Once more, I am thinking about writing -
coils are uncoiling,
snakes study the intricate anatomy
of legs and next steps.
My audience of one
must be propped up as if yet still alive,
geriatric words must be given their shots.
I can tell it's going to be a performance,
the poem is even now going off script.
It babbles; the entire cast of 'Hamilton'
has just walked out in protest.
Only Prokofiev and his 3rd piano concerto
can save me now, his notes are jungle drums
for the hard of hearing,
however, the write is not a musical
or a concert. It's, it's err...
Anyway, it is almost teatime.
Already the critiques
are sharpening their pencils.
I pull apart my white fancy actors' shirt,
buttons pop exposing the telltale signs
of recent romantic heart surgery.
Now an overwrought muse is yelling in my ear.
Dammit,
I simply cannot write another thing
under these circumstances.
I box up the coiling snakes,
exit left.
These blatant lives we lead
with our guts hanging out
between pretty words.
I remember (after the failed gastric surgery),
when gore spilled out of my prone body;
that slow unwinding of blank verse,
(the wordless made flesh) - uncoiling
in bold inarticulate sincerity.
An intestinal serpent – seeping,
and I the author of that preconscious serpent
still attempting to fill empty shells
with delusions and other ill-formed proofs
of existence.
Then from out of that open wound,
out from that that visceral self-revealing,
the pulse of my life so starkly exposed
at last, saying something -
true.
“The broken pieces of our heart like shards of glass are difficult to be glued up. It needs great care and craftsmanship to mend it.” ~ By Poet
The night stood,
veiled like an assassin.
Leaving aside the unfinished works,
she curled into bed, tired.
Thoughts once dead,
like spirits, from another world
came to haunt.
They threatened to lacerate her,
in the stillness of the night.
Gagged by those ferocious demons
she choked for breath.
Chained and handcuffed,
she couldn't move.
Should she drink to the lees
the dregs of the bitter potion?
She couldn't wink an eye!
She heard someone asking
'Why should you keep alive
the past in an album
and turn its pages every now and then'?
But...she couldn't help......
Like serpents uncoiling,
memories came.
If she slept, they would strike.
So she kept staring
into the awful darkness broken and wide eyed!
What secrets dwell in Poesy's heart, veiled by verse?
Why on the edges of our perception
do they dance? What are life's essence and course,
when blight strikes our hearts with introspection?
What path does the Poet tread, bathed in starlight’s gleam?
What whispers of tomorrow beckon him near?
How do his verses capture life's subtlest themes,
when flickers of comprehension die, then disappear?
The cryptic truths woven within rhythmic lines,
preserve the mysteries time itself shrouds;
Cloaked within the tapestry of the grand design;
draped in the enigma of the passing clouds.
Do words echo the silent rhythm of the poet's soul,
sketched upon the canvas of an endless sky?
Does his dance of metaphors, and rhymes, extol
the mysteries only seen through a poet's eye?
In each silent word, and each echoing phrase,
do we find our mirrored self, quietly unveiled?
Uncoiling the layers through the rhymer's haze,
reveals in time what has remained concealed.
These blatant lives poets lead
with their guts hanging out,
gore hid between beautiful words.
I remember (after the failed surgery),
when guts spilled out of my actual body;
that unwinding of blank verse uncoiling
in a slow slime of sincerity.
The hectic rush to the operating room again,
the gurney screeching on polished floors,
guts still leaking from under a latex glove.
A poem revealing itself,
speaking beautifully at last.
The slow red sun falls through the dusk gray sky
Shadows from bird's wings glide casually by
Feathered limbs carry them away from night
They float through skies of layered painted light
The day changes coats when night creatures sing
Dim stars appear like an uncoiling string
The worn cloth of time turns into twilight
Harmonies of night fill ears with delight
Sunlight ends on a quiet spinning spool
The red of its light becomes minuscule
Moonlight splays upon a realm of starlight
And brings its own layers of painted light
I watched in awe at this slow changing scene
Only my whispers of thanks intervene
3/21/21
contest Rhyming Couplets
sponsor Janice Canerdy
These blatant lives we lead
with their guts hanging out,
yet only between beautiful words.
