My legs feel poor in an unkind way
I don’t want to talk about anything
I don’t want to talk about anyone
Hoarseness will ingest lungs
Loss will be learnt from rot
I [will] have no eyes
I [will] have no tongue
I [will] have no heart
Beware! In my Dwelling, a predator
slinks in without Even saying hello -
spirit who Pretends he’s my creditor -
green with greed and Remarkably yellow.
My words have Escaped this parasite-pest,
“You are So unwelcome here, a no-guest,
a remnant Scrap from a life I once led."
You would bleed me white or kill me Instead.
I ban you contender Of aggression,
Begone Now! rid me of this depression.
My daddy—he once told me
don’t ever play with nuns
they’ll hit you with their rulers
it won’t be any fun
I snuck out of that prison
and now I’m on the run
Once freed from that schoolhouse
I sunbathed in the sun
I stayed out late, I went on dates
looking out for number-one
When I think of what I went through
of all the tired repressive lies
I keep running wise, in slick disguise
my purpose is renewed
Don’t ever let ‘em tell you
you can’t have any fun
If they preach that hackneyed drivel
grab some things and run
.
.
Songs for this:
Cold Heart (PNAU Remix) by Elton John & Dua Lipa
I'm Still Standing by Elton John
Webster: hackneyed = uninteresting, unfun, dull and unoriginal.
*stolen almost directly, in spirit anyway, from that freewheeling rebel, Johnny Cash
**My first 8 years of school were parochial
Undeva departe
Emo?iile ?i-au facut adapost
Afara ploua ?i e frig..
Ele, tremura, sperând la un anotimp mai bun
Înainte de pisc, au fost îndrumate de un calugar
El le-a urnit din loc ?i le-a dat direc?ia spre Vârful Exprimarii
Dar când au ajuns acolo, le-a parasit cum s-a înnoptat
Iar ele înca se întreaba daca e pentru ca a ajuns sa le cunoasca
Tremurând, î?i spun pove?tile lor personale
De la întâmplari fericite ?i pâna la trairi terifiante
?i în tot acest timp afara e bezna
Iar ploaia devine zapada
Diminea?a vine cu o întrebare:
"Ramânem pe Vârful Exprimarii sau coborâm în Valea Reprimarii?"
Acolo în vale este cald ?i tihna.
Nu e nicio durere, dar ?i nicio placere.
Oare cum e mai bine?
Aici sau acolo? Acum sau mai încolo?
Oare mai au o cale? O cale ?esuta din pove?tile pe care tocmai ?i le-au spus?
Dupa ce au fugit de Valea Reprimarii ?i au suferit pe Vârful Exprimarii, care e calea catre Marele Echilibru Interior?
I am incapable of experiencing anger, fear or sadness
Without constantly thinking about judgement
I just want to destroy all that paves my way
Without worrying about trouble with the law
I just want to piss my pants thinking about the future
Without being called an anxious neurotic
I just want to be able to shed a single tear
Without being seen as less of a man
Why on Earth would God give us these feelings
And call us infidel for exploring it?
Somethings in my life are to complex to give expression to
Somethings are too tense and tangled
I contemplate on reasons and questions, beliefs and griefs'
I keep them to my chest turning in my sleep
Like a trinket, lockets or Kolesnikov's
Cause at times they are too tender to surrender to time
And other times they haunt and encircle me like ghastly clay pigeons
I was told to die for what you love or love what you'd die for
Most times I'm engulfed in repressions in corners on cold floors
Relief feels like falling through air
I breakdown into tears
Like glass breaks into shards
Splintering my heart beyond repair
And I can't even speak when I need to
At times I displace me when I need you
Cause somethings I can't express or give expression to
Somethings I bottle in me to protect you
Repressed desire causes one such awful anxiety
Even though keeping it well hidden inside,
It also has a major effect on our sobriety
The heart cannot contain it, many have tried.
Even though keeping it well hidden inside
Repressed desire does irreparable damage,
The heart cannot contain it, many have tried
Sometimes sending our emotions on a rampage.
Repressed desire does irreparable damage
We cannot simply bottle up our inner feeling,
Sometimes sending our emotions on a rampage
Releasing them in a rush that sends us reeling.
We cannot simply bottle up our inner feeling
The repressed desire has a way of escaping,
Releasing itself in a rush that sends us reeling
It can become mental anguish in the making.
