"murder me"
she whispered ...
lips pressed to my nape -
soft-nipping skin
for her betrayal of husband and
family meant as much …
we both knew the sacrifices
and we accepted the cost that instant
then, and for the scandalous
time to come …
she was lost in me -
straddling, pressing … and I, lost in her
so rooted that I was becoming
her in flesh - in all senses …
nothing mattered anymore but
passion and its pyre
torching all in its torrid wake -
all that had mattered
'til then …
it was a horrid
thing for her to speak aloud -
to place in such dire phrasing
yet it was ALL I wanted -
all that I needed and cared
to hear … "murder me”
she whispered again, pressing down
"for I am nothing now ...
“but yours."
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art created copyright-free by the author with Gemini AI / Meta AI software )
Of A Mocking Symbolic Justice’s Statue
Blindfolded justice,
Can’t symbolize equity
With unbalanced scales:
Such a torching mockery:
Blinding out democracy:-
Blinding justice
To unbalance equity,
Mocks democracy:
Poor humanity blinded
By such unjust mockery:-
Febrile Fog obfuscates palimpsest varnished promises..
Naysayers hoodwinked... deluded players peeling layers..denuded..
Deafening din of our chagrin...
Espoused by rabbles roused by mandarins’ sins..
Tarnished...pampered pilferers pickpocketing public purses...
Deploring the warring cacophony of citizens curses..
Ignoring the boring nagging nadir of nurses...
Corporate castles built without stilts on hourglass sands..
Placards versus lanyards..
Culprits preach parsimony from privileged pulpits..
Civic critics.. protests...pyrrhric..?
No tut tuts..relax…gluts of tax cuts for property sluts..
Licentious larcenists..lust for boom then bust..
Lavishly lacing our lives with lies..
Yet the more we holler...hanker..
Murky truths get darker...muckier.. starker..danker..
Avaricious arsonists torching our cries of why...
Leave us lolloping in a regret & forget.. leaking latrine...
Reeking of what could & should have been..
Kindred
Hooks and loops
Laced the path
Burning minds
Torching trusts
Tightened lasso
Strangling hopes
Frail words
Breaking bonds
Remembering a granddaughter good times of Kentucky bourbon visits back home a doting father Pete Pete Lil Pete the many flowers planted I always chose the yellow ones these were for friendship sheer loss Gargano loss father mother daughter granddaughter not to mention the empty graves used for show when ever a Gargano fakes his death another violent offenders get their wings early released from prison from Mexico to Venezuela the many organised crime figures burning veterans alive torching homeless persons alive in Chicago the arson murders hidden while today I remember asiL Marie Gargano combs standing still unable to fly with wings of ashes life shortened by mafia vengeance car bombs fires explosions meets flowers the yellow ones saints and sinners greets on burning angel wings perched over black town fort Myers Florida Andersen ave.
Alas it is a chore to write Blank Verse
Unable to peruse my rhyme filled purse
In search for words not better but not worse
A sad lament of poetry’s last curse
To stab the darkness with an ill-used phrase
Twisting the reader’s mind into a maze
Of flaming thought a-dance within a blaze
Torching the rules by which a poet plays
Oh, Rhyme, cold torturer of frigid muse
Why must you heap upon him such abuse
Require him to use words so obuse
That they cannot uncover his shrewd ruse
The truth, perhaps they’ll stumble upon it
If it rhymed the damn thing’d be a Sonnet
KOMOREBI
Pushing dense bush walking in pathless forest
under tree canopy, continuous.
At dawn sun rays penetrating at best,
torching dark tunnel , making luminous.
Sunbeams filtered by leaves and foliage
interplaying sheen and shade to astound.
Komorebi cast on dappled image
forming lovely lattice on forest ground.
Komorebi caused by leaf lamina.
Pretty patterns to adorn forest floor.
Sunlight is sieved by leafage patina.
Wonder and dreams of sunbeam to adore.
Morn glow of Komorebi ! End of night.
Dark shadowed tunnel on opacity,
finding flash of thin shafts of twinkled light.
Profound pure pristine tranquility .
When sunlight shines through tree in environ
Contrast of light and shadow to receive
on re-energised radiant ion,
Komorebi to charm at morn and eve.
Forgiven Trespasses
Sensual sounds surround
a scene of peaceful pleasure
Pulsing flailing promises
impossible to measure
His torching voice eviscerates
that massive measure of pleasure
The treasures of solemnity
No longer leads to leisure
Lightning lips aglow disguise
The coolness of lost slumber
His glimmer gliding gorgeously
Progressing on to wonder
Needful night navigations
Shimmering shadows in the dark
Sullen soothing sensual
On Psyche he leaves his mark
Immortal mythic majesty
With gods not meant to sleep
Sizzling searing serenity
With a lover she can’t keep.
A collaborative piece with my friend and talented poet Imelda Garcia.
