Judas Iscariot, Brutus, and Cassius are not divine as one slumped over heathen often stressed, nor are they wicked as they have been deemed, under that same heathen who often cracks seeds which are eggs which are buried in the summery earth, the beast of the earth has failed here first, and so we see now that we have left his lie to die, and he injured, morally, spiritually and physically must soon lie, and so his original serpent-eating lie from which the loop so familiar is real, that serpent feeding on itself, was part of his zeal.
In Arabian singsong, the dancer began
Searching for tempo in desert sands
Torso twisting and turning to the rhythm of time
With a toss of her head and a shake of her mane
Tambourines rang, spectators clapped
the dancer transformed, shot into his lap
Wriggling her belly and lighting his fire
she struggled to control her desire…
… At the end of the night, slumped over, frail, spent
too many years barely paying the rent
tip: don’t get sand in your lip gloss
Talking about relationships
I find it irritating when, after three hours of
sweaty club-dancing I ask my boyfriend,
“Want to get a sweet treat?” and he says “no.”
“Come on,” I whined.
I slumped, snorted and stamped my foot like a horse.
but he sat, cow-like, unmooved.
“I’m 22” I declared, lifting my chin in challenge,
“You can’t tell me ‘no.’ NO ONE can tell me no -
sweets are street-legal.”
While I was getting whipped up,
he’d started looking at his phone.
So I ordered ice cream, two scoops,
- one banana pie, and one mango-nut.
with whipped cream, nuts, strawberry bits
chocolate-sprinkles and three cherries.
He practically ate it all.
Let me say it poetically..
I was vexed near complaint
his filching was open
but with his sugared kiss, my wrath did melt,
cured, as was, by that warm piece of service
proving, all haps, love is still the sweetest thing.
.
.
Songs for this:
In These Shoes? by Kirsty MacColl
Meet You At the Moon by Imelda May
An earthy palette
of hues,
blue-greens, and
muted tones of melancholia
safflower oil imparts a
blue period
colors made from
our terrestrial
fruit of flora
reflecting
depth of destitution
giving or receiving
the act of charity?
The girl lifts
their spirits
with humble offerings
collective souls
connect completely
moods moving,
welcoming warmth
of the broth soup’s
steamy ardent aroma,
awakening the dormant
and pitiful perils prolonged
sense of taste
A choice expounding
in what is seen
and unseen,
an elder’s mindful
symbiosis, steaming
savory clouds
of translucent
silvery solvents
from a slumped stance,
vigor spent
...All back-and-forth the fight raged through the morn,
men dove to hide, bushes off branches shorn,
ricochets rang as they bounced off the rock,
made it hard for Alistair to take stock.
At least two down, the others were scattered,
three of their foe lay lifeless on the earth,
but six more can, guns blazing, eyes alight,
Pritchard howled, seemed immune to all fright.
Alistar rose, and drilled him through the chest,
three guns barked back, slugs ripping through his vest,
He shot again, caught one man in the leg,
but slumped, knowing he was already dead;
just breathing hurt, all his body felt cold,
he dropped the gun, his mind no longer bold,
clutched a big rock, all dreams of money gone,
replaced by all he had done…and done wrong.
His dying through, before the final fall:
Perhaps Dan had been the smartest of them all…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
the spine remembers
each vertebra a fallen city~
skyline slumped,
streets narrowing
to cautious steps
A farmer's day brings both worries and joys
Every day he sets out to check his livestock ,Rex staying close to his heel. There they all are scattered throughout the field. His keen eye spots something amiss. A mother cow is slumped low on the grass ,her little calf no longer with her. Controlling his panic ,he examines the fence until he comes across a gap ,big enough for a calf to slip through but denying that opportunity to her. Looking over the fence, he spies the calf munching merrily in the next meadow. His snap of his fingers sends Rex racing through the gap to bring the calf safely home to be happily reunited with its relieved mother, and he then plugs the gap with boughs from a fallen tree.
A young calf missing
The worrying search ends well
Rex saving the day
Slumped in the dumps
going over the bumps
don't let it get your goat
or get to you
but stay afloat
and take your lumps
remember to maintain
easy to say hard to do
your balance composure
perspective and point of view
as tomorrow no one knows
so go along for the ride
whatever fate throws
take it in stride
with its ups and downs
and smile all the while
there's no gain in frowns
as life's nought but a game
and from the day we begin
men and women are merely players
not a one of whom will ever win
The shattered remains of what I once had,
The hollow dreams still quite tall,
My mind of chaos driving me mad,
All behind a huge, transparent wall.
