Thank God
for the
moral argument
And your conscience
for the
time and space
— of its creation
(Wilkes Barre Pennsylvania: March, 1989)
Why am I filled with remorse?
I have the long face of a horse,
and if you want to know the truth,
the hands of John Wilkes Booth.
Could I simply call it hell?
Wherein every evil dwell...!
Does there ring a constant knell?
Don't matters midst men go well...?
Dormammu ruled Multiverse,
By bitterness turns a curse;
Strange, and yarrow-like itchy,
In which each cell gets pitchy...!
It's a game like games by gods,
When and where they win all odds;
Ant-man and wasps have been keen,
tricks of Kaecilius, seen...!
Rifts, trials, and tests, genuine,
Though seemed a heavenly sign;
Enters Wilkes in entire wrath,
Attacks sanctums in his path...!
Kaecilius breaks the spell,
Empowers himself as hell;
Beats, meters of mystic arts,
By this, does he break art hearts...???
Hooks and crooks, seen all around,
Rhythm does not round so sound;
In the dark, the world is drowned,
Will, now, Dormammu, get crowned...?
Umar, Clea, Piper Jack,
Like arrack-nuts soon get crack;
Lo, like the Constellations,
Frenzy freezes all nations...!!!
15 January 2023
Dark Dimension Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
a strange sort of flow
comes with thoughts of long ago
spews a welcome glow
nostalgia may just soothe
when mixed with lies and half-truths
Hitler and his ilk
less troublesome than spilled milk
like Wendell Wilkes
slavery a slight bother
endorsed by founding fathers
a happy nation
few trials or tribulations
add more misinformation
ignore racial injustice
force the children to trust us
all Greenwood flattened
pretend it never happened
let's not be saddened
forget all those starved and bruised
that story is over used
no big mystery
we’ll sugar coat history
practice sophistry
let's deny the Holocaust
past transgressions should be lost
need new set of rules
ensure what is taught in school
makes nation look good
our kids do not need to know
repeating the past brings woe
The music
called the dancers
to the floor
The poet
waltzing freely
—with his eyes
(Wilkes Barre Pennsylvania: March, 1980)
“A vision into
your future
“A mirror
of your past”
(Wilkes Barre Pennsylvania: March, 1980)
O foolish Amerikan klan,
who hath Klux bewitched thee with pale poof?
Kluless to the celestial truth,
Love immutable is infinity grand
Children of the Aryan band,
what doth the dark star say unsooth?
Thy divided house is quaking from the foundation to the roof,
as incantations of hatred are caste by thine hand
Stir madly the black cauldron with thy ladle iron brand ...
knowest not, thou Jim Crow vows are dove uncouth?
Universal love is the relativity proof,
yet thine mathematical impurity will cancel thy hexed land
Inverted cloud 9 chanting brings triple digit reign; slow death quicksand,
cursed cause invoked by thou warlock heirs of John Wilkes Booth
Mix the enamel pox potion from thy bittersweet Cain rotten tooth,
let angry spirits from boiling brew be vomit spilt upon thy Endora strands
Thus, the mirror of time will show the cold reflection of thy fool’s errand;
ought not all ayes idol-ly stand by, and watch thy seance plight aloof?
Disco burnout,
fever rampant erosion
Empty glances,
mirrored hollow drums
Bleeding, starving,
passive alertness
Madeup, putdown
—treadmill run
(Woodlands Hotel: Wilkes Barre- January, 1980)
Opinions matter
If you have an opinion
Don’t keep it inside
Don’t go with the fiction
Or truth is denied
Don’t reject any knowledge
And say you know squat
Just cos John Lennon
Spoke out and was shot
The world is a mess
And you want to make changes
Talk about peace
While the war it still rages
Offer solutions
Offensive to some
John Kennedy did this
And he died by the gun
Oppression is wrong
And the slave trade should end
Coloured’s are neighbors
And should be our friend
Many didn’t like it
But what he said was the truth
Abe Lincoln spoke freedom
Was shot by Wilkes Booth
If you have an opinion
You must let it out
If you don’t like oppression
Then stand up and shout
Reject all the bad things
Before they begin
Don’t fear the gunman
Or the gunman will win
DAWN OF NEW DAY
Sweet sixteen Scarlett so madly loved me,
my mistake I refused to marry her.
As my wife her life could write grand story
in dismal strife-torn years of civil war.
