A salutory observation, to billionaire deletes, and devourers . ? Er leaders
Of their Nations.? Who are black in sin
Now satans kin..Awaiting destruction
Awaiting is it pain.? The rending of the
Souls in the lightless hell hole.' No measure of depth.' No rights there no-thing, ahead or
Left.! Or way to turn..As denied desires
White hot burn, yet you will not see that
Intensitiy isolation is in the cosmic reach
The ultimate lessons there ( you will teach ) you will apply the torture to what
Was once a soul..You will exist in regret
And be digested whole.' The scenes of joy
You might have known sealed off from
Where' will be your home, if you think the
Twisting of desire is a pain while here? then i
Have some news..Its bad no fear.! As you
Try to deliver your self your desires on
earth and find no real satisfaction..
Once there its well?? In un-measure infernally worse.'
No pretending,
fences need mending.
A will unbending,
always condescending.
Voices sending,
words seem unending.
Friendship rending,
intent offending.
Friendship depending,
to matters attending.
Lost friend impending
will be heartrending.
The wind arrived quietly, conservatively,
meandering around my heart with soft words,
playing with tendrils of my being with soft caresses,
lulling my soul with gentle softness and light.
Summer stretched and wove a ribbon
through my emotions given freely and wantonly.
Sucking the possibilities deep within to nurture
a future of happy-scented days before me.
The storm arrived unexpectedly, viciously,
tearing and rending my being with no more caresses.
Now, cast outside the vortex that surrounds it,
my soft words unheard above the roaring noise.
A heart now bruised and silent, missing the mark,
veering wildly towards some unknown destination
in ever decreasing circles like leaves in autumn
as they fall silently from the lofty boughs above.
Quiet now, my soul still forming words in silence.
Never to be heard above the swirling mass roaring above.
Wishing for summer days to return with a soft kiss
or caring caress whispered to a heart once loved.
VOGON BUT NOT FORGOTTEN
They were here, in their creative funk
Writing and speaking poetry as if drunk
Recognised as verses in their own way
They kept chanting, hoping we’d obey
But as always, so awful to see and hear
Expecting those affected to shed a tear
A poem directed at us, time and again
Never interpreting our wincing as pain
One might just have seen some feeling
But it was disgusting, leaving us reeling
It kept going on and on, never ending
As a jerky delivery, not heart rending
Personal readings thought to be alright
Not as bad as on Vogon Poetry Night
Fearless
I am not afraid of the future
The mystery it holds.
Lurking in the shadows, uncertain.
Bring with it, when it comes:
the crashing of a thousand cymbals
the roll of the drums,waves in my ears
roar of the seas, extravaganza.
The whine of the violin
the sadness,the loneliness
the despair,the tears.
The strumming of the guitar
your fingers moving
the fret of my love, humming.
Blow like the bugles
the horn in splendour!
Wake my soul ,my spirit
soar like the eagles ,nesting
the new morn, its delights.
Breathe like the flute,
my lips over you
the nights ,the fervor,
the longing ,the passion unfold.
Bring in the organ,the piano
the tempest of the waltzes
the hues, the strains
filling the spaces, unseen .
Chants like the prayers,
rending my being,
lead me, from this life to the next.
I am not afraid of the future,
the storms it creates,
neither should you .
Stay,be a rhapsody.
I
balls of lightning
scrape the darkness
off my window
desert hills illuminated
thundering growls
of a grumpy giant
rumble through the night
while my pillow squishes
against my chest
like you
loud huffs and puffs
scatter twigs, leaves and dust
across the concrete
sky's all swollen
and the earth pants
in anticipation
arching up
to meet the clouds
ravished trees rustle
thirsty for so long
dry blades
stand so soo straight
straining to be drownedn¨n
a pregnant pause
while sheets of silent light
splinter into x-rays
of desperation
and fertile longing
she holds her breath
quivering
and the Universe explodes
smashing, crashing
stabbing the ground
splitting it wide open
to swallow torrents
descending drenching
tearing and rending
filling and drilling
penetrating
saturating
soaking and drowning
gasping for air
mad rushing
recedes
into the lulling drizzle
she absorbs
until the moon is gone
mouth so dry
I wake face buried
in the soft folds
of what comforts me
these days
and you're waiting
for the wake up call
you never wake up to
(you know)
rid of thoughts
washed away
it's a new day
Water! Water! The entire landscape submerged
Grave silence! Except the torrents swift and huge
Intimidating sights, plains and valleys merged
Rushing above the tops of roofs with a surge
Clergymen discoursed it the Almighty's curse
The end of epoch, predictors prophesied
Scientists explained it an eco inverse
Country folk acknowledged it ill-fate and cried
Swept by it the colonies of little birds
Corpses drained by the rapid gush of water
Crashed , ruinous, inexplicable for words
Haphazard the course of life by its slaughter
Debris and uprooted trees drained by the flows
Disfigured the pretty landscape of lush green
Distressing sights remained as heart rending woes
Destruction with all its diabolic spleen
Life becomes an endless and relentless fight.
