A strange phenomenon washed over me
and drained my mind and body,
suctioned out the breath of my life.
I equate to nothing, nor shall I ever be
an entity that anyone can see.
Not physically or mentally, do I exist,
cruelly erased on the whim of a fantasist.
Of less importance am I than a grain of sand.
Without a mind I'll never understand
what's happened to me, It's a tragedy!
There's nothing left of me to sculpt in effigy.
Who has the power to rescind my energy,
or does it blow upon the wind?
Have others been expunged like me?
Carl Sagan said, "We are but a mote of dust,
suspended in a sunbeam."
Can this be a nightmare within a dream?
Am I a fleck of dust floating in space?
Have I been deleted from the human race?
What I once was, I am no more.
My grieving thoughts echo with wailing ring.
Without a soul my self-control does not exist.
Does that make me a puppet on a cosmic string?
A scheme that's left me in the dark!
Give me light, give me light!
Ignite just one minuscule spark.
September 6, 2022
Sans Mind-Body Who Are We Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
As the tempo lifts unto a spotlight
releasing a pulsed dangle where limbs,
arms, and hips gyrate on flamed waves
of a lambent dance: skirts mounting
through Chicago musical’s tones…
and like splashed paint, each raced jiggle
turns vaudeville into fireworks of air-brushed strokes
illuminating the arena with raw movement
as every tap enters a kinesthetic pore;
while I, between suctioned gasps,
quiver inside my belly…intoxicated!
For Contest No 227: Brian Strand
Closer and closer to the vortex
I spin wildly, madly
So out of control
Body and soul
Clutching at anything and everything
Knowing I’m being suctioned
My breathing quickens
My pulse thickens
My body weakens
The vortex draws me nearer
to its core
Turbulent
Strong
OH... SO...STRONG
It pulls me down
It sucks me in
Going down
Down
Down
I’m being devoured
Swallowed up whole
In the vortex
Of your desire
Your swirling
liquid
fire
~ h ~
T ~ ~ e
vor you
~ ~
te of
~ ~
x
Eileen Manassian
Eileen
The Slothful Musings of an
Indicted Leech …
… I suck. Simply put, I suck.
Attaching my slimy being,
surreptitiously clingy,
nauseatingly smooth,
ingratiatingly insidious,
onto warm sources of
sustenance.
I suck, I leech, I drain,
the elements of good-nature,
turning smiles into profitable
ventures,
sucking, leeching, draining,
the beings I encounter,
suctioned cups of guilt,
of predatory precision,
surgical frigidness,
clinical intent,
sucking, leeching, draining,
till fattened,
bulging with burgeoning gains,
flush with siphoned-off goodwill,
bloated by hubris,
slipping away,
slithering into my den,
creeping on borrowed legs,
seeing with donated eyes,
cloaked in spurious fabric,
I leech, I suck.
Self-pity my only refrain,
flushing what is left of a soul,
down,
into the welcoming drain.
Suctioned palms engulf my
glass
Heckled so we threw it back
Ribs transcend and held it in
A single tear drips down your
nose
Perfect finger held it froze
Gaze off through your frosted
pose
Rare, natural, unblemished, lasting and profound
Beauty is penned, defined and crooned
From poets, authors, artist and strangers
Described in depth, penned to death,
Setting standards unreachable by the masses.
Products slathered, potions swallowed, scalpels wielded
Suctioned and enhanced to have a chance
In a world so small minded and superficial
Seeking an approved, natural look
From the very masses that sit in self help classes.
Time creeps up, with gravities silent pull
Stripping the unnatural lifts, tucks and additions
Gone are the showpieces, the odes of the poet
Forgotten by the masses attending their classes
Artificial beauty, behind walls free of mirrored glasses.
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