Tires rang against the road in my eyes
The grinding of whetted knives
Tinnitus rings in my teeth
Threats are thought, silently
Back sores scream and swamp
Ass creeps through the carseat
In the beauty of County Mayo
I am it's tourist blemish
This trip was a supposed celebration
A turning of a page, a grasping of roots
Some sort of self discovery but I
Have always known myself
It rained at the peak of Eask Tower
The hag I feared had lived there
Stayed slumbering, or may be waiting
To follow me back to America, plotting
Stepping past the scattered sheep
Stumbling down muddied emerald hills
I was baptized in the petrichor
Wandering my way back to Dingle
Confronting my disharmony led
To a roundabout road to Bray
Climbing the crucifix hill to escape dread
As every life lived is just a single day
My heart lay barely beating, drowning in a marinade
of salted tears that fell from my reddened eyes.
Blood dripped down my chin from biting my swollen lips
as if they were wounded like a heart pierced by words
that were hurled as if they were whetted daggers.
Whose fingertips drew the target upon my lashed back?
The attack ripped my flesh, inflicting pain without pause.
My cries were echoing in refrain, pleading for the cause.
No response was given as I cringed and groaned
in this shadowed place, this empty void.
In fetal position on the floor, I flinched each time
I heard knuckles wrapping upon my weathered door.
Sluggish was my mind, as if waking from a nap,
wishing I could snap out of Alice's realm where I can't tell
if I'm under a spell or walking in a hellish nightmare
of reality where I wax and wane like sunlight and moonbeams.
Many things that surround me are not always as they seem.
I heard screams from those marked for a guillotine death
No compromises for their cries before taking a last breath
Words of repentance for dastardly crimes were bemoaned
Begging for mercy with fear and tears, curses were groaned
My blade is always kept whetted for those who regretted
and my cutthroat job is thought to be brutally inhumane
"Oh, please!" I wanted to shout at the louts who fretted,
"For only the briefest moment will I cause you any pain!"
In modern days I would be aptly labeled a "French Press."
Humorous, the thought, but I'd still create a bloody mess
Hence, never should I ever be used inside of an abattoir
Before I take a life, I always remember to say, "Au revoir."
I abhor the taste of blood in my mouth and on my teeth
Love to be cleaned before my blades are again in sheath
When my deadly decapitation chore is over and complete
heads I felled roll to lie supine at the executioner's feet
People then clear the scene, to flee from me, the guillotine
As if what they'd witnessed me do would wash them clean
Maybe it was the act of my beheading they were dreading
Hoping tomorrow it wouldn't be theirs that I'd be shredding
When spring arrives,
A group of flowers enjoy
Their countenance and
As the day grows older
They lose their incandescent looks.
If they could know the collapse
Before the begetting,
I hope they'd remain unborn.
A child was obsessed with
Playing her dolls,
Fortuitously a wooden wife
Fell on, mother said:
'The earth is dancing',
The child took it in a wrong way,
Her body was found
After ten days under the whetted
Crown of cement made house,
The sun kissed her pale cheeks
And gave her last smile.
To Ukraine
~Arise in arms from ‘neath oppression’s boot,
confront the face of arbitrary whim.
Resist as one to quell the scarlet brute
and neutralize the threat of florid prim.
Let tyranny ingest the bellowed rage
of cannon flash o’er ev’ry hill and dale,
let revolution step upon the stage
as cries for independence ever swell.
Let nay a man be manacled to thrall
imposed by whomsoever claims the right,
such tyranny shall spark the battle call
and all subjected, rally to the fight.
Dissension’s ire has risen from the strife
to wield the whetted blade of freedom’s knife.
~ Contention grows beyond its mortal vail
to rail against suppression none condone,
for tyranny imposed shall not prevail
when liberty is paid in flesh and bone.
Let not the price deter the bold pursuit
for apprehension steals the breath of life,
arise in arms from ‘neath oppression's boot
to wield the whetted blade of freedom’s knife.
But war is not without its mortal cost,
it leaves all rationale in shadowed doubt,
for freedoms gained, when precious life is lost,
leave ironies triumphant in the bout.
When despots rage, devotion has no fear
as independence hones rebellion’s spear.
3-19-22
Chef Bourdain
1956-2018
Surf and turf, a sardine in tin; will travel.
Your downward spiral
Magnanimity that whetted our appetite
Fans everywhere you excite.
Consumed the exotic and
consumed by erotic specialty dishes.
Five mother sauces to haute cuisine
Mouthwatering too obscene
You've come to your exit; I hope it’s delicious!
I celebrate you, it’s all been nutritious.
Fragrance of words I’m, who are you?
Romance of lines brought in from blue,
Make words dance in rhythm,
Cut out noise in freedom,
A poet asked: so, what’s your view?
