Will Putin listen?
Siberia gulags glisten
Hysteria seeds myopia
Creeds..deeds feeds dystopia
Crimea bleeds...greed cornucopia
Impassioned stock shock rationed
Shepherd & flock fashioned
Russian roulette yet again
Ukraine disdain cam-pain
Vladimir fears
Scurrilous sneers
Mutinous jeers
Career nadirs
Dissident disappears
Old school kidology
Muscovite cruel mythology
Satellite strewn astrology
Fossil fuel fool geology
Ideology without apology
Bizarre highfalutin Tsar theology
Snarling Stalin’s darling anthology
Corked off glue, oral mucosa clamped, oyster bald razor, thumb running along twine binding the package, a conductor testing violin tension. Hairy balls of fire, a jackdaws caw, drawing her in with dirty sticky wet joy. Creaks on bed springs, open windows, neighbors staring, a drumbeat counting down to rupture. The squeezebox gripped tight, seething under bare back muds. Breath, a bird in a cage, jabbing at the bars of her ribs. Burnt-out fluorescent light, firefly flash caught behind bone. Hands unwrap with surgeon’s grace, flesh revealed: pink, marbled, mutinous. The cuts: rare, exotic jewels radiating a savory sheen. A finger tests the muscle, a pianist poised over ruin. And then: a grunt, “the trick,” a gesture, sleight masking ripened fruit. And my snake, swollen, pounding, thick and huge, slithers through her smooth underbrush. The Calvary arrives, a swarm of bees in spurred leather. Engines rev, Bouffants tumble, spiderweb eyeliner, one blink from collapse. Ten-gallon hats deflate, soft as old balloons left out in the sun.
Starlings chime down an alleyway.
Corked off glue, oral mucosa clamped, oyster bald razor, thumb running along twine binding the package, a conductor testing violin tension. Hairy balls of fire, a jackdaws caw, drawing her in with dirty sticky wet joy. Creaks on bed springs, open windows, neighbors staring, a drumbeat counting down to rupture. The squeezebox gripped tight, seething under bare back muds. Breath, a bird in a cage, jabbing at the bars of her ribs. Burnt-out fluorescent light, firefly flash caught behind bone. Hands unwrap with surgeon’s grace, flesh revealed: pink, marbled, mutinous. The cuts: rare, exotic jewels radiating a savory sheen. A finger tests the muscle, a pianist poised over ruin. And then: a grunt, “the trick,” a gesture, sleight masking ripened fruit. And my snake, swollen, pounding, thick and huge, slithers through her smooth underbrush. The Calvary arrives, a swarm of bees in spurred leather. Engines rev, Bouffants tumble, spiderweb eyeliner, one blink from collapse. Ten-gallon hats deflate, soft as old balloons left out in the sun.
Starlings chime down an alleyway.
mysterious mystical myriad-minded Milton
mustered mutable muscle-bound Man’s
mutinous modernistic money-making merriment
mystifying mushy mike’s mangled monkeys
Where tides once gossiped for many an hour
about what lovers share; like grapes gone sour,
the strong opinions o’ friends will minds devour.
A reputation guarded against smut
and smiles that’s ever radiant abut
the cultivated, fertile soil and glut.
A gentle breeze that ruffles the recall
of memories that bleed freely, then stall
at the precipice of confession – they fall.
Now fervour spent and mutinous thoughts gel
in favour of peace; not a too hard sell
before the final call by clamorous bell.
As welcome waves engulf the thoughts and sweep
recall away, nostalgia recedes to weep.
God made her as his gift and she, once laid
beside the luscious, tempting limbs, acceded
to profane acts under God’s Sacred Tree
and slurped the ill-timed juice, the god-damned seed.
She gave him some; and he did not refuse
her, joining instead the mutinous ménage
against the Trinity. They tasted heaven
and in that moment bit the dust
of earth.
And now they curse: they curse the Interloper
who came and threw their timing out of joint,
spilling truth - with lies - all to seduce her;
they curse their God for what He gave them - choice.
And since that time, engorged with sweat and dust
they dread the right to choose more than their lust.
Blackened. Charred.
Are the blossoms of autumn's acclaimed abundance
No longer dance they in vivid wonderance,
Singed by the frigid frost,
Stand they forlorn and lost.
Barren. Desolate.
Stand the trees.
Marooned in an island of dry leaves.
