The kernel piece for my NaNoWriMo novel attempt... this came from a prompt by Digitalis so blame her....
As the coyotes yipped and yowled their calls
over the scattered buttes of the northern Badlands
storms rolled off the western mountains' purple ramparts
sparking joy in the anatomist of the prairies.
The long, cold winter she had just spent
was at last to let her gather in
the seeds she had sewn, or rahter the flesh.
Not a boothill for six days ride around
the fallen doctor had failed to grace indeed
with a nocturnal visit with her scarred assistant
carrying shovels and picks in the old wagon
that once her father had sold snake-oil from
as they sought to create miners for tightwads
who did not wish to part with wages.
On the cold granite slab quarried from hills
that held the ore so sought as well
by those robber barons who stayed back east
safe inside their mansions, save the few trips
out by the rails in plush Pullman cars
they never had to leave the comfort of
lay her latest attempt at mimicry of creation.
Goggles for eyes, for those spoiled too fast,
and an open chest with great pendulum amid
ribs carved from unearthed tusks of ancient elephants
engraved markings from her grimoires over their length
and a glass door showing the mighty spring
that drives the heart once flesh is revived
by the fury of the storm's forked tongues.
Undaunted by ferocious winds racing ahead of clouds
The doctor from Westphalia called out in elation,
"Hienrich, deploy the Lightning Gatherers quick and carefully
whilst I connect the Rods and windmill shafts
to the Flash Steam Catalyzer and Perpetual Gears!"
Two bodies moved around the Dutch inspired wind tower
doing the business to harness Spring's first rumbler.
Outside the vast expanses of canvas arms spun
with speed only beat by rumors over Semaphores,
the shaft entering wooden gears inside the tower
that spun not just down to a millstone
but up to spin the ball tipped spikes
made of copper wiith silver arcane symbols
that called upon dark gods and foul demons.
To the east in town, all cowered down
fearing not the beast of the storm
but that the doctor had once more forgotten
to craft a protective circle 'round her laboratory
as she had the last six damned tries
and unleash the fury of some hellborn spawn
upon their isolated and too vulnerable farming town.
When the blue glow of Saint Elmo's Fire
bathed all metal, living and dead flesh too
Elisa Frikkenup having been ordered to move away
from the mines after one experiment went awry
and a whole vien of gold became lead
all due to a misplace sigil or lever
Elisa never was sure until her past due end.
At last the contraption gathered in Prometheus' Gift
not once, twice or thrice, but eight times
the storm's forked tongues kissed the whirling receptors
and raced down to animate a horrorible thing
The last blast came with a tornadic companion
and all and sundry were raised up high
scattered by the djinni's frightful flight in fear.
It took her six days after that night
for Doctor Elisa to find her creation again
already at the Mother Lode's support town
but not mining, working or being otherwise productive.
Nay, she had failed again, to her dismay
walking under full moon, her invention was picketting
seeking by its sign, more cranks, less hours....
Now, if I can make a novel of this and have it work....
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Cauldron of Conversion to Evil - a poem I am thinking of revisiting
Twelve witches gathered that night
among the hemlock choked woods
around their black cauldron of sins
to welcome another to their coven
unwilling though she may have come.
Bound in the tree above that pot
suspended by the rope used to hang
those who commited heinous crimes
she squirmed in her hemp constraints
as below her the hags began their craft
to warp her into one of their evil kind.
Three sisters stirred that pot laughing
as two more chanted the spells hoarsely
to transform the sweet young thing
into a wicked enchantress of men
to be the new leader of their numbers
and make them strong as once they'd been
before the Inquisition found their queen
just a few weeks afore their Blackes mass.
They named each of the cardinal sins,
tossing in the ingredients to maker her over
clothing, tools, and other things imbued
with the sins banned by the Fathers
as being those of the points of Evil's Compass.
then the lowered the screaming virgin down
into the boiling broth of foul enchanting
all chanting and pouring out their hate
for the girl to absorb into boiled skin
amid the frothing green concoction.
Those with paddles held her under
as others struck her with cat'o'nines
when she lifted arms or legs, even back
out of the soup she was now part of
Then came the moment of the midnight hour
and the owl and raven cried out above
The let rise the green skinned hag
they had just created to joine them
She thanked her sistern for freeing her
from the bounds of purity and good
casting her first dire spell upon the ground
as at last the trees died, shedding all
leaves and bark as well to mark the woods
as being haunted by the ghosts of those
slain by their spells, starting with her own mother.
among the hemlock choked woods
around their black cauldron of sins
to welcome another to their coven
unwilling though she may have come.
Bound in the tree above that pot
suspended by the rope used to hang
those who commited heinous crimes
she squirmed in her hemp constraints
as below her the hags began their craft
to warp her into one of their evil kind.
Three sisters stirred that pot laughing
as two more chanted the spells hoarsely
to transform the sweet young thing
into a wicked enchantress of men
to be the new leader of their numbers
and make them strong as once they'd been
before the Inquisition found their queen
just a few weeks afore their Blackes mass.
They named each of the cardinal sins,
tossing in the ingredients to maker her over
clothing, tools, and other things imbued
with the sins banned by the Fathers
as being those of the points of Evil's Compass.
then the lowered the screaming virgin down
into the boiling broth of foul enchanting
all chanting and pouring out their hate
for the girl to absorb into boiled skin
amid the frothing green concoction.
Those with paddles held her under
as others struck her with cat'o'nines
when she lifted arms or legs, even back
out of the soup she was now part of
Then came the moment of the midnight hour
and the owl and raven cried out above
The let rise the green skinned hag
they had just created to joine them
She thanked her sistern for freeing her
from the bounds of purity and good
casting her first dire spell upon the ground
as at last the trees died, shedding all
leaves and bark as well to mark the woods
as being haunted by the ghosts of those
slain by their spells, starting with her own mother.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Myths Like Mist - a short I did for a less than friendly competition.
The tales surround me, misty fables drifting in the morning fog as I walk the paths the gods decreed for me. Each tale wafts by, begging me to tell it again to the children, the hunters around the fires, the people at the gatherings, or even carve them again into the stone for eternal preservation.
Each tale has a song or many that go with it. Tunes and notes, pacing and beats they must be relayed with. Some I learned at the fires and hearths, in my apprenticeship. Others the gods relayed to me, sending the Muses to inspire my fingers and lips to tell the tales, weaving mists of Faith into enchantments to bind the listeners for the time it takes me to tell the story or sing the song to the magical world the gods foretell will come again.
Sometimes I meet others in these mists, gathering their own tales from gods I never knew existed. They bear strange instruments to my eyes, not the harps and flutes, not even the ram's horns, but other devices for music, some small and compact, others large and bulky. Some come with just their memory, others with stones to use their chisels and hammers on, a few use a crow's quill to make marks on shaved bark or trees, and stranger ones have their fingers dance across bizarre devices that magically make their marks on a crystal plate set upright before them.
Yet we all walk this foggy realm for the same reason, to gather some of its mysteries, and bring them back to our dreary worlds, sharing them as bright moments in the descending darkness the evil of our times and places are oppressed by.
Yes, the myths are from the mists, but the mists arise from our yearning souls. Thoughts and dreams, seeking release. And when we bring them back home, the ring out in out hearts, raising them.
