Laid out for surgery, a patient prude
Swaps self guided for guile - Medusa’s will
Noisy neurons mute, poor Nerida nude
Serpent puncture spreads in her, poison pill
Twirls twilight silent, sticky dark danger
Cotton candy cloud, clement synapses
Petrifying practitioner changed her
Nerida’s urge for control collapses
Fang flung, spiralled far from mediocre
Transfixed in toxin, menacing method
Venom swoll jugular veins squeeze choke her
Doctor’s dose meticulously measured
Tangled snake strands, table statue taboos
Dagger dipped in blood leaves only a bruise
Numbing Needle
Ninth of January
dread, rising up while all hope is dying
safety and surety of joy, a soul ignores,
apprehensive, worried, insecurity’s complying
pouring out tension from deathly doors,
bleeding heart whose shadow is petrifying
We are a species gnawing at the roots of existence, hellbent on self-immolation, our every endeavor a funiculus of futility. The argent legacy of our forebears, squandered by imbecilic hands that molded us into hollow effigies, devoid of essence, yet rictus-grinning with vacuous ignorance.
Fear, the petrifying shackles that bind us, rendering us ciphers of compliance, indentured servants to the whims of the elected elite. We toil, mesmerized by the tintinnabulation of trinkets, and the numeric abstractions that promise ephemeral solace, but deliver only eternal enslavement.
We are fallen titans, parasitic echoes of greatness, our nebulous dreams reduced to flickering embers, as we succumb to the siren's song of servitude.
Worst of all someone is reading this right now thinking I am gloomy and need to smile, but can’t say I am wrong, my question to you is, your joking right?
The smoldering sun shines incessantly
Until the earth’s humidity hastens
The forming of cinereal clouds calmly covers
The spacious skies above and suddenly
Gentle rain soft but steady
Begins to fall, splattering and wetting the soil.
The pitter-patter pronounces a petrifying tune
Upon the roofs, amorous rondel tunes.
Oh, how I love the fresh feeling of the rain.
I feel like singing in the heavenly showers
I get dishevelled and drenched.
Yet I will sing a symphony of love,
For I am happy even more.
Love is in the air.
Thank God, no lightning spoils the sky.
Yet it rains even more.
The grass is even greener now.
It sparkles with dewy drops,
And sheds its pleasant petrichor,
A harmonious and happy fragrance
In our vast verdurous vale.
Meantime my Mary joined us in the melee`,
We dance a Dougie under the deluge,
Until tired we went in for a warm shower…….
Placed 2nd
Beyond a telescope lies a million mysteries.
There is space, a vacuum, filled with solar systems,
And the most beautiful planets orbiting amidst the stars.
Beyond a telescope there are comets which fly by as if they had wings.
There are asteroids which can be fascinating, yet deadly,
And there are puzzles waiting to be discovered.
Beyond a telescope are the galaxies that could nourish life.
There are spaceships searching for entities or beings to prove we are not alone,
Looking for even the smallest sign.
Beyond a telescope there is a cold darkness.
There are unknown and uncalculated risks,
And even petrifying thoughts.
Beyond a telescope lies the knowledge for tomorrow.
There are supernatural encounters,
And boundless new opportunities.
Beyond a telescope lies the answers no one asks.
There are the investigations no one seeks,
And the unanswerable inquiries.
Worn out rags of clothes
Petrifying on trash can
Harsh to my nostril.
Remembered the 1940s, the season of the holocaust.
Six million irons, disjointed from their ores
Were forged in bottomless pits of anvils.
The swarming bees in a ceremonious buzzing
Were uncoupled from their hives through Reichsbahn.
However, a tensed, stale wind of discord swivel
On the creeks of Dachau, Auschwitz, Treblinka
And other shores of darkness.
Never shall the bloody sky efface again
The innocent faces of seedlings in chains
Suddenly transformed into smoke under a silent sky.
For not four thousand micrographic scrolls
Of antique Pharaoh, hieroglyphics could symbolize
The petrifying carrions glutted by black vultures.
Two rivers parted by mountainous fiend
In no time of twilight
Laid eyes into the seas.
Two branches glued to tree trunks
Would in a bit of an eyelid
See those white balloons.
The mockingbird is set among the pigeons
And doors of golden rainbows
Crept in the fog.
Everywhere, the white dove’s skull
Is at the bottom of the picture
While the frogs and wasps play their lyres.
But, the wild hyacinths grew among Linden
The lion; among hummingbirds
With every twist, Lynx's eyes.
I need my family, friends, community,
I need to live in a happy home,
‘Though I might seem hard and cold,
I am not made of stone.
For when I am mixing with others,
I’m in my, so-called, happy zone,
‘Though my own company is okay,
I am not made of stone.
I am very much alive you’ll find
And made of flesh and bone,
And not immune to loneliness,
I am not made of stone.
My biggest, biggest fear is
Of ending my final years all alone,
This thought petrifies me for -
I am not made of stone.
BEHOLD the spine-tingling manifestation,
the GHOST TREE stands,
bathed in an eerie blue-grey hue,
a chilling stance.
