A lifeless wasteland
With no escape
No sound
No single date
Frozen solid nightmares prayed
Bare bones pricked, cracked and blazed
Phantom birds wouldn’t chirp
Silent stupors waited still
For life to disappear
To break a dreamless state
To stop and freeze
To disappear
11/27/22
Pick-A-Title, Vol 33
Edward Ibeh
simply awake
No music lulls
No quiet snoozes
No counting naps
No stretching tires
My clock taunts me
No comfort lullabies
No breathing relaxes
Pajamas strangle me
No coolness soothes
No meditation stupors
No visualization sleeps
No position tranquilizes
No supplements sedate
No aromatherapy calms
or finger painting slumbers
I am insomnia’s vigilant sentry.
Where, oh where's the sandman?
The world wakes up oneday amidst a horror
We call it by the name Corona viral disease
It became apparent to all of us there is no succour
In times we had it before but now it is
A goblin to savour the precious lives
Being a contagion can spread widely across
Crossing continents and regions wide it thrives
Bringing tears to all people and an immense loss
Wonder is this a biological war to usurp us all
World wars killed people in combat and not this time
The need to be hygienic stupors past the call
With masks and social distancing to become the prime
Weapons to wage this war of liberation
It is time we stood united against the common foe
For it is no less than the acid rains that perished
The dinosaurs; will it do to the mankind too?
A vaccine to kill must soon get it vanished
From this earth or else the count of deaths
Can surpass the worst ever in history till date
And let's hope there would be no ilks
To replace the monster to decide our fate.
They come back damaged
from the war
no matter what war
there always is
some damage
he was fine in
anti aircraft
all things are distant
except the bombs
that explode
and throw you
up to twenty meters
sniper training was
exciting but secretive
the missions dark
and dangerous
lots of blood
on white snow
after all that
he took a liking to
13 year old white virgins
he liked to see them
naked and then bleed
on white satin sheets
that was his obsession
after the war
after the russian pow camp
where they picked up
the stiff ones
every morning
thanks be to God
that the war finished
before winter really
set in
they would all
have died
but so might have the
13 year old virgins
before they bled
who knows
reality weathers and wanes
in the midst if flashbacks
psychotic episodes
and drunken stupors
Most appear to
function fine generally
in the mundane
ebb and flow of
life in general
Fathers, they are all
seen as strong
they are tough
on the outside
but.........
Under the Clown's Hypocrite's Masquerade of Virtue.
When is the patting on the back to end?
False truth is out in public world and penned.
Based on deception stupors,
fools spellbind with horse blinkors
don't see the deeper deceit, or pretend.
12/28/2017
blinkers
Melanie, where is she ???
September 2nd, 2016
Melanie, found herself !!!
Twenty plus years !!!, in a fog.
Many drugs, drug induced stupors
made up most hours of her life !!!
The loss of an appendage
became a door opening,
letting in the long lost light.
My belief is in these words she writes,
“ new life, new hair, back to being me! ”
This, this parent cannot wait to see.
Will she stand tall and strong ???, be free
of all in her life that brought her to be
a drug addict, making wrong choices !!!
Wrong males to become involved with.
Listening to theirs and the drugs voices.
I cannot wait for these voices to dim !!!
To become inaudible whispers upon the wind,
a wind that will carry these destructive voices,
males, drugs, inner, out into a silent universe.
B. J. “ A ” 2
January 16th 2017
Field mouse woke up. Asleep for many years. It had grown a moustache and side burns. Oh how dreadful cried sally spider peering into the mouse house. How terribly unbecoming and unsuitable for holding the silver goblet at the halibut harlequin hall. Field mouse responded. In mind. In thoughts. Looking into the can that had been dropped into his hole by a two legged fiend. At least it made a good mirror. Although he was grateful that he was out at the time of delivery. The bars above. With the sun. Oh up there. No friend. Oh well. And proceeded to cut customise and shave. With other dropped prizes. Plus thefts. Spider grinned. And manicured herself. Silvery bed. Oh how wonderful. Field mouse in a suit. Spider in gown. Halibut hall. Dance. Supper. Stupors'. And nonsense talk of trapped tapered topiary's traditional traders. Good good good good good. next week new news. Great. Xxxx xylophones xo xo xo. And a half day off work. Great. Deuteronomy z
Crushed peanut shells are
scattered all over the floor
Beer bottles smashed
while blood drips from the roof
A body hangs from the rafters
while loyal patrons play
a vodka filled game of Russian roulette
Piss stains plastered all over the bathroom floor
cockroach's and rats run rampant
all while raging alcoholics throw fist
and set fire to bar stools
Drunker stupors, and stain glass windows rule
people call it martial law but I call it a regular Monday night...
for a wine bottle
I in my drunken stupors
wasted all my life
Sword’s sharp edge attached side by side
One side a victor
Another side a villain
The sworn enemies, the bosom friends
And the sharp tongue between clinched teeth
With the paired edges that cuts both
At one end, wisdom of wits
While the other end unleashes the evil spirits
The life that is full of shows and shadows
The stride to strive towards a big ride
And the cruel hands of death at the offing
To be or not be
Time that rushes like a tide
One time, you are young and active
Another time, old and passive
One time walk tall and other stupors
The law with the sharp jaw that can bite both
One slit, confirm the crime
Another, confirm not the crime
To celebrate or celebrate not
And the love along the thin broken line full of tinges
One good trudge, hero
Another misstep, hate
Like matrimony hanging at balance
The torrent of punches to roll with
And the quest to be at par
And the hasty retreats, the quips and sound bites
Sometimes lemon to have lemonade or honey that maketh money
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.