Now, girl, take my hand, and I will show you the way to the Fogs of the Forgotten Dreams, and how to gather in the mists, and bring back the tales the gods want us to tell.
Each tale has a song or many that go with it. Tunes and notes, pacing and beats they must be relayed with. Some I learned at the fires and hearths, in my apprenticeship. Others the gods relayed to me, sending the Muses to inspire my fingers and lips to tell the tales, weaving mists of Faith into enchantments to bind the listeners for the time it takes me to tell the story or sing the song to the magical world the gods foretell will come again.
Sometimes I meet others in these mists, gathering their own tales from gods I never knew existed. They bear strange instruments to my eyes, not the harps and flutes, not even the ram's horns, but other devices for music, some small and compact, others large and bulky. Some come with just their memory, others with stones to use their chisels and hammers on, a few use a crow's quill to make marks on shaved bark or trees, and stranger ones have their fingers dance across bizarre devices that magically make their marks on a crystal plate set upright before them.
Yet we all walk this foggy realm for the same reason, to gather some of its mysteries, and bring them back to our dreary worlds, sharing them as bright moments in the descending darkness the evil of our times and places are oppressed by.
Yes, the myths are from the mists, but the mists arise from our yearning souls. Thoughts and dreams, seeking release. And when we bring them back home, the ring out in out hearts, raising them.
Now, girl, take my hand, and I will show you the way to the Fogs of the Forgotten Dreams, and how to gather in the mists, and bring back the tales the gods want us to tell.
The Lost One that Rains.
As the clouds gathered over the mountains
to lay down their sorrowful burdens as snow
on lone cloud missed the train of the wind
and drifted along the valley's seam south instead
like a lost sheep who lost the flock of fleecy ones
and wandered off crying his tears on the lowlands
between the rocky spines of ridges and peaks
as rain falls in its shadows until it is cried out,
giving life to those below in its death.
But north again, over the inland sea
that spawned him, he will be reborn
with the North Wind's next rising,
and maybe he will get it right this time.
to lay down their sorrowful burdens as snow
on lone cloud missed the train of the wind
and drifted along the valley's seam south instead
like a lost sheep who lost the flock of fleecy ones
and wandered off crying his tears on the lowlands
between the rocky spines of ridges and peaks
as rain falls in its shadows until it is cried out,
giving life to those below in its death.
But north again, over the inland sea
that spawned him, he will be reborn
with the North Wind's next rising,
and maybe he will get it right this time.
MacMushNDawg and its variants!
MacMushNDawgs (or Hot Dog Soup) and its many variants in my household!
The basics are easy,
take some elbow macaroni (about 2 cups) and cook it off
as you do, chop up some hotdogs (1 pack) and fry the pieces up in butter or margarine
drain the macaroni when its cooked to your level of preference (tenderness),
add a can of cream of mushroom soup,
1/4 can of milk
and the dogs...
stir well, salt and pepper to taste...
I began to play with this and got these variants over the years,
I tended to use soy sauce or Worcestershire (not any more, the anchovies make me break out and suffer allergic reaction, so using kitchen bouquet or teriyaki/soy) sauce when browning off the hotdogs,
I have been known to add shredded cheese (colby jack is my fave, but cheddar is great as well) to the final mix, and add chopped onions and green peppers to the dogs when browning them. I also like tossing in bacon bits (as in make some bacon with the dogs and break it up to add in.)
Once upon a time I messed with the recipe in a big way...
I used a 50/50 mix of hamburger and italian sausage (hot) instead of hotdogs, added garlic, onions, peppers and pimentos to the browning, using a splash of teriyaki sauce with soy and no butter this time round. I also added half a bag of frozen green beans to the macaroni as I cooked it, and then when combining everything at the end, all I had was a handful of shredded pizza cheese (mozzarella) and a half hand of colby jack, this still was great...
Later, I dropped the sausage due to costs, and went just hamburger.. still good. Adding Fiesta mix and California mix veggies in for the green beans,
but for some reason, no veggie works with the dogs....
other than the onions and peppers.
Yes, you can feel and hear your arteries clogging, but it tastes good to me...
La
The basics are easy,
take some elbow macaroni (about 2 cups) and cook it off
as you do, chop up some hotdogs (1 pack) and fry the pieces up in butter or margarine
drain the macaroni when its cooked to your level of preference (tenderness),
add a can of cream of mushroom soup,
1/4 can of milk
and the dogs...
stir well, salt and pepper to taste...
I began to play with this and got these variants over the years,
I tended to use soy sauce or Worcestershire (not any more, the anchovies make me break out and suffer allergic reaction, so using kitchen bouquet or teriyaki/soy) sauce when browning off the hotdogs,
I have been known to add shredded cheese (colby jack is my fave, but cheddar is great as well) to the final mix, and add chopped onions and green peppers to the dogs when browning them. I also like tossing in bacon bits (as in make some bacon with the dogs and break it up to add in.)
Once upon a time I messed with the recipe in a big way...
I used a 50/50 mix of hamburger and italian sausage (hot) instead of hotdogs, added garlic, onions, peppers and pimentos to the browning, using a splash of teriyaki sauce with soy and no butter this time round. I also added half a bag of frozen green beans to the macaroni as I cooked it, and then when combining everything at the end, all I had was a handful of shredded pizza cheese (mozzarella) and a half hand of colby jack, this still was great...
Later, I dropped the sausage due to costs, and went just hamburger.. still good. Adding Fiesta mix and California mix veggies in for the green beans,
but for some reason, no veggie works with the dogs....
other than the onions and peppers.
Yes, you can feel and hear your arteries clogging, but it tastes good to me...
La
Another of my recipes.. Sausage Parmesean Casserole
Another of my comfort foods I miss right now, though I think my arteries are happy to avoid:
Take a box of beef sausage links (I did the brown n serves, small box)
boil the sausages in about 2 cups of water
add as you boil:
1 1/2 tsp of sweet basil
1 tsp of cracked black pepper
reduce to simmer for 1/2 houradd 1/4 cup diced onions (frozen works)
1/4 cup diced green bells (also frzn)
and 1/2 package of italian blend frozen veggies (Fiesta blend worked too)
then use one of those envelope pasta things, the tomato parmesan one...
salt to taste...
Sausage Soup:
One box of brown'n'serve maple flavored sausages, or for spicy version, Heat n serve hot n spicy flavored sausage links, slowly bring to simmer in 2 1/2 cups of water, adding to the water as it begins to simmer
2 tsp sweet basil,
2 tsp cracked black peppers,
1 tsp crushed red peppers (if want hotter flavor)
a pinch of oregano leaf,
a dash or two of garlic or onion salt.
1/2 cup of diced fresh/frozen green peppers
1/4 cup of diced fresh/frozen onionsSimmer these for two hours or so, allowing the juices to build, as you stir occassionally, and use spoon to cut the links into bite sized or smaller bits.
then add:
1 tsp of either chicken or beef builloin.
1 cup of water
1 package of Fiesta or California style frozen vegetablesopen at this point our noodles, using either chicken or pork flavored ramen noodles to chicken flavor, and beef or better yet the roast beef to beef flavored. Add only the seasonings packets at this time. Cook until veggies begin to exude flavors into soup base.
Then add the noodles, bring to boil for time enough for ramens to cook, but beware of boilover.
