"Out to Sea"
In the immediate times
we rush to consume it all
before it is all swallowed, and out it all comes salty,
like an Ocean pummelling our crumbling sures
eating away our solidarity
insouciantly the sandy impermanent escarpment caves in
on our gossamer dissolving world
and in the eye of the storm
in the middle of it all
for a small moment all is calm
while the catastrophes move blithely around us,
hitting us brashly like we’ve been hit on a caffeine high
we are simultaneously aware of time standing still and then,
the swift pull of a rug unceremoniously out beneath our feet
some strange gravity slides
towards that ridiculous prophecised inevitability
of kingdoms come and gone
we thought we knew everything
the truth is we were the dumb awake
knowing little of everything
and much of what mattered little
and all as one
we are drowned soundly, gladly,
like into an open-eyed baptismal grave
we are forever and ever
naked as a child
washed clean
out to sea
Candide Diderot. ‘25
Rebecca was three years old when Isaac took her for a wife
Nineteen years later, no children, but still pro-life
Finally pregnant, Rebecca’s joy was short-lived, with twins inside
tossing and turning tumultuously in the embryo of Isaac’s bride
Rachel heard of this and learned her lesson
Meeting Jacob at age five, her brother Laban said: ‘No messin’
Seven years (and one week) later, they finally got hitched
Thoughts of kids at five, ‘unceremoniously’ ditched
Greedy, bitter, jealous, and lustful women with free range
Unfortunately the masks are off; they will be treated estrange,
Impersonating many people with prideful alter ego capacity
Self absorbing made them all grin and behave with audacity,
The investigation warrants for a list of charges and sentences fairly
The tables have turned over abruptly loud and unceremoniously,
They never expected major setup setback or down spiral luck
Never reaching a feeling of remorse, now quacking like a duck,
Let this be a lesson for those control by that alter ego
That quick scheme thinking leads to a horrid prison expo.
I am lost in the dark again.
Can you help me find my way,
and the pieces that fell away
in my stupor?
First was brightness; it dimmed
Until, at last,
it fizzed out with no fanfare
and rolled down an empty drain.
Humour was next,
so bogged down by bitterness
that it didn’t land,
unceremoniously splattered on the road.
Love was last, and it surely died
under the wheels of life.
Love is roadkill; salvageable,
but never the same again.
I am lost in the dark again.
Can you help me find my way?
And this time, get me out
into the safety of morning?
Computers can absolutely drive us to drink
It's programmed into their memory
Just when we think things are all hunky dory
It lets us down unceremoniously
To frustrate us more we even lose some data
Though we often hit “command/save”
But wouldn't you know it this was the exception
To these monsters we're truly enslaved
The damn things treats us like a piece of crap
I'm sure there are gremlins inside
Trying to turn us into some raving maniacs
Taking great delight when we cry
Can't live with them, can't live without them
They've got us by those short curlicues
It's almost like they enjoy watching us struggle
But give in to these things we refuse
They can drive us to drink, a bloody caesar
Every single night before bed
Oh for the days before technology arrived
When people ruled the world instead
Madagascar where did you go
For weeks you came to my picnic
My sanctuary
Unceremoniously and unwanted
And mostly uninvited
Like the proverbial red ants
Like a lover I once knew
Everyday ... there you were
A lemur
A chameleon
Perched on my blanket of poetry
Staring with those curious eyes
Yearning for validation
And perhaps a future visit
I must admit you're a nuisance
A pop-up, a laugh, a nightmare
For weeks on end I saw your faces
Burning in my memory
Trolled and uncontrolled
Now that you're gone
I look out the window
I imagine lions, giraffes, and rhino's
Running wildly towards my picnic
connie pacheco
10/20/22
Note-for weeks on end, I would come to this site and be inundated with ads. The Madagascar ad takes the cake. Lately it's gotten worse.
Whoa is me, don't have many friends
Except those here on the Soup
Maybe because I show only my best side
You don't really know the scoop
Nasty to children push old people down
Whenever I get the chance
It's my right after living for eighty-six years
Still adorable after a lifelong dance
Well what did you expect, some Casanova
No way, been through life's mill
Got spitted out quite unceremoniously
A hardened “lifer” if you will
Putting you on, been a charmer since birth
Ladies all flock to my door
Just wanting a piece of my virile body
The word “old” I absolutely abhor
Well enough about me, a Hollywood hunk
Quite unassuming, shy and sweet
If any of you want to know this guy better
Number's 1-800-SWEET-SWEET-SWEET
I stay close to home these days,
my roaming needs seeming to
expire with age, finding more
of what I need in the Silence
of packing; of course, this
worn-out body is far too cumbersome
to even contemplate wanting – like
frayed clothing, now best for rags;
like empty cans for the recyclable:
I wonder how Earth will handle
my re-purposing?~as for my poetry,
will my works know future lips? Be
Whispered and sung, inspiring others
fancying fireside light and chat, within
the warmth of flickering, yet mysterious
shadows? Or will my words, unceremoniously
settle like bird droppings on tombstones,
surrounded by laurels of weeds, a forgotten
chapter? That settles it, I will opt for cremation!