By mingling, can't we make an adaptation?
Western and Indians' viewpoints may be right
But harming nature leads to degradation
Place : 2nd
Up the shore the rhythmic tide strides.
Twice a day, the army marches in succumbing.
Then retreats, tail between its legs, discharging
Its grip and flooding embrace, releasing, disengaging,
It's ebb and flow, a never-ending sleep-breath sigh.
The tide's hidden master and conductor is the moon.
A general seldom seen leading the troops on the battlefield
Rending the tide as irresponsible, willful and unaccountable.
A creature wail-fully uncaring, inconsiderate, wayward in consequence.
In the woe betide comes, seeping into the castle moats and holes dug by kids
Flushing away the fun of seashore frolics,
dampening the joy and the shrill of beach laughter
reminding us that there has to be a morning after,
After the coming,
someone, not me
has to
clean up
the
mess
and ebb
to bed.
A few tears have smudged the script.
To the chiseled thoughts that ran encrypt.
The origin of the legend is unknown.
Rise up, silent relics from your own
To a magical decor, the syllables drift.
as sleeping birds continue to sing a gift.
I'm musing over pastel periwinkle tears.
A tune that will never leave our ears
An upbeat reworking, laced with delight.
Moves the heart-rending epic by night.
Written: June 04, 2023
Nimble fingers playing along
This black lung rending mining song
It touches your soul and lingers
Playing along nimble fingers
Heartache breaking common miner
Could ne'er be sung any finer
A strong tune that's overtaking
Common miner, heartache breaking
Match the tempo of mountain man
As long and as fast as you can
Guitar with blues, a great combo
Of mountain man, match the tempo
This tune that flows from within him
Will never let the lights go dim
Tap tap your feet and match the throes
From within him, this tune that flows
16th May 2023
(about "Black Lung Heartache" by Joe Bonamassa)
Contest: Joe Bonamassa Inspiration 4
Sponsor: Robert James Liguori
A man who is hurt beyond words
Begins to think of crossing swords
The air rending with harsh war cries:
"Shame on who for cowardice flies!"
A man who is hurt beyond words
Terrible things does to binding cords:
No more rushed "Hellos" and "His"
He leaves minds to find out the 'Whys?'
A man who is hurt beyond words
Accepts to fight in feared fjords,
On combat scenes there with war drum
That must talk or he'll war tunes hum...
A hurt-beyond-words: The pissed off,
Whose real self someone has switched off!
Eyes gleam onyx-black, white silky hair gently flows
Pampered with kisses, hugs and chic bows
It's Suzanne's impish Maltese
The first lap dog, from Old Greece
Sparking heart-rending love which glows, spreads and grows
For SuZ
Despondent, falling
Or more dire
That foothold, beneath
Now gives way;
The green Earth's, and life's!
As sinks day.
Needful of uplift
A hand's, heart's
Both soft, for mercy
As strong lit
Sky, Heaven, rending
Shout, scream it.
In the dim mists, a place exists,
An ancient world that resists,
The ravages upon itself bequeathed,
In the green misty fog in which it is wreathed.
To hide the pool of the never-ending,
That shows of turmoil and the rending.
At once like a spiral tower of a keep,
And with uncounted fathoms it is so deep.
So are the fountain and the pool,
All humane and yet are cruel.
The fountain in the air starts to die,
Then I realize it is I.
He took me fishing.
Meaning,
I cast and fouled
my fishing reel
in rapid succession,
forgetting to thumb break,
creating snarled messes,
rending the whole thing
unusable.
He swapped
his gear for mine,
untangled the abortion
I’d created,
handed me back
an operational rod,
just as I messed up
again.
Rinse.
Repeat.
He never once
scowled or
raised his voice.
When we got back to the house,
Granny asked how fishing went.
Paw-paw smiled,
“Wonderfully.”
----------
for the "Pick-a-Title" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Edward Ibeth
title chosen: 1. Longanimity
written on 03/14/2022
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