Last, stir in 1/2 cup either colby jack, Parmesean or other shredded cheese
cook now on low heat until all cheese is melted into soup.
Serve out carefully, allow salt and pepper to taste..
Take a box of beef sausage links (I did the brown n serves, small box)
boil the sausages in about 2 cups of water
add as you boil:
1 1/2 tsp of sweet basil
1 tsp of cracked black pepper
reduce to simmer for 1/2 houradd 1/4 cup diced onions (frozen works)
1/4 cup diced green bells (also frzn)
and 1/2 package of italian blend frozen veggies (Fiesta blend worked too)
then use one of those envelope pasta things, the tomato parmesan one...
salt to taste...
Sausage Soup:
One box of brown'n'serve maple flavored sausages, or for spicy version, Heat n serve hot n spicy flavored sausage links, slowly bring to simmer in 2 1/2 cups of water, adding to the water as it begins to simmer
2 tsp sweet basil,
2 tsp cracked black peppers,
1 tsp crushed red peppers (if want hotter flavor)
a pinch of oregano leaf,
a dash or two of garlic or onion salt.
1/2 cup of diced fresh/frozen green peppers
1/4 cup of diced fresh/frozen onionsSimmer these for two hours or so, allowing the juices to build, as you stir occassionally, and use spoon to cut the links into bite sized or smaller bits.
then add:
1 tsp of either chicken or beef builloin.
1 cup of water
1 package of Fiesta or California style frozen vegetablesopen at this point our noodles, using either chicken or pork flavored ramen noodles to chicken flavor, and beef or better yet the roast beef to beef flavored. Add only the seasonings packets at this time. Cook until veggies begin to exude flavors into soup base.
Then add the noodles, bring to boil for time enough for ramens to cook, but beware of boilover.
Last, stir in 1/2 cup either colby jack, Parmesean or other shredded cheese
cook now on low heat until all cheese is melted into soup.
Serve out carefully, allow salt and pepper to taste..
Monday, October 24, 2011
Lazy Bachelor Corn Chowder:
Occassionally, I share secrets to why I balloon up in weight (like any cook who enjoys the food they make will if they sample or eat it solo...)
Lazy Bachelor Corn Chowder:
When you want somthing hot and tasting close to homemade, this will do.
Ingredients:
2 cans Cream Style Corn
2 cans wholeor diced white potatoes
1 cup of frzn chopped onion
1 cup of frzn chopped green peppers
2 tbsp of Cracked black pepper
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp sweet basil
1 cup bacon bits
1 cup French fried Onions (Durkees)
1/2 cup Shredded cheddar or Colby Jack cheese
Instructions:
in microwave casserole bowl add all ingredients but the fried onions, after draining & dicing potatoes (if whole). Cover and nuke for 5 minutes, let sit 5 minutes, then nuke an additional 2 minutes or until boiling. Let stand 5 minutes covered, then uncover, cover the top with the cheese and onions, serve.......
Note: sometimes I use more cheese, sometimes less, but usually I add more bacon bits... up to 2 cups depending upon my mood.
Lazy Bachelor Corn Chowder:
When you want somthing hot and tasting close to homemade, this will do.
Ingredients:
2 cans Cream Style Corn
2 cans wholeor diced white potatoes
1 cup of frzn chopped onion
1 cup of frzn chopped green peppers
2 tbsp of Cracked black pepper
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp sweet basil
1 cup bacon bits
1 cup French fried Onions (Durkees)
1/2 cup Shredded cheddar or Colby Jack cheese
Instructions:
in microwave casserole bowl add all ingredients but the fried onions, after draining & dicing potatoes (if whole). Cover and nuke for 5 minutes, let sit 5 minutes, then nuke an additional 2 minutes or until boiling. Let stand 5 minutes covered, then uncover, cover the top with the cheese and onions, serve.......
Note: sometimes I use more cheese, sometimes less, but usually I add more bacon bits... up to 2 cups depending upon my mood.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Can a trouble magnet attract falling satellites? - A poem of just kidding around!
It seems by the news this week
I will need my hardhat once more
as a satellite is coming back down
amid a running meteor shower's peak
which means my noggin needs shelter
as it has a trouble magnet built into it
(at least according to my mother!)
that will draw anything fallen at speed
on a collision course with cranial dome
to prove the big bang theory of thoughts
as my mind will be impacted with new ideas.
But as long as I am fully prepared
nothing ill can happen to me now
as preplanning takes all the fun out
for the cruel Fates who laugh so hard
when ever my bell gets rung loud and clear
over how stupid I was this time round
and the words and actions I tend to do
when my head is aching from a blow
that I was not expecting at all!
Now, I am not saying it will happen,
heck no, the odds are much better
that I buy a lottery ticket to win
but not as long as the my team
winning the World Series this year
(relax, guys, the Cubs never made it)
but when you have been sued many times
for impersonating a Coyote well known,
you tend to prefer taking evasive maneuvers!
(2011)
I will need my hardhat once more
as a satellite is coming back down
amid a running meteor shower's peak
which means my noggin needs shelter
as it has a trouble magnet built into it
(at least according to my mother!)
that will draw anything fallen at speed
on a collision course with cranial dome
to prove the big bang theory of thoughts
as my mind will be impacted with new ideas.
But as long as I am fully prepared
nothing ill can happen to me now
as preplanning takes all the fun out
for the cruel Fates who laugh so hard
when ever my bell gets rung loud and clear
over how stupid I was this time round
and the words and actions I tend to do
when my head is aching from a blow
that I was not expecting at all!
Now, I am not saying it will happen,
heck no, the odds are much better
that I buy a lottery ticket to win
but not as long as the my team
winning the World Series this year
(relax, guys, the Cubs never made it)
but when you have been sued many times
for impersonating a Coyote well known,
you tend to prefer taking evasive maneuvers!
(2011)
Fallor Ergo Sum - an older improv poem
Deceived I was in those days
by the tales of times before
when I was not here to see.
Deceived I am still now
as others pull wool tight
across eyes looking to see.
Deceived I will be forever
by my own foolish notions
no matter my mental state.
But deception is the way we all live from day to day
lying to ourselves as well as others in this world.
Delusions I suffered all the time
of self grandeur as well as more,
and seduced by skills others have.
Delusions I am bound within
tied up in their ropes and chains
was the world warps my mind.
Delusions will enchant my soul
for all of eternity to come yet
as I live in the dreams woven round.
We all are what we fear in others as we avoid the mirror
and the darkest hour comes with that fatal glance of doom.
(2010)
Stranger things come from my goo pan called a skull when Gaz prompts at me...
This one had a half dozen failed starts, even though I cranked it out fast, I am still not 100% happy with this one, and I may go back soon and touch it up...then again, my first guesses tend to be the best I do.
by the tales of times before
when I was not here to see.
Deceived I am still now
as others pull wool tight
across eyes looking to see.
Deceived I will be forever
by my own foolish notions
no matter my mental state.
But deception is the way we all live from day to day
lying to ourselves as well as others in this world.
Delusions I suffered all the time
of self grandeur as well as more,
and seduced by skills others have.
Delusions I am bound within
tied up in their ropes and chains
was the world warps my mind.
Delusions will enchant my soul
for all of eternity to come yet
as I live in the dreams woven round.