She could act, flirt with rogue Rhett for money
needed for her farm when I was away.
He’d go to jail for charge of felony,
my love would save her from being his prey.
After the war to Tara I’d take her,
reconstruct our shattered lives once again.
In happy new home our children we’d rear,
Forget the long tormenting years of pain.
The time of turmoil would go with the wind,
in dawn of tomorrow new day we’d find.
January 10, 2019
Syllable count : 10 each line
(checked on howmanysyllables.com)
Contest : Movie Magic
Sponsored by : Gregory R Barden
Movie and chosen character : Gone With The Wind, Ashley Wilkes
Dark echoes of the past reverberate
In Mississippi voices filled with hate.
This morning nooses hanging from a tree
Remind us all of lynching history.
Some people claim great progress has been made
And racist attitudes, in time, will fade;
If this is true then why do people try
To resurrect the Old South's battle cry?
To say Jeff Davis was a patriot
Is simply vile and apoplectic rot.
He was a traitor to his very core
In spite of false heroic Southern lore.
The South was built upon the backs of slaves
Who found no freedom 'til they found their graves,
And those who try to sanitize this truth
Reanimate the hate of John Wilkes Booth.
Review the annals of history
Murder upon murder you'll see
Start with Adam and Eve's son, Cain
Who murdered his brother Abel in vain
Then there's Moses, the saintly lawgiver
Who murdered an Egyptian taskmaster and shivered
The greatest of playwrights, Shakespeare, didn't hedge his bets
He wrote of murder in 'Julius Caesar,' 'Macbeth' and 'Romeo & Juliet'
What of Abe Lincoln's assassin, Mr. John Wilkes Booth?
His name lives all these years later, verily and forsooth
There's Lee Harvey Oswald, shot JFK -- ended Camelot
Else his name wouldn't be worth a pee in a pot
Can't forget the serial killers, whose souls are damned:
Richard Speck, John Wayne Gacy, Son of Sam
Not to mention the 'iconic' socialists you all know:
Lenin, Stalin, Hitler, Mao, and Idi Amin also
In this century you don't have to rack your brain
We've had Osama bin Laden, Bashar Assad, Sadam Hussein...
As for 'professionals,' Bonnie & Clyde are your bank robbers
And how about ('Scarface') Al Capone for a celebrity mobster?
So, you want your name to be ever remembered?
Just commit a few murders: Behead and dismember!
To be. To feel.
To feel, to love,
To love. To rage,
To rage, to die
Like a good Romantic, or to sleep like this,
Ghosting about
Like a loose plastic bag
That flaps on a windy night
Under a sodium street lamp’s
Eerie all-submerging light.
O Shakespeare, pity us,
O Wilkes, O Pope,
O Voltaire, O Heine,
O Byron. O Shelley,
Shed tears for us.
We have mislaid the liberties
You fought for.
And the truths you taught us.
The Board of Standardisation
In the interests of this nation
Will suppress the imagination.
Like ranters at Hyde Park
We’re still good for a Sunday lark.
Our patrons are benign
as long as we are innocuous.
They’ll allow a little room for satire
(as long as we keep our hats on)
Just to show what sports they are.
Toothless protest’s just a cliché,
But don’t let slip a waspish quip,
Or “Sirrah, Sirrah, the whip!”
Tow the line. That’s fine.
“Douse that prophetic fire by nightfall, sir,
Or the neighbours will complain.”
A D-Notice served on the brain
deadens every joy and pan.
Cross the heart with this red pencil
And with this stencil write:
THE END OF ART.”
Lincoln, Lincoln
Lincoln, Lincoln he no stinkum
he was good man, yes siree.
He the one that set um free
makeum homes for you and me.
Him the one who wears black clothes
had tall hat and crooked nose.
He the tall and stately bird
people all around him heard,
as him giveum big address
at Gettysburg, him didum best.
Him was shot by John Wilkes Booth
oh, this man was quite uncouth.
Then they laid um Abe to rest
me thinks him the very best.
By: Marilyn Jennings
April 14, 1865
A chilled southern wind
Lincoln's last hours
Our American Cousin...
John Wilkes Booth
born: May 10, 1838
Taurus the bull
claimed he had too great a soul
to die like a common criminal...
April 26, 1865
shot rang out
hands held above chest
tell mother I died for country
these hands, useless...useless..
~ ~ ~ ~
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