Our hands are tied, Death
Since you dawned on us this New Year . . .
Shapely bottles of champagnes have shone
And have broken to fragments with the ululation
Of firecrackers that warmed cold and dark wintry skies.
Now, aphonia sets in from unending lamentations.
Headlines, buried by the chilly bones of winter,
Are barren of good tidings.
A chionophile besieges the rim of a sedulous Yuletide
Grieving by oneiric alleys . . .
I speak of the Friedhof of haunting grimness behind
The curtains of howling winds;
Chants that frequent the disease of frightened melodies, stained
With the aged banality of youthful death;
And the purlieu of cremated souls and consolidated ashes.
Daggers are drawn to paint skulls on canvas slit by the
Whispering tongues of fire
Candles burn their tallow gently on the skin of cancer,
A stinkaroo that stinks with rage.
We do not know how else to turn the calendar.
The edges brim with hostile, burning blood,
Frozen with bits of hate and servile penetralia.
New Year hangs the singed sigil of death
On the bosom of fattened scrolls.
Written: August 07, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Mark Toney
***********
Corset of steel tightens—ratified pain,
Vestigial breath trapped in ischemia thrall.
The ductile hope failed to placate
This Pyrrhic ache, this woebegone gall.
A sojourn in the squalor of soul,
Where sylphlike dreams maunder, downcast.
Ogle the embers of the miraculous nexus—
A seraphic visage lost, quickly.
Vivacious once, now virile with woe,
Panacea tastes of pabulum, slipshod, and cold.
Tinkling memories coruscate as zeugma—
Bright, yet untoward, they never hold.
Quixotic penchant for connection,
Grasping too late the nebula beneath.
What puissance is this—this throe, this tumult—
When tulle-wrapped love meets a gyre of grief?
Ululation beneath pavonine skies,
Adumbrate every glance, every sigh.
Crimson weave keeps a skirt in place,
Valuable, stained, adorned, and slain.
Night, drape deep in slumber.
O dream, to nightmare turn?
Multitude, legion, number!
Death, dearth to discern...
Rule of law in wasted land?
Show them, when ye stand.
Orderly, cold countermand?
Break before bed, band.
Young fools making with the schtick?
Candle, burn out quick.
Light both ends and nicker. Wick?
Bone within me, pick.
Wound in heart of warrior?
Stray, become the cur.
Dynamite, how to deter?
Blades and chimes a-whir.
Terrible to live? Oh, yes.
Blossom, O my stress.
Torment, foment thy best guess!
Who would be the less?
Ululation, ugly, meld.
Hound, bay in the street.
O for yearlings on the geld!
Bill, pay self with beat.
Fallow field in autumn?
Rickshaw on the move?
Congregation, sing a hymn!
Inspire to improve...
Written: March 09, 2024 For Charlotte Puddifoot Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
with serendipitous moans—ocean lulls
It's russet embers
ignite her soul's quilled longings
she flies to bloomy sky-scape
last sigh of waning twilight
chirpy mirth—katydid sounds
waves of
soft silk canzone
to whispering crimson
of ephemeral serenade
waves of arid shadows— ebb in
blurring haze of lingering longing
besotted in spumy scatters sighing
In epicede of hushed Elysian quiddity
quixotic susurrus—shorebirds' sapidity
horizon in cinereous ululation of Peacocks
rainbows and sylphlike threnody
my heart too, mirths... waiting
for you to return to me—in spring
renascent wings wings of crimson
gold and plums of purples!
I like the way he takes that car
and makes it howl with such a yowl.
Some guys like to drive from A to B.
They keep it simple.
Others never notice how many see,
gaze at their wheels, their roofs, their doors.
But this one experiences the strangest of sensations.
What is he feeling as he takes that car,
making it yowl with such a howl?
His very gut reacts with strange and wacky whizz.
He goes from A to Z and back.
What an experience!
He gives such a strange ululation!
What, oh what, a sensation!
(16 Sep 2023)
To many adulations
Ecstatic feeling of overjoy
Joy unbetold
The dancing
The intermittent sigh of relief.
The bringer of good tidings
Is at it again.
He works magic for the indigent,
No man was born less fortunate
But some were born luckier.
When conditions start changing
When misery has ceased
The fluctuations of resource
ebbed,
A turnaround is here with us.
When life gets tastier
And sorrow grows wearier.
My joy knows no bounds
My ululation
Unfathomable
The fastidious stamping of feet
The unrehearsed dance.