We all are what we fear in others as we avoid the mirror
and the darkest hour comes with that fatal glance of doom.
(2010)
Stranger things come from my goo pan called a skull when Gaz prompts at me...
This one had a half dozen failed starts, even though I cranked it out fast, I am still not 100% happy with this one, and I may go back soon and touch it up...then again, my first guesses tend to be the best I do.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Lifting my Kamforka against Winter - a poem
The long twilight settles
the colors of fall dim
as the light slowly fades
the reds the last standing
though lower down near me
the golds and greens stay
a bit longer as the herald
the change coming shortly
as Old Man Winter sends
his herald Autumn Snows
to make another call here.
The U glares above me
sitting at the highest bench
a beacon for the twilight hours
as the change fills bones
with that dread even yet
though the air is not cold
just a bit chilled for now
but that moment is coming
when morn will be white
even on the valley's floor.
Sky shifts from crips azure
down through indigo shades
on its way to deep black
as the day quits the world
to seek another place to play
and I am left wandering still
in search of who I am now
and next must become
in this performance called Life
we all walk through seemingly blind.
The lights begin to glow
as Night spreads out her quilt
and the windows and lamps
glow forth a warmer light
that still speaks of coldness
as the air takes on a crispness
that lends to my coming foe
his greatest weapon of all
that of others being safe
while risk it all each night.
But I have my own arsenal
one of warmth from within
I light up the spirit fire
and lift my personal kamforka
aloft above my bowed head
in praise of the beauty
I had the honor to just see
of the change from day
into night once more,
knowing dawn will surely be
just as gorgeous to see.
(10/2011)
the colors of fall dim
as the light slowly fades
the reds the last standing
though lower down near me
the golds and greens stay
a bit longer as the herald
the change coming shortly
as Old Man Winter sends
his herald Autumn Snows
to make another call here.
The U glares above me
sitting at the highest bench
a beacon for the twilight hours
as the change fills bones
with that dread even yet
though the air is not cold
just a bit chilled for now
but that moment is coming
when morn will be white
even on the valley's floor.
Sky shifts from crips azure
down through indigo shades
on its way to deep black
as the day quits the world
to seek another place to play
and I am left wandering still
in search of who I am now
and next must become
in this performance called Life
we all walk through seemingly blind.
The lights begin to glow
as Night spreads out her quilt
and the windows and lamps
glow forth a warmer light
that still speaks of coldness
as the air takes on a crispness
that lends to my coming foe
his greatest weapon of all
that of others being safe
while risk it all each night.
But I have my own arsenal
one of warmth from within
I light up the spirit fire
and lift my personal kamforka
aloft above my bowed head
in praise of the beauty
I had the honor to just see
of the change from day
into night once more,
knowing dawn will surely be
just as gorgeous to see.
(10/2011)
~perversions of parapsychology~
Yet another of my old Spaz LitForum poems from the Improv, where you had to work from a prompt by the person before you...
Twisting minds of all ages
is what their job is
the purveyors of today's ways
here to warp our views
of what good really is.
Beware those who come to you in dark offices
bearing their transforming discipline into your soul so deep
you never again will be able to be free!
Words and images their tools
used to break old taboos
and free what they want
the broken child you have
so deep down inside you.
Beware the mentalist games they try to lure you
into their world of mystic powers and strange events
and their stealth weapon of the dark, AM Radio!
They speak in conspiratal whispers
or shouting from the rooftops
of the next breakthrough made
in remote seeing into burlesques
in stange and foriegn lands.
These are the tools of the dreaded, shadowy Illuminati
used to calm the masses by inspiring group hysteria
as they corner the market on tin foil hats!
Mind reading midgets in closets
aliens with cold keister probes
demons come to possess all
who do not heed warnings
of the Mayan Calendars End.
So when you drive at night play it safe
take a well loaded supply of music with you
lest the radio lure you to perversions of parapsychology!
Twisting minds of all ages
is what their job is
the purveyors of today's ways
here to warp our views
of what good really is.
Beware those who come to you in dark offices
bearing their transforming discipline into your soul so deep
you never again will be able to be free!
Words and images their tools
used to break old taboos
and free what they want
the broken child you have
so deep down inside you.
Beware the mentalist games they try to lure you
into their world of mystic powers and strange events
and their stealth weapon of the dark, AM Radio!
They speak in conspiratal whispers
or shouting from the rooftops
of the next breakthrough made
in remote seeing into burlesques
in stange and foriegn lands.
These are the tools of the dreaded, shadowy Illuminati
used to calm the masses by inspiring group hysteria
as they corner the market on tin foil hats!
Mind reading midgets in closets
aliens with cold keister probes
demons come to possess all
who do not heed warnings
of the Mayan Calendars End.
So when you drive at night play it safe
take a well loaded supply of music with you
lest the radio lure you to perversions of parapsychology!
Blots of moonlight and spots of ink - a poem of writiing on the porch
Under the waning moon I write
spending another night on the patio
as blots of moonlight dance around
the page my pen races across
falling softly through the barren branches
awaiting spring's invitation to leaf out
and hide from my questing eyes
the spots of ink left behind
as another tale or poem rises
out from the paper slowly indeed
before the dark of new moon.
(2011)
spending another night on the patio
as blots of moonlight dance around
the page my pen races across
falling softly through the barren branches
awaiting spring's invitation to leaf out
and hide from my questing eyes
the spots of ink left behind
as another tale or poem rises
out from the paper slowly indeed
before the dark of new moon.
(2011)
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Twisted Offering - a strange poem of the season and job hunting
I will save the commentary for after you read this, just read it all before sicking the authorities upon me, please...... you might regret doing so.
In throes of near Economic Depression
when desperately searching for gainful employment,
one resorts to means more resourceful
in imagination than in easier times.
Yes indeed, one finds one must
turn to the forces of darkness
and offer up a precious sacrifice
to obtain a job more swiftly.
Decisions made in night's middle hours
come to pass with rising sun.
I grab several small wooden spikes
and kidnap the unsuspecting innocent lambs
Then off to find an altar
to do the terrible deed upon
and seal the deal I made
with forces beyond your mortal comprehension.
With luck it is found finally
a place left momentarily unattended
for me to do foul deeds,
I lay the forfeited ones out.
Chanting a complex prayer, voice soft,
I raise up my weapon high,
as the priest comes back out
hollering for me to please stop
Too late, the spear is fallen
piercing the skin like thin foil
allowing the ichors to flow out
filling the air with sickly sweetness.
Father Gilliam lays stern, shaking hand
upon my shoulder as he gazes
upon the gift I have bequeathed
to the next world so brutally.
A deep sigh, the hand stills,
then whips my shoulder around wickedly
so I stare into mournful eyes
"Son, you cannot keep doing this..."
His voice trails off into chokes
as laughter rises up from within
both of us looking back again
at a toothpick impaled Carmello bar...
..my sacrifice to God for Employment.
Okay, now that you understand I was not sacrificing children or small animals, we can discuss the origins of this poem without spoiling it.
