bad situations
active imaginations
can kill relations
creating conspiracies
with broad designs to deceive
bloody mockery
shinigami lottery
a dichotomy
of preaching false brotherhood
so others will do no good
trying to obscure
real truths which should endure
facts filled with manure
some choose to communicate
into codes filled up with hate
white lies and false sums
psychological ransom
untruth the transom
when gaslighting has begun
take hostages without guns
multiple faces
yet none which more disgraces
truth which lies debase
dishonor become thy name
as this world is set aflame
As I stared despairingly at the transom,
my daughter declared, as she gave a smile winsome:
“I wouldn’t stand for such a name, if I were Janell!
It’d be okay of course, if Janell refers to the vessel…”
Captain disdain abounds in fields chock-full of chauvinism
A female pursuing a career within must be into masochism!
Put on a brave face girl, and grit your teeth shut
The ponytail pretties better go or you ‘are’ the promoted ****
As seriousness cannot be equated with feminineness,
it is best you strut like you’re swinging two pe!!ses…
Now it’s nice to see more of the younger generation,
accept it’s work and education, not gender identification!
(9/16/20 – Searay 400 sedan bridge; DMS)
Nick was a young man who was handsome,
got stuck in a strange basement transom.
When trainer offered gold
to be free, his wife told-
“NO! THE VIEW'S WORTH MORE THAN THE RANSOM!"
*How I feel about my handsome hubby. I love all his views…*
Transom- A strengthening crossbar, in particular one set above above a door or hanging from the ceiling.
Written: June 1, 2019
syllable count: 9-9-6-6-9
howmanysyllables.com
A Limerick, Old or New: Your personal favorite Poetry Contest
Today she Decided,
To expose all sentiments without trepidation
Though broken by another’s dissatisfaction,
Inhumane and callous betrayal of her certitude
She chooses to unveil and unmask all residual pain
And focuses on His everlasting, unrelenting beatitude
Today she Decreed,
Never to allow her haunting past to hold ransom
Her subsequent future strong like a transom,
Though at constant war with doubts from her other
She vows to love him still through good and misfortune
And embraces all of him without a trace of a bother
Today she Prayed,
Supplicating to The Almighty to heal his humble heart
Discarding all perturbed doubts of the unknown depart,
So he sees her through untainted eyes of pure certitude
Breaking free from ghosts of past gone miles yonder
And taking sanctuary in the wings of God’s great omnitude
In two more hours I'll have to shower,
shave and coffee-prop my lids
and otherwise prepare for day. It's 4 a.m.
and now the barkeep, Griggs,
is rushing me, the first
to come, the last to leave,
the lad who just an hour before
was coaxed to quaff one more.
At work I'll cummerbund a smile,
hold my head and sit all day,
play another endless game
of solitaire or tic-tac-toe.
Griggs' apron's off. The neon's out
and now he'll set the locks in back.
The spittle, butts and half-slain beers
he'll leave for Willie who'll soon be here
to dance his broom between
the tables and the scattered chairs
as smoothly as Kelly or Astaire.
At 6 a.m., he'll climb the ladder
near the door and aim his broom
through the transom toward the sky.
Each morning Willie puts another
bullet through the eye of sunrise.
Donal Mahoney
Within the passage of time
I see you, my enchanted ecstasy,walking
Down a cobblestone street in silhouette.
Carefully placed footsteps echoing the
The pavement without the slightest of regrets.
Through the faint gas lit corridor
Vintage smells and a whispering wind
Accompany me.
Now matter where I go -
No matter when I go –
Footsteps going forward
Revealing the past.
In a cumbersome transom blended
With a tap-ta-tap, tap-ta-tap
Of a horse drawn carriage –
Therein our song is revealed.
Where else but in music do thoughts
Blend reality with emotions?
There in my mind’s eye
Tap-ta-tap,
tap-ta-tap,
tap-ta-tap.
Do I have any life but this?
If not - let me lead it from here.
No death there be ‘lest
Dispelled from there.
Nor any ties to earths to come.
Nor any action in any effort of new.
Except in the blessed extent
In the realm of loving you.
And in my mind’s eye –
The music,
Tap-ta-tap,
tap-ta-tap -
Of cobblestone and hoof –
Ta-tap
Always
Ta-tap
Returns me to you.
Bukowski Contest
Its a video -- Bukowski has a
mistress, she is younger than
he and beautiful.
They fight before the camera
and, she flees like words on
pale paper across the transom,
out the door...