I wield a sword vibrant of hue,
A species that poems review,
A slayer called critic,
I tick ye off, one tic,
I work in ways you’ve not a clue.
This is how a poet might view,
But critic would contest and sue:
I keep pens pry, whetted,
That, words are well-vetted,
Unless I rate, whither will you!
__________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |29.12.2020|
Topic: poets, critics
I'm fazed by your stunning, teeth exaltedness
It's sumptuous when you show your sublimeness.
You turned that rose branch like a rosebud softness.
Betting finely on one's heart's splendidness.
Moon is full, and my heart is whetted to your goodness.
Your deep and allured ties spur love niceness.
Your touch thrusts my spirit in a final motionless.
Don't roar when you lam the sole soul weariness.
Every single hymn in the sanctum is boundless.
Written: September 4, 2021
Our first kiss whetted my hunger and thirst
I was a budding rose at your first touch
Love bloomed in the garden for me that night
With such affection, my heart was unversed
Romance 'neath a full moon... there was so much
starlight.
Passion claimed my senses; our love extol,
I'd never known such glorious delight
You gave me strength when I needed a crutch
As if I had wings, my body and soul
Took flight.
November 6, 2020
Sara Kendrick's The Speaker Contest
Like Eden
Wales to me begins with my first visit
to the great castle.
It was then that my appetite was whetted.
Positioned in the northeast corner,
a lookout, no longer strategic,
it rests perfectly in a place
ordained by the highest voice.
It’s sits atop this lush principality,
where tradition are revered and
tended to like Eden.
Modern and traditional, its people alone
decide in which villages time moves
and at what speed.
I can’t read the signs - the village name -
in which I’m told the dd sounds like th.
But I’m glad they don’t cater to
my American eyes.
It’s enough that they
depart their traditional tongue
to guide me.- in a heavy, appreciated accent.
I walk, just to immerse myself.
The twisting roads, the kneeling sheep,
the stone walls that have no beginning
or end.
The head shakes slowly for a lack of words.
If God told me to go somewhere and
wait for Him, I’d stay right here
in this northern village,
where already, I feel closer to Him.
you wear away at me with your silence
not with whetted words
or physical altercations
there are no recriminations
No...
it's much more corrosive than all of that
this is the sad fact
apathy barbed in neglect
is the tool that you use
not aware it's abuse
how it scrapes and it grinds
determined not to leave anything behind
day after day
night after night
year after year
till the memory
of who I was dissapears
a little bit more every day
you wear me away
voiceless, I fade
silent in your silent tirade
only pebbles remain
of a once templed soul
and with a little more time
pulverized,
they blow away...
by the constant silent howling
of your loveless heart
Eileen Manassian
A Christmas Remembered
A winter’s morn; the earth is
still. Leaves and grass gleam virgin
white as vapours shroud the distant
hill. Birds forage in field and
wood where the pond is steel. The
sharpened air, a whetted knife,
reveals to me my lover’s
breath. God – I see her very
life! We spread our pence beneath
the tree, but love is all the
gift we need, and love is free.
This poem was created using ONLY the titles of poems I've written. Many of them were posted on PS, but not all of them appear here. No grammatical articles of speech were used.
I danced in the rain on silver wings
our whispered words,
"Make me the reason you breathe"
Whispers dried on the vine
whetted with deception,
branded by flames
disillusioned with love
we turned our backs on forever
Dark sombre nights, my heart cried
tears in the moonlight
while sunlight sleeps
Alone in my grief, a soul depraved
layer upon layer, shoveled from the grave
Night rituals
no escape from the pain
night visits to a vile place
darkness in starlight's bloom
emotionally naked when forever is severed
Heartache wears a face of woe
Memories linger, wistful memories
Drowned in passion, with remorse
Farewell to our yesterdays
Treacherous Heart!
Human imperfections...mortality
Outracing death, an uninvited guest
Shadow of my lover
Love's tragic death
In darkness I dwell
in crypt hued grey
in shrouds of silk
Weep not for withered petals
sing no canticle for me
For love I have died
***A childhood experience where I
recall my friends and I playing in
the rain, but we became sad when
the rain lifted***
The rain patterned dull, side the sill
to remind the chill to rise 'neath
the leaves;
to station the birds in their nests
(the squirrels cozy in terrace boughs)
watching the rain-drop and fall
in whetted breath
a certain Saturday morn
There were pools of freshet dream-water
spills, rubber boots filled
with little ones of all kinds
(aloof though children still)
celebrating somehow, the challenge
of new troubles;
skipping with Autumn's feet,
through mud and October's puddles
they danced, as dullards to the rain
The rain had passed, sun came at last
yet, now the once smiling children
shook the warmth, off came boot and
coat ----
and went on their merry way,
sopping, dry and sad
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