Gluey aftersight
here is a drunken police officer
loved by a friendless prostitute
here is Chinese opium den
taping around your eyes
Here is a boy loved by many
adored by the crowd
a lonely ballerina who
would love to change places
The narrative twists as I watch
Almost from a third person perspective
Everything tightens to say
"It's your fault, it's your fault, it's your fault"
Binding and twisting and turning
Til I'm tied in knots
My mind left in one tangle or another
Unable to catch up
Google says "you live with a narcissist"
I think maybe I'm the narcissist
Accused of terrible things
Denied the right to explain
So the purported crime hangs in the air
Perhaps I'm torturing
Perhaps it's me
Tolerated despite my awful selfishness
I know I'm reliant on external validation
I've traded on my looks or wit if the mood struck me at times
And felt elevated
I can't think straight
I'm locked in a loveless space
Captive there
With 'why can't I be happy' ticker taping across my brain
Why? I'm told I'm the problem
There was an old man from Missouri.
Biting his nails, he tended to worry.
Taping his fingers to stop the bad habit,
he switched to candy wherever he could grab it,
and once he was full, he always got purry.
Haven't got time for those cynical people
They're never gonna drag me down
Life's too short for whining and complaining
In their own negativity they drown
For twenty-four seven it's non-stop paranoia
Can't imagine living that way
On the sunniest day their sun doesn't shine
I rather spend time making hay
Suspecting the government's watching us
Taping us each time we pee
Had no idea things had gotten that serious
Why such interest in little old me
Well I'm just gonna go on my merry old way
More important things on my mind
Like feeding Dufus and my Persian cat Lily
A good way to stay sane I find
Haven't got time for those cynical people
There's exciting stuff to explore
This friendly old planet is beckoning me
So I'm off to open more doors
I refuse to cease writing these words
though all my bones have been broken
splintered and shattered
like puzzle pieces
scattered on a tabletop
their pointy ends piercing
every muscle each time I move
even an iota
I persist as I always do
despite the pain
perhaps because of it
to prove a point
taping popsicle sticks to my fingers
so they stay straight as I type
“Obstinate, stubborn”
my mother used to say
when I dared to disagree
or stand up for myself
Her insults like a high pitched
whistle blown inches from my ear
echoing in my malleable young mind
a cavern creating stalagmites
layer upon layer
with the constant drip-drip of disdain
sharp and spiky that would impale me
over the years yet to come
It’s the Cocker Spaniels this time the media screams
I roll my eyes, wondering when the cats will get some blame
Or the monkeys, cheetahs, sharks or giraffes
They are diabolical, plotting your death, the announcer says
I do not plot her death, but I plot taping her mouth up.
The pit bulls were the last group to blame.
What about the housewives? Do they use environmentally friendly detergent?
or the house husbands….do they recycle their lard like grandma did?
How about the grandmas who feed their pets with Styrofoam?
We are the polluters.
We are the litterers.
We are the ones driving cars one person at a time.
But let’s blame the Cocker Spaniels.
I shut off the T.V.
How supreme the images portray
Painted in only white canvases on display
No vibrant pigments of differences
Cultures or brush strokes of excellences
How dull the mind of multitudes
Who judge the immigrants of other latitudes
Following paths of leaders lacking adequacy
Yet blindly believing their unproficiency
High disdain for diversity
Deficient dignity while prevailing in emigrant adversity
No remorse or conviction disturbs their prosperity
While bitterness tastes good in conscious vulgarity
Puppeteers dangling strings from their parliament
Taping shut lips of puppets to prevent argument
Shame on the hatred and each thought that is pursued
Justified undoubtedly in the defiled ignorant residue
Too many lost in intolerant, illiberal ways
Separating people and causing chaotic disarray
Never knowing all tongues, tribes, colors and every single nation
Were uniquely created with love for the world as a celebration
"All the Vain Rivers"
Leaves
safe harbour
ports in a sharp quay
stories reflecting
from the hull of a boat
penned down
all the vain rivers
tears now water tight
somewhere home bound
past the edge of my world
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
https://youtu.be/drZ3c_KfeuY
Benoît Pioulard - Home Taping Billowed Edge
Artist: XavieRinato
Drop after drop
my calm burns by the cold fireplace
like the rain on the glass, reminding
me of a taping dance.
Patience is the bastard son of virtue
running in short supply.
The wind is adding to the window's torment,
impatiently watching my sorrows
etched on my forehead.
I go out, drenching my haunting fears
adding to my quarantine torment.