I have a friend who lives in terror of his black cat getting out in the fall, especially the closer it is to Halloween. He was telling me of his fears, of never seeing the poor kitten again she were out, and what some sickos might do to her. That same day, I had a conversation about this is the season for offering up gifts to the gods and costumed children of small pieces of chocolate... you get where this is going, yes only my mind could combine these two ideas, then again who knows... maybe my slimy brain actually was resonating in tune with the thoughts of others. Who cares... but seriously, other than a candybar, what else does God really need?
You can all shun me now, or share this around if you liked it.
In throes of near Economic Depression
when desperately searching for gainful employment,
one resorts to means more resourceful
in imagination than in easier times.
Yes indeed, one finds one must
turn to the forces of darkness
and offer up a precious sacrifice
to obtain a job more swiftly.
Decisions made in night's middle hours
come to pass with rising sun.
I grab several small wooden spikes
and kidnap the unsuspecting innocent lambs
Then off to find an altar
to do the terrible deed upon
and seal the deal I made
with forces beyond your mortal comprehension.
With luck it is found finally
a place left momentarily unattended
for me to do foul deeds,
I lay the forfeited ones out.
Chanting a complex prayer, voice soft,
I raise up my weapon high,
as the priest comes back out
hollering for me to please stop
Too late, the spear is fallen
piercing the skin like thin foil
allowing the ichors to flow out
filling the air with sickly sweetness.
Father Gilliam lays stern, shaking hand
upon my shoulder as he gazes
upon the gift I have bequeathed
to the next world so brutally.
A deep sigh, the hand stills,
then whips my shoulder around wickedly
so I stare into mournful eyes
"Son, you cannot keep doing this..."
His voice trails off into chokes
as laughter rises up from within
both of us looking back again
at a toothpick impaled Carmello bar...
..my sacrifice to God for Employment.
Okay, now that you understand I was not sacrificing children or small animals, we can discuss the origins of this poem without spoiling it.
I have a friend who lives in terror of his black cat getting out in the fall, especially the closer it is to Halloween. He was telling me of his fears, of never seeing the poor kitten again she were out, and what some sickos might do to her. That same day, I had a conversation about this is the season for offering up gifts to the gods and costumed children of small pieces of chocolate... you get where this is going, yes only my mind could combine these two ideas, then again who knows... maybe my slimy brain actually was resonating in tune with the thoughts of others. Who cares... but seriously, other than a candybar, what else does God really need?
You can all shun me now, or share this around if you liked it.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Blinded by the Auras - The Billenius Poem...
He sits alone by the fire
bandaged face forlorn
lost in the memories
of a past not long gone
when he saw as others
with eyes that smiled.
Now he is hunched over
seeking warmth and yet
leaning in fear away
from the flames on the hearth
that remind him sorely
of mistakes recently made.
Just him and the fire stir
in all this darkened inn
and despite having voids
where once orbs rested
within his battered skull
colors bloom around him.
The broken one weeps
out of loss and fear mixed
as he realizes the losses
of the journey he made
up Paths to Damnation
of lives and sacred honor.
He sits alone by the fire
blinded by what he sees
as his third eye is opened
against his will and efforts
by mixed blessings of the gods
and curses of the Fates he serves.
Every living thing around him
blooms with colors that dance
swirling together in ways
that leave him dizzy
unable to stand firmly
let alone learn to walk again.
Amid the colors come dreams
of things yet to be real
things that threaten to become
and things that must never pass
as the fullness of his gifts
explode upon him after denial.
Pity the man at the hearth
blinded by arrogance and pride
and left blind despite seeing
by the inner flames blazing
within each thing living
or once having a life.
For he walked the Paths of Damnation
and shall forever more be thus cursed.
(2011)
bandaged face forlorn
lost in the memories
of a past not long gone
when he saw as others
with eyes that smiled.
Now he is hunched over
seeking warmth and yet
leaning in fear away
from the flames on the hearth
that remind him sorely
of mistakes recently made.
Just him and the fire stir
in all this darkened inn
and despite having voids
where once orbs rested
within his battered skull
colors bloom around him.
The broken one weeps
out of loss and fear mixed
as he realizes the losses
of the journey he made
up Paths to Damnation
of lives and sacred honor.
He sits alone by the fire
blinded by what he sees
as his third eye is opened
against his will and efforts
by mixed blessings of the gods
and curses of the Fates he serves.
Every living thing around him
blooms with colors that dance
swirling together in ways
that leave him dizzy
unable to stand firmly
let alone learn to walk again.
Amid the colors come dreams
of things yet to be real
things that threaten to become
and things that must never pass
as the fullness of his gifts
explode upon him after denial.
Pity the man at the hearth
blinded by arrogance and pride
and left blind despite seeing
by the inner flames blazing
within each thing living
or once having a life.
For he walked the Paths of Damnation
and shall forever more be thus cursed.
(2011)
Blinded by the auras - original 2010 poem...
I only see the blurs
the auras of the colors
vague shapes formed
from the sharper reality
reds dulled against greens
blocky shapes of buildings
fading the further they are
into the other shades so softly
I cannot tell as I look over them
those pieces of special plastics
molded into shapes so covoluted
to correct how Nature cursed me,
with convexity and concavity both
to bend the photons in a way
to let me see again
clearly as others do.
Damn these 20/500 orbs
that reside in my skull.
(2010)
the auras of the colors
vague shapes formed
from the sharper reality
reds dulled against greens
blocky shapes of buildings
fading the further they are
into the other shades so softly
I cannot tell as I look over them
those pieces of special plastics
molded into shapes so covoluted
to correct how Nature cursed me,
with convexity and concavity both
to bend the photons in a way
to let me see again
clearly as others do.
Damn these 20/500 orbs
that reside in my skull.
(2010)
Demonic Cyborg Saxbot Schoolgirl Nuns from the Hyades - an older poem
-Chatbots inpired more of my early stuff than I care to admit most days, just the constant attacks of flirty comments and flying off to avoid detection. This one came from that and some other comments of other folks that day/night. Usually these came on Sunday mornings, as I drank coffee, or early in the wee hours, as I sat up on the patio doing something else.... these are congealing eventually into a tale of science and lust gone wrong, I can tell.
The invasion went awry due to the conflicting signals.
Vatican TV crossed with The Jazz Channel in the wormhole
as well as some sick scifi shows and anime from Japan.
So the invaders had a strange sense of the soldiers to send
to conquer poor earth from the get go.
They created a race of curvy bio-demonettes,
succubi with bright red skin, cute faces,
long black hair with a great set of horns.
Then bound nanobots to them as thighboots
gloves and onsey thong bathing suits.
Upon their silver armored cyberized parts
crosses and yin-yangs grew black as the sins
that the babes from the stars were meant
to inspire in all they met and spoke with,
and their touch carried joygasms.
But this is where they all went wrong
for instead of seeking to lure the humans
to bed and subdue their torrid passion
with bodies built and enhanced for the giggity
The wielded golden saxophones.
Skilled in the arts of jazz, blues and early rock
with a little band music tossed in for fun
the aliens came to soothe our souls
instead of steal them as fuel for hell's fires
with sweet notes of brass and reeds.
They formed bands, and stormed the charts
took to the internet with an ease that made
the boy bands and dizzy girls jealous
until one would serenade them to callm thoughts
about rain, streams and oceans.
While the invasion lasted, and its still going on
the music from the Hyades ruled the airwaves
with the tenors, altos, and even rare bass saxes
turning us into their dancing yet relaxed slaves
Until their masters come and conquer our world.