Leaving tombstones and graves for
most politicians, TV Evangelists, and
Movie-stars, needing their world
monuments where the Devil will
easily find them for substantive
reunions....
1-800-TWEET-TWEET-TWEET
Whoa is me, don't have many friends
Except those here on the Soup
Maybe because I show only my best side
You don't know the real scoop
Nasty to children that push old people down
Whenever I get the chance
It's my right been living eighty-six years
Still adorable after a lifelong dance
Well what did you expect, some Casanova
No way, been through life's mill
Got spitted out quite unceremoniously
A hardened “lifer” if you will
Putting you on, been a charmer since birth
Ladies all flock to my door
Just wanting a piece of my virile “young” body
The word “old” I absolutely abhor
Well enough about me, a Hollywood hunk
Quite unassuming, shy and sweet
If any of you want to know this guy better
Call 1-800-TWEET TWEET TWEET
Listen to the sobbing air, smothered by
a satanic blanket of carbon monoxide.
Condemn me not, though I may be impatient,
for my wishes are aborted under industrial waste.
Weave your glowing tapestry of life; believe me,
I won't touch your creation lest it be tarnished,
permit me to view the process of your creation,
so pure and divine, which, my moribund mind
will observe silently, in utter seclusion.
From the realm of rustic serenity, far from
all urban ructions, the insomniac nightingale makes
a last call for lonely hearts, that resonates
in the mind of broken delirious people in a tavern.
My dream is another version of reality.
My love is alive, injured and bleeding unceremoniously.
I suppress the sound when it writhes in pain,
stabbed by the fruitless cravings for affection.
10th November, 2019
LAST CALL FOR LONELY HEARTS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Hyenas are really no laughing matter
In fact they're scavengers, if you see one, scatter
They'll bite your bum
Their dinner you'll become
Unceremoniously, they don't use a silver platter
Divinely free to my inner core
Hovering idle gypsy spirit
Wandering leisurely on a whim
Unceremoniously sublime
Hovering idle gypsy spirit
Roaming drifting itinerant soul
Unceremoniously sublime
Nomad traveling the universe
Roaming drifting itinerant soul
Wandering leisurely on a whim
Nomad traveling the universe
Divinely free to my inner core
Read on air by invitation ~ May 20, 2020 'LITERATURE WEDNESDAYS_POETIC INKLINGS OF TOMORROW'
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2020, Front Page Pick 2020
Tremulous soil plays host to fleeing frightened fauna as
cacophonic outpourings shatter my serenity.
Whilst my delicate limbs shake in symphonic sympathy,
spluttering engines of destruction belch caustic black plumes,
burnished blades gouging vicious fissures in Mother's carpet.
Horrified, I bear witness, as immemorial kin
are butchered and unceremoniously hauled away;
their dessicated carcasses destined to line pockets.
Now I stand alone: sole survivor of this massacre.
Left to contemplate my fate, I muse: when will my time come...?
--------------------------------------------------
(14 syllables per line - checked with howmanysyllables.com)
16 September 2017
For the "Personification of Plant" Premiere Contest, sponsored by Kim Rodrigues.
(4th Place)
What is the attraction with the lake?
Why are we drawn to its side?
Is there something mysterious about it?
Is there something it's trying to hide?
Does it hold the deep dark secret
Of a lady in a flowing white gown?
Was she the victim of some evil doing?
Did she unceremoniously drown?
This is how the old story goes
You can believe it or call it poppycock
A jealous lover tied her feet to a boulder
Threw her off the end of the dock
Now every evening at sundown
As a mist starts to rise from the water
The shadowy figure of a woman appears
The image of somebody's daughter
The tortured spirit of the “Lady of the Lake”
With her mournful cry for release
Forever to rise from the lake at sundown
Nevermore to rest in peace!
Hyenas are really no laughing matter
In fact they're scavengers, if you see one, scatter
They'll bite your bum
Their dinner you'll become
Unceremoniously, don't need a silver platter
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