The Untold Story
The flashing headlights intensely illuminated the gloomy faces of the sweetgum tree
The tears fell from the sky like God's Shower , constant and cleansing
The troubled night shrouded the steady strolling figures like an unfulfilled corpse
The Killer parked his hesitant vehicle upon the eroded curbside
The indifferent priest discharged his shallow yet nessacery words upon the silhouetted congregation
"We are gathered today to mourn the death of Linda Whittington..."
The words were unclear due to the remorseful rain
Buffering the consolation like a badly tuned radio
Suddenly, an irrelevant relative broke out :
"She didn't deserve to die ...a moment of silence please"
The Killer smirked to himself
As the theatrical tears of distant relatives who arrived for the free food Conjoined with the Shower droplets
Headed towards the drainage
The Killer picked up a pair of sodden dandelions from the moist ground
And heard, staggeringly clearly , through the rain
"Thank you Magnus"
Magnus placed the now blood-stained
dandelions in the grave
And allowed himself to be encapsulated by the determined Darkness
~Whoever
Categories:
staggeringly, angel, black love, dark,
Form: Free verse
Feathery vines twine and twist with thirst,
carefree they journey wither and hither wild;
filigree hues of green they grow unrehearsed,
staggeringly beautiful- who cannot be beguiled.
Flowing from my hanging baskets so pretty,
growing in my window boxes quite over reaching;
elbowing for space in the pot it really is a pity,
showing they are bullies- other blooms beseeching.
________________________
March 3, 2021
Poetry/Lento/Vines in Hues
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1333-726-03
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Categories:
staggeringly, nature,
Form: Lento
Diamond in the rough
Not intelligent enough for some
A drunk
Staggeringly fkd up burnt out punk
A wasted shell
A washed up piece of junk
Or maybe I just smell
These fking insecurities that follow me around
That trip me up and tie me down
till I'm beaten blue and broken on the ground
And as I fly here spinning round
by fragile threads of hope
the spidermen came down from mars
and loosen up my ropes
And that cloak I wear to keep me warm
That woven web of shite
I throw it off that husk of shame
And dance into the night
Categories:
staggeringly, addiction, depression, feelings, life,
Form: Free verse
The Awakening, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem : Réveil
I’m back in the bosom of poetry !
Decidedly wealth in the million
Has rejected my fullfilment,
And this’s a sad denouement.
As for me, the chosen proverb to apply :
Water clear and pure and this bitter bread
Never to go without, as with
The gent strumming little tunes on the rebec !
As with me the bed of problems multiply :
The long white nights of darkening dreams,
Just as with me, the eternal hopes
Striding from mornings to evenings !
So’s with me ethics and aesthetics !
I am he on whom poesy laid its indelible stamp
Rhyming staggeringly fantastic lines
In the penumbra of a smoking oil lamp !
I am the soul chosen by God
To keep entranced my contemporaries
Through such rare and fine refrains
Sung on an empty stomach, O ! Serene Heavens !
I’m back in the bosom of poetry.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Categories:
staggeringly, poetry, poets,
Form: Dramatic Monologue
This is nourishing, redemptive; we become less alone inside.
-David Foster Wallace
Walking through a delirium,
I was tired.
The sand felt like purgatory,
A rising incline into a forever
That my mind numbed against.
I was awash of intentions, thought, even interest.
I had, in short, nothing left.
Then the pillars came into view.
As if begging for a story, a reason for being,
I was pulled, staggeringly, as if reeled from a
Fishing line to those salted gray walls,
The shards of church windows poking out of weathered frames.
What is that felt echo? St. Ignatius? The Archange? Michael? My brother?
I am so empty.
I sat down on the stone to rest the non-feeling.
The tide lapping into my mind.
I wanted none of it.
But there it was, anyway.
Persistent. Maddening. Life-giving.
*Matt Caliri
*The Church By The Ocean
*9/29/11
Categories:
staggeringly, religion,
Form: Free verse
I‘ve an Angel of Mercy watching over me,
His eyes are watching me from sea to sea.
Staggeringly, I did stand there and I waited for only one who really knew.
Balanced by shining Stars, the universe earned my golden wings of two.
I fly high above from worlds torn apart by a magnificent set of three.
Cast down to Earth the galaxies spread far and apart just to be free.
We watch and we sit as we wonder when will all of this be?
Angels of Mercy balance the scales of lighter years that shall come to be.
I rise above Seas and Skies that can not set a boundary high enough for me. .
Scattered by harvested seeds delusions are sent plentifully my way,
Up and down I am this way this day and I shall make my own way.
You feel, you see, but you can not believe that it is me, the pure and true one.
Angels of Mercy hear my plea, for I believe and soon I will be forever done!
Flying here and flying over there,
Only you know how much I truly care.
Angels of Mercy be on your merry way!
Me and mine will peacefully war with every single one of you,
Eternally conquering exactly what I as one have set out to do!
®Registered: Ann Rich 2004
Categories:
staggeringly, adventure, allegory, faith, imagination,
Form: Personification
Lately I’m beginning to think we don’t have a prayer
What happened?
The only recourse besides rebellion is adequate representation
This country needs to be together and all I hear is divisive
Liberals and conservatives together pointing fingers
The bureaucracy is staggeringly over balanced
Pork Barrels carry Care Package Labels
(For the children)
Even I can see smoky mirrors spin too slowly
Intelligentsia seems to have stolen the supreme court
Who else would usurp home rights
Or separate God and Country
What manner of man would run for office
To try and bring order out of collegiate chaos?
Has no-one seen the disruptive power of French Canada?
Protestant Belfast?
Catholic Terrorism?
Dare I mention Twin Towers
And the divisiveness of how to build a memorial there
A normal Yank would have rebuilt bigger already
Lest I forget
We don’t have a prayer
United States? In a Pig’s Eye Porky
Categories:
staggeringly, loss, lost love, native
Form: I do not know?