Art as bane of Zombies - a poem for NunYa...
I blame Nunya for this one. Yes, Ms. Bidness, this one came of your comment on the Facebook, and my subsequent comment, as well as one last bit from another commenter to make it finish out sweet.
Carmen Dominguez ~ reading poetry, watching zombie flicks and sewing beads on plastic, where they belong.
But its more pretty and amusing when you sew them onto Zombie fingers... (my reply that made the connection as brain goo boiled over instead of simmering.)
wow, when you multi-task, you do it up right! (someone else best left blameless)
In the dark of night
under her flickering candle
the Princess of Impropriety sews
fingers dancing amid threads
as she weaves a tapestry
made of beads and strings
to save those she loves
from the ravening undead beasts
who come to eat brains.
Each darting move she makes
flicks her enchanted bone needle
taken from a god's skeleton,
enchants the strangely beautiful art
into a shield to aid
in turning walking dead away
and the few who persist
find their fingers sewn in
with beads like funery rings.
She continues on all night
making the world safe again
with magical arts in threads
which she imbues with love
chanting aloud poetry she reads
while watching over our wanderings
in darkness inhabited by dead
who know not the way
back to their appointed graves.
With dawn comes the sun
touching the beads imbedded sorceries
in the art she made
the light of which shatter
bonds made of necromantic force
to free the decaying ones
from their eternal wandering curse
with a rainbow of love
her multi-tasking hands made.
Carmen Dominguez ~ reading poetry, watching zombie flicks and sewing beads on plastic, where they belong.
But its more pretty and amusing when you sew them onto Zombie fingers... (my reply that made the connection as brain goo boiled over instead of simmering.)
wow, when you multi-task, you do it up right! (someone else best left blameless)
In the dark of night
under her flickering candle
the Princess of Impropriety sews
fingers dancing amid threads
as she weaves a tapestry
made of beads and strings
to save those she loves
from the ravening undead beasts
who come to eat brains.
Each darting move she makes
flicks her enchanted bone needle
taken from a god's skeleton,
enchants the strangely beautiful art
into a shield to aid
in turning walking dead away
and the few who persist
find their fingers sewn in
with beads like funery rings.
She continues on all night
making the world safe again
with magical arts in threads
which she imbues with love
chanting aloud poetry she reads
while watching over our wanderings
in darkness inhabited by dead
who know not the way
back to their appointed graves.
With dawn comes the sun
touching the beads imbedded sorceries
in the art she made
the light of which shatter
bonds made of necromantic force
to free the decaying ones
from their eternal wandering curse
with a rainbow of love
her multi-tasking hands made.
Damn the Eyes of the Shadows
I wander the shadows seeking her
the lover that stalks the shadows
moving from body to body like a ghost
as she possesses them for a moment
or a night to seduce me with those eyes
glowing from the shadows like a cat's
as she stares at me from her hiding
laughing as I stumble from place to plcae
seeking her in each set of eyes I meet
like a toy she pulls about on a string
damn you shadow lover and your shady ways
...and damn your eyes for luring me on.
the lover that stalks the shadows
moving from body to body like a ghost
as she possesses them for a moment
or a night to seduce me with those eyes
glowing from the shadows like a cat's
as she stares at me from her hiding
laughing as I stumble from place to plcae
seeking her in each set of eyes I meet
like a toy she pulls about on a string
damn you shadow lover and your shady ways
...and damn your eyes for luring me on.
-Secrets like Smart Bombs with Dali-Clocks keeping time-
They are hidden everywhere
the damning skeletons in the closets,
those dangerous liaisons waiting
patiently to explode into the world
like smart bombs the secrets,
target the ones that push their luck.
And controlling it all
in the land of the surreal
called the mass media conglomerates
are those melting timepieces,
warped digital displays
of the twenty-four hour news cycle
with their finger on the button.
I used to keep the person who tossed the prompt with the poem that came from it, for some reason I stopped, now I wish I had not. It would be nice to tip the hat or blame folks for what they stirred out of the glop I use for a mind.
the damning skeletons in the closets,
those dangerous liaisons waiting
patiently to explode into the world
like smart bombs the secrets,
target the ones that push their luck.
And controlling it all
in the land of the surreal
called the mass media conglomerates
are those melting timepieces,
warped digital displays
of the twenty-four hour news cycle
with their finger on the button.
I used to keep the person who tossed the prompt with the poem that came from it, for some reason I stopped, now I wish I had not. It would be nice to tip the hat or blame folks for what they stirred out of the glop I use for a mind.
Cooking Soup amid the Haystacks - a poem from the old Spaz Improv...
As the harvest progresses
the time for soups takes over
as the flying geese move south
flying by night to avoid the guns
of the hunters seeking food
or just a release from stress
with the blast at some thought.
Sandwiches fall to the side
as the haystacks are made
for the traditional hayrides
and the soup is cooked up
with care or negligence
in pot or slow cookers everywhere
capturing the essence
of the season in their broth
filling the air with the smell
of what once was truly home.
-I cannot remember who tossed out that title as a prompt, I want to say theTimelessGypsy, but that may be wrong... all I know is its appropriate to the season, cooking amid the sheaves...
the time for soups takes over
as the flying geese move south
flying by night to avoid the guns
of the hunters seeking food
or just a release from stress
with the blast at some thought.
Sandwiches fall to the side
as the haystacks are made
for the traditional hayrides
and the soup is cooked up
with care or negligence
in pot or slow cookers everywhere
capturing the essence
of the season in their broth
filling the air with the smell
of what once was truly home.
-I cannot remember who tossed out that title as a prompt, I want to say theTimelessGypsy, but that may be wrong... all I know is its appropriate to the season, cooking amid the sheaves...
BullFinche's Philology - a poem from a challenge/improv prompt
-Gaz is to blame for this one, he tossed out a prompt that sat there, stale as we all tried to think of something to answer it with... this was my ice-jam destroyer... brute forced, but I still like it..
The goldfinches had all gathered up
around the feeder in the cold
enjoying the moment under the pines
free from preying of the hawks
circling high above in patient waiting
for one to pop out foolishly
like the cardinals had just yesterday
inviting them down for a brunch.
When in came mister brown finch
from the farmlands all around town
to gossip for a shot while.
He sang and warbled the praises
of fields he had recently visited
and the joys of sharing grass
with cattle, sheep and even goats
as the pretty yellow city ladies
listened with eyes glazing over slowly
realizing he had been around bulls
far too long this last migration
for he was as full of manure
as the long words he tweeted
Not even noting as he bounced
from the safety of evergreens' cover
the diving of that cooper's hawk
Come to take Brown Finch off
to a dinner where he starred
as the desert before hare entree.
The goldfinches had all gathered up
around the feeder in the cold
enjoying the moment under the pines
free from preying of the hawks
circling high above in patient waiting
for one to pop out foolishly
like the cardinals had just yesterday
inviting them down for a brunch.
When in came mister brown finch
from the farmlands all around town
to gossip for a shot while.
He sang and warbled the praises
of fields he had recently visited
and the joys of sharing grass
with cattle, sheep and even goats
as the pretty yellow city ladies
listened with eyes glazing over slowly
realizing he had been around bulls
far too long this last migration
for he was as full of manure
as the long words he tweeted
Not even noting as he bounced
from the safety of evergreens' cover
the diving of that cooper's hawk
Come to take Brown Finch off
to a dinner where he starred
as the desert before hare entree.
