Mangles Poems

Lingering leaves of gold frolic in the autumn wind

"Lingering leaves of gold
frolic in the autumn wind,"
Swept up by bygone breezes,
already collapsing
before they begin,
As disillusionment clouds an overtired soul—

Misplaced and irretrievable
To a society that ravenously
disembowels empathy,
Twists and mangles trust
until it becomes unrecognizably disfigured,
Leaving the carcass to be plucked by bone-thin vultures,

Fed by culture’s apathetic, parasitic narcissism,
Under the boiling, pre-winter sun.

MELIORISM

MELIORISM 
This world stings like the scorpion, 
And I will not filter in her tears,
This I said because I’m a champion, 
Only throwing jabs, it really wears!
Like the faeces of a chameleon, 
She stinks in her odourless sheers,
Truly this world bites in oblivion.

 And never to be seen in klaipeda _
The elysian sky has deceived me,
Leaving behind their propaganda;
This dark ominous mangles me...
The tenet of retronym in obscurity,
Why we can walk without security. 

The quell for fairness may wither,
As we skulk in together!
The gargoyle mole of pains... 
Hardship is  loose and  unfettered;
As we wallow in this sane oneiric,
That never sought for the kindred,
Of conflate moth of harangue...
The axiomatic mild of the youths, 
The automatic bunkum in heroism,
The cosplay to this hilarious pains,
The syringe  to my bitter whinge.

To saudade for the shadows of life,
A vain wait for meliorism!
When will it get back bitterly better?

Nugatory

"Nugatory" my teacher did decry,
As she threw my story up in the sky.
"Why must you write and hand in futile tripe?"
The comment itself, an offal snipe swipe.

At the break, I rushed to the library
To find the word in the dictionary.
There it was found between 'Nugget' and 'Nudge'
Perhaps it was gold dug up, or some fudge?

Then again perhaps it's some kind of soup!
Muggatory with tripe added in scoop!
But the truth was truly most alarming.
All my hopes of praise and good disarming.

For nugatory means futile, stripped bare
Of all adornment, flavor, scent and flare.
Worthless and having no value at all.
Sadly that's what teacher said to appall.

For nugatory robs the moon from night.
Dulls the colors of the sky in daylight.
It scoffs at dreams, dims creativity.
What's left bereft of spontaneity.

So what my teacher wants is same old tripe.
Dished up in plain old nugatory type.
Devoid of colors, bangles and dangles.
The old, old story locked up in mangles.

Bide'N Time

Beneath the spotlighted glow
He puts on a curious show

reads from his notes
mangles his quotes

knows not what he needs to know

John G. Lawless
©4/30/2023

Forties Footles

Five stones
   school caps
pooh sticks
  film flicks
short back
           and sides

mangles
 oil cloth
   braces 
 plimsole
dripping
           and toast

satchels
  school milk
cut-throat 
    razor
 coal fires
      and draughts

Past Times 2

Five stones
                closing times
radiograms and
              seventy-eights
school caps
              sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks

Charabancs
              steam trains
linoleum
              oil cloth
mangles
              fish paste
sandwich spread

Hot towel shaves
        cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
          paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
          and sides

Wizard beano
        and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
                road to
Bridget Bardot
            Marilyn Monroe

Dripping
          coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
          and toast

Brown and mild
        barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
          and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
                school-kids

Draughts
        and allotments
rusty bikes
        roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
            and pence

Saved In My Memorybank

Five stones closing times 
     radiograms & seventy-eights
 school caps      sticklebacks
 saturday flicks    pooh sticks
 Charabancs         steam trains
 linoleum oil cloth
 mangles      fish paste sandwich spread

 Hot towel shaves    cut-throat razor
 shopping baskets    paper bags 
braces, & plimsoles 
      short    back& sides

Wizard Beano & Hotspur 
lending libraries    &picturegoer
roadfilms Bridget Bardot & Marilyn Monroe

 Dripping     coal fires 
                antimacassars
 nylons suspenders 
crumpets &toast 
Brown &mild        barrelled beer
 conkers
school milk 

     blackboard rubbers & liftup desk lids
 times-tabled school-kids
Draughts & allotments
 rusty bikes     roller skates
 satchels &scrumping 
with mates
hence
no
pounds  shillings or        pence

No One Will Know

good morning
we have been here before
dawn arrives slow, boring
the knife we ignore
from dusk we’ve dreamed of the slow slice
the pain that covers the real
long sleeves is the price
you don’t know what we feel
child abuse
fear creeps deep
no one will hurt us but the noose
deep 6 big sleep
the sun is no fun
when your dreams scream
and your last thought is the sound of a gun
the message so serene
you don’t know what we feel
when your thoughts of driving into a big rig
mangles flesh and steel
as it burst into flames from your cig
the thoughts come in a blink of an eye
as we sit on the couch with the remote
all the ways we want to die
tomorrows dawn will be rewrote

Buoyant Reality

Be beyond blame with that stern poise,
Urge cheer right here to grace fine soul;
Opt to frame name in pulse of voice,
Yoke not old fear that mangles whole;
Apt ample art can fashion style,
Now dare to move true passion craft;
Touch moves sure heart to live fond smiles.
Reach happy grooves in wordplay draft,
End as you start to create more;
Art in full swing can forge grand links,
Laugh through each part from a deep core;
Ink stains you fling embrace wise think,
Thrill on the verge of mystery,
Yes dream full surge paints lovingly.




