Four times they opened the flesh and bone,
Four times I woke to a world of stone—
No river of morphine, no drift or dream,
Only the scream behind the scream.
White coats turned with empty hands,
No balm for fire that sears and brands.
I wept in shadows of hospital light,
Each hour a tunnel with no end in sight.
If coins had clinked inside my palm,
I'd trade the law for stolen calm—
A vial, a capsule, a pill that's laced,
To soften the vise of time and place.
But silence crushed the walls of my mind,
And reason fled what it could not find.
Three days I wandered in jagged flame,
A nameless ghost without a name.
Suicide bloomed like a blood-red rose,
A constant whisper the daylight knows.
This is no mercy, this is no care—
This oath they swore hangs in the air,
A mockery writ on parchment scroll
While I, in agony, begged for soul.
If kindness lives in the sky’s great dome,
Let it lift me gently, carry me home.
I ask not gold, I ask not fame,
Only to breathe without the flame.
To see the sky turn dusk to day,
And feel the stars not slip away.
O let the wind move through my chest,
Before I lie in endless rest.
There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.
—Aeschylus
Happiness in Memoriam
Each neuron tingles with happiness, in unnerving vise.
Presently, the squeeze of brain, heart and grit, unbearable.
The lion’s faint, tin clatters, straw pieces pecked, crows gather.
Did you hear the latest dear
Gooey gossip hot off the press
Like a cold beer for your ear
But hold what you know close to vest
I hear that man is really a ma’am
Or it may be it is vise versa
The sports team is in a sham
No one willing to silver serve her
Well I’m told there’s no hope
For the pervert posing professor
He pretends to hold heart of gold
Till he caught red handed confessor
Well I hear another teal tale
Seems the woman lies to her mate
Aftermath is the dad bales
For she has lied about the father’s babe
What say you about the pew
Going to bust hell wide open
Of the few like me like you
Who gossip with tongues so golden
I say that if it is a fact
One can surely surrender to share
For no one is perfect as glass
Life is but a truth or dare
We share a truth and slanted news
Not always seeing the error of ways
Until the news is about you
Enjoy the gooey gossip of the day
My life is like a lotus blossom, blooms in adversity
Lived in hell for many generations...walked as a sojourner
Prayed for peace and love...still waiting on the Lord
Be patient good and faithful servant
Sharon B The desert rose
We will, be in peace forever amen
May the doves, turtle doves Rome our Earth motherfather earth. Feed her nurture her, love her. Stay out of trouble. After a hurricane comes a colorful rainbow. Rainbows are Innocent and bright like my daughter edelle vise or foggy princess. Life is what you make out of it..we all have issues, but make it count. Give the Lord our Glory honesty and communication are the key to the paradise or God's kingdom...why did God create creation...because it is beautiful amen....
Purim Headstand
Scaling K2’s peak,
Of sudden surprise,
Upending Fate,
Rashaim could not sneak,
Anymore, Nes apprise,
Mistaken 70 years being too late,
Goyim’s scheme did leak,
Gave to the rise,
Haman’s gallows up straight,
Head Over Heels unique,
“Hesther Panim” foiled the devise,
Sank the Hate,
Now October 7 will eake,
Out & End Hamas’s vise,
Israel will “8”,
Stop the illusion streak,
Puzzling Whys?
Did Hashem Jews create?
Not as odd as Sinwar’s mistake!
Note: 8 is Rise Above, also Coming of Moshiach?
Hesther Panim is the Hidden Face of Hashem
Rashaim are Bad Evil Guys
Goyim are NonJews
A darker gray pours over the horizon,
Cold and wet with a wind to subdue.
Yet with it comes a shade of discomfort,
As if energy must begin a search for a clue.
The changes we all see have been so gradual,
Where to some, it's more like no change at all.
So while the weather slowly reaches new extremes,
Our carbon footprint is seen climbing the wall.
Now it appears most of the planet is cooperative,
Attempting to alter & curtail this unwanted event.
But there's always those few who stand defiantly,
Since their belief is, there's nothing to prevent.
The saddest part of this story is unyielding,
As status and greed are the glue to hold fast.
And as long as some can keep a vise-grip on the last
Oil well, they'll just happily reminisce of days past.
In spite of this, the rest of us know the day is coming,
When our future is defined by this remarkable change.
Giving pause to our legacy and survival,
If we're unable to create a fair exchange.
Poop stuck in the hole
push to purge without success
Get me the vise grips!
Inspired by, I do do give credit to Jan Allison.
I hope this is not offense to Souper's!
"I want to be a nutcracker!"
Came my announcement one day.
I won't need the strength of a linebacker
to make my chosen profession pay.
"I want to be a nutcracker!"
Grasping them tight like in a vise.
Even the big ones, I'd call a 'wacker.'
I might have to squeeze those twice.
"I want to be a nutcracker!"
Those that are ripe enough for picking.
With every blow, I'd be the attacker,
getting all the sweet meat by pricking.
"I want to be a nutcracker!"
It's a job at which I'd excel.
I'd earn the title, 'Best Nut Smacker,'
when they shout, "That hurt like hell!!"
"I want to be a nutcracker!"
I'd be picky ‘bout the ones I'd choose.