Lauren's Hand - a poem to thank a friend for her art she shares
Each stroke is measured
no matter her subject
though some come easier
and others fight free
to grace the paper
with her mind's vision
as it works slowly
to enhance our lives.
Each stroke of pencil
brush, chalk or charcoal
works its own magic
upon our wandering souls
to bring them back
from far, dangerous journeys
and ground us again
amid earth's many beauties.
Each stroke she makes
she mesmerized our minds
reaching in with art
to use her hand
to soothe our ills
touch our heart's strings
and stir up love
to make us human.... again.
no matter her subject
though some come easier
and others fight free
to grace the paper
with her mind's vision
as it works slowly
to enhance our lives.
Each stroke of pencil
brush, chalk or charcoal
works its own magic
upon our wandering souls
to bring them back
from far, dangerous journeys
and ground us again
amid earth's many beauties.
Each stroke she makes
she mesmerized our minds
reaching in with art
to use her hand
to soothe our ills
touch our heart's strings
and stir up love
to make us human.... again.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Winter's Warning Shot
Winter's first brush by
and the warm returns.
But for how long
and will I survive
living as I am
day by slow day
walking, waiting and worrying
if that one job
will at last fall
into my shaking hands?
Winter's first warning shot
as I camp out
with tarp and blanket
under some conifer tree
who's location I keep
away from all here
so I can return
and use it again
for a while longer
without losing it forever.
Summer's last call here
a short warm period
before the autumn settles
bringing its own issues
upon my weary head
as I wander slowly
around this busy place
seeking more hidden places
to use as shelter
when the winter comes.
Autumn's beauty around me
in changing colors bright
as the trees slip
into their long slumber
but I still move
amid and below them
seeking release a way
that will keep me
safe through until spring
and warm air's return.
Winter's melting calling card
still on high places
for a little while
reminding me the dangers
that will soon fall
upon me in earnest
unless God grants again
his grace upon me
lifting me genlty out
of this dark time.
Spring's echo still rings
in a few flowerbeds
where yellows and golds
reds and neon oranges
glow their last days
but this morning held
their death on blades
of deep green grass
coated in white frost
as summer finally ends.
and the warm returns.
But for how long
and will I survive
living as I am
day by slow day
walking, waiting and worrying
if that one job
will at last fall
into my shaking hands?
Winter's first warning shot
as I camp out
with tarp and blanket
under some conifer tree
who's location I keep
away from all here
so I can return
and use it again
for a while longer
without losing it forever.
Summer's last call here
a short warm period
before the autumn settles
bringing its own issues
upon my weary head
as I wander slowly
around this busy place
seeking more hidden places
to use as shelter
when the winter comes.
Autumn's beauty around me
in changing colors bright
as the trees slip
into their long slumber
but I still move
amid and below them
seeking release a way
that will keep me
safe through until spring
and warm air's return.
Winter's melting calling card
still on high places
for a little while
reminding me the dangers
that will soon fall
upon me in earnest
unless God grants again
his grace upon me
lifting me genlty out
of this dark time.
Spring's echo still rings
in a few flowerbeds
where yellows and golds
reds and neon oranges
glow their last days
but this morning held
their death on blades
of deep green grass
coated in white frost
as summer finally ends.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Stale cigarette smoke, filling the air
in the bar that night when the word came
that the widow's walk would all be loaded
with worried wives watching for the cutters
when they came back to port in the morn.
But for the night drinks sat half drunk
before the crews of the other boats
in the tavern long known as Sorrow's Landing.
2010 was a great year for me, writings wise, I really need to sift through some more....
in the bar that night when the word came
that the widow's walk would all be loaded
with worried wives watching for the cutters
when they came back to port in the morn.
But for the night drinks sat half drunk
before the crews of the other boats
in the tavern long known as Sorrow's Landing.
2010 was a great year for me, writings wise, I really need to sift through some more....
Walk Bold in a Humble Life - a poem
He walks the world slowly, but with resolve
speaking softly of the era he heralds to come
the one of the age marked by the stars above
as we move from one constellation to the next
in the shifting of the powers of the zodiacal signs.
He wanders the world with a Lion's Courage
trying to stand out in his own humble way
living boldly amid the downtrodden masses
he has been sent to point to the redemption
soon to come in the changing of the world.
Wearing the ragged clothes of the transients
he baptises with waters of knowlegde this time
eschewing the rivers now too polluted by sins
of greed, sloth and lust that he meanders through
to reach the light at the end of his own dark tunnel
With every penitent step he takes in his journey
those around him notice him but forget the words
he lays out for all to hear the warnings of woes coming
and strides amid the crime riddled streets fearless
knowing in the end, a few will hear his words at last
and follow in his humble ways to redeem their souls
before the Pale Rider comes to harvest the final lives
condemned by the Original Sin to die for sins of ancestors.
another from last year's collection, that seems better this time round...
speaking softly of the era he heralds to come
the one of the age marked by the stars above
as we move from one constellation to the next
in the shifting of the powers of the zodiacal signs.
He wanders the world with a Lion's Courage
trying to stand out in his own humble way
living boldly amid the downtrodden masses
he has been sent to point to the redemption
soon to come in the changing of the world.
Wearing the ragged clothes of the transients
he baptises with waters of knowlegde this time
eschewing the rivers now too polluted by sins
of greed, sloth and lust that he meanders through
to reach the light at the end of his own dark tunnel
With every penitent step he takes in his journey
those around him notice him but forget the words
he lays out for all to hear the warnings of woes coming
and strides amid the crime riddled streets fearless
knowing in the end, a few will hear his words at last
and follow in his humble ways to redeem their souls
before the Pale Rider comes to harvest the final lives
condemned by the Original Sin to die for sins of ancestors.
another from last year's collection, that seems better this time round...
Traditions of the Outhouse - Poem of an America now gone
Old traditions die hard they say
and this one died a terrible death
remember it well oh joyous folk
the midnight of hallow's eve gift
of that tiny shed with the halfmoon
cut in the door left on doorstep.
Indoor plumbing and years of neglect
reduced the holiday trick to naught
as we found it tougher each year
to gather in a real wooden outhouse
to leave on someone's front walk
as a mark of our feelings to them.
The port-a-potty seemed a cure
until the lawsuits over the spills
of the blue death from below
stored in the internal chambers
so ripe with the scent of rotten crud
that stayed around forever after.
Not to mention the charges of theft
for just the borrowing for a night
of one leased john to pull the prank
that was the Tradition of this night
for so long our great grandparents
had told us of the tale around fireplaces.
Now its considered a crime and evil
with the full government force
of EPA Environmental Impact Statements
needed for years after the joke
is played on the ones we hold lesser
than that deposited in that tank.
But damn it was fun while it lasted...
yeah, this one was from last year, but its still good... and timely this season of spooks and ghouls...
and this one died a terrible death
remember it well oh joyous folk
the midnight of hallow's eve gift
of that tiny shed with the halfmoon
cut in the door left on doorstep.