Driving down the distant highways
How can I survive
Just me and my Cadillac sailing free and far
Gravity is pulling all my thoughts towards you
My comfort level contorted
Things was easy street before you mattered
On this broken bodied highway
Strapped in this tin can with only leather straps
In this faster than light Cadillac
Flying passed the fields and pastures
Leaving our Galaxy to infinity with my girl
turning to dust and the rebuilt again
You bring me to my knees in with your beautiful decease
Watching years go by taking my sweet pie time
Did I ever believe if that's what god said
That if I wait, I will get you
Did I ever tell you it wasn't you in my dream
Shelby Shelby I ain't no soldier of make believe
Shelby Shelby listen to what the meadow lark says
Ill be here for you bright an early
Ill be here for you in my own way
Our love has no ending that could say that was
My song has been witnessed
Distant sun pushing flares torching train tracks
Haunting blue sapphire delinquent diamond true
To another disputed day
Know one can say
What is a holiday
In the depths of Mt Rainier fire stirred,
The earth around trembled in dire anger,
As the fiery spirit Elf wandered
In the depths of the spouting volcano
Exuding thick feculent, fusty smells,
And from the volcano's top, exuded
Ash, smoke, flaming rocks and burning lava.
Dare a human female refuse Elf?
Not that he loved her as Indians love.
His fervid lust for her knew no limit.
His anger increased beyond all known bounds.
Rising to the top of the volcano,
Elf hurled fireballs, torching the forests,
So that poor humans flew towards a lake.
There they prayed to their good God to save them.
A large stone fell into the volcano
Burying Elf and his hateful fire.
A fearful blizzard formed and rain and snow
Filled the volcano until all was calm.
A large lake formed and a lovely island
Rose majestically from the waters:
A seventh wonder of Columbia.
There are things you don’t start.
Would you just break a heart
Like some daughter now tart,
Earlier being trained: for Art?
You might too, break a leg,
While there’s no means to beg:
In bad terrain, bad cart
Now this way that way dart…
There are things you can’t start:
Much like torching a mart,
Not unlike a stark bloodbath,
Minds can work out like Math:
Dreams of counter attack:
A pregnant woman track…
Play we should not bad part:
Away Public Wealth cart;
Before a panel fart
No “Please, try to take heart!”
Because its never smart!
Silver ball roles in dark-deep-blue-mix sky,
Silhouettes of trees, as deer-antlers, lie;
An angel seems swiftly appear and pray,
Pink spreads like special effect of a play...!
Moon, like a princess, now swims in blue lake,
Escorted by stars; each looks like a snow-flake;
Does the angler fish torching moon-star paths,
Know that in lake-tubs they're having their baths...?
Is the wolf searching his companion lost?
Is he eyeing, a fawn to get exhaust?
That owl in thick spectacles seems to scan,
Night-scapes as though for them he has a plan...!
Hay-roof-huts look like Siberian cats,
Stooping in silence to catch brown field-rats?
Insomniac frogs croak feeling unease,
While chirping of crickets are yet to cease...!
Enchantments of night-scenes feelings evoke,
Not to express, silence, my mind does choke;
Words, yet, like streams betwixt Hyacinth fields,
Flood from my pen breaking orthodox shields...!
14 November 2022
Beauty Of Night Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
A chilled-to-the-bone night in October
During a fog hovering over the hills,
A West Virginia family came up missing
The story still gives neighbors the chills,
Seems their clapboard shack went up
In flames, there was nothing anyone could do.
Six people died in that house, supposedly,
No fragments were found sifting through,
No bones, no hair, not a single remnant
Testifying to the fate of the family of six
Rewards were offered for additional clues
To the vanished family of Hickory Sticks.
No fire would be hot enough to obliterate
All traces of bodies in such a conflagration
One by one the possibilities were discussed,
For years the subject of rapt conversation.
Could they have vanished to another place
After torching their home that awful night?
The strange disappearance was never solved
A memorial was built on the gruesome site.
Written October 17, 2022
[based on a true story]
It never rains; if it can pour,
On many folk and just one more'
Malcome Staines, now here's a man'
He's homeless yet never down the pan'
Others his mission whilst on the floor.
On Sheppy Island with boot fair stand
His set was really smashing he was
Gaining many fans '
Yet with sepis to hospital he did go
Left his van in its car park just like so '
Theives then took it, torching his plans
It was his only shelter, rain or shine
Yet aimless youths did a senseless crime
I'm told there could be a fund him page
Maybe some can help even in this sad age?
"The Secret Place"
Inside
the secret place
we sleep it wakes
pushing nightmares away
poems it breathes
into burning flames
walking in
and
out the gate
torching black hearts
each one a post mark
to light the long way
Inside
the secret place
we sleep it wakes
breathing words between
our lips, it kisses kindness
injects its absolute strength
opening minds to love
in our dreams,
we drink it all in
inalienable words,
we hear it
speak
when it is time
we will need it
when we wake
but do not sleep
and what we were
becomes forgotten dream
Inside
the secret place
we sleep it wakes
waiting for that day
when we will meet
at the gate
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
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