Come,
Join me and dance
For I have arrived.
the cry of one shall fade
among the masses
consumed
by wailing tongues
of ululation
the heart of one shall shrivel
denied
connection
to its roots
discolor
in its death
the eyes of one shall stare
blank hope
scanning
the darkened crust
of time
the hands of one shall cling
to an endless
emptiness
caressing that
which is no more
the voice of one shall curse
the will of men
laid dormant
at the feet
of their gods
John G. Lawless
©6/6/2018
Bequeathed between two golden sheets
Undine dims the light in candle’s ululation
Reposed she rescues dusky husky groans
Low and behold her mountain quivers
Among the valley’s heezed pleasures’ height
Pure nubile hessian rugs unfold a magic matching ride
Alleviated sorrow levitates small lusty deaths
Nirvana nestles breezes sweet surrender
Dharma shivers solemnly four noble truths
Serenity and Serendipity shine Sex and Senses
At altitude of fiery fabric one drape of Burlan
Transposes skin on skin much more than satin
In love she trusts when smooth vibrations
Nurse naked native nights engulfed in sated touch
10th March 2018 ACROSTIC
Bloody ravines
Crimson greens
Tumultuous skies
Vacuous eyes
Raucous jubilation
Sonorous ululation
Acrid slanders
Audacious satires
Languid apologies
Acrimonious envies
Man can shrug or guffaw
Makes Gods drop their jaws.
Written 05/07/2016
The howl escapes me,
I cannot help it;
an ululation heralds my arrival.
I am commanded.
Something has slept
but wakes now, is loosed,
something primal, instinct
given licence to devour.
She drives my sweet new youth,
my keen eyes, my potent musculature,
the urgent hormones
that set my new agenda.
She directs, she is
my dominatrix;
her whiteness
is fire in my veins.
Feelings unfurl from within
like a flag declaring dominance.
Hair bristles, bones crack,
she ordains my morphology.
And I am thirsty, and so hungry
to sate this new appetite,
to experience, to touch, to infect.
I change irrevocably. I am Alpha.
A rural priest
rolls and throws out
the wedding mantras.
The ritualistic ululation
and the music of
a toot and drum
warm the monsoon up.
The bridal garland
like a noose
awaits a bride’s neck.
She bows her head
in rural Indian coyness.
Our groom learns to forget all
beside the glitz of dowry gold.
A burning wick
yields to the darkness
beyond the nuptial rhythms.
The froth of cheated love
runs down Miss Hema’s chin.
She is stranded on
the bluish eternity,
along with the pressed
love in her womb.
An opened phial lies
on the floor of a hut,
showing its void up.
First appeared in print in Rathalla Review, 2014 Annual Issue
Lost in confusion
A scar time will never heal,
A scar dangling in the hands of fate,
Take a glance at all four corners of the earth,
Some are filled with boundless joy at someone’s birth,
Yet some are grieving over someone’s death,
Some are drowning in the murky waters of starvation,
Yet some are winning and dinning in ululation,
I am lost in confusion.
Few woke up to a fancy bubble bath,
Millions to a bath at a local river,
Some countries are in the middle of bloody wars,
Whilst some are concluding peace treaties,
Some lovers are making up.
Yet some are breaking up,
Someone is trapped in the misery of tribulation,
Someone in the loneliness of isolation,
Yet someone is hogging the limelight
Cloistered in the world of fame
Some people are harmful, some helpful,
Some chose the ballot, some the bullet,
People love without reason, without reason they hate,
The heart that hurts beats the scar,
The scar of the mystery of life
The secret is to persevere,
To be better today than you were yesterday,
It’s better to die great than live grieving,
So I’ve been told and so I believe.
The drum in my dreary chest
Beats and booms to the rhythm
Of coughing cannon
The commander at the backline
Sings the soldier’s motto and stomps succinctly
Underneath the uttered ululation
Lay a lean line going thus:
“Turn back to your tomb”
“Destroy the enemy”
‘I will dodge the diving bullet’
“Protect your country”
‘I will protect my dear life’
“The country sent you here”
‘Poverty drove me here’
“Time to act is now”
‘Indeed; well said by a backline commander’
This is not our battle but my battle
I will battle with rage like a belittled bear
And conquer the enemy and the immortality fear
My household awaits my back sojourn with sunken hearts
It is their smiles and not
The dutiful salute by the commander
And a firm handshake that feigns friendship
That commands my commitment
In a dingy hut I will sit
And listen to my grandmother's tales
As I watch my grandchildren grow
Someday
a chorus of laughter
everyone is standing on his toes
their faces
blooming smiles
chanting & cheering
clapping & admiring
a chorus of laughter
ululation mix into whistling
far away
far in heaven above
the stars twinkle
Verily,here,is awaited fate.
I,artificer of that which immures me,
am befuddled by such hands that abate
and augment 'mid its trice mellifluously.
There is no such animal as time
thrashing at one's mind
with its keen ungual;
ravishing ponder to despondent wonder.
Hobbles and fetters of sullen hue
embellish the aura of my silhouette.
Verily,here,there is penance due
for the catharsis of my soul's etiquette.
Amongst miserable ululation
from pederasts and recalcitrant knaves,
I hearken my own lamentation,
And to my heart's resound I am but a slave.
There is no such animal as fate,
laden on one's pate
with heft of loathsome beast;
ravaging blunder to a roseate ponder.
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