When Cheech and Chong evaluate,
they do not say, "this stuff is great."
A fly, too, expresses merriment
when landing on fresh excrement.
Using his best English diction,
he doesn't rankle, nor cause friction,
"Allow me to say, if you permit,
this is really good...isn't it?"
The bible
our pure poetry
Divine voice
art -- gallery imagery
Father’s expanding palettes of time
space infinite –
shadows of unframed
formless canvas -- man's freedom
to light, shape, transverse supernal grace,
we, alone, limit speed
and trajectory
bridging dark gaps, colors
dappled, dropped and splashed
faith will make mix, both consciously
and intuitively apply:
heaping our scrapers and brushes,
the chill of the chalkboard screech
the joy of the slip and slide
the rankle of arms and hands figuring
otherwise meaningless medium
Creativity man's Adam
ligaments of my elastic being
dutifully, lovingly allowing stretch
for explore
sinewy constructs for
mental lift and taut endurance,
the unshakable frame that
holds all upright, and
makes daily challenges
superbly sculptable, while
retaining elasticity --
God let’s be
and we decide
if when and what…?
His unseen hand
yet in the flaming attributes….
Perhaps you're apathetic to my ministrations
fatigued by my futile attempts at suturing
the suppurating wounds inflicted by others
who came before me much like those I suffer
both of our spirits bearing similar scars
Upon removing the bandages to reveal
they have not healed and rankle raw and red
I turn my head not in disgust at the pus
but so you won’t see the tears I shed
on account of my failure before binding them
once again in clean linen after applying a balm
of my best efforts that in spite of their sincerity
will never be enough thus my own injuries
I’ve clumsily dressed will continue to fester
and decay without the catholicon physic
of those three words you cannot say
I forged a fistful lance for my battle.
I shield and fortified my faith whilst I forced my feeble to fracture..
My lance punctured my adversaries to fall..
I forbid fornication and forget my rankle..
I form a fortress of chastity and remain taintless..
I extinct fornication and pray for purity..
None rankle me like a parent so blind,
he or she that see what they choose to see.
O readers, I beg of that rudest kind
must they breed so damn prolifically?
A time to be seen, a time to be heard,
such should be the nature of kids and kings -
and patience tempered with an ordered word
in the battle of wills and childish things.
All I ask of you children of the corn
is hold your quicksilver tongues as a rule,
but every minute a jackass is born
who will play up, play dumb, and play the fool!
Thus a child not chastised in transgression
is schooled in misdeed and not the lesson.
Written: June 1991
The remote
It was a terrible hallucination
an old hex came out of her grave and raped me
I was lame paralyzing fear she sat on top of me
and reeked of semen of a thousand men
left to rankle in her mouldy .
I fumbled for my remote to switch the channel off
could not find the remote, then the horses came
galloping through the woods, I mounted one
and we were riding on the Pampas of Argentine.
All the while, the hex hollered something foul
about multiple orgasms, I found the remote
the screen filled with irises and sweet poems.
zealots annoy me, not much more to say other than, please go away
structures of our existence
rankle like fire spewed by a volcano
figurative patterns extruded by natures way
elements of destruction thought beautiful
mesmerize in formed flight...pathways labeled
“fixed” doesn’t matter where...up close
and personal through barriers of sight
textual wisdom reminders washed away by the
flow of existence slowly and surely making its way
stars pinpointed reflect glowing embers
sonic blasts never heard by anyone except trees
one tree falling, one hand clapping never more to
be heard across eternities of the ages.
So, I still
have miles to go
and poems to save,
and time to rant and rave
and snort and shout
and let it all hang out.
I’ll fuss and fume and
act the part expected, ad hoc.
I'll smooth the rankle from my brow
and darn the that hole in my sock.
I’ll lie in bed and contemplate
the path of man, his ultimate fate.
I’ll awaken to the sun at dawn
with rancor as I begin to trim the lawn
and spread some seed for the birds,
the waterfowl and the fawn....
And at dusk with my bride by my side
will close my eyes for that final ride.