I hung my head low, slumped down.
I searched aimlessly in the darkness.
A picture lay there; on my face a frown,
But what was left of them all, they called it silence.
I caressed the picture,
My thoughts haywire,
The world is sinister,
Burning me up like fire.
Who am I? A meek peasant.
Knew no more than hardened violence,
A burdened past, a tortured present,
And what lay beyond, they called it silence.
Sorrow gripped me on the inside,
Lifeless and shriveled from within,
Merely spectating the secrets, they still hide,
Hoping that once again I could begin.
Sacked of my people, my life,
All while hiding under a veil of pretense,
Blaming me for the start of a strife,
And what they didn't need, they called it silence.
I let it calm down,
The whirlwind in my mind.
The warmth and laughter, I had them drown,
No place for joy will I ever find.
I ripped the photograph, my elixir.
The fire crackled in the distance,
All gone, I was forced to surrender,
And all that was mine, they called it silence.
February fourth, slumped and stoned
your face, again lit up my phone
not even a month and you were in my home
why did I start to miss being alone?
We tried to take each other out
every word, I’d choke from doubt
this was not really meant for me
rose red colours were all you could see.
You planned our future down to our fridge
as we walked across the bridge
my head was loud and so unsure
that you would want this, if you knew more
because
I wasn’t all that well, didn’t mean to cast a spell
you’d have me cursing my own wishing well.
Those days were endless
there was no cheat
for such a loveless pain,
I could barely eat
there were tears and there was fear
because my life had ended up here.
So I had to tell you, when April came
I was reeling, nearly insane
and it probably felt like I’d played a game
but I owed you the truth, I owed you the pain.
We never spoke, not one more time
the months flew by, I would feel fine
you did nothing wrong, I hope you know
my head was the reason I had to go.
All my muses have become my bruises
but you’re not a wound I wear.
February fourth, slumped and stoned
your face, again lit up my phone
not even a month and you were in my home
why did I start to miss being alone?
We tried to take each other out
every word, I’d choke from doubt
this was not really meant for me
rose red colours were all you could see.
You planned our future down to our fridge
as we walked across the bridge
my head was loud and so unsure
that you would want this, if you knew more
because
I wasn’t all that well, didn’t mean to cast a spell
you’d have me cursing my own wishing well.
Those days were endless
there was no cheat
for such a loveless pain,
I could barely eat
there were tears and there was fear
because my life had ended up here.
So I had to tell you, when April came
I was reeling, nearly insane
and it probably felt like I’d played a game
but I owed you the truth, I owed you the pain.
We never spoke, not one more time
the months flew by, I would feel fine
you did nothing wrong, I hope you know
my head was the reason I had to go.
All my muses have become my bruises
but you’re not a wound I wear.
Written: October 11, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Craig Cornish
*****************
The obsolete stone fort stood ubiquitous and ominous,
a layer was full of tales and osmosed senses.
Towers cast a silence that weighed on my chest—
as the wind whistled through castle slits,
It slid past the slumped ramparts.
Wet clay—damp air sighed in the gaps of dawn,
cold beared my step, which felt both cruel and vast.
Fear and solitude were etched into every wall~
yet my will flared, torchlike, in my gaze.
This castle—whether chosen or not—is my refuge,
The roof evokes nostalgia yet lacks warmth—
I recall sunshine seeping over willow trees,
The stones convey the idea of fortitude.
Life must follow me from hollow halls—
to chambers where my pulse dares to echo.
It ought to linger where apathy holds no sway~
quench your thirst from the dark wells of lust.
Shape a shield from the void that wraps us,
It is dotted with heirlooms, built bare of love,
and grasped tightly in the inferno of despair.
I sure would feel ill till the end,
Resigned to it still till the end.
If admit I can’t till the end,
Sorry for sure feel till the end.
They, slumped in too much me and mine
Endure its mien will till the end.
What I feel for and call it love,
I must with it deal till the end.
Pain subsides sooner than we think,
Strange, we dwell on it till the end.
She implored: forgive, forget me,
And still, what a drill till the end!
Hard to keep love and ways of world
Both, on even keel till the end!
_________________________
Ghazal |19.09.2025| feelings, forgive, love, pain, world
An eerie stillness enshrouds,
the street I lodge in,
lone shadows loiter and lounge,
dark ink creatures peep
wet croak from a gaunt hermit,
slumped on granite bench,
faint cry from flitting figures
estranged by night chill
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.
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