I’ve been unashamedly holiday focused,
everything fit together like a puzzle,
all febrile worries were pardoned,
we took haven in our comforts.
I slept shamefully late,
We weaponized fun.
The world seemed parasitology free,
pharmacology, pathology and histology free,
if not entirely anatomy free wink wink
and except for my mom, assessment free.
It’s been great, it’s been Christmas!
But soon, my cares will, again, be fined tuned
by the Gordian knot of learning
and it’s ungentle reckonings.
If it weren’t all asked for - I’d be pissed.
.
.
A Song for this:
Coney Island Man by Swing Out Sister
On Saturday the fifth, I will meet my bride.
By side of alter, and then decide.
If I should flee, or marry thee.
You may think me cruel, or ungentle of man.
But she’s the type, to toll a man.
By cost and affect, because she can.
By Sunday sixth, she will be Mrs or amiss.
But me a Mister, regardless of this.
Her name in tarnish, but mine varnished still.
As a gentleman untamed, unmarried and with will.
It will be my choice, whether we rejoice.
Or my plan, that I leave her in abandon.
On Friday fourth, I get a jolt.
A letter brought forth, has me revolt.
Miss will not see you on Saturday.
She’s decided against, the matrimony.
How dare she, I gasp!
To leave such a man, not at the alter
But by, the pen of hand.
AT LAST
On my veranda I watch beads of sweat
slide down the glass of ale I use to get over
something I’m not sure of, perhaps just an
absence of idea or thought, a quiet discontent
that sparrow at the feeder cannot know.
The small bird skitters to his majesty the Red Oak
who lives slow in the corner of my woods.
He is old enough to speak with substance and
weight beyond the business of anything I’ll ever do...
To my left that willow I set in the ground some years
ago waves long wands in the breeze over the water
and careful plantings on the terraces and slopes.
And there it is, the sure knowledge ofan ungentle
slide down three score years and ten to sleep,
with a paucity of hope for substance and weight.
Copyright
Vol Lindsey
7/12/2004
In the light she died,
although it was I that faded to blindness.
The Beloved
ransacked me, She was ungentle.
Years past, empty nights, grey hours
in the harsh light of anger.
I held my grudge against Her
like a hot iron.
Then She died for me.
I awoke remembering what I had done
and was distraught.
None can kill God,
all death is a lie
told to the back of your eyes,
yet slowly killing myself killed Her also.
Suicide is the ultimate sin,
not a crazy doctrinal unfeeling edict,
but a warning.
If you try to kill God,
the Beloved will find you
and Her love will not be gentle.
I truly believe that I was only created, just to feel nothing but heartache darkness and gut wrenching unbearable pain and sadness only to be ing destroyed!!!!!!!!
I am an unbearable chaotic ing mess of dark demented unthinkable thoughts my thoughts make other people's nightmares look like muther ing sugar roses and God dam lollyingpops!!!!
And when this destructive horrendous darkness comes it pours through me turning everything dark sad and black
I'm going insane the pain I feel for him cuts through me like a ing knife to a ing vein.
Sometimes I think this horrible pain deep inside me is just a horrendous nightmare but then reality snaps back in and I realize I'm not asleep!!!
I am completely ing lost going insane with no ing hope of ever being ing ing found!!!!!!
I've been left for dead my heart he did rip ever ungentle out of my barely breathing ing chest my soul and spirit he did ing destroye
OH, ING WELL!!!
IT'S NOT LIKE ANYONE GIVES A .
THERE IS A HORRIBLE UNBEARABLE PAIN IN MY CHEST WHERE MY HEART USE TO BE,
BEFORE HE STOLE IT AND ripped IT OUT OF ME!!!
BY: SHANTAE PAPPACOSTAS
ORTEGA-ZELE (6-14-20)
Bubble
by Michael R. Burch
Love—
fragile, elusive—
if held too closely
cannot withstand
the inter ruption
of its bright,
unmalleable tension
and breaks, disintegrates,
at the touch of
an undiscerning
hand.
Originally published by Neovictorian/Cochlea. I believe this is my only "shape" or "shaped" poem. Keywords/Tags: Love, fragile, delicate, bubble, tension, held, breaks, break up, pops, disintegrates, explodes, implodes, hand, touch, harsh, ungentle, violence, stress, relationship, abuse, anxiety
Two hearts unite in holy matrimony
Pledge their troth in sanctimony
Yet in a year or two, up springs acrimony
The likely cause, ungentle parsimony
All that money spent on pomp and ceremony
~ Was better saved for alimony
Come hither, come thither, come nigh
Don't dither, don't blither, don't sigh
Ask me how, ask me where, ask me why
Come hither, come thither, come nigh
Dance airily, dance merrily, dance spry
Not warily, contrarily or sly
Come hither, come thither, come nigh
Bedazzle, becharm, beautify
Do sparkle, do sizzle, do fly
Ask me how, ask me where, ask me why
Be gracious, vivacious, sagacious
Not voracious, rapacious or salacious
Don't be judgmental, tempermental or ungentle
Come hither, come thither, come nigh
Don't shout, don't pout, don't cry
Tread lightly, tread brightly, glorify
Come hither, come thither, come nigh
Ask me how, ask me where, ask me why
Your Place in My Thoughts
I so forcibly suppress my thoughts of you.
Your entity lingers like the putrid scent of sulfur in my soul.
The havoc created leaving me shattered and blue.
I had given up so many things for us.
You seemed so happy, without a fuss.
Yet you still threw me down so worthlessly like coal.
Here I lay as destructive as ever.
I knew our relations would be detrimental.
For I never thought it would be us that'd sever.
In the moments after we would both lash out.
This deep hatred for another soon began to sprout
This reality just begging to settle, I never knew it'd be so ungentle.
May 5th, 2018
He that stalks like the prey
Holy steps he takes towards me
Sniffing at the sour air, claiming my scent he travels on
He that struggles with me in a clothes fight
Tearing, ripping undergarments to dignity
Ravishing me like some form of beast
He that makes my heart pound
Drumming my pulse one stroke at a time
Creating a ungentle rhythm
He that my body calls to
Loudly with stares no words
How I wish of him to devour me
The ungentle wind
breezes in through the window,
cooling an afternoon lust
that was widely soaked
in a summer haze, blending
with the sweet aroma of
a great Africa,
whose erotic craving was
painted in her big, round eyes;
only unearthed by
the master’s naked body
through her hot, darken coffee
--
The Master’s Piece, inspired by B.S. Picture Poems Contest
and it was based on Paul Cézanne’s «L'Après-midi à Naples» .
http://www.nga.gov.au/International/Catalogue/Detail.cfm?
IRN=98698&ViewID=2&GalID=ALL&MnuID=1
We spent the night—
once, in non-verbal talks, from rhythmic
folk steps in duple time
to a wild swaying. To enjoy life,
be totally free. A lover, friends
and me. Yes, me. I was there, to be with
them. They wanted loud music and
the exotic juices of an Agape plant, I
preferred a peaceful night. Still we
partied, with the ungentle winds
and my sentiments. The snapping chimes
of woods in lit and the boozes took
us down the field, presenting the earth and
the sky. I watched the night, with
drunken eyes. Ah, there were the stars
and me and the options
yet decided. The stars easily had it, and I dazedly
winkled, welcoming them into my world.
come here
to
my
grim
ungentle
where
haze
falls to
gray
and
dark
hides the
way
to the glint
of your
heart
distant
beyond this
wall
of charcoal
wounds
fingers
reach
out
from the
gloom
come here
come soon
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