It looms amidst the dense and opaque fog,
which muffles all sound and obscures all sight.
Its gnarled and twisted trunk,
devoid of leaves,
is ravaged by time,
etched with deep, screaming cracks.
Its macabre facade,
an arboreal mask,
frozen in a silent,
petrifying shriek.
The distant landscape shrouded in mystery,
a blur of shapes and shadows,
veiled in mist's cloak.
It beckons the curious, the brave, the bold,
to venture closer,
to uncover its tales untold.
Perhaps, it was once a mighty king,
a towering monarch,
a revered being.
But now, it stands alone,
a mere shadow of itself,
a ghost of the past,
a haunting apparition.
Or maybe, it's a portal to another realm,
a gateway to a world beyond our own.
One step closer, and the fog may clear,
revealing the secrets it's been holding dear.
But dare you approach,
beware the curse,
for the ghost tree's wrath may be worse.
It may ensnare you in its twisted ghastly clasp,
and bind you to this chilling dwelling
for all eternity.
I saw you
In my dream
As a monster,
Naked with horns,
I screamed loudly ,
" Christ Jesus "
You turned
To a anormal person
And foced
Me to kiss you.
I was
Petrifying
After seeing
The monster.
Coming
morning,
I comprehended that
It was a Nightmare,
But when I met
You around the day ,
You frightened,
Trembled
as you knew
What you were doing.
You were so flummoxed,
And afraid to look at my face again.
I understood that
You were a trained witch
Or a person used by
Some locals witches.
My feelings for you disapeared,
As you refused to be delivered,
You were used to
drink human bloods,
Than the blood
Of Christ Jesus ,
Which has living life.
March 22/ 2023
Written for poetry contest sponsored by Constance la France
Theme chosen : Nightmare
....Third place winning
in the competition...
Freeloading
Taking what was given by someone else for something else
A gift with a tinge of obligation
Tacit codes
From the animal that is me
To the ungrateful optimizer
A love of expectation
Is it a kiss if it's unwilling
branded by tears
A hand outstretched that stretches less and less
Adjusting from a partner to an attribute
And back
Can I love as a shell
How to fill if not to receive
From self or others the mechanisms of the Other
I am only part of me
A shell can be built or blasted
But tis one part of the many
I cannot see what I must
But that doesnt stop many
A partner without action is not a partner, just an externality
To use is violent but it can meet needs
The pain of the prisoner's dilemma from the good friend
Petrifying comes with tears
And prayers of awakening
Such is the joy of coming back home
a field a landscape a state an air an aura a friend
The pain of pulling your hand away and the joy of accepting it back
Knowing something has changed and acknowledging it
The bravery of seeing it as marred by good memories
Overwhelmingly fragile life is,
It often knocked us down on our knees.
Facing the daybreak has been exceedingly petrifying
where to rise where to set?
Do I even belong here?
A loner I've always been.
From million miles, I shot the star yet fall on lion’s mouth
there's scarcity of rooms to procure all that's hurting,
All that's maiming.
then what's left is all bogus,
A goal of its own to attain
winning or losing I am on the race.
Even so, as I set about to stretch my wings and waggle
No longer could I hobble around.
while all I own is learning to recline on Jesus,
the Master of all the masters
supersede the unfathomable vagueness,
rose brighter when all I comprehend is a grey of tilted shades
He truly is my superhero for life.
It’s the children who rip at my heart
Tears of fear rolling down their little face
Looking to their parents for comfort
Silently questioning… what is this place?
Complete horror surrounds them
Petrifying chaos and noise
Holding on tightly to their loved ones
These poor innocent little girls and boys
No understanding of the death and destruction
Why the safe life they know is gone
People running, screaming ,crying
To young to comprehend what’s wrong
The poor innocent people of Ukraine
Their lives and bodies destroyed for what?
Facing horrendous ,senseless suffering
Solely due to one heinous, heartless crackpot
As I write this poem I am crying
For the unimaginable despair Ukraine is confronting
What will it take to eliminate this evil ,vile b*****d
To stop him human hunting……
I suppose I have been thoroughly gentrified
No lover of the old country bluegrass, I
Was country-bred and to poverty born,
And suppose back home in the hills I shall die
'Midst the high mountain's air now rarified,
I shall go back when aged like many others
To stroll the worn, beaten paths I remember
While I can before the urban life smothers,
And I am become another victim terrified
By angry waves of petrifying lawlessness
And sore deprivation in great time of need
In mind I have grown increasingly restless,
Mindful how the world around me might be
Finding myself, desperately longing to be free.
written September 12, 2021
What a tremendous thing
We publicize our own thoughts
Phrases with Sorrowful voices
Urge of existing readers
Rubbing my bared face with sludge
Hopeless dark fantasies
Petrifying my self esteem
Glorious mysteries defaults
Glasses with wine ,holding upto the stairs
Viewed with blushful ideas
Strengthen my scars with awards
Drown my leg in summer hot springs
Oh what a tremendous things
With awful signatures
Praising our despairs
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