No one would ever call me a 'hacker,'
for when I'm done, there'd never be a bruise.
*Thank you, Caren Krutsinger, for graciously agreeing to allow me the use of your title. We took different forks at the crossroad. ;-)
"O, to have a kingdom
Its subjection so sweet!
Golden, like Solomon's
Footstool, for my feet.
Rest from my enemies,
Trampled into dust,
Falling at my feet,
Like so much sawdust.
Behold my sovereignty!
My judgment is supreme!
Try to fight back, and
My methods are extreme!
Wealth from my wisdom
Will secure all my dreams,
Then to stay in power
Requires constant schemes."
"Ironic you should blather
While I execute your demise!
Messiah sits at My right-hand,
While I squeeze you with My vise!
'I AM' building Him a footstool,
Putting ALL beneath His feet!
All enemies will be vanquished!
Your subjection is so sweet!
Come worship at My footstool,
Be subject to My decree.
The wicked will be trampled,
But the righteous shout with glee!
Let the kings of the earth tremble
At the darkness I'll unleash
My storm clouds, see them billow?
So, repent or perish, capisce?"
"David had it in his heart
To build a house for Me,
Complete with a footstool,
So this kingdom I'll repeat."
Fragile flakes weave a soft duvet of snow
supplanting Fall colors with Winter white.
And blustery breezes begin to blow:
as a sullied sun slowly slips from sight
to the honks of migrating geese in flight.
Winter wails, amidst a flurry of flakes;
Her crystalline aura, composed of ice.
And She starts to freeze the rivers and lakes;
holding life ransom, in cold's crushing vise:
while awaiting Spring's warmth to meet her price.
Fall colors get whitewashed across the land,
Autumn lies buried beneath drifts of snow.
And the naked trees, stripped of their leaves, stand
barren, rooted to where nothing can grow:
even though it used to, not long ago.
A cold chill rides atop a frigid breeze:
all the songbirds have long since flown away.
And the temperature drops by degrees,
till it is too cold to go out to play:
and children are stranded indoors all day.
Children of China
David J Walker
When left to their own devices
The vise and the vices come out
And Catch both witless and wise
In clamps and crimps and cramps in the
Hard and darkened damp
Of a shade from the foreign Gamp made
and shipped by children of China
who claim all rights to name
the moon and Ursa Minor with
An option for the sun
When left to their own devices
The witless and wisest
Sit side by side in priceless pride
And the cheapest priced prizes
In an anniversary party as the
Sun Also Set Rises
In the west
Like the siren’s song,
You are drawing me in
Spinning your webs of
Intoxicating tendrils that
Caress at first, holding you close,
Whispering in your ear,
“We will be together forever.”
Drunk with the ecstasy of her promises,
Enraptured by the feeling of power
Coursing through you.
But the most sinister inventions
Are often hidden behind the sweetest smile.
The soft caress becomes an ache,
Starting at your core and working its way outwards;
Where life once flowed now lurks
The pallid pulse of death,
And the spiderweb becomes a pit
Of pitch-black quicksand
Pulling you down,
Filling your mouth,
Your lungs,
Blacking out your vision,
Your consciousness,
Sinking into the fathomless oblivion
Of death’s hypnotizing embrace,
But not before you hear
That whisper in your ear
Held tight in a vise
As your blood turns to ice
“I told you we’d be together forever.”
Don't call me on a Monday,
I'll never be at my best.
Don't call me on a Monday,
for it should've been made a day of rest.
Don't call me on a Monday,
It's the day of the week I like the least.
Don't call me on a Monday,
or you'll be sure to raise a beast.
Don't call me on a Monday,
I really don't have the time.
Don't call me on a Monday,
I might just call you a swine.
Don't call me on a Monday,
my body is all a jumble.
Don't call me on a Monday,
that would be as wise as entering a jungle.
Don't call me on a Monday,
please take my best advice.
Don't call me on a Monday,
my head feels like it's been put in a vise.
Don't call me on a Monday,
any other day of the week would be fine.
Don't call me on a Monday,
but call me on a Friday and that would be just divine.
Written June 2021 'on a Monday'
"Medicine is my lawful wife, and literature is my mistress. When I get fed up with one, I spend the night with the other"
~ Anton Chekhov
She brightens the skies with her twinkling eyes
As they fall on the pages presented to her
Offering her the honor of a poetry prize
To cause her to smile with satisfaction as she will purr
Poetry and prose lift up like she can sometimes
With emotions so pure they bring conviction
Whether they’re about romance, history or crimes
Addressing the affections with nonfiction
Either by poetic vise or prose that materialize
In dreamy lives who welcome our pen and paper
We will find the inspiration to always idealize
The ones we discover behind a life filled vapor
If it be my wife or the love of my life
The novel, the noun, the verb and the pronoun
I find ways to work through all my strife
With the delight discovered when we write down
Our love for the words we read
As well as the wife we heed
Together, they are a masterpiece indeed!
Reveal your other muse poetry contest
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
March 17, 2021
Start your day
With a vise-like grip
About its throat
And shake the living sxit
Out of it, then
finish with a wink,
An aside to nature,
who worries for you
more than you may think.
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