,
Pixie sperm dribbling,
Contraceptive device
Marriage band fabricator.
I remember when I followed you in,
looking for my mate.
In this mirror land, I can't understand
this confusing state.
At once, you appear, then you disappear
in this mirror house,
running and racing, losing and chasing,
a wheel and a mouse.
Is it you and me, or knockoffs I see,
none that I can feel,
leaning and lurching, forever searching
for ones that are real.
For too many years and too many tears,
I've been going mad.
It's just you and me struggling endlessly.
Don't you feel it's sad?
I keep lurching in the dark,
With the unforgiving feeling of searching for something long lost in the dimness where truth lies,
In the prejudice of my mind,
My scream an echo to death's heart,
An unforgiving fountain of crimson blood,
Like drips of memories fleeting far from my grip in a thrashing flood,
Sending devil's whisper to the vast hole within my might,
The world bathed in burning shards of flame,
The smell of ashes going way down to hell,
And yet I stand aquiver,
While turning into dust by the mirror,
“What the heart can’t speak of, poetry does.”
Quote- Poets own
I wish I were the who I used to be
Before I began with anxiety
So much has happened to stir fear and dread
That stops me sleeping peacefully abed.
Once I was as joyful as one could be
Till worry came and stayed inside of me
I smile through each day, so one wouldn’t detect
How my heart is lurching beneath my chest.
Worry o'er my loved one, being the curse
Without whom I could not live life on earth
So much has happened health-wise through our lives
Each time I pray, please God let him survive.
I observe others have their tough times too
And I pray for God to bless those who do
I still believe in power of prayer
In the Shepherd’s guidance that's always there.
“It can’t be helped” to myself this I say
Knowing the sun will shine on me some day
Over the rainbow my raged heart will leap
The day that I feel my life is complete.
Writing poetry is therapeutic
It’s one of the reasons that I do it
Focusing on something that pleases me
May provide me the change I want to see.
Sea Glass 7-11-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sea Glass
On strands and shoals, waves of rolling tides,
Neither pro nor biased,
Tumble castoff vessels, emptied of purpose,
Into scattered shards of sharp amber remnants
Piercing tender soles.
Bits of blue and green edges,
Rub up against mica’s pearls,
Refined by fool’s gold -
Brokenness in metamorphosis
By stoic tidal pulses
And lurching tide’s undulations.
Discarded gypsies from bonfire’s passions
Laughter, nostalgia and desolate strolls
Gestating in a matte chrysalis,
Life’s thesaurus honed into shapeless dregs
By gritty fingers rising
From the cold fire of the abyssal plains.
Mind marooned
in complex convolution,
obscurity singular
in each living entity.
The psyche silhouettes
unique elements,
to alien attributes
they won’t adhere.
The reserved recess
hides the riddles,
sub-conscious search
completely clueless.
Probing entreaty,
the preserve persuasive
of outside world,
can’t contrive
the forsaken mind.
A pining prisoner
of own making,
a crumpled cocoon in
introvert isolation,
I see subsided
all the faces fading
faceless in oblivion,
me wedged secluded
in egoistic web
of self-adoration.
My morphed mind
turns Nemesis,
makes a mirror
of mirage for me.
Gazing gripped,
lurching to the oasis,
it’s only me
I always see,
reflected radiant
from cobalt cauldron
of the luring lake,
confined content.
In self-veneration,
a pretentious perspicacity
of fake facsimile,
I notice Narcissus
in me lonely lurk.
A secret switching
over to obsession,
specter senseless
lies latent,
languishes listless
beneath brazen layers
of arctic acuity
in the dark,
frozen…
At last days start to lengthen as onward marches the clock
Now things will begin a new cycle as the boat reaches the dock.
At last the icy river starts to melt, water flows freely under the lock
which in turn leads to our boat steadily climbing past the heavy block
that controls the amount of water beneath the lurching waves that rock
against the next gate allowing the boat to freely move on through lock.
Steadily upstream it passes the signs of warm weather that follows behind
allowing us to drift along dreaming of flowers, of the smell of bacon rind
wafting in the air. The sight of buds opening on trees gently waving in the wind
Now as winter releases his grip slowly We have time to dream of orange rind
and fruity smells. Dream of young love and other things spring to mind
as we ready ourselves for new things and Peace starts to lead from behind
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