Leon Enriquez
30 March 2018
Singapore

Amen

Clinging
climbing the walls
cracks and burrows
dodging mangles and tangles
dead ends
no bends
fire and ice
and ice hurts more
once twice thrice
but hey!
dismount
assess
access
I'm a mess
creak crack
(yes my crack hurts too)
broken back
arms dragging sagging and blue
but hell I'm here!
and hail that too!

September 11, 2001 a Dirge

SEPTEMBER 2001, 9/11 New York

(Dedication: To Those Souls Who 
Left Us So Abruptly That Day. RIP.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



In crisp refrain:
Feel so much pain,
Loss felt again,
Tears in sure strains.


Fate hits the face:
In that sad place,
A tragic space,
Anchors odd grace.


The world awoke:
Watched terror yoke,
Huge fatal strokes,
In dying poke.


Yes mind still sees:
Madness set free,
Harsh tragedy,
News on TV.


Hijack of jets:
Terror did set,
Crash wrought dead bets,
Tears beyond wet.


So much of pain:
Now surge again,
A nightmare plain,
So many slain.


Such grim horror:
Tales of sorrow,
On the morrow,
Sad strokes borrow.


Our human tears:
Outbursts right here,
In fatal fears,
Drowning all cheer.


Pictures now flash:
Glimpses still dash,
That fatal crash,
Towers turned trash.


Terror strangles:
Burns and mangles,
Fear now shackles
Our mad tangles.


Here and now see:
Can love set free?
Can hurt hearts be
A kind story?




Leon Enriquez
11 September 2017
Singapore

Tangled Tattered

I am a spider living in the shadows 
Seven Generations from Charlotte 
Here I stand in the corner 
In the midst of the Shadows of this threshold 
Traversed walking on the side of the wall 
Suddenly I hear thunder and see lightning 
I spin a web to get away 
Sliding down the mangles,  tattered wall made of wood and hay
Within the threshold many machines that are used on a farm 
But to my alarm, I'm just a little spider trying to move on 
It starts to rain outside someone left the door and windows open 
As water starts to pour in rain encapsulated 
Caught up endrenched  the waters from the rain 
My web was powdered somehow I got entangled my eight legs stumbled I fell 
So I spit out a web to try to get out of here 
But yet I fell to the ground
I was tangled, tattered and worn 
Somehow it didn't matter anymore
I dried myself off spun a web shot up to the corner of the room 
Yet I was still tattered, tangles horizontally traversed stuck in the corner alone
Flies fly around me as  they laughed  shouting at me how does a spider get tangled in his own web
 Tangled, tattered, traverse in a threshold

Those Were the Days

Five stones     
                 closing times
radiograms and
               seventy-eights
school caps
               sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks

Charabancs
               steam trains
linoleum
               oil cloth
mangles
               fish paste
sandwich spread

Hot towel shaves
        cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
          paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
           and sides

Wizard beano
         and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
                road to
Bridget Bardot
            Marilyn Monroe

Dripping 
           coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets 
           and toast

Brown and mild
        barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
          and liftup desk lids
times-tabled 
                school-kids

Draughts
        and allotments
rusty bikes
         roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
             and pence

Stuffing In the Corner

In the corner dark and glum, 
Extant off-casts lie plonked there, 
To fill in the space
Knick-knacks, old wedding presents, 
ornaments and filler-inners
Round and globular, bits and pieces, 
Hide the harsh mangles and tangles
When walls at right angles collide
Vases on pedestals, lamps on tables with draws,
Triangular book shelve
Tiny, tall thin cupboards
All lurking and softening the dead, dank naughty corners 
With curvaceous adornments and left-over stuff.

If rooms were round there would be no corners to fill
But, would you miss your corners 
Like graves with headstones miss their mourners?

My Child-Love

Now that love's hands have lifted from my searching eyes, I have begun to see. I look at the faces of those who love has captured, and my misanthropic vision clouds their joy. Don't they know what love will do to them? It will consume them, body and soul. It will control their minds and make them do things they swore they would never do. And once love's soft touch wraps around your finger, you can never let it go. Like a child, it grows. It then holds your hand, and demands to be carried, even when it has grown too big. Love wraps its legs around your waist and its arms tightly around your neck. You can still breathe, but only when love lets you.
My love has become hopefully vulnerable. It sees those that it has loved before, and those who have loved me and it tugs me along as it tries to pursue them. I trip over my own feet, I feel awkward and unwanted. But love doesn't understand that. It is blissfully ignorant, and it does not realize the destruction it causes within my heart and soul. It welds, twists, and mangles the metal of my strong heart. It entices my soul, then disappoints with flawed morale. 
But through all this, I hold on.

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