we met only two months ago
I can’t free you from my thoughts
your face is always before me
your sweet voice in my ears
you are like a spirit
I am possessed
(Pema the Pug, 2025)
I’m retired so have the freedom to choose.
So often I choose to sit and read a book
And inevitably at least a few of my five dogs
Choose to lay around with me,
The small pugs beside and on me,
And inevitably something happens to my plans
And I get both distracted and soothed
Into a soporific daze
Or should I say, contact low, from the sleeping dogs.
Nothing like having a small warm living lap blanket
To keep you from getting up
To do something more productive.
Eventually I’ll get around to finishing that novel
After I finish these thoughts.
The dogs after all show me just how easy
And good it feels
To put off doing what can be done
Another day.
But the older I get
I think that other day may just end up being
Another life.
(11/13/25)
A body possessed is a spirit that
knows no compassion, for soul grew weak.
Evil’s roots took hold. Bleak became
eyes that once could see the light.
Spirit lost will to fight.
A sinister grin
curves the host’s lips.
Sanity
now is
lost.
It started with a Ouija board:
it seemed like harmless fun,
the messages at first benign -
it said it was a nun!
Obsessed, I spent more time with it
but scary stuff began:
I heard a laugh, saw shadows move
and knew it was a man.
The figure stepped towards me then
and rooted to the spot,
I felt it push inside my brain,
my body cold, but hot.
"And that was how I killed the girls."
The judge just shook his head.
"I swear I woke and saw the blood...
the prostitutes were dead..."
My eyes followed her. They wouldn't behave.
Her strut, her smile, a wicked challenge gave.
The angel on my shoulder warned, "femme fatale",
telling me kindly, "this time, let me make the call".
But I couldn't stop my feet, as I approached her -
or my lips, as my question broached her,
and my digits recorded her digits like a slave,
possessed they were, as my angel tried to save
...me. He slumped on my shoulder in defeat.
He cried as I phoned her and agreed to meet.
There was no devil on my other shoulder.
He was inside me, making my heart smolder.
My angel had wanted me to flee,
but, despite a moment of hydrologic uncertainty,
the devil made me do the crime,
but it's not so bad. I'm glad the boy is mine.
This black tar covers my brain,
With viscosity of motor oil from a 1950's tractor,
Wiping every so often but it still remains,
Trauma of life may have been a factor,
Continuously drips finding my crevices of weakness,
Seizing every ounce of good nature it can,
A vicious vacuum for precious meekness,
This twisted consumption is part of some plan,
Barbed wire around ribs puncturing with every breath,
Wounds to never be healed duly,
A hand of tar pumps my heart preventing death,
Even if it's the one thing the sickness seeks truly.
my pen runs across the page
dripping down verbs and adjectives
dragging prepositions and nouns along
I watch
an innocent bystander
have no idea
where all of these words are coming from
is my pen possessed?
Apparently so.
*
In
my life
and journey
it seems I am
different people.
Each one, as if possessed
like chapters of a huge book ~
When I think back, I am haunted,
enthralled, charmed, captivated, tearful.
So, many paths and curves in my journey.
**
Need to just open . . . a page of my book
to my childhood days and the deep love.
But, then grieve endured obsessed me,
parts of my childhood madness ~
I was possessed with craze,
but, I lived though it
by writing words
inspired ~
as tears
poured.
***
This
woman
of today
is soft, tranquil ~
Embraces the book
is humbled by each page
the journey, story thus far ~
With all the joys, the deaths and love,
all part of this . . . mesmerizing world,
that, I am enraptured and possessed by.
The sound of silence echoes in the tranquil night sky,
wakes up the sleeping stars one by one to shine
in the bejeweled crown in the argentine ambiance,
the moonbeam strands weave dream of you for me.
In the stardust sprinkled night I wait fervently
for you to emerge out of my dream like an angel,
walk in the craving corridor of my mesmerized mind,
I let my longing drift in the air of night’s amorous allure.