Can't leave the house cause I have
a compromised immune system unallied
with my self-restraint.
Sky's clear now, water cleaner, the
bitter chill's definitely over.
Not wearing your mask, that's alright
we 'll fix you with something light-colored
to wear, good now lay your head back
and let me be clear, your fool's act
has cost you your life and now we're in the air.
I AM®
I am
Arthur, Cupid and the edge of a bow
Soldier of 9 lives in this generation of hue
His armoury brandished by men
And sculpted by the One God,
Broken, battered and buried soul
In dismal and dark crypts of life
But leap out of the dungeon of obscurity
To set pace for a long but new voyage.
I am
A train in motion; watch me to catch a glimpse,
I am a word in flight
Write it down quickly for it last
I am a prophesy in season
To come to pass in due course
I am a bubble bustling in a glass
Can you feel the magic?
I am a man in race
You can catch the moment
But not the main man
Catch the benefits of my pain,
My gallantry lore and conferring boons,
My chariot comes but now
Right on the move to a spectacle
You feel the snap wind.
Catch what I leave behind -
My legacy, my story and triumph,
Hear the fading sound
Of the chariot of fire basking away in explosives.
On the move like my fathers before me
Taping from the drip of my crimson river,
Draw the benefit from my predestined existence.
I am
The man that is loosed
Not the man on the loose.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 2016.
I love spring and all the bright spring flowers,
the daffodils, tulips the pansy blooms;
oh, I even love those warm spring showers.
I am drunk on all the flower scent fumes,
putting vases of blooms in all my rooms;
and some to brighten up family tombs.
Oh, welcome back sweet butterflies flying,
I love you all- the orange and the blue;
fluttering, drifting- I feel like crying.
Sweet, sweet painted ladies in every hue,
sometimes you come alone, at times a crew;
come, kiss the flowers that for you- I grew.
A robin finds a fat worm on my lawn,
little sparrows are gathering for nests;
and all the birds start their singing at dawn.
I love the concert- do not think them pests,
oh, woodpecker does tap, tap, taping tests;
a hummingbird lands on my hand and rests.
I have been waiting all winter for spring;
for you beloved spring- I want to sing.
___________________________
March 28, 2019
Poetry/Sonnet/Spring At Last
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1128-273-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Urban Sonnet
sponsor, Emile Pinet
Fifth Place
I have a woodpecker in my tree, tap, tap, tap
This noise is killing me
I want to shoot him out of the tree
But killing is not inside of me
He taps all morning and all day long
This noise is killing me
Why couldn’t it be a bird singing a song
Or an owl hooting at me
Nope, it had to be a woodpecker messing with me
This noise is killing me
Now he has his family and it’s triple taping
I have thought about a chain saw and cut down the old oak tree
But if I did he would just move to the tree next door to me
This noise is killing me
The genesis of a hundred-mile odyssey
A happy little caravan of running crows
Everything is alive, sky wind, even the stones
Hearts taping time, glittering with hope
Morning comes the murder has thinned
Smiles replaced by blood blister and grit
The flesh is battered, bitten and minced
The mind has played a million dirty tricks
The odyssey has demanded its toll once again
Finish line, just beyond the shimmering glade
where a jingle of tears and medals await.
This poem is out looking for a song
With a desperate need to be sung
To dive in deep with a melody
Taping out in rhyme to a 3/4 beat
This poem can barely keep
Itself from a three part harmony
Knows it would never tire if it made the choir
Letting the bass go low to its alto
Doing what it can to be in the band
If you've never rhymed you wouldn't understand
As far as a mile is long
Is the need for this poem to be sung
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing
Her soft silhouette was mesmerizing
The orchestrated trills were riveting
He would not have missed this for anything
She slowly turned spotlighted to the crowd
Which, along with drum intro, drove them wild
Her sultry voice and entertainment style
Rocked the arena for many a mile
From here the City churches pierced the mist
A scene no photographer could resist
Heck with the order to cease and desist
Taping her performance, he blew a kiss
Stars twinkled and music filled the night air
For him to make money seemed only fair
Video, in its case, was marked with flare
He closed it, and, now smiling, crossed the square
Promptly arrested and taken to jail
He called his ex-wife to help him make bail
Her sultry voice told him to go to hell
May 18, 2018
One, Nine and Sixteen Upgrade by Viv Wigley*
Sixth Place
*Line one - 'The spiral staircase made her high heels sing'
Line nine - 'From here the City churches pierced the mist'
Line sixteen - 'He closed it, and, now smiling, crossed the square'
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