CGH 10/13/2018 at 3:58 pm
Thank you God for this wonderful poem.
All I had to do was write as you dictated.
my little heart is heavy
with its burden of unspoken words
feelings needing expression
are not allowed to be freed
they remain in stately chambers
pampered and spoiled
to keep them complacent
safe from rejection's rankle
my little heart is heavy
the weight is causing pain
the chambers enlarged
with unruly words
tearing the place apart
demanding voice
they cajole as they roll
this way and that
pounding on doors
my little heart is heavy
perhaps it will burst
and all will pour out
without a doubt
something will give way
to another, I say
and the tumbling torrent of torment
will wash any chances away
my little heart is heavy
for just a few moments
in the sweet silence of sympathy
help carry it, for you see
my little heart has become
too heavy for me
Eileen Manassian
To Winkin’
Blinkin’
and of course nod.
In terms of
symmetry
prose and
shish kabob.
The tricks and twirls
and polar light;
the flip and flare and star
of kiddy sleepless night
can rip and roar
and rankle up
a juicy fight,
in the twinkle of an eye.
Forget wit and woe
and places to and fro and
things obscure in fuzzy
wuzzy lights to
swing and sway in
wrinkled tights
or sit boldly still
daring you to
a contest of will
hanging in a drop
of drool falling from
yon wounded whipporwill.
Will he will or will he won’t, or
do the thing we don’t?
I see again in terms
of symmetry you see.
But mostly for the rhyme
I hear inside the room
just made for me
in terms of speech and
in the song of my
sweet cooing babe.
© 9/17/2016
Charles G. Henderson
the words you wrote still rankle in my heart
and though I try, I cannot find reprieve
you act so well; oh, yes,you play the part
no matter that you've made a heart to grieve
you move on with your life and soon forget
the one you've maimed with words and set on fire
no care for hell on earth; you've no regret
a body charred and burned, I'm on the bier
and yet you wonder why I can't forgive
you come to me with smiles and proffered gift
but true forgiveness I have yet to give
you've not apologized; there's still this rift
A time of reckoning will one day be
when answer you must give for hurting me
Eileen
"Love means always having to say you're sorry" (the TRUE love story).
My x-wife went on holiday
And unbeknown to me,
She broke her ankle in a rankle
When she skied right up a tree.
Her first day back I said to her,
"Did you have a nice break?
She grabbed me by the scruff of my neck
And threw me in a lake.
To run after material fame
Counted not rich sensitive game;
Among wealth, sex and love affair,
Character is above all arbiter.
As adorn ornament each bridal's limb,
An artist make alive clumsy-wart-stone;
Company bear trophy by aggressive troops
Oblige character graceful at distress grown;
The character die seldom minus bloom,
Yet en-lights personality fade in gloom;
Usually left little paid proper care,
Although always seen inclined sincere;
Certain place customary said temple
Where almighty's statue noted install
Estimated body deserving only when;
Thermal of character ne'er fall;
Effort need to build the character
Honesty and endurance are weapon mere;
By effacement total thought rankle
And block pulse hide egotism perennial;
Good name lost can regain later
But character pleases rare if blot;
A richest jewel survive human tread;
Turn soul ill, fret, spiritless on rot.
What if I put up a blog, or comment about politics.
What if it grates on your soul, in your craw it sticks.
But you think I’m a pretty nice guy, otherwise OK.
You want to support my blog not look the other way.
For the life of you, you find you just can not do it.
You just can’t raise the words from a bottomless pit.
What kind of person am I to put you through all this?
Surely no friend would plead to such thoughtlessness.
There are places on the net for one who is in need,
of venting the poison which in so many mouths feed.
Take your place in history, record your verbal feat.
May you be recognized and valued by all you greet.
Just leave the soup blogs free from political agenda.
Don’t rankle and debate the many political referenda.
Don’t ire the quiet multitude reading your dilemma.
Lest someone go bonkers with a little Iwo Jima.
No matter which side you are on.
No matter you brag or complain.
Someone is always offended.
Please, lets keep politics off the blogs.
Sept 28 2010 Charles Henderson
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