The feeling of bliss comes out of the miasma to dance
in the silken sapphire of the seamless sky’s seraphic span.
Like ribbons of rhapsodic cloud nine floating in a trance,
my enthralled life spreads soaring wings of delight.
That’s how my dormant desire gets obsessed
by your shimmering radiance in the moonshine aura.
My unclosed eyes are covered by the tapestry of dream,
weaved with the threads of your hued longing.
I see you adorned like the crown of the pearly dew
on the beguiled blades of grass of the flushing meadow.
Following the turquoise trail traced out for me possessed,
my besotted yearning meanders to where you are.
In the shadows, whispers rise,
A haunted presence, unseen eyes.
Possessed by spirits, ancient, deep,
Their secrets in my soul do creep.
A dance of darkness, wild and free,
Possession's grip consuming me.
I am a vessel, a sacred shrine,
Where otherworldly powers entwine.
Through me they speak, in words unknown,
A language from a realm far unknown.
I am their conduit, their earthly host,
In their embrace, I am engrossed.
Possessed by muses, fierce and bold,
Their tales by me are bravely told.
Through me, their stories come to life,
Ink spills like blood upon the page,
A timeless tale, a bard’s dark sage.
A poet bound by otherworldly strife.
In this union, a fusion rare,
The poetry of possession, a profound flare.
Embracing the spirits, I let them flow,
In their possession, their verses glow.
Held captive by you
my soul tormented by you
all because of you
I can contest
Put me to the test
My heart in confess
Honest and true
Greyhound bus in my soul
I am a walking behold
My younger years my start
The Greyhound dog stretched always seen on all sides of the bus always caught my attention
The highway representation
I am a walking Greyhound bus presentation
The Greyhound bus wear
Proud and honored with care
Of course, I always get a stare
That is no more than fair
The Go is within me
The Greyhound bus I want people to see
No secret no regret
Thinking of the hound, I cherish the engine sound
Accelerate as I appreciate
The Greyhound bus in me today, I will continue all the way.
Is this what ACE Hardware
stands for:
they had been abrupt
could end up being corrupt
when they did erupt
player selected
when he died as drected
monument erected
for game he had prepped
on home field is where he slept
when he was inept
did with deep regret
on loser we placed a bet
who had been a threat
we read latest news
he would live ike a recluse
wearing worn out shoes
of hope was beacon
found who we had been seeking
out we were freaking
moment was dire
poor player woud acquire
when draft chose higher
was over and done
entire world they would stun
all games will have won
according to tape
from reality escape
had committed rape
when he was obssessed
all his sins should be confessed
had become possessedConfessed
When one is poetically possessed,
Nothing like the truest rest:
For every braved forty winks
Whacks for new poems and resistance sinks!
One is very free to weep
But one isn’t snatching any sleep:
One’s Poetic Tormentors, a zillion number,
Obsessed with The Ecstatic no less The Sombre!.
You’re hailing your tormentors but with reluctance,
This act dragging to a crushing distance;
At God’s feet dropping respectful grudges,
Not as forgivable as sexual urges …
Only God Himself knows when it shall end,
For those spirits aren’t ready to bend;
When one is poetically possessed,
Sleep becomes one’s rarest guest.
enchanting in her way,
she beckons us to join.
kissed by doubts sweet whisper,
envisioning loss of certitude.
wandering, wandering, off;
precipice to precipice,
hungrily returning worried,
lest one day we lose our way.
caught in the vortex of our ache.
lost to the forest of rejoining.
life or death.
what you may think of it I do not know,
perpetual tug of war,
relinquished never firmly nor complete,
for fear of irreversible defeat.
yet the hunger burns,
the moth to candle’s flame returns.
it matters not the truths of which we know,
enchantment will in halves continue grow.
and she will beckon call to me
and I shall with reluctance go.
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