Nancy was thrilled with her boyfriend, Mike
She followed him as he moved from town to town
There were things about him her relatives did not like
Mike was in the habit of putting Nancy's ideas down
He said if she got pregnant, he would leave her
She was his wife for twenty-three years, maybe
Her dream of being a morn squelched by this insolent cur
He left her to marry his girlfriend who was having his baby.
Nancy’s depression was expected by some.
She wasted her life doing things for this buffoon.
Many of us recognized Mike was a selfish bum.
For us, he could not leave too soon.
Geminis cannot be squelched
Without squirming and kicking
Biting, scratching, screaming and stabbing
Gouging, pinching, hitting, and slicing
Even psychopaths and sociopaths leave us alone
Usually agreeing other targets go more easily.
Gemini is an air sign, we get along well with Aquarians and Leos
Best to marry Libras if we can find one available
But they marry early, so hurry.
Gemini, flighty, funny, fleeting
Moving, malleable, merry-maker mercurial mind
Dynamic, energetic, a shapeshifter, a fairy, a changeling
Gemini, constantly seeking, learning the world
Asking questions, figuring out better ways,
Clairvoyant, clairsentience, clairaudient
Gemini, party animal, bringing joy and enthusiasm
New horizons, fresh start, rejuvenation
Wants her own way, can be diabolical if double-crossed
Gemini, fragile, sensitive, easily hurt
Fairy-like, imagination on ready alert always.
Sensitive idealist, actress, teacher persuader
I fasten my seatbelt,
Remembering the Testament
I had scribbled —
The leanest Testament ever.
In it I had written,
Among other tattered rubbish?
I have nothing
Naked I came
Naked I shall fly away.
Seated by the window,
I borrowed courage from
The wings of frightened birds.
With one grunt of mechanical breath,
My feet squelched off the grimes of the
Soil,
And I befriended the skies,
My heartbeat louder than drums of war.
Night,
Ageless and porous,
Sang screeches of fireflies of
Crescendo-diminuendo sparks.
What hour?
In the midst of the hustles, I lost my hoursight
Different, tonight, is my eyesight, seeing even
Through the darkest foliage of gentle, but sinister
Caress sway.
On the broken, cracked slabs, squatting, dark torsos!
Pensive, broken, sad, old and so good the
Work of Italian sculptors.
Further deep in searching glare, the hardened
Mats of hurried sepultures of returning
Soldiers, whose wellingtons have squelched in
Mudblood.
Wars and battles never post blandishments
On peace.
What hour now, brother?
It is so dark and mean, and my hourglass refuses a
Moon reflection.
But now the hours move fast on march of the
Headless feet in wellingtons.
'Left, right, left, right....'
Dolts hasten among fleeing marabouts.
Stench from ailing, balmed smog
Stills the whiffs of roasting deer, all in
One silence of close hour canticles...
Such phalanx, brother, coldens the head.
A temple bell clangs through echoing ears.
My vision today
could turn a green leaf brown.
Why do I tilt my head like a bird
just to see its reflection in
a muddy puddle?
Why the need to know
If mud is real or just a mote in my eye?
In your eleventh hour,
in your distress,
why did you utter that accusatory word, 'forsaken'?
Those unrisen words reverberate still.
Body temples crumble away,
the altar returns to eternal flame.
Knowing this, you still cried out.
As a bird's broken wing
un-fluttering,
yet not squelched,
am I.
I die not,
to long dead thoughts.
Forsaken, forsook, forgiven.
My fear of falling
makes me ever the lame pilgrim.
Will you walk a little away,
that I might feel your leaving?
I then might for certain know,
that you are my very own
sacred heart.
For I forget myself
in this long dream of existence,
though, all-unknowing,
I will surely
blunder into the light.
frankly, there is no greater grief
than the loss of a child
the anguish cannot be squelched or concealed
some say it diminishes over time
I do not believe this
It is not the kind of conversation that is exigent to the circumstances.
When questioned, we could have feigned its importance, but why?
It was a superfluous conversation, and no one should have asked.
But the police detectives did, because there was a murder to solve
Mrs. Peets, the main detective used multifarious methods to get us to talk.
Attempted to get us to confess to what we had been sharing in the booth.
One look from Migs, our ringleader squelched us immediately.
Migs’ rare effulgence has elevated him to sovereign of our little gang.
Miss Bee, another detective played with the amaranth on the table.
I watched tiny purple buds fall onto the white linen tablecloth.
I am pretty sure this plant is pestilent, but kept my mouth shut.