Wracked by glacial winds
As deep winter imprints.
A few brave bougainvillea
Struggle in straggly strands
To defy winter's hands.
Up they climb into yellowing leaves
Cobbling colour into the sheaves.
Unfazed. Undeterred.
By mutinous nature
Munificent flames the trailblazer...
Widespread flames in riotous red
Red riotous flames widespread.
An everlasting Christmas
Bedecks the shrub in richness
Bouquets of ruby crowned in gold
Amidst emerald and jade leaves untold
It is the flaming Glorybower.
Not for it the wheel of seasons
An evergreen...it blooms in legions
Symbolising life everlasting
Even in winter's fog and freezing...
Bringing red flaming glory to many a bower
For it is the flaming Glorybower.
Words
neat
quiet
mutinous
never go silent.
Words overflow the mind and turn
insentient paper into realms of melodies.
Black and white paper become pianos of unvoiced dreams that summon musical souls.
Their ships must ride
a rolling sky,
masts too high to sail into view.
They appear, board the land,
they buccaneer.
The clamoring mob
fall upon a scuttling prey
pluck the weakest
into hungry holds.
An eye-aye cocked and ready,
they raid and maraud
as only
treasure seekers can.
The gulls are here
and for a while
sea and land broil.
the air erupting
with mutinous calls.
The morning is fair and without compare;
desire to escape commotion in motion.
With apologies to Frost, but I’m lost
in sylvan idyll; my thoughts to distil.
I should have turned left or maybe the cleft
ignored as the bend designates the end.
Peering into the void I can’t avoid
the nagging feeling that the sheep bleating
as they’re trudging through the mud, chewing cuds
on the road most travelled and levelled,
would’ve been easier terrain – not bane
of thorns and thistles. As temper bristles,
thoughts turn mutinous. Incongruously
I’ll save either way for another day.
Just as the wind has come about
And it's time to change tack;
There's a new hand on the tiller
Of the mutinous, rudderless boat;
Now doomed to float aimlessly,
Until it arrives at an uncharted port
Its cargo spoiled, wasted, ruined.
If mankind
Peers into the eyes reflected upon silver glass
Spurning egos nestled deep inside
You would know my Image
If mankind
Sets his ear against the winds of early morn
Traveling endlessly from east to west
You would hear my Voice
If mankind
Would rise above this mutinous orb
Mocking all desires
You would realize my Mercy
If mankind
Opened their hands releasing all worries
Escaping upon feathered wings
You would feel my Grace
If mankind
Holds my creation against his beating heart
Exploring the knowledge found in every seed
In every valley, on every mountain
You would know my Name
If mankind
Will...
You would know my love
leaves flutter like butterflies,
dawdle graceful path zigzag
down, down, down beneath trees shade
long deep sighs. Settle and snag
among collaborating blades.
mutinous breeze tendrils rise drag
and sweep away the dry leaves
like wings fly and touch the sky.
7/18/2021
Oh, my Lord,
Is there a time in Your divine plans:
That righteous hearts, mutinous will become
For
The injustices of this tormented world, to
Chase away?
That love and compassion will join forces
For
To overcome indifference and hate?
That tears of pain and desperation will end
For
Laughter and hope to have their say?
That the present enemies stop fighting each-other
For
To give themselves the chance friends to become?
That peace will reign all over Your dominion,
For
Finally, united this world to be?
If the answer is, YES, my Lord,
I implore You:
Let this time TODAY start and let it last for
All ETERNITY!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
27 January 2021
I do bitterly fault your restless digits, slatternly time;
Your agile dial's design I defy with mutinous rhyme.
What's the veiled intent of your lightning procession,
Against this snail-mover's beleaguered progression?
In swearing truth say why your sight-eclipsing wings
Party and feast and conjure merry over littler beings.
What sadistic banquets in spooky nooks yonder,
Turn your lot-dwindling schemes ever so fonder?
It's true your snaring turns I strongly loathe,
With damning sneers and deserving derision.
What's that blot against heaven's sternest troth,
Obliterating dancing suns on her creasing face?
To what main gain do your life-slicing edges fly,
Usurping innocent freedoms of humble breath?
Your mulish cruises along snaky course-ways,
Flare spite-perfected ills to slay slowing health.
With daring tropes I’ll yet trim hours’ blacking crime,
And I’ll chide the deadly glooms of carnivorous time.
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