I learnt a new word today.
Catatonic.
The vexatious coax of its accuracy sanctifies the burden of my reluctant existence.
The vacant faith of its salvation glorifies the redundancy of my timeworn stagnation.
The inertia of my own consciousness rouses within the weight of my repulsive apathy.
I am absent.
My reflection in the window distorts into a portal.
The pale of my skin shudders, an ashen pallet of abasing beauty.
The tremors of my skin winces, a demeaning pallet of humiliating fortune.
The curve of my lips stitch shut, a confined pallet of overflowing tincture.
The violent, lilac fuse of deprivation pounds my crimson in a bloodthirsty famine of a desperate call for condemn.
Yet, the only paragon unearthed is the vacant, potent inevitability of saturation into the voices of my own void;
I will forever remain in an absence of my own conceded mould.
Could not help it as they yelp it..
What happens.. to all those vlogs & blogs
Twits gambits titbits.. s**t squits just flogs
Winces... pretend princes kisses.. not frogs
No jogs linen togs greedy seedy needy hogs
Tramping and stamping in glamping clogs
Annoying and as cloying as Yanks egg nogs
Just one of mean Dubai AI lie machine cogs
Gloating just floating logs in boating bogs
Raves as Knaves or Slaves sent to the dogs
Toying & deploying tanks on the gollywogs
Agog synagogues trogs slogs..Persian sprogs..
So much has been left
in ruins by last night's storm -
shredded leaves,
amputated branches,
proud, ancient trees toppled,
uprooted and ripped
from their height.
The sad remains
of a bird’s nest laying
clumped in broken
egg shells, new life
now no more than strands
of gooey lint.
The mind winces
at the waste,
the loss of order, beauty
bludgeoned to a pulp.
This is the dark side
of creation, the endless
cycle of destruction
and rebirth. Reason stalls
before the fact.
Just think, massive stars
were blown apart
for the stuff to make
you and me - consciousness
was born out of the womb
of a cosmic catastrophe.
Laughter creased my face
With the wideness of joy in a darling
Hallooing loudly, Hawaii!
Making me younger with weakly wrinkles,
It warmed my heart with a flaming ring of mirth.
And I liked it.
I watched the waves as they rose and fell,
Like the big flattered locks of a comely
Landlady combing her tresses on a windy, snoopy
Sunday morning.
And I loved it.
Who are next to be loved?
Lucy & Lucille.
One laughs
The other winces with laughter
When cold fleeting winds blow over
Our inchoate sensibilities.
And we love it —
Like we loved Lucy.
Unexpectedly
inspired by a Péladan jeremiad,
the red moon laughs at the sea
and the possum-ness of the possum;
Churlish blood rays remain
a never never world utterance of the jungle,
Every lupercalian dragonfly
conspires with brooding
red hibiscus flowers;
On a night like this,
all creation winces and endures
before melting into a black water mirage
of broken feverish brush strokes
and fruit bats in a mangrove swamp.
She heard pigeons overhead.
Looking up she saw them whirling and gyrating,
Forming ever emerging patterns in the sky.
They soared on and on,
Until they became fading black dots in the blue.
Such sights would have sent her to raptures,
Sometime back......
But now when she sees them.
She can only think of the years speeding by,
And the chances missed.
And her whole life- a fading black dot!
She is infected with a virus of melancholy.
She walks with lacerations in her soul.
Pain consumes her without flame.
Forever she wages a battle inside,
To drive out the demons of dejection
But she feels as if a sharp knife,
Is cutting right through her heart,
And she winces at every chop.
Though she tries hard to cover her bruises,
They bleed red and make themselves known.
Pain has sucked her out.
In a leaking vessel, she collects her tears,
To water the parched terrain.
Of her drought-stricken domain
Light has sorely betrayed her.
And now she lives in perpetual darkness,
Fighting with black shadows
Day in and day out!
May. 13.2023
Anatomy of Melancholy Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Craig Cornish
ANOTHER DAWN
The morning winces as a new day begins
Mired in the half slumber of a restless night
And reluctant to engage whilst half awake
Like a trembling foot hovering over the brake
Good humoured dawn greetings sound trite
And the fading moon just knowingly grins
Dawn comes around so quickly these days
No chance or time to complete a dream
What a critical daily role to have acquired
As the demand is that all shall be inspired
When night’s blanket is loose at the seam
But it’s the diurnal clock that one obeys
There’s no respite with this job for eternity
Day after day, just subtle seasonal changes
None can detect my initial blurred vision
My tired eyes can see no changed decision
The world still turns, and gravity engages
My half sister moon, no shared paternity
13 Sept 2022, '2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 14', Sponsor=Mark Toney
A winter sun doodles dandy-long legs shadows
over my eyelids.
Closed eyes from the glare, now
an insectivore brush of fine shadow hairs.
Knuckles rub eyeballs until they water.
Sunlight jumps into the day again
plays 'hide and seek' around passing clouds.
A patchy sky dumps a snow flurry
down the back of coat.