They both tried to foment discord, but we were slick and walked away uncharged.
greater horror tale
may not be found in
tomes of fractured minds
as bloodied annals
of our history
Is human flesh
fully worthless
that on command
it's turned to dust
hopes and dreams
squelched midst screams
for glory
thus is
spoils of
war
(Diminished Hexaware)
Written on 14 June 2022
He lured easy prey into darkest night
Innocent, this had been no risk.
Groomed her until she had squelched her light.
Their romancing was a round pattern disc.
She responds to his disapproving looks.
Innocent, this had been no risk.
She no longer retrieves to her books.
Deferring to his every whim.
Hidden away in his castle nooks.
Her whole world now belongs to him.
She does not gasp, whisper or sigh.
I feel her fate is rather grim.
I give her hug and a reluctant bye.
Her response is stiff and straight.
I hear my chest heave a heartfelt sigh.
She traveled with him compliantly
He lured easy prey into darkest night
Outmaneuvering her reliantly.
Groomed her until she had squelched her light
Written 5-02-22
Contest: An Original Terzanelle
Host L Milton Hanks
A loud whooshing came quickly upon me
I did not have to turn to know he was there
He has been able to invade my body since I was little
I had not seen him for years, but recognized him instantly.
My hands began itching to put themselves around another throat.
I have not had the urge to kill for many seasons, yet here she was.
Back in my gray matter, insistent and persistent.
I telephoned my closest friend to come over for a visit.
If I am going to murder again, it must at least be someone I like.
It feels better after a kill if I know what I have completely squelched.
I heard the demon laughing, right before I blacked out.
I feel relieved to not know what my hands do during these kills.
It is bad enough when the demon wakes me to clean up the mess.
“I’ll be right over,” my friend said, not realizing to whom she was speaking.
The woman inside who pretends to despise power
Yearns for it, in every way, but secretly
She is unassuming and selfless,
keeping her hopes and dreams silenced
putting other’s wants into the forefront of her mind’s eye.
The queen she could be is squelched at every turn
As she cooks, cleans, dusts, and vacuums her life days away.
The resentment she feels is kicked under the bed,
along with her secret ambitions, talents, and most coveted desires.
She has strangled her inner wants so completely,
she is unaware at a conscious level that they still live.
It is not “nice” for a woman to want things, she thinks.
Not sure where this script originated, but understanding it is her mantra.
The woman inside is disgusted, but cannot fight her way to the front.
It is the place where the “nice” girl lives.
Yes, I did say girl; she will never earn the right to be called woman
if things continue along this path.
Enthusiasm paraded out pores fingers
Prancing into the world with a soul of its own
Excitement was generated at various places
The heart in sync with the soul, spiritual happiness
There was a quickening, an all knowing, an inner peace
But more than that,
There was life, love, and purity of purpose
Which lasted through the plane of earth existence
Absolute sheer utter wolf howling life
Because the spirit understood she was invincible
She could not be squelched or killed
She had existed before, and she would exist eons after
This earth body turned to dust
Candace
taught to be a good girl
Grew up in the sixties
Sunday School every Sunday but one
Bible belt dweller
Never spoke out of turn
Kept her ideas hidden
Not wanting to show up the boys
Who were often wrong
Still she remained silent
Candace
A young mother at 22
Saw injustices
Stood up for truth
Because she had daughters
Yelled at strangers
Enraged now
Often angry
Because she had squelched her voice
When she was young
Candace
Age 27
Taken away by the police
Had become aggressive during assertive training class
In moments went from passive to aggressive
Hit another student over the head with a chair
During role play
Candace
Age 30
Mouth firmly shut
Angry as all get out
Decides to write it down
Sends editorials to the press
Has a reputation as a bit of a nut
Receives hate mail from strangers
Candace
Age 45
Begins to write poetry
Her dark thoughts are accepted
Some even applauded
She finally begins to heal
A tiny less angry now.
Sticky unlovable gold holds her captive next to her crystal ball
Her life is all about making money; everything else squelched.
She reads fortunes with a plastered smile, pretending she cares.
Keeping her abject sadness to herself, eager to return to her home
So she can drink her sorrows into oblivion after she hands her man the money
A life chosen by her parents, one she will leave gladly upon death.
She pointed her eyes at the photo
and squelched my hopes with just four words
"good luck with that"
I was planning on turning it into a masterpiece
but she made it look like I had just crapped on it
Too bad I didn't see her shade of green,
nor how she was so mean.
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