I remember (after the failed surgery),
when guts spilled out of my real body;
that unwinding of blank verse uncoiling
in a slow slime of sincerity,
and all those gory details falling out, at last
saying something true.
I must admit I do enjoy watching the country unravel at times
that's what spices up a mundane life
makes us appreciate calmer times.
How I do enjoy watching the uncoiling mayhem
Martin looter kings and Drama queens
trying to ignite a darker form of change
(passive resistance and civil disobedience be damned).
How I do enjoy watching the uncoiling mayhem,
a combat sport at its very finest.
A twitchy thin blue battle line versus
a pulsing cluster of malcontents...
A mixologist's dream:
tumblers of tear gas
Molotov on the rocks
pockets of flaming shots -
Goblets of salt rimmed shattering glass -
whirling cherry bombs and baton.
Wrestling matches-naval shots and bloody Mary lips.
The blue man group atop Battle horses
sirens and flares inter-coursing...
Wish I had the balls to join in the fun.
but I do the next best thing,
steer my recliner-straight into the fracas.
fiddlehead
uncoiling
reaching for clouds
posted on February 12, 2019
All i know
is that you know all
but so far nothing done
please don't run
i know i promise a lot
may be to extend my slot
no lies babe
just give me time before you say bye bye
sometime you seem to go
to satisfy your ego
but i keep you forgoing
with my uncoiling promising
don't say 'see you'
but it's up to you
to flirt your heart
and fade my trust
no lies babe
just give me time before you say bye bye
i have no work
but my promise will work
i have faith
with time i will be paid
and i need not to raid
to create you a fuss
let time pass
and all will be joy
as you are my joy
no lies babe
just give me time before you say bye bye
October Sky – three haiku
#1
lightning strobes hearts
thunder uncoiling whips crack
eye stinging terror
#2
frosted exodus
wingtips warming on the fly
suns iced crystal glare
#3
cold hoar frost rainbow
saddened cornucopia
tears of failing sun
John G. Lawless
8/19/2015
Polarity charge erupts on the Etheric;
a molecular dance of serpents uncoiling is…
dynamite to the mind.
Pure energy dissolves the mortal body and I am instant…everything!
I am universes within universes;
the one within the all;
a generator,
a charging battery…
Unlimited ecstasy mingles with omnipotent love;
I am at one with God,
one atom of God’s body and
there is no wrath here;
only harmony.
With patience, in a concealed place,
in long grass, or a packing case
as unwary prey comes apace
never his footsteps to retrace
With cold eye, beady, dead in space,
Uncoiling with hypnotic grace,
Slow motion skin - an awful lace,
To silent earth, no sudden trace.
I no longer hear from the window
Downstairs, the edible syllables
Of the the Congo drum salivating
Its whispers on my hungry ears.
The seduction of sweet nuances
Stirring latent passion; the dares
For midnight dances
In the nakedness of silence; taunting
My soul with desires
For black uncoiling rhythms
That move like a fire; tantalizing
The shadow; leaving
The moon undress
Cold upon the floor.
Bring back my writhing song
The slithering tide across the shore
Let me encore throng
Of feelings trapped in that wilderness.
ITS SOUL TORTURED BY FERTILE SCHISM
THE CITY SLEEPS STLL, AND DREAMLESS NOW
She saw him across the room
The illuminated orange glow of his stick
The deep, mournful rhythm of the music
Thumping, thumping
Uncoiling slender limbs
She moves subconsciously closer to him
The drum-beat pounding
The smoke drifting
Unfathomed, darkened eyes shaded
Heart thudding, she stares
Background vinyl singer wailing
Eyes, nothing but eyes,
His brown shaded eyes
Solitary, distant worlds.
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