Your anonymous blog
To my face you are kindness itself:
cheerful, always upbeat,
but in your anonymous blog
you rip me apart.
You press your thumb and forefinger on each side,
hold, pull and rend,
and rupture my very innards.
You focus on me,
my life, my words, my actions and my body
like you are a Celestron Telescope
searching for every single crater and irregularity.
With an Ultima Barlow lens
and your Leica M9 18MP
You grab each natural image
and then rearrange reality with
your precious, perversely persuasive, periscopic Photoshop technique.
poetic liberty has leased you a license to assassinate,
humiliate,
decimate,
invalidate,
severely lambaste,
and mockingly castrate
everything that I identify as me.
literary freedom allows you to liberally fabricate,
mutilate,
denigrate,
incriminate,
scathingly castigate,
and maliciously urinate
on what others think of me.
To my face you are kind beyond selflessness,
but on your online beat,
your anonymous malevolence
sets you apart
from all the others
that have ever wanted
to write me up,
put me down,
and publish me out.
— Zumwalt (2011) (used by permission from zumpoems.com)
Categories:
scathingly, anxiety, bullying, conflict, hate,
Form: Free verse
Sunk comfortably aloof in his mauve reading chair
Dad's evening reverie; pipe, cheese, crackers and book
His world vanished in smoke swirling into the air
For his family; an occasional vacant look
Yet he'd take time to spin me a bedtime story
Of enchanted lands and daring schemes
Flights of fancy depicting heroic glory
Betraying his real life's unmet dreams
My dad's inner home, the one he preferred
Was far from our world's cruel, petty strife
His family and solace was the written word
Though he was good to his kids and true to his wife
This world was too much with him somehow
A scathingly mean-spirited bother
But I just remember his soft kindness now
Blessed to have had such a father
Categories:
scathingly, father son, fathers day,
Form: Quatrain
The little imp bawled lustily
as it lay in its perambulator
there by the water fountain
in a secluded garden
right in the middle of a concrete jungle,
disturbing my elevated thoughts
that churned and churned inside my mind
on how to kill those pesky flies
that infested my rundown abode.
It was no use for me
to kick any brilliant idea around,
so long as that pesky brat
disturbed the silence all around.
Why even the doves stopped cooing
and other birds stopped chirping,
whilst most decided that 'twas best
to search for a quieter place.
So I walked up to his comely nurse
sitting contentedly on a bench
and scratching my unshaven face
I quite politely asked
why the little cherub cry so much!
She looked me up and down
and down and up, no doubt
disgusted by what she discerned.
"Maybe he's seeing a devil,"
she replied, cooing at the cherub
that made its bright new pram
quiver with yelping wails.
"Or maybe he's thirsty,"
scathingly I replied.
Cherub my foot, I thought.
And sighing I slowly repaired
back to my solitary bench
and thought and thought on
how I could kill those parasites
that bothered me as much
as that little cherub in the pram.
Categories:
scathingly, child, cry,
Form: Free verse
I was blinded to the autonomy
Of the actions committed in the time
Moonfall hesitated, and did not see
Malice in the eyes that were naught to be mine.
The crescent curves of a smile's sliver;
Indecision of skin, rancid and smooth;
Plush sentences congeal as I quiver;
Thoughts so careless, teeth dripping wir'y sooth.
My sight could not pierce nightfall-scathingly
Battened down were my mind and eyes, depraved
by sour medicine dreams filling me,
Unwillingly, with satire not staved.
The birr which I painted your portrait with
Disenchanted my world, a cause for death.
Categories:
scathingly, allegory, angst, devotion, life,
Form: Sonnet
Between every sunset and sunrise
I offer my soul to the darkness inside.
My precious dreams the valuable prize
That the demons so scathingly deride.
In the darkness I search for a clue,
The key to this taunting maze.
Something borrowed, something blue
To lift this tired, worn out gaze.
I drown in every bitter sweet night
Calling your name over again.
Every soul has a blinding light,
I search for you in vain.
I dreamed that you would contact me
Once you passed the great divide.
But now that your spirit is soaring free,
In total darkness you seem to hide.
Let me feel your presence once more
Let me see your ghostly face.
I shuddering beseechingly implore
Let me again feel your warm embrace.
Between every sunrise and sunset
I try to forget this soulless night.
Good-day astral traveler, well met.
I was not born with second sight.
Categories:
scathingly, imagination, life, loss, me,
Form: Rhyme
I sign, and from the moment when my ink -
naive and plain - lays down its life, I cry.
Microwaved air brushes against anxiety
plays with our concentration, dances with sweat.
Our eyes: giant pendulums patrol inside this brimming bucket, guarding the lies.
Children, ragged and seemingly archaic, graze
in herds along this expanse. This thirsty sight
calls for aid. Sand slips sensually
into every cranny. I can taste the insanity.
Falling like trees they multiply, lining up
nought after nought with the lick of my trigger.
Featureless faces lay gaunt; their cheekbones defiant and dark reach out for
consolation.
Blood-curdling screams scratch scathingly
throughout my body, grating on my bones.
I am lost. We are the foreigners.
I want to go home.
Categories:
scathingly, introspection, on writing and
Form: Free verse
He had a thought and a vision,
a small desire and a dream,
only thing was that,
it did not appear what it seemed,
he thought it would be fun,
but what mother thought it was a gun,
if she thought that,
then he had to run,
he did just that,
but could not go far,
he was caught at the door ajar,
she hit him scathingly,
on cheeks straight,
it singed his skin red,
a pain travelled down his spine,
and a deep sob formed inside,
it gulped upwards for going out,
but got stuck half way through,
he was bleary and distressed,
chest paining real bad,
he was still confused,
between his dream,
and the stinging cheek chime.
Categories:
scathingly, inspirational, life, philosophy,
Form: Free verse