Squirm, wet spine, squirm.
Do a little dance with tingling toes.
"A daddy-long-legs is not a spider,
though it is an arachnid
related to the scorpion family."
Later on, mind winces upon reading this.
Sun shadows akin to scorpions,
not a thought to play with
when your back is still damp
and cringing.
A winter sun doodles dandy-long legs shadows
over my eyelids.
Closed eyes from the glare, now
an insectivore brush of fine shadow hairs.
Knuckles rub eyeballs until they water.
Sunlight jumps into the day again
plays 'hide and seek' around passing clouds.
A patchy sky dumps a snow flurry
down the back of coat.
Squirm, wet spine, squirm.
Do a little dance with tingling toes.
"A daddy-long-legs is not a spider,
though it is an arachnid
related to the scorpion family."
Later on, mind winces upon reading this.
Sun shadows akin to scorpions,
not a thought to play with
when your back is still damp
and cringing.
Liberace: Was he Prince or Princess
The very question delivers winces
Watch him on You Tube
His joints sure look lubed
The key is when he walks that he minces
~ A Storybook Princess ~
She dreams of princes, princesses and balls
A little girl on tippy-toes, not a meter tall
O, the frilly lace gowns she fashions
Stitched with threads of heartfelt passion
A little girl in dreamland enthralled
Daylight's full of pain, tests and probes
From her lower spine to her temporal lobe
Hair shorn, she bears it all with infinite patience
As they wheel her from station to station
For at night she's a storybook princess
No matter that in daylight she winces
Asleep, her bed's her castle, wedding-bell topped
Where dreams last forever, never stop
Entered in 'All Yours (Feb. '21) Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
“I deserve to be happy”
they said, jaws set
determination
eyes glazed
Selfish Ones seeing only
what they wanted to see
tunnel-vision of mind's eye
narrowed down to one word
“Happy”
while others' protests
were utterly unheard
Thinking they could
by sheer determination
set themselves free
from the rest
of society
suspending
laws of nature
like drops of water
falling into a lake
yet failing to make
a ripple on the surface
or rings extending outward
...that their actions
would cause no reactions
outside of themselves
But repercussions
and consequences
shown on faces
in painful winces
worry-lines and tears
from failed investments
of time spent, years
broken beings
bearing witness
to quiet devastation
their lives crowded out
displaced and crushed
by the Selfish Ones'
overwhelming
entitlement
their right
their claim
on the happiness
they so “deserved”
And now the others
also suffer from a sort of
tunnel-vision, mind's eye narrowed
down to the other word
“Deserve”
for what could they possibly
have done to deserve this?
When all they wanted
was a little fragment
a slight share
of happiness in life
with someone
who cared?
he winces
when he thinks
i’m not watching
his throbbing pain
too hard to bear
his tears tug at my heart
his body twitches
into aching spasm
from stabbing stinging
throbbing ache
refusing to let up
can’t lift a finger
to slash his anguish
i see him tortured
it breaks my heart
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~CENSORED~ 2020
AP: 2nd place 2020
Lounging around on those long summer days
A cloudless blue sky, so calm and serene.
A buzz in the air, a bee makes his way
As we lay there dozing, living the dream.
Echoes of yelling, of children at play,
Haring around in the hot summer sun.
Sun worshipers bask for most of the day,
Some burned to a crisp, the paler ones dun.
Late afternoon, some respite from the heat
Now time for the food, the barbecue's lit.
Then wafts the aroma, as flame sears meat
The chicken impaled, turns round on the spit.
Dad dishes the food, he thinks he's the chef
Each standing in line awaiting their turn.
Mother though knows she'll be cleaning the mess,
She winces, watching the sausages burn.
Come early evening it's time to wind down
Children now fractious, soon time for their beds.
Dads got a beer, saying he's done his bit
Mother looks on smiling, shaking her head.
Best Rhyming Poem in March -
Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Laura Loo
3/04/2018. Placed 4th.
(Poem posted 3/12/2018)
Lounging around on those long summer days
A cloudless blue sky, so calm and serene.
A buzz in the air, a bee makes his way
As we lay there dozing, living the dream.
Echoes of yelling, of children at play,
Haring around in the hot summer sun.
Sun worshipers bask for most of the day,
Some burned to a crisp, the paler ones dun.
Late afternoon, some respite from the heat
Now time for the food, the barbecue's lit.
Then wafts the aroma, as flame sears meat
The chicken impaled, turns round on the spit.
Dad dishes the food, he thinks he's the chef
Each standing in line awaiting their turn.
Mother though knows she'll be cleaning the mess,
She winces, watching the sausages burn.
Come early evening it's time to wind down
Children now fractious, soon time for their beds.
Dads got a beer, saying he's done his bit
Mother looks on smiling, shaking her head.
Entry for EARLY MAR 18 STANDARD CONTEST,
ANY FORM OR NONE, ANY THEME,UP TO A MAX OF 20 LINES
Judged 9/3/2018. Placed 1st
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