The repressed desire has a way of escaping
It also has a major effect on our sobriety,
It can become mental anguish in the making
Repressed desire causes one such awful anxiety.
SECOND PLACE WINNER
Written September 11, 2022
Submitted to: "Pick-a-Title Vol 32" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
The world is so absurd
people think their wishes Trump
true freedoms
honourable freedoms
They detest
education
women's rights
minority rights
Science, vaccines, empathy
freedom of children not to be shot in schools
They distort and lie
and lie and lie
Their tin foil hats of hate
the manifesto of all extremists
who need guns to be men
Beware someone who screeches "freedom"
then takes away yours
Those who care so much for the unborn
do zero for the born and the needy
socialism is against their freedoms
Western nations laugh as they proclaim
dire sadness
at the ludicrousness
of the Taliban and USA
allies in repression of freedom
in the name of freedom
fade the tyrant to black
to snap a people's slide to hopeless
when the down trodden gasp for frenzied gulps of air
freedom's fullness lost
authoritarian arms in perversions of civic life
that bash the rush of free expression
when the hatchet faced boss combats thought
like a burning bacteria that drains color from life
Is the brute a man at all but a boot on the world?
blunt force trauma in jaws snapped shut
calculated state control celebrating callousness
to smear malice that slackens one's soul
citizens cower in concealed shelter, encased in
black-boxed fear
eclipse of the sun from the tyrant's grip
sooty nights of sirens wailing
when a protest fist rising means life severed
push back possible in the timeless fury of revolution
from rebellion whispering in moonless corners
but only when a people's survival is a silenced cry
we hear
Poem composed August 28/21
secret tattoos
a three-masted schooner tattoo on his bare chest
my father tosses us each
high into the air and we squeal with delight
make it sail for us.
he rubs his ocean belly and his ship rolls swoons
dips for us and we
dont know he is fading like the lines of the ink
geisha with parasol seducing
on his right arm or blue-red butterfly on his left calf
that doesn’t fly like he no longer
can and sailor you never told us how you raced
behind marines on strange pacific beaches
tagging mates to live and fleeing their dying
screams: at sixteen summers young
nebraska boy belongs in fields of wheat or corn
or a soda shop on main street.
their bone splinters and flesh shreds mingling with sand
still cry in his ears save me brother
help me mother oh god please shoot me bob don’t
leave me leave me. leave me.
tides lapping at the shores of his memory will wash
his secret tattoos.
Rb 90
for my father, a Navy corpsman who served
in two wars.
I assume that my limerick obsession
has to do with aggression repression.
I compose and compose,
and I never repose.
This prevents my aggression’s expression.
Repression
(Englyn Cyrch)
It's process of forcing thoughts
into unconscious mind, toss
painful or dangerous views
from bruise of conscious for rots.
~*~ *~
Its effect
(Englyn Cyrch)
These memories appear through
subconscious means as a cue
in an altered form, like dreams
that seems to happen as true.
~*~ *~
The High Inquisitor is being assigned this week
to determine who is able to meet criteria
and who shall be sent into exile
the details are simple
and rely on the ‘bending of a knee’
the ‘kissing of a ring’
the ability to follow orders without question
versus some, obscure thing written somewhere
about ‘free speech’, ‘free press’, ‘shall not be infringed’
these must be some ‘irrelevant’ statements,
outdated concepts
that no longer apply
only loyalty matters
an oath, a duty
to subserve
beware the wrath of this new whip master
or face
the lash.
The sharp blade cuts through
The boulders crush the wind out
Life comes to an end.
Caught up in Lifehouse's beautiful love song, First Time....
Then catching out of these eyes a very pretty lady with her man
Crossing from her bus stop through their park; carrying boxes filled
With another's donated food ? Whirlwinds arise be they thoughts both bright
Mingled amid this mire feeling while noticing a daughter's slight pangs ?
Its easy to be broken easier to hide holding my breath still, burning inside saying
Save all the starman crack aside your trillion dollar pet peeve scientific bing bang slang
We didn't stand above these stars amid the arms of ET; but I did stand within, Their Creator's....
Sending one message reserved for his moment in time today: Love, nay illusion nor delusion, humanity.
Note: You Just Like Your Daddy, Know, Who You Are!
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