Indoor plumbing and years of neglect
reduced the holiday trick to naught
as we found it tougher each year
to gather in a real wooden outhouse
to leave on someone's front walk
as a mark of our feelings to them.
The port-a-potty seemed a cure
until the lawsuits over the spills
of the blue death from below
stored in the internal chambers
so ripe with the scent of rotten crud
that stayed around forever after.
Not to mention the charges of theft
for just the borrowing for a night
of one leased john to pull the prank
that was the Tradition of this night
for so long our great grandparents
had told us of the tale around fireplaces.
Now its considered a crime and evil
with the full government force
of EPA Environmental Impact Statements
needed for years after the joke
is played on the ones we hold lesser
than that deposited in that tank.
But damn it was fun while it lasted...
yeah, this one was from last year, but its still good... and timely this season of spooks and ghouls...
Swine vs. Harpies - A Poem of the Ultimate Division
The conflict of man versus woman
will go on for an eternity.
Women view men as pigs,
and wish us to be something
we cannot always be.
Men view women as toys
to keep on their arm
stashed in the bedroom
to play with whenever
the urge coems upon us.
Men want just the physical
and not the spiritual things
so many women tell me.
They say if they could,
they would live without us
and be free of war, sin and
many other foolish things.
Men are the source of evil
damned to hell by women.
Women want men to be
their friends only too often.
Yet transgress the lines
between love and friends
with an appalling frequency
and are confused when the man
cannot tell the boundaries
she sets, without any stones
at the borders of those os so
dangerous and treacherous terriroties.
Or so many think.
Not all women are broken
weighed down by their needs.
Nor are all men driven only
by their desire to procreate.
But try convincing either sex
of these inevitable facts
and you tread down a path
that leads only to lunacy
and a killer headache.
Each sex is wrong in its own way
thinking the other can come
in any way, shape or form
to understanding each other.
Or finding one of them to be
their perfect match forever
to never make a misstep,
or say something hurtful
in the ways reservered only
for the most arrogant of fools
And above us all
God sits and laughs,
and elbows Adam
in the spot missing a rib.
for it was a lonely guy
who asked for woman
to come into being
seeing animals mating
and desiring to father
Saturday Night's fever.
The joke is on us all.
and God is telling that
punchline over and over
that he balked at first
making a world for both
men and women to live in
for he knew from his
vast omnipotence this.
We are both sexes damned fools
who yearn for something
we can never have.
will go on for an eternity.
Women view men as pigs,
and wish us to be something
we cannot always be.
Men view women as toys
to keep on their arm
stashed in the bedroom
to play with whenever
the urge coems upon us.
Men want just the physical
and not the spiritual things
so many women tell me.
They say if they could,
they would live without us
and be free of war, sin and
many other foolish things.
Men are the source of evil
damned to hell by women.
Women want men to be
their friends only too often.
Yet transgress the lines
between love and friends
with an appalling frequency
and are confused when the man
cannot tell the boundaries
she sets, without any stones
at the borders of those os so
dangerous and treacherous terriroties.
Or so many think.
Not all women are broken
weighed down by their needs.
Nor are all men driven only
by their desire to procreate.
But try convincing either sex
of these inevitable facts
and you tread down a path
that leads only to lunacy
and a killer headache.
Each sex is wrong in its own way
thinking the other can come
in any way, shape or form
to understanding each other.
Or finding one of them to be
their perfect match forever
to never make a misstep,
or say something hurtful
in the ways reservered only
for the most arrogant of fools
And above us all
God sits and laughs,
and elbows Adam
in the spot missing a rib.
for it was a lonely guy
who asked for woman
to come into being
seeing animals mating
and desiring to father
Saturday Night's fever.
The joke is on us all.
and God is telling that
punchline over and over
that he balked at first
making a world for both
men and women to live in
for he knew from his
vast omnipotence this.
We are both sexes damned fools
who yearn for something
we can never have.
Damn the Eyes of Shadows - another seasonal poem
I wander the shadows seeking her
the lover that stalks the shadows
moving from body to body like a ghost
as she possesses them for a moment
or a night to seduce me with those eyes
glowing from the shadows like a cat's
as she stares at me from her hiding
laughing as I stumble from place to plcae
seeking her in each set of eyes I meet
like a toy she pulls about on a string
damn you shadow lover and your shady ways
...and damn your eyes for luring me on.
the lover that stalks the shadows
moving from body to body like a ghost
as she possesses them for a moment
or a night to seduce me with those eyes
glowing from the shadows like a cat's
as she stares at me from her hiding
laughing as I stumble from place to plcae
seeking her in each set of eyes I meet
like a toy she pulls about on a string
damn you shadow lover and your shady ways
...and damn your eyes for luring me on.
Broken Oath
This is another holiday piece, not a reflection of my moods, it was written a while back for somewhere else....
I took the vow of poverty and pain
and wander this world alone by night
having lost count of the gods I've slain
in this long roaming in search of a fight.
But the darkness is not just my cloak these days
she is my eternal lover, steeping me in her ways.
The elements I brave without a thought
the bullets of man's guns pass me by
for I am the one who is never caught
as I stab the deities until they die.
And when they are all dead, Night shall gather me in
The final goddes I cannot slay, as we wake the world with our sin.
Father of gods call me this bleak day
when the shadow people take your souls
the offspring of my tumble in the hay
with Mother Night under impaling poles.
I betrayed my oath, and thus was forever damned
and still alive my body into the earth was jammed
until they need me to free man again
from the grip off the Immortals sin,
I lay in wait for release and mayhem.
I took the vow of poverty and pain
and wander this world alone by night
having lost count of the gods I've slain
in this long roaming in search of a fight.
But the darkness is not just my cloak these days
she is my eternal lover, steeping me in her ways.
The elements I brave without a thought
the bullets of man's guns pass me by
for I am the one who is never caught
as I stab the deities until they die.
And when they are all dead, Night shall gather me in
The final goddes I cannot slay, as we wake the world with our sin.
Father of gods call me this bleak day
when the shadow people take your souls
the offspring of my tumble in the hay
with Mother Night under impaling poles.
I betrayed my oath, and thus was forever damned
and still alive my body into the earth was jammed
until they need me to free man again
from the grip off the Immortals sin,
I lay in wait for release and mayhem.
It being October, here is one I wrote a while back,
something creepy enough for the season I hope....
"Black Horse of Death is Nigh"
They sold it off to save the family
the stallion with the coat of onyx
that stalked their fields every night
refusing to be stabled even in storms.
Times were tough, choices were few
so off to the dog food factory the sent it.
But three nights later, like a ghost
it returned to the pasture's grasses
where he foams at his mouth awaiting
the children to come and try to ride him
so he can take them to his new master
down in Hell's darkest and deepest pits,
where the nightmares neigh in glee
knowing the Black Horse of death is nigh.
something creepy enough for the season I hope....
"Black Horse of Death is Nigh"
They sold it off to save the family
the stallion with the coat of onyx
that stalked their fields every night
refusing to be stabled even in storms.
Times were tough, choices were few
so off to the dog food factory the sent it.
But three nights later, like a ghost
it returned to the pasture's grasses
where he foams at his mouth awaiting
the children to come and try to ride him
so he can take them to his new master
down in Hell's darkest and deepest pits,
where the nightmares neigh in glee
knowing the Black Horse of death is nigh.
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