Did we really dabble daily?
You must be hyper-delirious!
Is it the posit in my eyes;
the recent rosy surprises?
Honeymooners might silkily slide
and slip sleepily into such dreams,
remembered. Still
such thoughts bring to mind
those early reclines of young love.
I can picture you in your red threads,
unveiling of slim
and vainglorious muscles,
the hustle of prowess.
Our steamy windows,
the firsts, the thirsts,
the pinpoint of lusty eyes,
the thrust of vigor.
Do we dabble daily
in linking love,
hand in hand;
the saxophone hums.
Together we slide
through the love tunnel
in the dark,
dangerously drifting
toward the eternal waterfall;
the climax.
I
corked
the last
lightning bug
in this Coke bottle,
too precious for any matchbox,
distinguishing it from slugs, snips, spineless annelids;
for no other reason than juvenile sensibilities, vainglorious captures,
nothing for practical science, all to preserve a boyish reputation that made me aleatory, dire, perilous, savage, bland
but pride, quaintly, comes as I bear its marginal light, dwindling the dutiful darkness of evening, like faint choking hymns of elder choristers; hence I pray it shall be till morning, since fireflies have no engagements with the sun
Paradise is realized in the Pacific, excitement is found in her waters,
but never forget she can muster mighty storms, along her shores
there is a ring of fire - I retell her stories to my children,
their memories are out to sea.
—by Poet
The Cliffhanger castled above the waves.
The scorch of ring of fire, the club headed due South.
In darkness, the sea was disturbed.
Would our workplace be preserved - open mouth.
Hoping the Pacific behaves.
Aloha, we’ve flown over her; here’s paradise.
Exploring the North shore is exhilarating.
Unlike coast of California,
Oahu waters surround us, enticing, nice;
vainglorious waves, pulsating.
We play for three years, with three kids,
in Pacific sands and gliding on boogie boards.
We watch islanders leaping from the cliffs.
My twenties, spent in bathing suit, with its rewards.
Opening and closing eyelids -
the makings of a poet who never forgets.
I remember the eye of Hurricane Iwa -
holding my infant son; the breeze,
then weighty winds coming from the ocean diva;
a performer with majestic outlets.
O’ Casagemas,
what is this Heartbreak I hear,
from this woman with sagged, fired breasts
and onion hips that tell a strumpet?
This cruel, shameless voyeur
with little mind — who owns a
vainglorious torso;
a Lady Serpent, viperous!
O’ Casagemas,
this Heartbreak hurts,
running streams of cold blood at cockcrow.
We cannot be counted among men
but among lizards with tail monuments.
Veronica, Juliet, Ada or Ulu?
How does one even spell her name, with votive
words, or with streaks of bleeding ink?
Heartbreak spills from a hollow platter, gushing
cascades of heated tears.
Caustic! A ruinous fountain.
Dream.
Casagemas sprouts, a monocotyledon
on which she feasts — succubus!
Incubus at noon.
Night.
Painted on the frame of a subtopia,
this naked virago — pulse of falsetto —
weeps at the feet of the grave of Casagemas.
Morning.
Velvet roses and tailored satin, pink and white fluff
for Casagema’s Rebirth
and christening ceremony.
In attendance:
fair daughters of Eve, naked, baby-fresh and
Casagemanous, to wreak vengeance on this
hag with a fluke in her liver.
Why does doom feel so familiar
While happiness seems so far away?
How many times have you heard the supplications
Asking for help, or
Begging for mercy, from our suffering.
In this god-forsaken place,
Where we have been placed, to test our tenacity.
Here in this tent city, surrounded by the sounds of industry,
Talking to strangers, about predestined arrangements
Watching the birds fly and the bugs crawl beneath the canopy
In a seemingly parallel reality, I’ve come to suffer separation
From this place we call civilization, the noise of today
Is but tomorrow’s memory, wanting to steal my spirit away.
Just leave me be. Forget about me. Mind your own business.
Leave me out of the fray. I never asked it to be this way.
Criss-crossed with trespass, egregious behavior
Upon someone else’s path, invasive presence, vainglorious -
Self-interest that clashes with everything including itself.
Vibrating like a hive of invasive species
Eating away at the fabric of our being.
Loud, obnoxious, rude, concoctions, diseases for the masses
Please take me away from this insanity. Again,
I pray. ~psp
dr. (pi)
.
When anthro-privileged consumers
of massive monotheistic miscommunications
replace faith in compassionate StatesMen
and bipartisan StatesWomen
with vainglorious hope
for straight white supremacist BusinessMen
Then what might have been a healthy
polycultural democracy
has now become just another nationalistic
monoculturing kleptocracy.
Sacred EarthMother
does not define
what matriarchal yin Beauty is,
and yet S/He seems to refine
what patriarchal yang Ugly is not.
What with vainglory, vanity’s wan pride,
I once asked my ego what makes it go:
He said: I’m not on a vainglorious ride,
Nor does hollow arrogance make me blow,
Vanity’s just the vehicle for my use,
Me and mine’s not my true identity,
To be suffused with pride is no abuse,
Nor is soaring on one’s wings, vanity.
Me think soul boasts as big daddy behind,
My claim’s nigh humble, pretty down to earth,
Unlike soul, I am my own unique kind,
Discerning few get to know my true worth,
I stand for reason, sanity well nigh,
Confuse me not with id, nor super I.
______________________________________
Sonnet |01.09.2005| Self, ego
Poet’s note: Ego is one’s orientation with body, mind and intellect, as against with soul, the true Self. Yet, without a bit of ego orientation, one is as good as dead. Freud gave the terms id, ego, and super ego, which someone interpreted as ‘it’, the ‘I’, and ‘beyond I’. Here in this light-hearted piece, ego points an accusing finger at id, and super ego, while pulling soul’s leg. The mood of the poem is tongue-in-cheek.