He sits for a while unaware of
the camera, the poems quiet for
a while, his brow naked except
for regret and sorrow.
Then, he calls out to her in dipthongs
of need, his boastful alcohol wearing
off -- the frail, lonely intellectual
peering moist eyed around fleshen
corners.
Genius
THE BLOSSOMS OF HOME
Heaven must be this sweet -
Old Pilikov across the street,
The Schillings there along the shore,
Apple trees just outside door.
In the softness of lush pink shade
My children grew and played
With their heavy laden giant blooms
And inhaled their pure perfumes.
To start each day in blossom,
In display perfect and fulsome,
Spread low over my transom -
Is surely life in heaven’s bosom.
APPLE BLOSSOM HEAVEN
Heaven must be this sweet -
The Schillings along the shore,
Old Pilikov across the street,
Apple trees just outside door.
In the softness of lush pink shade
And their heavy laden giant blooms
My children grew and played
And inhaled their pure perfumes.
To start each day in blossom,
In display perfect and fulsome,
Spread low over my transom -
Is surely life in heaven’s bosom.
Balanced on a Red Rider wagon,
a wooden boat with flaking paint;
split transom
poorly repaired. Ten year olds
with borrowed tools, untrained
in fixing leaks, or boats,
or knowing what a transom was.
Christened the "Neversink,"
but often did, with bamboo fishing poles askew,
the used nine sixteenth nut sinkers
spilling into warm water;
sunfish laughing.
A doomed soup can ship,
crewed by worms,
going down.
Young toes to search the liquid silt
for clams.
Griggs’ Bar and Grill
In two more hours I’ll have to shower,
shave and coffee-prop my lids
and otherwise prepare for day. It’s 4 a.m.
and now the barkeep, Griggs,
is rushing me, the first
to come, the last to leave,
the lad who just an hour before
was coaxed to quaff one more.
At work I’ll cummerbund a smile,
hold my head and sit all day,
play another endless game
of solitaire or tic-tac-toe.
Griggs’ apron’s off. The neon’s out
and now he’s off to set the locks in back.
The spittle, butts and half-slain beers
he’ll leave for Willie who’ll soon be here
to dance his broom between
the tables and the scattered chairs
as smoothly as Kelly or Astaire.
At 6 a.m., he’ll climb the ladder
near the door and aim his broom
through the transom toward the sky.
Every morning, Willie puts another
bullet through the eye of sunrise.
Donal Mahoney
The Lunette
Above the transom of the door
leading to the courtyard
a half-moon of yellow glass,
pitted and bubbled,
shows you fragments of garden.
From mullion to mullion
now bourgainvillea,
now ivy, now jasmine
sway and snake
against old limestone:
cool green emblazoned
with sudden mustard,
viridescence dipped in citrine.
A hot, yellow half-moon
trapped in the inner gloom
of Mdina.
Margaret Clerici
from "Glass:Glimpses of Malta"
Having eyed the edges of eternity
Scornly decorated
With a draping psychotic sable
Within this brief glimpse
I chanced my doppelganger staring
Studying the lines of my face
Before I smashed the hoary transom
Wholly terrified…
Hiding under the candles cloak
Anxiously searching
For the windows to my escape
Headlong through
Tenacity dripping from ceiling cracks
Searching my identity
For that which separates truth from replica
That transitory player…
Left behind to endlessly wander
A morose phantom
Pursuing any face in the looking glass
Feigned banal life
Hoping to savor one taste of reality
But ever locked away
Inside his negative plane reflecting
Another’s desire…
The constant blatant bluff of city sparrows
Hardened to the streets of swift survival
Greeting every morning as if it were their last
For every morsel found another rival
Fluttering and muttering of other broken fasts
They shelter in the shadows of sunken city windows
Puffed up dry and fending off the colder calm of night
They have some secret places if they're desperate in need
Near the open transom above the bakery door
Or the old dry cleaners chimney where the bricks are falling in
Some are on the belfry floor soaking up the heat
Huddled with the pigeons fluffs of feathers minus feet
They've all learned the game of living with hunger and with not
They don't know any better and are happy with their lot
and if you try to help them they'll suspect it's just a plot
So go your way and leave them to sort out what they've got
Staring through the sullied glass
Ever present…
A transom of silent reflections
Standing amid us…
Dirtying with every irate grousing
Thick and hazy…
Our windowpane painted shut
Always locked…
Gazing through at one another’s faces
Slowly fading…
Eyeing the desperations of moving lips
Hearing silence…
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