I avoid those floral gangsters,
vainglorious Gladioli,
eugenically forced greenhouse Geraniums
with their large Shar-pei heads.
Garish claustrophobic chromatic mobs,
their heavy menacing over-cultivated smells.
Charles Darwin, thought these latter-day
angiosperms as:
“an abominable mystery.”
They are life-forms born of missing links,
genetically modified to eat oxygen,
perhaps out of our human brains?
Dogs and cows
are immune to their deleterious charms,
but we who are drawn to color and form,
sniff them out, as if they were hard drugs.
O you Peony, overgrown Day Lily,
you seemingly
innocuous bunches of Mums,
I see you, you smug and pretty enticers,
you mesmerizing Rasputin's!
I cringe, hold my breath,
reluctantly
bring those heady eye-catchers home
to my darling,
who waits for yet more perfumed
love letters.
Amóre; what is that, he wondered,
before, before her, before the raw
Circean glimpsed across the buzzing
dance crazed rhythmic beating pulsing room.
Erudite, perniciously droll his
father was, he could have been, the old
generation, but not him, no sir;
he was master of the universe.
It took a while to traverse the room,
jam-packed with hot, febrile bodies in
karezza writhings, bodies touching;
love, or lust, on their minds and on his.
"May I?" "May you what?" She taunted;
neither spoke; both stared. His head bowed in
obeisance, bright red shoes his focus.
Power shifted, as both knew it would.
Quarry now the huntress, wolf killer
relishing command, his submission.
Slowly, mischievously; a wink; words;
"take me to your room, this moment, now
undress me; like you have already."
Vainglorious once; now, kin to a
witless fool, he stood, helpless; she stared;
x-rayed him with her cold steel-blue eyes;
"you're blushing," she whispered. The words like
zephyrs softly caressing his face …
The Killer Shark~so conceited,he.
Wants every part of the sea, his to be!
Each human, each acqautic plant. “Mine”
Destruction, dearth to him, just shine!
His abundant teeth gleam in the sum.
The greedy shark,murdering everyone.
Theft of life, fulfill his vainglorious days.
The seas flush with a dark,crimson haze.
4/5/2023
He avoided florists,
those over-cultivated blooms
in their overheated shops
seemed to be a perversion of nature.
He shunned all those floral gangsters;
the vainglorious gladioli,
eugenically forced greenhouse geraniums
with their large Shar-Pei heads.
Garish claustrophobic hosts of peonies
pressing-in and crowding his mind
with a ballooning menace.
His stomach trembled when confronted
with petulant Pelargonium
or the silent perfumed farts of the deadly Dahlia.
Charles Darwin, thought these latter-day
angiosperms as, “an abominable mystery.”
They are life-forms born of missing links,
genetically modified to eat oxygen
out of human brains.
They are the epitome of those hard drugs
that invade our senses.
For him, the Day Lily
was a pall-bearing pale monstrosity.
Seemingly innocuous bunches of Mums
are well known to gather in smug mobs
at a time of year
when our greatest need
is for fresh air.
Passing all flower shops
he cringes away,
and will not pay a penny
for any kind of noxious poesy
or floral frippery.
A monkey once sat
On a gentleman’s lap
And its antics were truly uproarious
The chain at its wrist
Jangled back to the fist
Of the fabulous Lady Notorious
“Excuse me, dear sir,”
She sweetly demurred,
“I see that my pet’s been inglorious.
I trust this mishap
Won’t land me in the lap
Of a quandary so unmeritorious.”
“No matter, my dear
You have nothing to fear
For you needn’t think I’m so vainglorious
As to actually regret
The occasional pet … on the lap
by the Lady Notorious.”
Floating on sea of sunflowers,
Trembling in the summersault breeze.
Each sun of seeds uplifts my smile.
Each blooming orb, sets me at ease.
Trembling in the summersault breeze,
Vainglorious with giant stems,
Each blooming orb, sets me at ease -
The peace of God in brilliant gems.
Vainglorious with giant stems,
The peak of xanthous petal-waves,
The peace of God in brilliant gems.
His glory-light brightens my eyes.
The peak of xanthous petal-waves,
Each sun of seeds uplifts my smile.
His glory-light brightens my eyes.
Floating on sea of sunflowers.
8/17/2022
Pantoum with gentle rhyming
The stupidity of man
The leaders of Europe are gripped by a collective madness
Like swimmers in a river feeling the pull of the current, think
There is time to swim ashore where banks are not so tall.
The river gets wider, the current stronger, the ocean nearer
Where the maelstrom awaits churning life into fragments.
The leaders of Europe thought they could alter the current
Vainglorious as king Canute trying to stop the incoming tide.
There are those the enemy of humanity who thinks a nuclear
War is not so bad, millions are killed but not for those who hide
In a secret valley in Wales, so dumb they are dying in a cave.
We, the people are blind to spending time arguing about
The non-binary sexual politics drowning in utmost banality.
OH MAN:
The livelihood of man is vainglorious,
And his final home after death is unknown.
Well, who is man that knoweth not himself,
The man who is condemned by his fellows,
That lack answers to mystical questions?
Who actually is man,
Whose body becomes conscious of nothing,
When he's dead and gone?
And his corpse only returns into soil,
After been fed on by worms and termites?
Oh man, you whose intelligence and dignity,
Can never be identified by your skeleton,
After you've passed away,
And your shadow becomes an invisible module,
Both day and night.
Why are you selling your life for doom,
By being enticed to this fading place,
Instead of a good eternal place for your soul?
Indeed, the story of man is futile,
Especially, when his life is pinned to paganism.
Peace....I'm out!
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